Actually...

Two days ago, we looked at how God requires something of us; we have to at least try. Yesterday, we saw that Jesus said that the stuff we usually try at isn't really the important stuff; what's really important is how we love one another. Actually, the Bible couldn't be any clearer about what God requires of us. It plainly says, "This is what the Lord requires of you." (Micah 6:8)

To do what is just.

To love mercy.

To walk humbly with your God.

On the surface, it seems like over the past three days, we've gone from these very concrete ideas about church-y things that we should do (and do better) to some more fluid, relational types of people-y things that we should do (and do better) to now, we're talking about some seemingly-abstract, philosophy-y things that we can never quite know if we're really doing or not. 

Can we please just go back to Wednesday? 

Life seemed so simple then. All we had to do was start to pray, try to sing, and open the pages of the Bible every now and then. That seemed easy enough. It was abundantly clear what was expected of us when all that mattered was that we try to do something faith-y. 

The relational stuff on Thursday was a little more challenging, but let's be honest - we all just started thinking of the persons in our lives that it's easy to love. We know exactly who has some concrete, specific needs that we can totally "one another" pretty easily. We know who we hang out with, and we were thinking about doing a better job, you know, of hanging out with them. Or more hanging out with them. Or something. We maybe even thought about changing our semi-assigned church seating to sit by some new persons...or at least closer to the persons we usually sit by. You know, down the row a little ways. Nothing too crazy. But yeah, we were figuring out there was probably a way to "one another" better without totally blowing our comfort zones.

But justice? Mercy? Humility? That's where we draw the line.

It's where we draw the line because it conjures up a certain image in our heads, particularly in these days, where "justice" means we're out there protesting something, marching with signs, making public spectacles of ourselves for whatever the cause of the day happens to be. "Mercy" means we just give a free pass to everyone and end up as doormats. And "humility" means all we can ever say is that we don't know. We get so afraid of saying anything because we might be wrong. Or arrogant. Or arrogantly wrong. Or something. 

We don't want to be protesters or doormats or wrong. We want to live quiet lives confident in simple grace. Is that too much to ask?

Not at all. What's surprising, though, is that that's kind of what God wants for you, too. 

These quiet lives confident in simple grace that we so crave are lives that are completely consistent with everything we've been looking at. They're completely consistent with a faith that tries to engage in the spiritual disciples. They're completely consistent with lives that "one another" well. They're completely consistent with justice, mercy, and humility. We just have to change how we think about some of these things. 

There are some key words there besides "just," "mercy," and "humbly." These are the keys to wrapping this all together, to figuring out what it really is that God requires of us. These are the action words, the verbs: "do," "love," and "walk." 

Next week, we'll look at some of these ideas a little more closely. There are some things here I think we're missing...and they make all the difference. 

By Your Love

Yesterday, we looked at how God does require something of us. When it comes to faith, we at least have to try. But would it surprise you to know that the things we talked about yesterday - prayer, worship, Bible reading - are not actually the things that God requires of us?

We used to joke about this in youth group. It was our pat answer for everything, always followed by chuckles. No matter the question, someone would pipe up and say, "Pray, read the Bible, go to church." But that's not what Jesus said.

Jesus didn't say that we would be known by how well we pray. Or how often. Or how loud. In fact, He said quite the opposite - don't let others see how you pray. Don't make a show of it. Don't do it out loud or in public just to show yourself to be a praying kind of person. Don't let prayer be your witness.

Jesus didn't say that we would be known by how well we worship. Or how well we sing. Or whether or not we've got perfect pitch. Or even perfect rhythm. (What beats do we clap on, again?) In fact, in Jesus's day, fasting was one way they worshiped, and Jesus plainly said - don't do this to be seen. Don't make a show of your sackcloth and dirt. Don't make a show of your unkempt hair and your hunger. Don't make a show of your worship. Don't let worship be your witness.

Jesus didn't say that we would be known by how well we know the Bible. Or how quickly we can find that verse. Or our most scholarly interpretation of it. In fact, He said quite the opposite - He spent His time railing against the Pharisees, who were experts in the Bible, for missing the point. Don't quote the Scriptures for applause. Don't boast about how well you know them, or even how well you think you follow them. Don't let your Bible study be your witness.

Jesus say, "They will know you by the love you have for one another." And when He prays for the faithful, He prays for unity - that we would "one-another" well. 

Let your witness be your love. 

That means that when we were sharing that old joke back in youth group, we were witnessing. Not by knowing the right things to say or by talking about the right things to do. No, we were witnessing by our joy, by laughing together, by sharing this joke, this story, this thing that united us. We were one-anothering. And that's how the world should have recognized us. 

That's how they should have known we were His. 

I wish we understood that in the church. I wish we knew that what we need to be witnessing to the world is not the best or newest or most favorite styles of worship. I wish we knew that what we need to be witnessing to the world is not some borderline-scandalous gritty application of Scripture or some heretical twisting of the Gospel of Grace into good news for the financially poor. I wish we knew that what we need to be witnessing to the world is not how long or fervently or earnestly we pray. All of these things are important, but it's not how the world will know us. 

They will know us by our love. And I wish the church knew that. 

I wish we knew that when the world walks in our doors, what they need to see is people loving each other. Really loving each other. They need to see us sitting together, not spaced out by families with a few extra seats in the middle. They need to see us breaking bread together, not retreating into our own laps with bowed heads and clinched fists. They need to see us sharing our resources, coming to one another's aid, lending a hand, lending an ear, leaning together toward the Cross. They need to see us laughing, celebrating, joking around, sharing our stories. Sharing our lives. They need to see us one-anothering. Because Jesus said that's how they're going to know us. 

Not by how much we love Him, but by how well we love each other. 

What God Requires

Jesus said, "If you have faith as small as a mustard seed...." And He said it, essentially, twice. 

A few days ago, I was writing a reflection on this idea and how it relates to having just enough faith to grow something out of it. I was trying to come up with what it meant to have a little faith, and I wrote something like this:

"If you start to pray and get at least through the 'Dear Lord,' then you have enough faith to grow. If you get even one syllable of the song right, whether on-key or off-key or even out of place, then you have enough faith to grow. If you don't know where that verse is in the Bible, but you're at least willing to Google it, then you have enough faith to grow."

I really wrestled with this for the longest time. I wrestled because I know that there are going to be some persons who read that and think I'm demanding too much. That believe that God is satisfied by your own wanting to maybe sort of potentially one day think about having faith, and that this maybe sort of potentially one day thinking is enough. That think that God would never require that we even get through the "Dear Lord;" God only requires that we know that we can pray, not that we actually do it. That think that worship is about listening to the music, not singing it. That think that it's perfectly fine not to know where things are in the Bible, as long as you know that they're in there. (Fun fact: a lot of very popular phrases that sound kind of Christian-like are not actually in the Bible anywhere. Like "God helps those who help themselves." It's not in there. But ask someone who doesn't think God requires anything of them except to sort of kind of know, and they'll tell you that it's biblical and that's enough for them. There are some pretty hilarious studies on these sorts of things.) 

So I wrestled with it, knowing that there would probably be some backlash for presenting an image of God that requires something from His people more than just their occasional happy thoughts and last-ditch efforts at problem management. 

But I went ahead with it and let it go to print. Why?

Because I don't think I'm wrong on this one. 

I don't think I'm wrong to say that God requires something of us. I don't think I'm wrong to say that God demands that we at least try. It's unpopular in today's culture, and we've become so afraid of expecting anything from anyone that we've really gone lax on everything. We've got a Jesus in our world who doesn't care what you do and loves you unconditionally and is going to take you to Heaven just for having existed and being relatively "good," and this Jesus is competing against the One who dripped bloody beads of sweat in the Garden and poured out His life on the Cross. 

This Jesus that our world has, He's everybody's friend, but somewhere, we lost the Jesus who is specifically friend to sinners. This Jesus that our world has, His cross is a symbol, not a sacrifice. This Jesus that our world has, He meets them in the most dark and sinful places, not because it's the sick who need a healer, but because Jesus is, you know, "cool" like that. This Jesus that the world has...He's nothing like my Lord. 

And I'm done letting this world pretend that Jesus is just "cool" like that. 

He's amazing. 

But in order to understand how truly amazing Jesus is, you have to enter into a real relationship with Him. You've got to get into the covenant. You've got to live your life in a way that's connected to the truth of His identity. And that means that you've got to understand that He requires something from you. Not a lot. Just a mustard seed. 

Still, you've got to try. You've got to do one thing, one small little thing, that shows that you're moving in a God-ward direction. You've got to do one thing, one small little thing, that shows that you're putting some skin in the game. You've got to do one thing, one small little thing, that shows that when you say, "Lord, Lord," you know what that means. Otherwise, this Jesus, this real Jesus, He's going to say, "I never knew you."

Come to find out, you never knew Him, either. 

The Storm

This is the real danger of being a church who refuses to be humbled by our own sins - we create a group of expert sailors who are only more confident and comfortable in their expertise. 

Let's go back to Jonah's ship. 

Jonah's bought passage on a ship to Tarshish, a city known for its commercial trade. The merchants that go in and out of Tarshish are skilled men; shipping into and out of this port is their life's work. The seas that they are on when the storm starts raging are seas that they know well. And there's never been this kind of storm before. 

We know this much because they've tried everything they know how to do, and none of it is working. It's not reasonable to say that there has never been a storm on this sea; we know too much about weather to say something so foolish. We can only say that there has never been a storm like this one. So what happens is that the sailors put all of their acquired knowledge to good use doing everything they can to weather the raging seas, but nothing works. They can't sail through it. 

They have to try something different.

The something different that they end up trying is throwing a prophet of the Lord overboard. There are only three possible conclusions they can reach from this: 1) the key to overcoming severe storms is to get rid of anything that has to do with the Lord; 2) the Lord is vicious in pursuing to violent extremes those He claims to have a fondness for but actually wants to punish; 3) this Lord acts much like any other god and requires an occasional sacrifice to appease Him. And once past the storm, the memory quickly fades and their own competence is reaffirmed - in the absence of raging seas, they truly are expert sailors. So they have little need of interacting with this God until and unless He breaks in on them again.

None of this is really what we'd want others to learn about our God. 

But it's what they're still learning even today. Most persons believe they are experts in their own lives. They believe they know what to do to handle their own affairs, and they've got plans and back-up plans and go-tos for handling just about everything. If they come up against a God-storm that is raging and stand face-to-face with an arrogant, unrepentant Church, they're learning the same things.

Toss the Church aside. Forget about it. If you're not engaged with it, then it can't cause any problems for you. The storm dies down as soon as anything "church-y" is off the ship. So...toss it overboard. No use for God. 

The Church is foolish. They talk about this God of love, but look how violent He is in pursuing and punishing them. This isn't what love looks like. No wonder those Christians are all hell-bent; their God is a God of violent extremes. That's certainly not the God for this ship. 

Perhaps this God of the Christians just requires some basic token affections and mild obediences. It would satisfy Him if I would go to church, say, on Christmas and Easter. Or if I pray when things are like really serious...or better yet, just ask others who believe in Him to pray for me when things are really tough. All I have to do is make a general, vague effort at the occasional godly thing when stuff comes up, and this God will be satisfied with me.

And more often than not, what ends up happening is that these persons come to a place where they are only re-convinced of their own expertise at managing their own affairs and have little need of interacting with God until and unless it seems to be pertinent again. They pull into Tarshish as skilled and as confident as they ever were, having had a brush with God, but having no need at all of Him. 

Because all they've seen is a raging storm and an unrepentant prophet who knows he's in the wrong but refuses to turn himself around. 

Because all they've seen is a raging storm and an arrogant church who refuses to humble herself and seek grace. 

Man Overboard

Ah, Jonah. Because clearly, if we're talking about a man overboard in a theological blog, it's got to be Jonah. 

Jonah, I think, is one of those stories where we know so well the big themes that we often miss the small details. We read it like we know it, like it's old hat, but if we actually sit down to read this story, it's rife with the kinds of quiet, convicting truths that ought to make us stop and think. Yes, I said "convicting." 

And I'm not talking about Nineveh.

For example, look at the first chapter of Jonah. He's bought passage on this ship to Tarshish, running away from God as far and as fast as he can get, and this raging storm starts tossing the sea. The sea starts rocking the ship. All the sailors on board, skilled sailors who make this passage all the time, get nervous. Then, they get scared. They try to figure out what in the world is going on with this giant storm like they've never seen on this sea that they sail all the time. They cast lots and figure out it's Jonah, and the prophet immediately confesses to it.

It's me, it's me. I'm the cause of this storm. Your only option is to throw me overboard; then the raging seas will calm.

But nobody throws him overboard. Instead, they try rowing a little bit harder. They put more of their sailor skills and sea muscles into it, trying to figure out a way to get through the storm. 

Here's what's interesting, though: Jonah doesn't even throw himself overboard. 

He knows he's the cause of the storm. He knows that if he gets off the ship, the storm will stop. He sees how much trouble everybody else is in because of his disobedience. He's watching them struggle and strive and lose their cargo and risk their lives and panic and pray, and he knows that if he's not on the ship, none of them would be having these problems. Not a one. But he doesn't throw himself overboard.

He doesn't even climb into a life raft and try to drift away. 

There are a lot of ways that the church has wounded persons. There is a lot of trouble that we've caused in this world. We're still causing it. There are things that, we have to confess, we're just getting wrong (and one of these things is loving others the way that Jesus called us to....another one is loving each other the way that Jesus called us to). And we're watching the world tossed about by its own waves because we're trying so hard to steer them in error.

And we know. Let's just be honest - we know. We know there are things we've gotten wrong. We know there are things we've done that are atrocious. We know that there are things we're still doing wrong and things we're still doing that are atrocious. There's a part of us that says if this world could just throw off all the sinful, egregious things that the church has done to get us here, the seas would calm. The storms would settle. 

But we're not willing to do it. 

We're not willing to do it because it means too much to us. Jonah was dead set on going to Tarshish; we're dead set on our traditions, the choices we've made to do things the way we've always done them. Even when we realize it's not working for us. And it's certainly not working for them. We're watching the world struggle against the waves we've made, and know what it takes to stop them - but we're not willing to abandon ship. We're not even willing to climb into a life raft and try to drift away. We're not willing to retreat into a solitary place and pray earnestly and invest the time in figuring out how to do it better. 

They're going to have to throw us overboard.

And I think that's where we're at. I think what we're seeing in our time is a world that's finally weary of the storm. It's done all it can do to make a place for us, but we have been in error. We're in a place where we can admit that we're the problem, that the way that we've been "doing" church for so long has created the waves that are crashing against the ship. But we're not willing to remove ourselves. We're not willing to step back and make a correction. We're not willing to jump ship even to save it. And that's a problem. 

Because if we aren't willing to reconsider some of the things we're doing that are wounding our world, we leave them no choice: they'll have to throw us overboard, sooner rather than later. And they will. 

They already are. 

The question is this: what happens to sailors who make it to Tarshish on calm seas only after they've discarded the prophet of the Lord?