Yeses and noes

A key question in counseling and professional coaching (and really, the rest of life) is, “If you’re saying Yes to this, what are you saying No to?” It’s key because it reflects a simple reality: saying Yes to certain things necessarily means saying No to others.

We all know this from our own time and finances, two things that for most of us are limited.

Yes here necessarily means No here…and conversely, No here is the only way to say Yes here.

In this week’s Gospel reading, Jesus tells a graphic parable about a harsh and final kind of rejection, and its meaning seems pretty straightforward. In fact, because of its obviousness, we might read through it quickly and think it doesn’t really implicate us.

But it does…all of us.

Our manner of life

Our Manner of Life

In his letter to the church in Philippi, Paul says, “let your manner of life be worthy of the gospel of Christ.”  

What precisely is a “manner of life?” The translations vary on this phrase.  The New English Translation bible renders it as “conduct yourselves” and has an interesting note:

“Conduct yourselves" (Grk “live your lives as citizens”). The Philippians lived in a free Roman city, and thus understood from their own experience what it meant to live as citizens. Paul is here picking up on that motif and elevating it to the citizenship of heaven. Cf. 3:20 (our citizenship is in heaven)”.

So, a manner of life isn't just what we think, or just what we do; it’s an expression of who we are within our community. It’s our way of being among our people, our fellow citizens.  

And Paul will go on to say that our manner of life, our conduct among our people, should reflect Christ’s presence within us. We aren’t told to merely have “the doctrine” of Jesus or the “the behavior” of Jesus, but his mind—which Paul goes on to describe in Philippians chapter 2. 

Jesus’ manner of life, his conduct among his people, his “mind,” is described as thoroughly humble, thoroughly gracious, thoroughly self-sacrificing, thoroughly trusting. The fruit of that manner of life was death, but through that death, we received resurrection, reconciliation, and the outpouring of the Holy Spirit into our hearts.   

In preparation for worship this Sunday, I’d ask that you spend some time reflecting on your manner of life. Can you describe it? Can you discern it's roots or characteristics? Can you share your insights with someone and reflect together on it?  

Paul tells us elsewhere that we have the mind of Christ, that we are citizens in heaven.  It is our privilege and joy to deepen our encounter with these realities throughout our life’s journey and I look forward to exploring that together this Sunday.

Grace is a lousy bookeeper

This isn’t a rant about Redeemer's CPA. Her name is Teresa, and she’s exceptional. Every credit and debit, every receivable and payable meticulously accounted for. The books always balance.

I mean grace. Abundant, amazing grace. Grace that is greater than all our sin. God’s grace. That grace is a lousy bookkeeper.

Jesus tells a parable of grace in this week's Gospel reading, and candidly, the shoddiness of the bookkeeping is shocking...and makes some people downright angry.

The “why” in forgiveness

Executive coach and mentor Bobb Biehl insists, “Until you answer the “why” question, the cost is always too high.” I heard him say this the first time in 1983—my first year in ministry—and the aphorism has stuck with me since, though candidly I’m not sure I’m always good at answering that question before, or even early in a process. Doing so would likely have saved a lot of wasted effort and not a small amount of frustration over the ensuing 40 years.

Not so with Jesus in this week’s Gospel reading.

He sets an incredibly—some think impossibly—high and costly standard of forgiveness for Peter and the rest of his disciples throughout time (a.k.a. you and me), but he clearly answers the “why” question right up front. If we have ears to hear.

Loving Sincereley

In his book, The Rise of Christianity, sociologist Rodney Stark chronicles how a tiny and obscure messianic movement from the edge of the Roman Empire came to dominate Western civilization in just a few centuries. He tells the story of the ever-growing band of believers that had, to the Roman mind, a ridiculous and absurd way of living in community and loving their neighbors…how they learned to love each other sincerely and literally transformed the Western world. And so, it’s important, as we continue reading through St. Paul’s letter to those same first Christians in Rome, to consider his instruction and ask the question, “What kind of community has God called Redeemer to be?”

This Sunday we’ll explore the essential quality of the life we’re called to share with one another.

The Needy and the Needed

Although these two potential labels—those who are “needy” and those who are “needed”—in a church community seem at first dichotomous , they’re not. They’re complimentary. More than that, in fact. In Romans 12:1-8—this week’s Epistle reading—St. Paul makes the emphatic argument that the only ones who are truly needed in a church community are the truly needy.

Of Dough and Olive trees

Our readings in Romans bring us to the fulcrum of the letter,  chapters 9 – 11, which addresses the relationship between Jews and Gentiles in the unfolding revelation of the Gospel.  Before we leave our encounter with this letter to the Roman believers (“those who are loved by God and called to be saints”), I want to draw our attention to Paul’s passion for the Jewish people and his anguished grappling with the problem of their unbelief.

Why does this matter? That’s a good question. At the heart of the answer is the character of God. Is He faithful? Is He able to overcome unbelief? Does He keep his promises?  

Paul was a missionary at the dawn of new age, the breaking in of the Kingdom of Heaven through the authority of the risen and ascended Messiah. His experience of God’s covenant with Jews and Gentiles was dramatically renewed through his relationship with Jesus and he was desperate to draw all those “who are love by God and called to be saints” into unity around the promise of God.

On Sunday, we will experience some of Paul’s best creative power as he works with the metaphors of dough and olive trees to convey the dynamics of covenant promise to Jew and Gentile.

Why does it matter? Because the Gospel of the power of God for salvation to everyone who believes, to the Jew first and also to the Greek (Romans 1:16).  

A Deeper point

The familiar story that’s told in this week’s Gospel reading—Jesus, then Peter walking on water—is replete with straightforward and practical lessons. And even if you read it fairly casually, you could point to most of them. Among them are:

• Jesus refusing to be distracted from the necessity to be with the Father in prayer in the midst of an incredibly dynamic situation.

• Peter, in a bold act of faith, stepping out of the boat and failing only when he took his eyes off Jesus.

• And, of course, Jesus' presence calming the punishing headwinds for the disciples and the promise of the same for us.

All of these are helpful for framing the love of God and his desire to be “with us”, the power of stepping out in faith with our eyes fixed firmly on Christ, and the promise of Jesus’ presence and power with us in the midst of our own adversities. They’re all there, and they’re all valuable take-aways.

But if you read a bit deeper (pardon the pun), this passage also has a rich and vivid subtext that has some immediate and, candidly, demanding implications for us as we live our day-to-day lives.