You, the Sermon

The end of Romeo and Juliet is messy.  Both of the main characters die, largely because of a misconception.  Yet, because of their deaths, peace comes to the warring Montagues and Capulets.  The story is labeled a tragedy, yet it ends with renewed relationships and hope for the future.  Sorry if I just spoiled your efforts to relive the ninth grade English class you chose to sleep through.

"Good Night, Good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow."

Our culture has a fascination with redemption.  We're uncomfortable when a piece of art leaves us with only tragedy.  "Where was the redemptive value in that?"  We'll ask it every time, if only in our hearts.

The stories people tell through art can be grim.  But the stories we tell through redemptive art are grimly hopeful.  Art that redeems has a characteristic that moves us.  Stories of redemption move us toward redemption.

Movement is something that occurs through relationship.  What relationship do we have with the stories that we know and love?  What draws us in and causes us to invest in narrative?   

Aristotle is actually the guy who came up with the idea that a narrative has a beginning, middle, and end.  Now you know who to give the credit to.  But this is actually important, because it helps us apply the concept of story to stuff.  The most relevant of this stuff (for now) is the story that unfolds throughout the Scriptures, or the Biblical narrative.  Right in the middle of this grand narrative that documents the rise and fall of everything, we find that this story is a redemptive story.

The relationship kindled through the stories of wrongs being made right is formed because of our place in that sweeping Biblical narrative.  We are living a story within a story.  When we take in redemptive art, the story we're absorbing speaks to the story we're living, which in turn mimics the meta story of everything.  Moving stories move us because we can relate to them.  The story we're living testifies to the story of Scripture.  

Sometimes redemption is hard to see.  Not every story redeems.  Our stories are messy.  But I'd like to think that they're messy in a hopeful sort of way.  

Keep this idea in your head.  You'll start seeing examples everywhere.

A Learned Form

There's more than one way of understanding the act of learning.  Our culture's means of explaining learning is more reminiscent of industrialized nations.  Our kind of learning views knowledge as a sort of stack; the more you learn, the more information is added to the pile.  This learning is focused on the acquisition of information.

For other cultures, learning is seen to have taken place when the learner becomes more morally upstanding; the more you learn, the more you change.  This learning is focused on the acquisition of formation.

The latter was most likely the case in the middle east during the time of Jesus.  We can deduce then, when Jesus talks about seeds and dirt in the parable of the sower, He's referring to how people's identity is changed when exposed to the Word of God.  For some, the devil steals the Word away from them.  For others, the flesh begs to be spared and the Word is lost.  Still others have the Word choked by the lust for the world.

Those who hear the word however, produce more than they ever thought they could.  Simply by hearing.

Information is cold and dead.  It's only good for stocking on piles, and if you read the story of Solomon, you'll find that hoarding is not one of God's favorite practices.

Formation, on the other hand, gives away.  It yields one hundred times the fruit.  When we let God form us, we receive enough to give away, over and over again.  That sounds a lot like justice and restoration.  When we're formed by God, we're given much more than enough for ourselves.  We're given what we need to change everything.

When you learn, does it disturb you?  Does it take you from where you are and put you somewhere else? Many would say that if you are not moved, you are not learned.

Understanding Infinity

There's always more to everything than you think there is.

Let me give you more for that statement.  My home church's sanctuary is divided into two parts.  The main space is a large and open area with vaulted ceilings and giant pewter lights that dangle.   There's also an annexed section which served as a classroom that makes the entire room into an upside down "L" shape.

If the pastor was speaking from the right side pulpit, he could sometimes be completely unseen by those in the annex.  This was the case for me one particular Sunday, which led my young self to ask my parents if the person who's voice I was hearing was in fact God's.  Surprisingly, the answer I remember receiving was "yes."  I remember that day clearly; to hear from the voice of God gave me an incredible feeling of invincibility.

I know now that the voice was my pastor's, but I don't believe that my parents lied to me.  God was speaking that day.  I don't remember the sermon, but my pastor's voice made me ponder a great mystery.  God speaks to us.  I had learned a deep truth, but to comprehend it, that truth had to be presented in a way I could understand.

Certainly, there is more to the concept of how God speaks than I could know that day.  In fact, there is more to that concept than I could ever know.  That day, the infinite was reduced to the finite.  Only then was I able to grasp what God was trying to tell me.  This works in the opposite way as well.

Some therapists who work with survivors of child sexual abuse use games to evince the stories of abuse children hide away.  Kids have a difficult time talking about sexual abuse because it's such a large and abstract thing.  Children need a medium they understand to express themselves.  The simple is used to understand the complex.

You and I practice this kind of reduction everyday.  In fact, we do it every time we speak.  Think about why we express things.  It's because we need a way to explain an implicit thought or feeling we have.  We reduce what's inside of us into words we can command.  We can't use abstractions that float around within our minds and souls.  Even our thoughts are reductionistic.  One may understand something that can't be put into words, but in order to hold it in the brain, one needs a label for it.  The incomprehensible is reduced by our own need for comprehension.

Jesus, who some believe is God, understood this.  That's why He used imagery, stories, and metaphors when He explained the Kingdom of Heaven.  Because how do you explain the infinite to people with finite brains?  You reduce it.  We run into huge problems then, when we take reduced pictures of the Kingdom as absolute and literal truth.  That's like saying that voice I heard was literally and in every way God.  I did hear God speak that day, but I also heard my pastor.  And the words weren't even the important part.  It was the mystery.

I've come to the conclusion that trading in mystery for answers is a bad idea.  We're not going to see the whole picture now, so our best truth is always going to be a bit off.  Instead, consider living up to the truth that you have attained.  There's always more to everything than you think there is.

*Thanks to Matt Brown and 509 Community for inspiring some of this post and just generally being awesome.

Taste the Honey

When I was three years old, my parents were horrified to learn that I was a biter.  No parent wants to believe that their precious angel would ruthlessly rend the flesh of another, yet I stood before them; guilty.  What was the reason for this heinous act of deviance?  Another toddler had stolen my chair, and I wasn't going to stand for it.  I knew that seat belonged to me, and that day, justice rolled like water.  I took what was rightfully mine.

My friend Jason wrote recently that children are great and terrible when it comes to different aspects of what we consider love.  I would echo his words when it comes to the concept of justice.  If you don't believe me, take a child's toy while they're playing with it and see what happens.  Or go to an elementary school and watch what happens when a kid cheats at kickball.  Things get bloody fast.  Because kids have a really great perception of justice.

What's tough for kids is when it is they who are being justified, or disciplined.  Likely, you'll hear the words "it's not fair!" at some point in the discipline process.  Kids have a hard time realizing their need for correction.  But parents know it must be done to make the child's future brighter. 

After being in the presence of some of the freakiest creatures described anywhere in Scripture, Ezekiel is told by God to eat a scroll.  This scroll contained words of "lamentation, mourning, and woe" meant for Israel, which is described over and over again by God as "rebellious."  Despite the situation being real weird, Ezekiel eats the scroll, and discovers that it tastes like honey.  He's then told to go and minister to the hardhearted nation in exile. 

Israel was about to experience movement from captivity to freedom caused by the union of God's people and God's Spirit.  How was that going to happen?  Through justice.  What Israel had made wrong, God was about to make right.  This meant that God was going to have to take something away from Israel; thus the words of woe.  But it's going to be sweet.  Things were going to be made right again, but not just for Israel.  When everything is right, the world is as it should be.

We're typically interested in justice when it applies to us.  When someone takes something that's mine, watch out (I haven't bitten anyone in a while, by the way).  But what if we're the wrong ones?  Do we want justice then?  In this way, maybe we have yet to truly grow up.  God shows Ezekiel that Israel is about to face correction on a pretty big scale.  But Israel will also taste the sweetness of the results.  Because when God makes things right, we can taste and see that it's good.  

God sent His Spirit to move Israel out of captivity by forming a relationship with them and making them righteous.  That sounds a lot like the God I know now.  Do you want movement from where you are?  Come and taste the honey of justice.