This past Sunday Margie and I wandered through five acres of
woods with our good friend, Joe Schwen, organic farmer extraordinaire. The woods belong to a neighbor of his, a place
where he has harvested wood for their furnace to warm their home through the
long Minnesota winter. It was a delightful day, fluffy clouds scattered across
a blue sky, with bright sunshine and about 65 degrees. The reason spring is so
delightful this far north.
Spring is a bit late here this year. We had a big snow (over
a foot) in May, and plenty of cloudy, chilly, rainy days since then, keeping
farmers, including Joe, out of their fields since they’ve been too wet for
planting. The weather has also meant that everything is rather lush with lawns
growing well and lots of underbrush in woods.
We were looking for morels. If you have never tried them,
you are missing one of the great delights of life. Though they look
weird—actually they look appalling, but let’s not go there—they are tender,
light, with a delicate flavor that is hard to describe. They are precious, so
we have them rarely, though we often stop and look longingly at them at
Farmer’s Market where they are usually priced at $28-$35/pound.
Because of their delicate flavor Margie usually makes them
simply, dipping them in a light batter and frying them gently in butter. I have
not been fond of mushrooms, finding them a bit slimy and earthy-tasting, though
I’ve grown to appreciate them. But I’ve loved morels from the first taste.
Margie often when hunting for morels as a child with her
mother, as she tells in The Exact Place,
and Joe often finds enough to sell at the Market, so I was in good company.
I’ve only found morels in the wild once, while fishing for trout along a stream
near Preston, MN. I wasn’t hunting for them, and the trout were not biting, so
I told Joe that if my record held we simply be enjoying a lovely walk on a
Sunday afternoon.
My main task was to try to not get too lost, which I failed
to accomplish. I expected to get lost, since I am so directionally challenged
that I use my car GPS to get around to some places here in Rochester, where I
have lived since 1981. After wandering for a while I texted Margie and told her
I was lost. She texted back that I should look at the sun and go towards 2
o’clock which was the direction of the road at the edge of the woods. The sun
was directly overhead.
Soon after entering the woods I watched Margie and Joe
disappear confidently into the greenery. At that moment I realized that hunting for morels was not what I was
doing. I was wandering aimlessly
around, and any morels I happened upon would be entirely providential. As
providence had it, I happened upon none.
As you can see, I found lots of mushrooms, however, and found each variety
lovely. They seemed to be lurking quietly in the underbrush, surprising in
their uniqueness, always living amidst decay. As if to say that somehow the
process of death ending life would not be allowed to be the final word.
There were also little flowers, often spreading out into
lush carpets and I hesitated to walk through them because I would step on the
some of the plants.
Some flowers seemed to float along the top of leaves, as if
in a subtle, quiet ballet that was in tune with its own music.
And there were Jack-in-the Pulpits, appearing in little
glades between stands of trees and growths wild raspberries whose thorns pulled
at my pants as I pushed past them.
The afternoon was a complete success. I got found,
eventually, or more precisely, found myself out of the woods to the road. I
loved the quiet, listening to birdcalls, the lush green growth, and the
numerous mushrooms peeking up out of the leaf and wood litter. A lovely Sabbath
rest.
Oh, yes: morels. Margie found a few, and Joe discovered a
thick stand of them as he walked back to the car. That too, was a success.
As
Christians our primary allegiance is to Jesus as Lord of all, and to God’s
kingdom in which he reigns over all things as sovereign. We live in an
in-between time, after the kingdom’s inauguration but before its final
consummation, when we acknowledge Christ as king yet realize a prince of
darkness actively disputes his right to the throne.
It is
always difficult to be in a now/not-yet situation. Living by kingdom values is
never easy—which is why it’s called a life of faith—and as our Lord promised,
doing so would never be popular in a world in revolt against its rightful
sovereign. It is hard to be content when things don’t always seem to be moving
in the correct direction. Waiting has never been a strong suit for fallen human
beings. And it is hard not to be seduced by visions and agendas that promise
relief and better times, if only they could be implemented by the powers that
be. Every political ideology—libertarianism, conservatism, liberalism,
progressivism, nationalism—takes an aspect of created reality, makes it central
and then builds a political vision and agenda around it. This is why each
usually has some good ideas and good proposals: each is rooted in an aspect of
created reality and so is not completely removed from life in a fallen world.
Which is what makes political ideologies attractive even to the people of God.
A great
deal is at stake in all this. The primary issue is God’s glory and the honor of
Christ as Lord of lords. Ideologies are grounded in something less than Christ,
and that is why the biblical term for ideologies is idolatry. Also at stake is
the integrity of Christ’s church. If political ideology supersedes commitment
to the gospel of the kingdom the church’s unity begins to crumble. And at stake
is the church’s witness to the gospel, because the perspective of a believer
shifts radically when they move from a kingdom vision to seeing things as an
ideology defines life and reality.
A gloomy “slouching toward Gomorrah”
view of culture leads, I think, to meanness. If we think we are on the losing
end of the arc of history, we slide into outrage. If we see ourselves, though,
as part of a kingdom that is triumphant in Christ, we ought to display a kind
of provocative tranquility. We see those who disagree with us not as
threatening to us or to our gospel, but those who, like all of us were, are
held captive to an accusing power. We speak with convictional kindness because
we love our neighbors, and because we are confident in our gospel. If the gates
of hell won’t prevail against Jesus’ onward march, then why are we terrified by
Hollywood or Capitol Hill? [Russell Moore, Ethics & Religious Liberty
Commission, Southern Baptist Convention]
I believe
Moore is correct, and in this brief statement has put his finger on something
we as Christians need to take seriously. As I read his words, several practical
questions came to mind. Reflecting on them can help us identify the extent to
which we have slid from a kingdom perspective towards an ideological framework
in our thinking, feeling, and doing.
1. Am I
discouraged, disappointed, or depressed after an election cycle, a Supreme
Court ruling or a legislative effort? It is true that in each case kingdom
values may cause us to prefer one outcome over another. Still, we know from
Scripture that there is ebb and flow in history. Read the Old Testament and see
how good and bad kings, moral and immoral leaders rose to power but never once
did God’s rule slip out of control. Our calling remains the same regardless of
the details, and that is to remain faithful to the kingdom of God. If our hope
is in God and his kingdom alone, we have reason for contentment and joy.
2. Do I
consider leaving a church or Christian fellowship because I disagree with the
politics of leaders or other members? Or as a variation on this, are there
people in my church I shun because I find their political views untenable? This
is, from a biblical perspective, an extremely important issue. It is dangerous
when we essentially see our political agendas as equal in significance to our
commitment to the historic orthodoxy of our faith. Christian unity is grounded
in the teaching of Scripture, summarized, for example in the beliefs of the
Apostle’s Creed and not in the values of a political vision. Make the wrong
choice here and our souls can be at stake.
3. Do we
tend to see the citizens that do not share my political views as rivals (to be
defeated or convinced) or as people I am called to befriend and love, even at
cost (economic, time, health, life, political) to myself? Ideologies and
agendas call their followers to work in order to win. The kingdom calls us to
set aside our preferences and rights in order to help those created in God’s
image to flourish though the gospel of Christ’s life, death, resurrection and
ascension. I fear that much of the younger generation dismisses the gospel as
irrelevant at least partly because of the politicization of the church.
4. Am I
content as a Christian being faithful in the political sphere of life when that
requires the hard work of being co-belligerents with disparate parties or
candidates on various issues at different times because no single party fully
embraces kingdom values and convictions? Because political ideologies are
ultimately rooted in some aspect of created reality, none are completely
separated from life. And there will be times we will need to abstain because no
option is available that adequately reflects the imperatives of God’s law and
character.
We need to
read St John’s Revelation regularly. Don’t read it as a puzzle to be solved (it
isn’t one) but as a series of imaginative visions (which they are). Each one is
actually fairly simple: God’s reign is disputed, God’s kingdom is challenged,
God’s righteousness prevails. It’s how the story ends, and the ending is
certain. And that is why we can be kingdom people now as we wait, and wonder, and
be content, and wait some more.
(Not in any particular order.)
1. Nutritional legalists at church potlucks.
2. Small critters that die deep in the bowels of an old
house that is full of charm but also, due to age, has untold numbers of little
cracks into the basement and crawl spaces beneath it.
3. CDs with no lyrics.
4. Humidity in summer.
5. Above freezing temperatures in winter.
6. Thousands of gallons of crude oil fouling water and land
while the company responsible Photoshop’s the pictures of its cleanup command
center.
7. Movies with narration or voice over. (In a few cases it
works, like in Shawshank Redemption,
becoming part of the story. In most cases it doesn’t.)
8. SUV drivers who don’t bother to park between the lines.
9. Sentimentality.
10. Cynicism.
I would be honored if you would feel free to add to this
list in your comments.
In Image, a superb journal for those interested in faith and the arts, poet Luci Shaw interviews theologian Eugene Peterson. A brief excerpt:
Luci Shaw: You have often warned us against our culture’s information overload—the overstimulation that comes with exposure to multiple media. As a public person, how have you avoided it yourself?
Eugene Peterson: It’s a conscious decision. I hesitate to say this, because everybody is different, but in my life I need a lot of silence. We don’t have a television. I don’t use the Internet. If I were doing a different kind of work, a different kind of life, I would use all those things. My children do, and if I need to know something I call them up, which I’m not embarrassed to do. It’s not a matter of a puritanical keeping myself free of the world. It’s just what I need.
Everybody needs to be cautious about their use of technology. One of the most important writers today is Albert Borgmann, who analyzes technology and how devastating it can be to human relations. He’s a Christian. He’s not against technology; he uses email.
I think Christians need to be very cautious about the culture. This is not a God-fearing, life-reverencing culture. We live in a pluralistic, spiritual, religious world where anything goes. We’ve got a revelation to protect; we’ve got a way of life to pursue. We need to be as clear and as accurate—and relaxed—as we can. I don’t think we need to be nervous and uptight and cautious in the way we live, but we need to be discerning, and then relax and have fun.
LS: This may be an audacious question, but what spiritual disciplines do you observe?
EP: I read scripture slowly. I pray. I worship. I once tried to coin a new word, scriptureprayer. This is a conversation. There is something to the Zen Buddhist discipline of emptying the mind, but that’s only part of it. We’ve received the word, and we’ve got to listen. There’s someone to listen to.
A caveat about the disciplines: I’m uneasy about the word discipline. It’s a useful word, which Richard Foster has brought back into the Protestant vocabulary. But in practice it often encourages people to take charge of their own spirituality. When you practice a discipline, you’re doing something. There’s not much relaxation. There’s not much letting go. Some people say to me, “You’re such a disciplined person.” I ran marathons for twenty years, but it wasn’t a discipline. I loved it. I wasn’t trying to accomplish anything. I have the same feeling about reading scripture, prayer, worship.
I was talking just this last week to a retired businessman. He led Bible studies for most of his life, but at some point he realized that he wasn’t getting it inside of him. He went to his pastor for advice, but his pastor couldn’t really help. So on his own, without any direction, he developed a system of lectio divina, almost exactly the way the books tell you how. He compiled huge notebooks of meditation and reflection on scripture. He told me he’d been doing this for ten years, that he’d wake up at five-thirty in the morning and he couldn’t wait to start. It wasn’t a discipline. It simply got inside of him.
Maybe discipline has become a cliché. Maybe there are new ways to talk about it. Maybe we’re right on the edge of that.
Source: a conversation between Luci Shaw and Eugene Peterson in Image: a journal of art, faith, & mystery (issue #62) pp. 72-73.
I don’t remember—no, scratch that. I was going to say I don’t remember when I’ve received so many fear-full emails from Christians as in the past couple of weeks leading up to this year’s election. But I do remember the last time. There were two times, actually: they were in the months leading up to Y2K and in the weeks leading up to Bill Clinton’s election. Now, my memory might be faulty, but as I remember, in neither case did the dreaded scenarios come to pass. But once again, the emails have been burning through cyberspace, warning of all sorts of horrible outcomes if we vote incorrectly.
About which I have a few reflections.
Reflection #1. We are a highly politicized people. I agree that Christians needs to be responsible citizens—that is a part of faithfulness as we live under Christ’s Lordship. But we must not be politicized—by which I mean grant the religious importance to politics that is common in our secularized society. Voting is important, but God remains sovereign. Our calling remains unchanged, and our gospel remains the power of God regardless of who is in the White House.
Reflection #2. We should work faithfully for just policies and vote for good leaders, without for a moment allowing our hope to rest in either. Or, to put it another way: Christians should never be either pessimistic or optimistic about politics (or about anything else in a fallen world, for that matter). We should remain hopeful, instead, whether the policy we seek to enact succeeds or fails, and whether the one whom we believe is the best candidate wins or loses.
Reflection #3. Even if you think you have a gift of prophesy, be humble about predicting the future. And if you claim to have that gift remember that the biblical standard is that all prophets whose predictions were less that 100% accurate in every single tiny detail were to be stoned.
Reflection #4. Know that fear—like guilt and shame, other common motivators in the emails I’ve received—are not how Christians should seek to persuade one another concerning what faithfulness looks like. Remember, we live before a watching world. If we are fearful over an election—an election! for goodness sake—what does that witness to our confidence in the sovereignty and grace of our heavenly Father?
Reflection #5. Cultivate Christian contentment so that it infuses, shapes, and informs every aspect of your citizenship—and our emails on the topic. “Christian contentment,” Jeremiah Burroughs (1599-1646) says, “is that sweet, inward, quiet, gracious, frame of spirit, which freely submits to and delights in God’s wise and fatherly disposal in every condition.” [The Rare Jewel of Christian Contentment].
