Lessons Learned From A Cigar

Greetings from the hump of 2021!

I think I speak for many when I say 2020 was cruel.  The pandemic compounded with lockdowns, fear of death, George Floyd, no toilet paper, racial tensions, #45, so many people dying, freefall economy, little positive sight of a future…fill in the blank.  All life was completely disrupted for the entire world.  For me it was my breaking point and I can only imagine what it was like for everyone else if I was feeling like this.  Thankfully as things on the family front were solid, work life also terrific, it was still chaotic and stressful.  Well, even though it's now 2021 and quickly moving to '22 I feel like 2020's cousin just moved in.  But one new way I discovered to get through the days was through cigars.  Years ago a few close friends introduced me to cigars but I could only get through half a cigar about every 2 years.  But in 2020, it became a nightly ritual and this new delight taught me new opportunities to begin to cope and learn some new things.  So here are a few lessons learned from my discovery:

Start With a Cut.  First things first. To start a cigar, you first must cut the top part so you can pull from it.  Cigar cutters come in all forms and sizes and prices (the cheap ones will do just fine by the way).  Right away, this prompts these life pro-tips learned from cigars first and foremost, that some things in life need to be cut away regularly as a lot of life's priorities will pull from us.  As a Christian and gardener, I appreciate this idea so much because this is called pruning (John 15.2).  Pruning is often initially painful while for some it comes as a relief until you see the magnificent effects and results.  Perhaps this is what 2020 and 21 is teaching us.  At other times pruning is simply fun - as in the case of the minimalist or the KonMari movement.  After pruning the results take months.  In every season, I f there’s something (or someone) that is holding you back from depth, progress, or joy then it's time to get out the cutters and the lighter.

Stay Ignited.  Which leads to the next pro-tip.  As a rookie I started off with one of those Bic lighters which got the job done but it took a while to light the cigar.  In fact, I would justify that the slower the flame the better.  But after talking with some friends and an actual cigar expert I was easily convinced to transition to one of those butane torches and thankfully one came to me free from Cigars International (thank you CI).  The cool thing about these torches is they're refillable and the extra butane is as cheap as buying replacement lighters or torches.  Depending on the cigar, some have to be relit a few times and if I need to take a bathroom or refill break, I'll need to relight my cigar.  Come to find out in life some things need a torch - like a flaming torch.  This is exceptionally true for me as a Christian, and this idea is way cooler than merely vying for a promotion at work.  In life you've got to stay ignited, especially if you want to level up in the realm of personal development and maturity (Proverbs 1:5, 3.5-7; 1 Peter 2.2; 1 Corinthians 13.11).  As someone who is a wholesale believer in Christ, anything good or lasting in life can only be empowered by the power of the Holy Spirit and His round-the-clock provisions of that power (John 16.13-14).  The story of Acts gives a helpful account about the ODs (original disciples) meeting and wondering about what to do now that the Messiah had been crucified, risen, and ascended back to His Kingdom.  Right then the Holy Spirit appeared with incredible anointing power and His presence was validated with little flames above each of the disciples' heads (Acts 2.3-4).  The details of this story are incredible.  In fact, outsiders thought they were drunk (Acts 2.13, lol).  I believe in the same way God, Jesus Christ, and Holy Spirit engaged disciples back then is no different than now, and outsiders will just not understand while others will want it.  So, what this means is I'm only effective when I'm in close proximity to the Holy Spirit and He will keep me ignited for every good work.  This relationship requires the commitment to sit still, listen, await anointing, and then obey immediately.  And not only that but engaging in quality personal education and mentorship with good friends who support me (and who I can also support) is one of the most wonderful ways to stay ignited.  And lest I be branded as a mystic, don't take my word for it.  Colossians 3:17 says “…whatever you do, in word or deed…” (see also 1 Corinthians 10.31).  I’m not only referring to so-called Church work, but every good work.  One lit cigar can light another as well (Matthew 5.16; 1 Corinthians 10.24; 2 Corinthians 1.4).  Need we say more?  So stay ignited.

Slow is smooth, smooth is fast.  Slow down…So I just learned the slower and smoother I puff the better the cigar smokes, and the less tired my mouth is too (lol).  It's the same in life.  Slow down…the thing I've loved about living in other countries is how stress-free people are when doing business of all kinds.  Speed is not a virtue.  Sure, the standard manipulations are present like in America but a lot of cultures outside America don't force time.  In fact, in most (if not all) cultures people take time...and lots of tea (and smokes) to build rapport as a priority before engaging in any type of business.  Genuine and sober character is valued above all of the thin hubris and happiness that is common in our culture.  For me, relearning this pro-tip has made all the difference and resulted in less stress and fatigue and better results (Proverbs 16.33; John 14.27).  It's awesome.  Indeed we work with all your might and as unto God, but just chill for a bit and let the Lord handle the outcomes…in His time.

Shrug off the ashes.  When I first started smoking cigars I didn’t know how to deal with the burning end of the cigar.  How soon or how late should you bump the ash into the tray?  It gets tricky because if you have a moist or sweet cigar the ashy end may stay for a long while without falling on you, but eventually and unpredictably it will fall on you unless you tap it into an ash tray.  But when the ashes crumble onto your clothes, it’s not a good idea to try and wipe them off.  Let me also affirm cigar etiquette here: the ashes or cigar but belong in an ash tray and are not to be just flicked around for someone else to deal with.  Offenses work the same way in life.  This has been particularly challenging for my self- awareness especially the more comfortable we get with others.  We too easily reduce our sensitivity to others and flick offenses and leave buts laying around oblivious to maintain sensitivity to our neighbors.  I've discovered one effective antidote is to this disease is to regularly  express genuine gratitude (1 Thessalonians5.18; Colossians3.15; Job 6.14).  In fact, for me flicking the ashes has now become a fun skill and practice.  Like in life, offenses fall on us like ashes whether from relatives, our partner, friends, work colleagues, or life.  Truth be told these offenses are not like sticks and stones.  We can then ruminate on these offenses and major in minors especially if we have baggage - and we do.  We can also be oblivious to and lack the self-awareness needed to recognize our own possible shortcomings and rough edges (James 1.9; 1 Timothy 4.12).  These perceived offenses are like ashes in the grand narrative, just simply not a big deal, and many (if not all) of life's personal attacks can be dealt with by simply taking a step back (or standing up), getting some understanding, some help, and ultimately shrugging them off (Psalm 1.1-2, 83.3; Proverbs 19.21, 20.18, 21.30).  A lot of things are first world or champagne problems and if it's absolutely difficult to get over things, get some professional help; pray, seek Scripture, talk with the Holy Spirit, an older trusted friend and if necessary, seek a therapist (Job 18.7; Proverbs 19.20,21).  Take time to process each day and take on lessons that can be learned for the future.  It's not healthy emotionally or physically to fester and try to concoct revenge or self-justification so shrug off the ashes.

Stay preserved.  You cannot leave a cigar sitting around.  This was by far the most insightful lesson I learned because a dried up (and rotten) cigar is simply disgusting.  There are no two ways around it, unless I’m really desperate which still isn’t worth it.  Like food products, cigars are perishable so they must be kept in a sealed, humidity-controlled environment.  It doesn’t cost much for the equipment necessary to keep a cigar preserved, and in fact I cannot afford not to keep my stash preserved.  So much can be said about this and I don’t want to overlook the obvious, and given our current climate we will go there.  As a Christian I am especially reminded of this daily (Psalm 37.1,35; 73.3,17).  As trust for authority continues to erode we remember that God is still on the throne, and still King.  I see so much cynicism, unruliness, violence, arrogance, ignorance, injustice, laziness, and real rebellion more than before.  While these behaviors are nothing new the feeling is that they are more pervasive than before and it has become difficult to live in this type of environment (2 Timothy 3.13).  I love the reminders and encouragement from Scripture and Christ that “…in Me you may have peace.  In the world you will have tribulation; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world” (John 16.33).  The Messiah, Emmanuel has proved Himself so therefore I love the Messiah, I trust the Messiah and I listen to Him and obey Him.  The reality is Jeshua, Jehovah, and the Holy Spirit are in control.  They ordain and preserve all events for their glory (Psalm 33.10-11).  They give us other believers as blessings to help preserve and edify each other, and the important thing to remember is that staying preserved cannot and should not be done on an island if we can help it (Proverbs 17.17; Psalm 66.9; John 17.11; Colossians 3.16; 1 Thessalonians 5.11).  I have a feeling the new status quo is here to stay so it’s a good idea to stay close to the one who preserves.  We cannot afford not to do so.

Stay warm.  Cigars are for every season, even winter and I'm not sophisticated enough to smoke indoors yet especially in summer and winter.  But when winter rolls around it's wise to grab a coat, more specifically a smoking jacket.  2020 presented a vast array of seasons for all of us, and for me it was a time of persevering, lamenting, introspection and pruning (Psalm 51.17; John 16.20).  Life comes in all seasons and sometimes it's tempting to give in to callousness and coldness so it's important to recognize that these seasons challenge our areas of immaturity (Ecclesiastes 3.4; see all of James 1).  Life comes with all sorts of winter, and we should be ready and not surprised.  A good start is the warmth of God’s counsel and the warm company of other Godly people (Proverbs 18.24; Hebrews 10.25).

Stand (or sit) with your back to the wind.  This is a little like #4 and #6.  Ideal conditions for a good cigar are a spring day with little to no wind, but life comes in all seasons.  I personally enjoy smoking outside so I make sure my back is to the wind which is always present to any degree.  Just recently I experienced smoking in a sandstorm (and now I can cross that off my life list).  This principle still worked flawlessly.  It is said that "there are times when you can do the right thing in the wrong wind."  I like to think of the relationship between an airplane and the wind in which the former benefits greatly from the latter.  Or the weights and machines at a gym.  In life this is not to say to ignore or dismiss your trials, critics, opposers, or some legitimate limitations but standing with your face to the wind sometimes yields poor results.  From the wind I've learned we will all definitely always have setbacks, critics, and haters, but I don't need to constantly pay attention to them or they will paralyze me and ultimately hold me back – especially my inner critic.  Conversely flattery can be as dangerous because it affirms what you may already think of yourself, so "don't be afraid of enemies who can attack you but friends who flatter you" (Carnegie).  On the other hand China's Lao Tzu said, "Care about what other people think and you will always be their prisoner."  I think the point is to avoid focusing on critics and the past (or past mistakes) or run the risk of staying stuck in the past.  Conversely I've also learned to appreciate critics and trials - opposing winds - because they will provide special insight into ways to improve personal and professional development.  Like #4, when we harness criticism and opposition and take time to bounce these personal and perceived criticisms or attacks off the counsel of the Holy Spirit, close and trusted friends and advisers it serves greatly to our advantage.  Sometimes, as Proverbs says, these criticisms may serve as correction for the wise so that we become prudent…if we’re wise (Proverbs 1.7; 15.5).  Proverbs also puts the opposite perfectly, “Do not answer a fool according to his folly, or you yourself will be just like him” (Proverbs 26.4).  Yikes, as a leader (and if you’re a leader) this is potent yet sometimes difficult because it's [often] not wise to correct a fool when you want or need to, and I've learned to neither (or just never) argue with a fool either way.  This counsel is affirmed in Holy Scripture and nearly all cultures.  In life if you have to endure a fool just don't say anything, and you CAN just walk away.

Sip a good drink to complement your cigar. This is my favorite part of each day and it doesn't *always* need to include alcohol.  But this ritual is a time to chill for a moment and do the above because it’s so enjoyable and can open up quality time to recharge especially with my wife and friends.  I've personally found coffee, Ginger ale, or Whiskey or Scotch on the weekend to be great liquid companions for my cigar (Psalm 104.15; John 2; 1 Tim 5.33).

 

The Crisis of Evangelicalism

Original title: “Political Dealing: The Crisis of Evangelicalism”

Initial Publication April 20, 2018

 “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death—even death on a cross.” (Phil 2:5–8)

 This was speech was given by Fuller Seminary President Dr. Mark Labberton at a private meeting of evangelical leaders held at Wheaton College in Chicago, Illinois, on April 16, 2018. The following has been edited from his notes for clarity and to give context to excerpts that have been disseminated elsewhere.

…

This gathering is not an occasion for celebration of evangelicalism, however. This gathering emerges instead from worry, sorrow, anger, and bewilderment—whether we are Democrats or Republicans.  Christians in both parties found the others’ candidate patently unacceptable, leading to fierce division. Many felt cornered without a genuine choice when the issues represented are complex and fear is justified. This is not the first or last time the body of Christ has gathered in lament.  When evangelical leaders like us gather, it is often with a spirit of optimistic hope, known for “pressing on” in the work of the gospel. For me, this is not a time of pressing on. I feel a personal urgency to stop, to pray, to listen, to confess, and to repent and want to call us to do the same.

Only the Spirit “who is in the world to convict us of sin and righteousness and judgment” (John 16:8) can bring us to clarity about the crisis we face.  As I have sought that conviction, here is what I have come to believe: The central crisis facing us is that the gospel of Jesus Christ has been betrayed and shamed by an evangelicalism that has violated its own moral and spiritual integrity.

This is not a crisis imposed from outside the household of faith, but from within.  The core of the crisis is not specifically about Trump, or Hillary, or Obama, or the electoral college, or Comey, or Mueller, or abortion, or LGBTQIA+ debates, or Supreme Court appointees. Instead the crisis is caused by the way a toxic evangelicalism has engaged with these issues in such a way as to turn the gospel into Good News that is fake. Now on public display is an indisputable collusion between prominent evangelicalism and many forms of insidious racist, misogynistic, materialistic, and political power. The wind and the rain and the floods have come, and, as Jesus said, they will reveal our foundation.  In this moment for evangelicalism, what the storms have exposed is a foundation not of solid rock but of sand.

This is not a crisis taking place at the level of language. This is not about who owns or defines the term “evangelical,” and whether one does—or does not—choose to identify as such.  It is legitimate and important to debate if and how the term “evangelical” can currently be used in the United States to mean anything more than white, theologically and politically conservative. But that is not itself the crisis. The crisis is not at the level of our lexicon, but of our lives and a failure to embody the gospel we preach.  We may debate whether the word “evangelical” can or should be redeemed. But what we must deal with is the current bankruptcy many associate with evangelical life.

This is not a crisis unfolding at the level of group allegiance, denomination, or affiliation.  The varied reality that is American evangelicalism is evidenced in this room.  We have no formal hierarchy, leadership, or structure and form no single organization, but are sorted and divided today as we have been—for better and worse—for much of our history.  Some might wish for a clearer distinction between those who call themselves fundamentalist and those who call themselves evangelical. We might look to varying traditions or geographies to explain our division. These distinctions matter but can easily devolve into scapegoating or blaming, diverting us from our vocation as witness to God’s love for a multifaceted world.

This is not a recent crisis but a historic one.  We face a haunting specter with a shadow that reaches back further than the 2016 election—a history that helps define the depth of the sorrow, fear, anger, anxiety, and injustice around us. Today’s egregious collusion between evangelicals and worldly power is problematic enough: more painful and revealing is that such collusion has been our historic habit. Today’s collusion bears astonishing—and tragic—continuity with the past.

Right alongside the rich history of gospel faithfulness that evangelicalism has affirmed, there lies a destructive complicity with dominant cultural and racial power. Despite deep gospel confidence and rhetoric, evangelicalism has been long-wedded to a devastating social self-interest that defends the dominant culture over and against that of the gospel’s command to love the “other” as ourselves.  We are not naïve in our doctrine of sin that prefers self over all, but we have failed to recognize our own guilt in it.

Our professed trust in Jesus has not led evangelicals to die to ourselves, but often to justify our own self-assertion—even when that means complicity in the suffering and death of others. The scandal associated today with the evangelical gospel is not the scandal of the Cross of Christ, crucified for the salvation of the world.  Rather it is the scandal of our own arrogance, unconfessed before the Cross, revealing a hypocritical superiority that we dare to associate with the God who died to save the weak and the lost.

In order to be concrete about this, let me choose what I believe to be the top four arenas in which this violation of spiritual and moral character has shown itself:

First is the issue of power. 

Our primary confession that “Jesus is Lord” is a statement about power.  “The gospel is the power of God unto salvation, to the Jew first and also to the Greek” (Rom 1:16).  This is our hope and confidence, and as those who seek to live in the kingdom of God, we profess that Jesus is Lord and all other power must be reframed in light of this reality. The Apostle Paul says it this way:  “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death—even death on a cross” (Phil 2:5–8).

In much of the last century, American evangelicalism has had a complex relationship with power.  On one hand, it has felt itself marginalized and repudiated, defeated and silenced. On the other, it has often seemed to seek—even fawn over—worldly power, mimicking in the church forms of power evident in our culture. (I remember being at a conference where it was announced we should all be back after dinner for “an evening of star-studded worship.”) An evangelical dance with political power has been going on from the time of Billy Graham, through the Moral Majority and the religious right, to the Tea Party, and most recently with the white evangelical vote—the result being, as honorary Chairman of the Lausanne Movement Doug Birdsall has said, “When you Google ‘evangelical,’ you get Trump.”

This points to an evangelical crisis over so many issues of power: racial, political, economic, cultural, right against left, Republican against Democrat, rich against poor, white against black, men against women, and so on. But winning power was the goal of Judas, not Jesus. A Faustian pact between evangelicals and power—even when claimed on behalf of the kingdom—cannot be entered in the name of Jesus Christ without betraying the abdication of power inherent in the incarnation. “For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son . . . .” (John 3:16)

Abuse of power is central in the national debates of the moment.  Whether we think about US militarism, or mass incarceration, or the #MeToo movement (or mistreatment of women in general), or the police shootings of unarmed, young, black men, or the actions of ICE toward child and adult immigrants, or gun use and control, or tax policy—all this is about power.  The apparent evangelical alignment with the use of power that seeks dominance, control, supremacy, and victory over compassion and justice associates Jesus with the strategies of Caesar, not with the good news of the gospel.

Second is the issue of race.

 The Bible knows all people to be fully human, fearfully and wonderfully made in God’s image, knit together in our mother’s womb. All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God, not just those who arrive as poor, hard-working immigrants fleeing violence or those wasting away in private prisons.  All are dead and in Christ made alive, and the evidence of the resurrection is that the peculiar body of God’s people, a new humanity of Jew and Greek, slave and free, male and female, are to be the evidence of a resurrected God. This is the glory of creation and new creation.

Those of us who are white evangelicals must acknowledge that our story is intertwined with, and often responsible for, much of the violence and oppression around racial injustice in our American story.  The stories of Native American, African American, Latino/a, or Asian peoples in the history of the United States cannot be told truthfully without naming the role of white evangelicals who testified to a God of redemption but whose theological, political, social, and economic choices contributed to suffering and injustice.  Stories of devastation are often absent from a happier white evangelical narrative of promised-land life, or buried in a sanitized story that claims that past injustice is not relevant for people of color today—despite the fact that nearly all people of color experience racism and its implications every day around the nation, including those in this room today.   

This unreckoned-with reality of white evangelical racism permeates American life, and its tinderbox was lit on fire by the rhetoric of our national life in recent years—whether in reference to Ferguson, or Charlottesville, or “shithole countries” deemed without value. White history narrates the story of America’s heroes, and white evangelical history views those “good guys” as the providence of a good and faithful God.  When some white evangelicals triumphantly pronounce that we now have “the best president the religious right ever had,” the crisis it underscores to millions of people of color is not an indictment of our President as much as it is an indictment of white evangelicalism and a racist gospel.

Third is the issue of nationalism.

One of Israel’s particular temptations was to suppose that because the God of Israel was great, the people of Israel must be great, too.  No wonder God needed to remind them, “It was not because you were more in number than any other people that the LORD set his love on you and chose you, for you were the fewest of all peoples . . .” (Deut 7:7).  In the greatness of the God of Israel we are reminded of a national life to be centered not in its own greatness, or as the right of its people, but fixed in gratitude and faithfulness and humility before God and, from the New Testament, in service to the God who gave his Son out of love for the world.

By dramatic contrast, nationalism gives pride of place to ourselves, to regional or national assertions of primacy and the quest for power and success, control and dominance, legitimizing violence and pressing for victory.  Nationalism reveals that we have mis-ordered worship. Religiously motivated nationalism simply turns God into our “godling,” a deity subject to our bidding.

In the complex world of global politics and economics, religion and militarism, markets and globalization, nationhood is part of the shifting landscape of human powers and forces.  In a Christian hierarchy of kingdom values, nationhood has a legitimate place, but not a central or a top-tier one—and never one that displaces the authority of God.

For white evangelicals to embrace a platform and advocacy that promotes, prioritizes, and defends America above all and over all is to embrace an idolatry that has only ever proven disastrous.  Respect for nationhood, including borders and immigration, the rule of law, both internally and among the field of nations, are surely legitimate and defensible values. However, identification with the use of demeaning rhetoric toward other nations, not least nations of color that are facing the challenges of poverty and war, is not only confusing but violating to the dignity, value, and truth of the gospel. It is, as well, violating to the people we otherwise claim to see, serve, join, and love—nations to which, ironically, American evangelicals annually send millions of dollars for mission and evangelism.  A legitimate debate about immigration laws and practices is surely necessary, as difficult as it may be. But that debate is distorted if it begins with nationalistic assumptions.

The current administration’s rhetoric may be odious, pejorative, and totalizing against our international neighbors—yet we, too, demonstrate a gospel of fake good news when we ignore any needs or concerns that threaten our self-interests.  In a pluralistic population, debates over such things as immigration policy are legitimate and bound to be contentious. But when it seems that white evangelicals endorse self-interest through political speech that is nationalistic and demeaning to others, our central commitments do not reflect Jesus Christ, but rather a cold, white heart.

The people of God are to follow an enemy-loving God, as exemplified by the life of Jesus.  This is part of the call to our new and peculiar life. This is not meant to dictate national foreign policy, but to hold the people of God to a more severe and demanding standard, calling on our conscience when it comes to foreign policy in relation to the citizens of foreign, militarized, even violent states who are equally loved by God.

Fourth is the issue of economics. 

It is very hard to read the Bible and ignore God’s heart for the poor and the vulnerable.  Built into the faithfulness to which Israel is called are boundaries on personal wealth, stewardship for the common good, and relief and provision for the poor, the alien, and the widow.  Long before free market capitalism had developed, the God of Israel, the God revealed in Jesus Christ, was shown to bend toward mercy, with justice for the poor. It was one of Israel’s most distinctive priorities and practices. 

The life of Jesus underscores these themes throughout his public ministry. The dangers of power and greed, stoked by the biases of money and wealth, distort our lives.  The faithfulness of Christians in our economic and social vision and practice are to be reflective of God who reorders all these to the purposes of the kingdom. The social practices of the church are to demonstrate the presence of God as light and salt in an otherwise dark and savorless world.

American evangelicals have often divided over the significance of life this side of eternity, sometimes understanding the eschaton in ways that marginalize the significance of economics or race.  Yet the gracious magnanimity of God’s heart should be visible by the same magnanimity and grace we taste at the shared table and that is demonstrated toward our neighbor.

When white evangelicals in prominent and wealthy places speak about what is fair and beneficial for society, but then pass laws and tax changes that create more national indebtedness and elevate the top 1% even higher—while cutting services and provisions for children, the disabled, and the poor that are castigated as disgusting “entitlements”—one has to ask how this is reconciled with being followers of Jesus.  The complexities of social support for the vulnerable in our society certainly can and should be debated, but when the instigators of change are serving elite interests and disregarding the 99%, it is very hard to recognize the influence of the gospel narrative on compassion, let alone justice.

Still Evangelical or Yet Evangelical?

Absorbing all this, I am forced to kneel in confession, with trust that “the One who has begun a good work in us will bring it to completion in the day of Jesus Christ” (Phil 1:6).  Though I would like to think all this has little to do with me or with my evangelical point of view, I know I am among the guilty. The condemnation of a gospel life poorly lived sticks to me closer than I can see or know. It has significant implications for what it means to be president of an esteemed evangelical theological seminary—one that is highly racially diverse and yet predominantly white-cultured (not least at the senior levels of leadership); that has 70 countries represented in its student body but is still too Western-oriented; that strongly affirms women in ministry and leadership yet falls short in empowering their voices.

What brings me hope is something recorded at the end of the gospel of Matthew.  Matthew 28 contains the great commission and clarion call of our evangelical identity, but often less noted is the sentence just before the commission itself. The text simply says, “Now the eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them. When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted.” It was to fewer than the full 12, and to these not-so-sure believer/doubters, that Jesus gave the Great Commission anyway.  From the start, he called believer/doubters to the task, so perhaps he can also still use American evangelicals as well. Rather than take a defensive posture, may we open ourselves to the repentant and hopeful posture that God will make us yet truly adherents to the “evangel” at the heart of our association. The evangelical mission is God’s from start to finish.

The Lord Jesus Christ gathers us here for real work.  May it be a work of grace that moves us to repentance, leading to personal and systemic change.  May it move us deeper into the life and heart of God.

Source: https://www.fuller.edu/posts/political-dealing-the-crisis-of-evangelicalism/

The Ancient Jews Carried Trauma And Joy Into Their New Lives. We Can, Too

 

Blessings and greetings from the Sinai Peninsula.  There are profound Biblical and historical perspectives being here in all the five senses…well six (+ spirit too).  For virtually everyone on this dear planet, life has been difficult and traumatic as the events of the era we’re living in continue to assault our hope, our health, and our peace.  I came across a helpful commentary in this week’s Sinai/Israel headlines that blessed me with a fresh dose of perspective and hope.  As much as it blessed me, I hope it blesses you too.  Blessed Passover and Easter Fam (1 Corinthians 5:7)! 

The Ancient Jews Carried Trauma And Joy Into Their New Lives. We Can, Too

by Jessica Ullian, March 30, 2021

“Passover, the Jewish holiday that commemorates the ancient Jews’ liberation from slavery in Egypt, arrived three weeks into our 2020 quarantine. We adapted last year, moving our family seder dinners to Zoom — quickly learning its limitations with group singing. On the second night of Passover, we began counting the Omer, the 49-day period that’s connected to the harvest and to the holiday of Shavuot, when the Jews received the Torah at Mount Sinai.

It’s difficult, already, to remember the specifics from those early weeks of the pandemic. Uncertainty and fear colored every moment. Each day brought a new, terrifying milestone as COVID-19 cases and deaths rose, and our return to school and work was delayed indefinitely. But back then, 49 days seemed just distant enough to hold promise; maybe, I hoped, the pandemic would be under control in those seven weeks, and we’d be back to normal.

Instead, our quarantine year anniversary has passed, and a second Zoom Seder with it. I’m counting the Omer again this year, with a new blend of emotions: grief, resignation, a touch of superstition — should I repeat my rituals from 2020, or consider them cursed? Yet I’m also counting the days with a stronger sense of hope. I don’t believe in “back to normal” anymore; with all the losses of this year, normal is a state many of us can’t reach. I do believe in better, though, and these days I wake up knowing that some version of better lies ahead.

At Passover, we re-tell the story of the ancient Jews’ escape from Egypt: the plagues raining upon Pharaoh, the Jews fleeing so quickly there wasn’t time to let the bread rise, the Red Sea miraculously parting to let them through. When we begin counting the Omer on the second night, we’re continuing the story: we fled Egypt as a group, but didn’t become what most of us recognize as “the Jewish people” until we received the Torah at Mount Sinai. That’s what we celebrate on Shavuot, after counting those 49 days: the moment we agreed, collectively, on the shared identity and principles that bound us together.

This year, I find myself wondering about that in-between time in a new way. I’d always envisioned the ancient Jews leaving Egypt with joy and excitement about a life of freedom. In truth, many must have been terrified and unsure. They probably worried about what lay ahead, and doubted their compatriots along the way. Counting the Omer, and celebrating Shavuot, are a reminder that it’s not always so easy to emerge from trauma; it takes time to heal, and trust in one another to become whole again.

This past year, we have all been living through trauma, and it feels hard to become whole. There has been so much loss, so much bitterness, so much disappointment and distrust to bear. We’ve battled our teachers, our neighbors and our family members. We have not embraced, sufficiently, a shared sense of identity and responsibility for each other.

By counting the Omer this year, I’m allowing myself to sit with this darkness, even as we move toward some light. Taking it day by day, I find myself more patient with the process, more grateful for how far we’ve come already. At this time last year, our playgrounds were blocked off with caution tape; this weekend, my children played for hours, masked, with friends. Last year, we worried about finding groceries; now, we’re adept at scheduling curbside pickups. Last year, we held two Seders on Zoom; this year, we braved the rain and gathered in our backyard for the holiday's second night, in a small group at a safe distance.

It wasn’t anything like normal, but it felt like a moment of triumph, and a reason for joy.

When the ancient Jews received the Torah, it didn’t bring the story to a neat and tidy ending. The pandemic won’t have one, either. There are losses we won’t ever get over; many of us will be hurting for a long time. But with each passing day, I know that I’ve held on this far, and can hold on a little longer. By the time we finish counting the Omer in May, we’ll have long days of warmth and light waiting for us. This year, that’s enough. 

 1"Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, 2 fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. 3 Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart." (Hebrews 12:1-3)

Death Rehearsal

 By John Piper

You sweep them away as with a flood; they are like a dream, like grass that is renewed in the morning: in the morning it flourishes and is renewed; in the evening it fades and withers. . . . So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom. (Psalm 90:5–6, 12)

             For me, the end of a year is like the end of my life. And 11:59 pm on December 31 is like the moment of my death.

The 365 days of the year are like a miniature lifetime. And these final hours are like the last days in the hospital after the doctor has told me that the end is very near. And in these last hours, the lifetime of this year passes before my eyes, and I face the inevitable question: Did I live it well? Will Jesus Christ, the righteous Judge, say “Well done, good and faithful servant” (Matthew 25:21)?

I feel very fortunate that this is the way my year ends. And I pray that the year’s end might have the same significance for you.

The reason I feel fortunate is that it is a great advantage to have a trial run at my own dying. It is a great benefit to rehearse once a year in preparation for the last scene of your life. It is a great benefit because the morning of January 1 will find most of us still alive, at the brink of a whole new lifetime, able to start fresh all over again.

The great thing about rehearsals is that they show you where your weaknesses are, where your preparation was faulty; and they leave you time to change before the real play in front of a real audience.

I suppose for some of you the thought of dying is so morbid, so gloomy, so fraught with grief and pain that you do your best to keep it out of your minds, especially during holidays. I think that is unwise and that you do yourself a great disservice. I have found that there are few things more revolutionizing for my life than a periodic pondering of my own death.

How do you get a heart of wisdom so as to know how best to live? The psalmist answers:

          You sweep them away as with a flood; they are like a dream, like grass that is renewed in the morning: in the morning it flourishes and is renewed; in the evening it fades and withers. . . . So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom. (Psalm 90:5–6, 12)

Numbering your days simply means remembering that your life is short and your dying will be soon. Great wisdom — great, life-revolutionizing wisdom — comes from periodically pondering these things.

The criterion of success, that Paul used to measure his life, was whether he had kept the faith. “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Henceforth there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will award to me on that day, and not only to me but also to all who have loved his appearing” (2 Timothy 4:7–8). Let this be our test at year’s end.

And if we discover that we did not keep the faith this past year, then we can be glad, as I am, that this year-end death is (probably) only a rehearsal, and a whole life of potential faith-keeping lies before us in the next year.

Source: https://www.desiringgod.org/articles/death-rehearsal?utm_campaign=Solid+Joys&utm_medium=email&_hsmi=104897017&_hsenc=p2ANqtz-8944i3NO0mtlUbbQ-ozcnBdER3Pb-EqcbVuGYOzp84HiYuG9PDv8XmtO0I2jO8k5N8DmAoRCnTZ4ciaRUaPPDzfRmy3Q&utm_content=104897017&utm_source=hs_email

Tom Skinner Urbana 1970

https://youtu.be/bvKQx4ycTmA 

Tom Skinner Was Not The Evangelical Radical You’re Looking For

By Jesse Curtis

Originally published April 15, 2019

The black evangelist Tom Skinner has often been portrayed as a kind of radical figure who challenged white evangelicals to confront racism. His speech at the 1970 Urbana Conference is particularly famous (that is, famous in the small world of black evangelical history).

It seems to me this reputation glosses over significant changes over time and evolution in Skinner’s thought. When he burst on the scene in 1966, he was a more complicated figure than the radical image implies. His views in 1970 should not be retroactively applied to the 1966-1968 period. Here’s an excerpt from an in-progress draft of a dissertation chapter:

Skinner represented a new kind of bridge figure between white evangelicalism and African Americans. It had long been the case, as Bob Harrison complained, that black Christians were encouraged to minister among their own people and steer clear of challenging white entitlement to spiritual authority. But white evangelicals did not imagine Skinner’s evangelistic crusades through the traditional parameters of segregated ministries. In fact, when Skinner came to town for a crusade, local white evangelical college students were encouraged to help out. Simply by supporting Skinner they were doing something meaningful about the nation’s racial troubles. He was less an outcast from white evangelicalism, as Harrison had sometimes felt himself to be in the 40s and 50s, and more an ambassador. Said Christianity Today, “Skinner has created a great deal of interest among evangelicals who worry vaguely that they might be missing the boat.”[1] In this project Skinner’s blackness was crucial and revealing of the ways the civil rights movement had upset racial norms in evangelicalism. Bob Harrison’s blackness had made him an outsider. Skinner’s blackness enabled him to act as a liminal figure, a provisional insider in two religio-racial communities at once. By the summer of 1967, Christianity Today was telling its readers that Skinner deserved their “fullest support.”[2]

Skinner was not afraid to make white evangelicals uncomfortable. They were “almost totally irresponsible” in their avoidance of their black brethren, and it was only the pressures of the civil rights movement that had belatedly stirred them from their complacency. He blasted white evangelicals who piously intoned that “Jesus was the answer” while refusing to get involved in the problem. Skinner believed Jesus was the answer too. But he had skin in the game, and he expected other evangelicals to join him. Yet it was precisely this supplicatory undertone that made Skinner’s criticisms manageable. For all the discomfort his words could cause, he did not doubt that white evangelicals had the correct theology on the point that mattered most, and he asked them to help him bring their theology to the ghetto. Christianity Today approvingly noted that Skinner “plays down social insurgence in his sermons because he feels that reform may take ‘sixty years’ but that regeneration through Christ can help now.”[3] To put it baldly, converted Negroes were not rioting Negroes.

Remarkably, Skinner’s criticisms of white evangelicals were tame compared to his open contempt for the black church. He described most black churches as bastions of excessive emotionalism and spiritual immaturity, led by ministers given over to sexual immorality and hypocrisy.[4] As a result, he claimed, “There is hardly any Christian witness in the ghetto.”[5] There’s little reason to suppose Skinner’s hostility toward the black church was anything but sincere, but it also proved useful. It flattered white evangelical assumptions of religio-racial superiority….

[1] “The Gospel with Candor,” Christianity Today, October 14, 1966, 53-54.

[2] “Summer of Racial Discontent,” Christianity Today, July 21, 1967, 27

[3] “The Gospel with Candor,” Christianity Today, October 14, 1966, 53-54.

[4] Skinner, Black and Free, 45-53.

[5] Skinner, Black and Free, 32.