It happens in ways you might not imagine. From my post at TheGospelUncensored.com:
However, the unusual thing about the Gospel is that it is typically not censored in the Western world by removing anything. The Gospel is censored — suppressed and deleted — by adding to it.
Read the full post here.
My former pastor and continued friend, Ken Blue, calls the parable of the Prodigal Son The Greatest Story Ever Told. I am guessing that of all of Jesus’ parables, this one — found only in the Gospel of Luke (15:11-32) — has to be the most well-known. I knew is well as a child, hearing it in Sunday School as well as in church, both as the Gospel reading for the day and as a few sermon topics.
It is a truly great story. It has everything (except for a love interested): family issues, a great deal of sin, inner conflict, sibling rivalry, a change of heart, and a happy ending. (Well, sort of — the elder son still has issues at the end of the story, and as I’ll deal with in an upcoming post, it’s up to the audience to determine how that resolves.)
As with most people (as is obvious from the popular title of the story) as a child I was focused on the younger, prodigal son. The prodigal is the obvious focus, as this is who we follow in the story; we really don’t know much about what the Father and the good son were up to while the prodigal sowed his wild oats.
The story begins like an old Vaudeville joke; imagine George Burns: “A man had two sons…” Jesus, of course, was a great storyteller, and no doubt had the crowd’s undivided attention as he began (actually, this is the third in a series of three stories about the recovery of something presumed lost).
The younger son, according to Jewish law, would get a lesser portion of the inheritance when the father died. Rather than wait around for this, and obviously not placing any value in his relationship with his father, requests his share of the inheritance now. Essentially, he says, “Our relationship is as good as dead now, so let’s quit pretending.” The father, rather than just kicking him out into the cold, agrees to the son’s demand.
The prodigal takes off and starts to party. He breaks as many commandments as he can, until suddenly he finds himself stung out, broke, homeless and hungry. He’s got a part time job feeding pigs, perhaps the worst job a good Jewish boy could imagine.
He realizes that there’s food back at his Father’s place, and he devises a plan. At this point, he still isn’t looking for relationship, nor is he looking for forgiveness. He just wants food. He knows his father’s business, and figures that his father may hire him on and let him sleep in the barn; at least he’ll be inside.
The amazing thing about this story is that if you read it a certain way, the prodigal remains a jerk throughout the story. As a child, I’m not sure I understood this part; in fact, most people don’t seem to. Most people imagine that some kind of repentance happened, that the prodigal’s “I am no longer worthy” speech indicates humility and that he is mourning the loss of relationship. However, the son’s speech could just be a clever attempt to diffuse his father’s presumed anger so he can make his pitch: “Hey, I know I blew it, so don’t preach at me. I’m not asking to rejoin the family, just let me be one of the day-laborers.”
I was a good kid, always afraid of getting in trouble or having my parents mad at me. I was, for the most part, Charlie Brown. I couldn’t really imagine why any son would act like the prodigal; that part of the story was a mystery to me. I understood, however, that the father in the story symbolized God, and that even if I did run off and do bad things, God would always be my father. He would never stop loving me, and it didn’t matter whether I was truly repentant or not; all that mattered was that I knew where my home was.
To some people, whether the prodigal really repented or not is of great importance. God will forgive you and welcome you back, but only if you’re really, sincerely sorry. Any attempt to scam God, and you’re out on your ear. You’ve got to really know that you’re a sinner, and that God by rights should be dangling you by your feet over the fires of Hell. If you can manage to scrape together enough sincerity, God will turn back into the loving Father-God.
In truth, it doesn’t matter. Pay close attention to the father’s response — he doesn’t even listen to the prodigal’s speech! As soon as he sees his son, before he can even hear him, the father is running down the road to embrace and welcome his son home. It didn’t matter to the father why his son was coming home, only that he was within reach.
You see, the father never disowned the prodigal; the son may have wandered off, and he may have imagined that he was an orphan, but in reality he never lost his place in the family. We remain children of God by His love and grace, not ours.
For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. (Rom. 8:38,39 NIV)
Questions:
For children, as you may recall, the world is a very unsettling place. Parents often take the place of God for children, which is one of the reasons I believe God invented them. Parents model God to their children. Parents, though, are all too human (I’m a parent, so I am painfully aware of this fact); sometimes they let us down. However, I understood early on that while parents and other people can and will fail us, God never fails. He is perfectly trustworthy, always, even when it seems He isn’t listening.
Of course, the reality about trusting God is that you don’t need to do it — or at least it’s quite easy — when everything is going well. When we really need to trust God, it’s typically because we’re in some kind of crisis. Either we are fearful of the future, or we are fearful of the present. We find ourselves in some situation where we know we lack control, and distrust our own ability and the abilities of those around us.
The rest of the time, we probably don’t even think about trusting in God; we can take God for granted. Even when we think we are trusting God, often we are merely trusting in something we can see, and imagine that God is standing behind the scenes, pulling strings like some invisible Geppetto. For example, I can trust God for my finances because I happen to have money in the bank. If that were not the case, I’m sure I’d look at life a bit differently.
I do hate when my ability to trust in God is really tested. The first time I can recall really having my faith challenged was the day before my fourteenth birthday. We were having a terrible rainstorm, and I was in our entryway trying to keep rain from pouring under the door, when my aunt came bursting in. Within a few moments we understood that my uncle had been in a terrible car accident at an intersection about a half-mile from my house. Had it not been storming so hard, we probably could have heard the impact and could have seen the crash site (I lived on a country gravel road). Of course, had it not been raining so hard, my uncle may have seen the other car coming.
I recall sitting in our car outside the hospital emergency room, praying harder than I had ever prayed in my life that my uncle would be okay. Eventually, my parents came out to tell me he had been dead at the scene.
At that moment, I was confused. Could we or could we not trust God? Why were my prayers completely ignored? I don’t recall how I eventually worked through the issues, but I do know that my faith in God remained, even if I never understood why God didn’t save my favorite uncle.
Trust is like grace; you aren’t aware of how much you need it until you need it. The whole concept of trusting God would be moot if we didn’t have the need to trust in God. Because we live in an imperfect “world, with devils filled” that “should threaten to undo us,” as Martin Luther wrote (A Mighty Fortress), our ability to trust will be tested. This is not to say that God “tests” our faith to see whether He’ll save us or not. Rather, I think it’s like testing a parachute — you only really know it works after you’ve jumped out of the plane.
I am not claiming any kind of unique ability to trust; in fact, I’ll claim the opposite. I admittedly am a very weak and often undisciplined person. I have never been “religious” simply because I fail at it so miserably. I require loads of grace, even to get through one day. Part of the grace that I have been given is the knowledge that God is there, and that I have to trust Him, no matter what.
I am often unable to put on that strong, “man of faith” persona that some people expect from Christians. I don’t think trust requires us to be brave or strong at all. Trust by definition requires us to be weak, to recognize that we’re completely helpless without God. There are times when I am totally freaking out. I have occasional panic attacks. I have suffered from nearly every stress-related condition you can think of. However, deep down I know without a doubt that God is there, and I have no choice but to trust Him, even — or perhaps especially — in the darkest moments.
Questions:
Some of us who attended Sunday School as children will recall the song that goes,
Be careful little eyes what you see
Be careful little eyes what you see
The Father up above is looking down in love
So be careful little eyes what you see
Although I sang this song as a child, I don’t recall having any particular thoughts about it. However, I know people for whom this song brings back feelings of dread, and you can see why. While it presents itself as a nice, sweet little song and even says that God looks down “in love,” it has very ominous overtones, akin to Sting’s “Every Breath You Take.”
The message is clear: Don’t screw up, because God is watching and He’d be very, very disappointed. The song presents itself as loving, but it’s really intended to produce a sense of shame – and as many have unfortunately discovered, shame can be controlled (the reason behind anyone saying, “Shame on you!”).
Why do we do this to our children? For that matter, why do we still do this to ourselves? Here’s a dose of reality: If the only reason we aren’t doing something is because we know someone is watching, then we’re not really any holier than if we just went ahead and sinned. Wasn’t this Jesus’ point in Matthew 5? It’s not our actions so much as our desires. Certainly our actions have earthly consequences (which is reason for curbing certain damaging behavior), but spiritually speaking, it really doesn’t matter. If I hit you, I’ve both hurt you and committed a crime, and you could have me arrested for battery. If I only want to hit you, I can’t be charged with anything, but I’ve still committed a sin.
Pietists think that by managing sin-deeds, we become more holy. The truth is, when we let God love us, we become holy, and we don’t want to sin (or at least a little less than we did in the past; it is a process). Sin management doesn’t make people holy, it only makes them hypocrites.
Now, this doesn’t mean that what I will call “holiness reminders” aren’t helpful; holiness reminders are like the advice that Paul always gave in his letters – things like, “submit to each other” and “love is patient and kind, not arrogant or boastful.” These things remind us of our goal, that state of perfection that God is taking us to (and also make living with each other a lot easier), so we can do an internal check to see where we need to ask for God’s help.
Holiness is an act of grace, not of our will. As Paul wrote to the Galatians, “Are you so foolish? Having begun by the Spirit, are you now being perfected by the flesh? (Gal. 3:3 NASB)” Our holiness comes to us through grace, through God’s empowering presence in our lives. In other words, it is the by-product of God’s love for us.
Questions:
(A personal reflection)
I was raised a Lutheran, in a small community in northern Minnesota that very well could have been the inspiration for Garrison Keillor’s imaginary town of Lake Wobegon. My dad came from a long line of Swedish Lutherans who had been part of the Swedish Augustana Evangelical Lutheran Church, which merged with the Lutheran Church in America (now part of the ELCA). Kittson County, where I lived, was at least at one time considered the most Swedish county in the United States and still boasts the highest percentage of Swedish speakers in the country. My dad was raised speaking Swedish at home and my grandfather, who lived with us when I was little, never fully converted to English.
The church we attended was called Grace Evangelical Lutheran Church, a truly wonderful name for a church. “Evangelical” was the term Martin Luther used to refer to his reformation movement, and was kept in the name to honor the former Augustana church. My church was the largest church in town, with a membership of over 1,000 (but an average attendance at less than 1/3 of that). While the LCA was apparently known as the most liberal of the Lutheran denominations, I remember our church as being quite conservative, both socially and theologically.
Oddly enough, the Swedish Lutherans had been pietists, something that I’m sure would have caused Martin to spin in his grave. It was the very thing that Luther had warned about in the introduction to his commentary on Galatians:
I have taken in hand, in the name of the Lord, once again to expound the Epistle of St. Paul to the Galatians; not because I desire to teach new things, or such as you have not heard before, but because we have to fear, as the greatest and nearest danger, that Satan take from us the pure doctrine of faith and bring into the Church again the doctrine of works and men’s traditions.
When my dad was young, for example, playing cards were not allowed (although they could play regular card games with a deck of Rook cards), alcohol was wrong (except for medicinal purposes), and frivolous music was frowned upon.
These trends obviously didn’t stick in my family, as my dad and his brothers were self-taught musicians, my dad playing piano, guitar, and clarinet in a local swing band. My mother was Episcopalian, but joined the Lutheran church when I was little, and began teaching Sunday School, which she did for fifteen or more years. Neither of my parents were drinkers, although they no aversion to making home-made wine on occasion. By the time I was born, playing cards were in abundance in our house, and I could play Rummy as soon as I could count (if not before). My parents certainly demonstrated very high moral standards; however, I was never taught that God would be mad at me if I failed.
I grew up convinced that God loved and accepted me unconditionally. I don’t know where I first learned this, but I was surer of this than anything, even of my parents’ love for me. I’ve often heard that children will form their ideas about God from their relationship with their father. While I had a wonderful dad, I can’t really say that this principle held true for me. Rather, from a very early age I understood that God was the only person who would ever really love and accept me unconditionally. My parents were fallible, God was not. I might fear the wrath of my parents or other authority figures, but I never feared God’s wrath.
And to this day, I never have.
(cross-posted here)
A great post today from Molly Friesen at Route 5:9, Forgiveness is an Investment: What it Costs. She’s blogging through Paul Tripp’s book on marriage, What Did You Expect. This, and Linda’s prior post, The Dark “Benefits” of Unforgiveness, are worth reading. I’m guessing Tripp’s book is, too.
It’s interesting that so many legalists forget about the rule of forgiveness, which is a key element in Jesus’ teaching. He even went so far as to say that if we don’t forgive, our Heavenly Father won’t forgive us, either. Seriously – it’s at the end of the Lord’s Prayer in Matthew 6:
12 And forgive us our debts,
As we forgive our debtors.
13 And do not lead us into temptation,
But deliver us from the evil one.
For Yours is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever. Amen.14 “For if you forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. 15 But if you do not forgive men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.
Now, you can try to take the position that this “is more of a guideline than a rule,” but Jesus doesn’t seem to give much leeway here.
So how does this fit into a theology of radical grace?
It fits quite well, actually, with a proper understanding of forgiveness. As many of us were taught in Sunday School, Jesus dies for the sins of the world.
1 John 2:2: “He is the atoning sacrifice for our sins, and not only for ours but also for the sins of the whole world. (NIV)
Jesus’ sacrifice was not made for us individually; forgiveness was truly once and for all. If we refuse to acknowledge and participate in this forgiveness for someone who has wronged us, we are simply refusing to participate in God’s forgiveness. Being forgiven means we agree that everyone is forgiven. Refusing to forgive someone means we are closing our heart, not that God is withholding anything from us.
Now, do we forgive perfectly? I seriously doubt it. I don’t think I do, even if it is my intent. But, God’s grace–God’s power made real in our lives–is sufficient for that, too.
We have been set free, not to sin, but so we can live–and forgive–freely.
Last week I received a review copy of The Naked Gospel by Andrew Farley. The text on the back begins, “Jesus plus nothing. 100% natural. No additives. It’s the truth you may never hear in church.” As my regular readers know, I have my own book coming out in the next few months on the “Jesus plus nothing” Gospel, even using that exact phrase. So, as you may surmise, I was quite interested in what Farley had to say.
The book is not at all what I expected. Farley appears to be a fairly young guy, and the title and back cover text is fairly provocative. So, I expected something a bit edgy, or at least bold. However, on the whole I found it to be rather tame (possibly the work of an overly conservative editor?). The book is a fairly quick read–even armed with a highlighter and stick-on tabs (my usual way to read non-fiction), it only took 2-3 hours to finish.
Bottom line, I agree with most of his conclusions, although I’m still on the fence about some of the ways he gets there. While I stay pretty close to Paul’s arguments in Galatians, Farley relies more heavily on Hebrews, which I found quite interesting. One of the problems for me is that Farley doesn’t necessarily “show his work;” that is to say, he doesn’t lay out all his thinking from point A to point B (the book itself seems a bit disorganized), and doesn’t always provide a lot of context for the verses he quotes. At least for me, reading many of his arguments left me scratching my head:
This isn’t to say that this isn’t a book worth reading; he does bring out a lot of good points that could be very helpful to a great many people. And, as I said, I do agree with his basic conclusions:
So, if readers only understand these points, the book has been worthwhile. However, I suspect that people will require some deeper study in order to be firmly grounded in these truths.
My book with Ken Blue, which comes out this summer, takes a considerably different approach, following Paul’s logic and structure in Galatians. Stay tuned for more information as to when it is to be released.
This morning I was flipping around the AM dial as I drove home from church. It’s kind of a sick practice of mine, wanting to hear what local pastors are preaching. Often it just irritates me (but I have to point out that I always enjoy the sermons from a certain pastor named Randy).
Today on the way to church I had stopped on a certain station that I was not familiar with, so when I got back in the car this station was still on, and I caught this pastor (I’m assuming – there was no identification of either the speaker or church when it was over) in mid-sentence.
The speaker was going on about the pagan origins of Easter, which is nothing I haven’t heard before, and which I am still not impressed by. He went on to criticize the early church (Eastern Orthodox), the Roman Catholics, Lutherans and Calvinists. He then went on to say that Yeshua did not have a people; there were hundreds of denominations, but no “one people.”
Now, it began to get interesting. He explained that the only way for there to be “one people” was for everyone to start following the Torah. And, just to make sure that I hadn’t misheard him or misinterpreted what he said, he made sure that this was understood; Christianity was a Jewish religion, and following the Jewish Law confirms that we are indeed followers of Yeshua. This also sets us apart from “the world.” Indeed. He rattled off a list of feasts and holy days we should be observing, but failed to mention where to find spotted goats or sheep for sacrifices…
When I got home I did a bit of research, trying to find out more about this guy. I figured he was some sort of Messianic Jew, due to his continued use of Hebrew names, etc. The station turned out to be an “all Christian” station based here, whose purpose is “to network people, resources, needs, news, events, fellowships and ministries and businesses in order to combine and multiply our resources, efforts and prayers.”
Or so they say. Reading further, the website states,
We especially want to welcome those who are still fellowshiping in Christian churches who are seeking a deeper walk with Yahweh, the God of the Bible. Our theme verse is Rev. 12:17 – those who keep the commandments of Yah and the testimony of Yahshua/Jesus.
Alrighty, then. I should mention that a number of non-Hebrew-oriented churches and ministries have shows on the station, or have placed ads on the site, or are otherwise mentioned somewhere on this site. (It’s a really bad website design, too… but that’s another issue.)
I wonder, do they realize that this group’s (I still don’t know who they really are) goal is to Judaize Christian churches? That is, they mean to convert grace-believing Christians into followers of the Torah. Or, at least those seeking “a deeper walk with Yahweh, the God of the Bible” (as opposed to the God of where?).
I wonder if these new Judaizers have ever read Galatians, or any of Paul’s other letters. Let me quote from Galatians 1:
6I am astonished that you are so quickly deserting the one who called you by the grace of Christ and are turning to a different gospel— 7which is really no gospel at all. Evidently some people are throwing you into confusion and are trying to pervert the gospel of Christ. 8But even if we or an angel from heaven should preach a gospel other than the one we preached to you, let him be eternally condemned! 9As we have already said, so now I say again: If anybody is preaching to you a gospel other than what you accepted, let him be eternally condemned!
So what do we say then about these very helpful, well-meaning folks? What about “After beginning with the Spirit, are you now trying to attain your goal by human effort (Gal 3:3)”? Or, “All who rely on the Law are under a curse (v 10)?” Paul challenges us to take a stand on the Gospel, and send false teachers packing down the road to Perdition. It really bugs me that Christians think they are so holy when they quote, “don’t judge,” but they’ll stand by and watch the Gospel being flushed down the toilet.
You foolish Galatians!
Here’s the bottom line that Paul drew in his letter to the Galatians: If you add anything to Jesus – that is, any laws or traditions or eating kosher – you haven’t just missed the Gospel, you’ve trashed it completely! There is no middle ground, no “tolerance” when it comes to grace.
Now, you can going ahead and do all kinds of good works, because they’re good things to so. Just don’t think you’re earning grace because of them. You are “good Christians” because Jesus was good, not because you are. Think of it this way: Grace produces good works, works do not produce grace.
This little sermon today is the most blatant attack on the Gospel that I can recall hearing, and it makes me angry. I’ve got a book about to be published (sometime this summer), tentatively called Free, that explains all this in far greater detail. Check back in a month or two for more information on the book.
In the meantime, read Galatians, and be Free.
There’s an interesting post today at Experimental Theology called Loneliness and the Church. I’ve read it a couple of times, and I’m still not sure what I think about it. Here’s an excerpt:
In short, we need to think of churches as moral rather than social communities. When I go to church I need to have ethics on the brain and not intimacy. This, I think, is a huge problem with many churches. People go to church to have their relational needs met. They don’t go to get morally challenged or changed. Thus, if I have a good social time at church then church is great and fulfilling. Conversely, if church is a lonely affair I stop going and think it sucks.
The goal of church, to my mind, is to be better, not to be known. Of course, in the effort to become better I become known. I’ll need to confess and ask forgiveness. I’ll need to give an honest moral accounting of myself. And so on. These things promote community and camaraderie and even friendship.
On one hand, church is not a social club. On the other hand, it’s actually more – it’s family. Shouldn’t we feel like we belong? Shouldn’t we feel as connected as Paul says we are? Is church primarily about becoming more moral people? Is Christianity primarily “sin management” or perhaps working your way to some higher state of holiness? Even if it is, which comes first? Are we drawn by the Spirit (present in the Church) closer to God, or do we have to get closer to God – as the author suggests – to get closer to people?
Of course, your answer will depend upon your theological foundation; at least I think so. Lutherans, for example, hear the words of absolution within the first few minutes of the liturgy. Other traditions never hear absolution; they keep folks working till the moment they die (and Catholics keep them working even after that). How we feel about the origins of morality determine whether we’re interested in the subject at all.
What do you think?
Why do Calvinists and particularly Arminians (and for that matter, Roman Catholics) reject the paradox? Is it because they cannot understand that words of Scripture? Is it because they are less astute than Lutherans? The answer to both questions is no. The reason they reject Scripture’s emphasis on “by grace alone” is that their initial focus prior to their “conversion”, their conversion itself, and there subsequent Christian focus lead them away from grace and ultimately from the gospel. How and why does it do this? Simply put, whenever anyone shifts his focus of Christianity, as the Evangelical/Reformed do, his “faith” is no longer a miracle the Holy Spirit works through the gospel. We must realize that there is in man a natural desire to want to keep the law. While most consider this desire to be an example of the innate goodness of man, or the “prevenient grace” of the Holy Spirit, the Bible tells us that in the true spiritual sense, no one yearns for the law or for the true spiritual sense, no one yearns for the law or for the true spiritual means of fulfilling it in their lives (Rom. 3:10,11; 8:6,7). What, then, is this yearning that so many experience? Lutherans have called this the opinion legis, or the natural (and sinful) desire of a person to gain something for himself by keeping the law, whether that happens to be heaven or God’s temporal blessings on earth. We hold that even the desire to be moral is a sin-unless that morality is fostered by a love for the Lord. But such love can only come when a person first knows that God has loved and forgiven him. – Robert Koester, Law and Gospel – Foundation of Lutheran Ministry
Thanks to Larry at The Sacrament is the Gospel for this quote. His post and the comments that follow are worth reading. I find it interesting that in this analysis, Calvinists and Arminians (along with Catholics) are missing the point by insisting that grace is the power to do something as opposed to grace simply being the assurance of salvation.
I don’t pretend to really grasp the fine points, but I’m starting to sort it out, I think.
