the Bible in 14 words

Having someone challenge you to think about something you take for granted is annoying. You know this is true. You get asked something like, “Why do you always have the same drink order at Starbucks?” or “Why do you love your spouse?” (two questions of an admittedly different scope), and you just mumble something about “Because it is what it is, and I just do. Why do you have to be so annoying, especially before I've had that second caffeine boost?”

Recently, our church leadership and staff have been asked to consider the question-- “What is the gospel?” We assume we know. We've listened to Billy Graham. We got the bracelet with the colored beads. We know the Romans Road and can traverse it with the best of them. But think about this. 

What do you know? What would you say? Cut away what you assume and take for granted and answer the question like you've never heard it. Maybe you haven't.

What. Is. The. Gospel?

It's a question I've pondered since seminary days, when I told my theology professor I thought salvation had to be toward something good rather than simply away from something bad. He agreed. 

My fellow students looked at me funny. Wasn't the first or last time. I didn't know I was thinking outside of the box of orthodox evangelicalism. I had no box for reference—I hadn't grown up in one like most of these guys had. I only knew they looked at me funny, which, if you know me, you know felt a little bit like a badge of honor.

Yes, it's broken. My favorite plate. Because people do this.
Break things. We're good at it.

Now, twenty- and thirty-somethings are daring to say those things I said when I was twenty-something, only now people are listening. Story of my life.

But preach it, sisters and brothers, because we need to go back and ask that question. 

Ask it again and again until we know we've left behind our assumptions and boxes and easy three-step answers and are left naked with nothing but the Word of God and open ears.

What is the gospel? Twenty-five words of fewer?(Yeah, “less” is grammatically incorrect. You've been lied to your whole life.)

I'm giving it a shot.

God created. Everything. He had a plan for perfect balance and a relationship with humans—His image-bearers. We messed it up by trying to be more than image-bearers--trying for the image itself. We wanted to run the show. We forgot we didn't create it and didn't know how to run it. Dumb. Fyi—We still do this.

God sent His image again—Jesus—perfect man and God in one piece. I don't quite get how either. But he did. Jesus said “I know your lives are broken, and your relationships are broken, and your everything is pretty much broken because that first relationship that all good things come from is broken. I'll fix it. You didn't keep your agreement with your Creator, but Ill keep it for you; I'll die to keep it.

And when I come back (which will blow away ALL your assumptions), I'll start really shaking things up. I'll start planning for and expecting the Kingdom that God meant to happen here will happen. Here. Now. And I'll start giving you the power to help me make it happen, if you believe me.

OK, that was way more than 25 words. Still, three paragraphs is not too bad, when you consider my theology book i school was about four inches wide. So 25 words? How about:

God created. We broke. God loved. He fixed. We love back—we help fix.

Fourteen words. Boom.

I'd love to know your words. How would you explain the gospel? If you are not a believer, how would you explain it? What have you heard people tell you it is? What do or don't you like of what you've heard? I would really love to have that conversation.

(don't) just do it

It's risk time again. And as often happens while doing this listening-to-God-life thing, what I thought I'd write about today isn't what's hitting the page. The original plan will be here next month, I promise. And it's a BIG BOOTS adventure, so do stay tuned!

(“When you see someone putting on his Big Boots, you can be pretty sure that an Adventure is going to happen.” AA Milne)

But today, I have to face this Lent thing. I do, because it's here, and I don't feel I can ignore it, which is usually the way I handle Lent. And yes, facing Lent is a risk. Because what I'm going to say risks making people mad, which I hate more than waiting in line at the DMV, which you KNOW is serious not-liking.

Thinking about anything that 1—messes with peoples' traditions, 2—potentially questions their motives, and 3—asks serious questions about God and the crucifixion is going to get real scary real fast.

What I'm going to say is, I don't get it. I've never done it. Never seen any reason to.

Maybe I'm too much of a legalist for Lent observance. If I gave up desserts for Lent for instance, you know the first thing that would follow. Hmmm, if I eat this snickerdoodle at 3:00, is it a dessert or an afternoon snack? If I give up social media—hey, checking my Facebook while sitting in the car waiting to pick up a kid is totally a good use of time. Plus it's purely for professional purposes.

You get the idea. Give me a rule, and I'll find the loophole. Make me draw lines in my life of what is OK and what is not OK, and I become a line drawer. I will focus on where those lines are and what the precise definitions are, and it will become all about those lines. Those rules. Those loopholes. Where is Jesus in there?

I'm not seeing it all bringing me closer to Christ during Lent.

What it could manage is dragging me closer to that all-too-human bent toward legalism. Checking off the rules on my wall of what I can and cannot get away with and still be OK with God.

Which is what God begs his people to get away from several times. It's what I definitely need to stay away from, since I'm good at finding my worth--dare I say salvation?--in my achievements and things checked off on a list. I've clawed my way out of legalism, thank you very much. Don't intend to be hauled back without a fight.

God so does not want me to go there. So why would he want me to observe Lent?

And, here's the other thing. I see people giving stuff up for Lent, and I usually note one of a few motivations:

1—I'm giving up ________ because it's tradition. My church does it. I've always done it. It would be weird not to do it. To which I think, it's my Swedish tradition to eat blood sausage and fish balls, but some traditions are meant to die. Quickly.

2—I want to lose weight, and giving up chocolate or ice cream or sugar is a sure-fire way to get rid of ten pounds AND sound really holy doing so. It's a win-win.

3—When I give up something, I can talk about it on Facebook, so other people can see how holy I am. Unless I'm actually giving up Facebook, which means you'll have to see how holy I am by my absence. Which does work, in a strange negative-energy sort of way.

And—do I really need to say this?

These are not good reasons.

If I'm giving up, say, chai tea lattes for forty days out of ignorance, personal gain, or pride, not only am I going to be cranky for forty days, but I suspect I will be no closer to Jesus than I was on Fat Tuesday.

The other reason I've never practiced Lent is that it's not supposed to be a one-shot deal. I rebel at the idea that I can think about being like Jesus for only one season. Being like Jesus is supposed to consume my everyday will. Isn't it flirting with apathy just a little to say I'll work on this God thing seriously until Easter, and then, well, we'll see after that?

So help me out here. Why would I do this?

Sigh. I have many friends whom I deeply respect giving up some of these things for Lent. They are not people of apathy or loose motivations. They have reasons. They love God with all their mind and hands and heart and will. I want to figure out those reasons.

So I decided to look into the original purposes of these forty days. There, maybe, I'd find answers for all my whys. The original purpose, apparently, was to prepare the believer--through prayer, repentance, giving, and self-denial. It never says what the believer is being prepared for. And that bothers me, since it look very much like what I have problems with. We don't know why, but it's got to be good for us. Like a religious edict to eat your brussels sprouts.

“Just do it” is a motto I can get behind when I'm sitting in committee meetings for a couple hours. But in matters of faith practice? Not so much.

But another thing I read catches my attention. “The forty days of Lent was meant to remind us of the time Jesus spent fasting in the desert to prepare for his ministry.” That word 'prepare'--it comes again. But this time, there's a reason. A preparation for something. A purpose behind the denial. And here it is—

so Jesus can go out and do what he came to do, with laser-focus on why he's doing it.

Would that change the way we do Lent?

I doubt that leaving chocolate behind is going to prepare me for loving the world. I don't believe, in my heart of hearts, that giving up caffeine will give me focus on what matters going forward. What I need, if I'm going to understand and do this Lent thing, is to know what will bring me to a place where I'm more prepared to focus on what God put me here to do and, yes, just do it.

I need a practice toward something rather than a push away.

So, as I think about coming to terms with this Lent, I realize there is something I can do. I can move toward being more like him. I can practice something that will prepare me to love the world. I can focus on his humility and make it as much mine for forty days as I can, hoping it will take hold and last.

That's the risk I'd ask you to take this Lent. Find your motivation. Be honest about it. Whether or not you've ever given up so much as a quarter of a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup, figure out why or why not. It is risky. You may not like the answer. (Im' not sure I like mine. But i'm going to do it.) 

It's always risky to look at Jesus and ask him if you know him well enough to be walking with him through life. It's scary because--He'll answer.

What are you moving toward this Lent? What is He preparing you for? Just do that.

Jumping on the Bar

I watched my daughter do something courageous this weekend. Let me explain first--she is a gymnast. Right there, most of you are now saying, “Duh, she did something courageous. She does things on a daily basis I have no intention of ever doing.” Which is true. The only sane adult I've ever seen attempt these kinds of moves was my Uncle Jim. But it was the 4^th of July, and he was very drunk, and it was NOT a good idea.

One year ago at her high school championships, she jumped on the uneven parallel bars to do a routine that should have been fairly, well, routine. But it wasn't. It ended in a fall and a concussion that left her disoriented, weepy, and in pain for two weeks.

She's been haunted by that fall ever since. She's relived the feeling every time she even thought about performing that dismount. She hasn't been able to mentally get past the fear of trying it again.

Fast forward to this weekend. Same competition, same apparatus, even harder dismount. I watch her chalking up, and I know she's afraid. I know she's remembering. I know she's thinking, “What if?” And I watch her unhesitatingly jump anyway.

At that point, her score didn't matter. Whether or not she stuck the routine didn't matter. The most important thing she accomplished all day was simply jumping on the bar.

How many of us have fallen on our face off the bar and are terrified to try again? You got fired, or had a business fail. Your marriage fell apart. You alienated yourself from a parent or a friend because you behaved like kind of a jerk. You sent out a manuscript you'd poured your heart into and had it rejected 26 times. Ouch. And now you feel like it's too late or too scary to try again.

Maybe you can relate to this guy. Remember Peter, the guy who promised to stand by Jesus until the end and then, when the soldiers came, decided that was end enough? Um, yeah, Jesus. That's far enough; we're done here; you're on your own now. He swore on a stack of Bibles he didn't know his Teacher. Afterward, he was terrified, with good reason, to go back and face the resurrected Jesus. His was a pretty big time failure. So Jesus specifically tells his friends, “Hey, tell Peter I really want to see him.” I want him to try again.

Was the hardest thing Peter ever did to walk on water, start the church, or face martyrdom? No. The hardest thing Peter ever did was go back to Jesus and face down his fear of rejection and failure. It was to resist the temptation to crawl into a box of anonymity and never try that scary thing again.

What's the scary thing in your life you don't want to jump back into? Take a few steps toward it today:

• Live in the present. Whatever happened last year or yesterday is old news. It doesn't define you today. It can't hold you.
• Pinpoint the problem. Exactly what scares you about trying again? Isolate the real source of the fear.
• Objectively decide how realistic that is. What's the worst that could happen? Not that you imagine could happen but what could really happen? Will it kill you?
• Do it anyway. Unless it's, say, a fear of jumping off a building and you realize that is extremely realistic and a bad idea. But chances are it's not, and you should just jump onto that bar.

Let me know how it turns out. I'd love to cheer you on in trying again. Just leave a comment about it here.

And yes, that's my kid. Second place, uneven parallel bars.