Term in Review: 5 most entertaining posts

People do not smile enough.

It is certainly true where I live, and rightly so. I currently live in a world where life is harder than most anyone who reads this could imagine. If you are reading this, you are sitting in front of a computer. Even if its not your own, you at least have access to one. Day after day, the people here are fighting for existence. Many are wondering whether they will eat tomorrow. They live in sickness, disease and danger.

That does not leave a lot of room for smiling. Yet, despite their circumstances, the people here make room. One of the greatest gifts I have received in Africa is a smiling face. In a world that is so hard, few things are as valuable as experiencing moments of joy with a friend.

There is just something about seeing a face light up with happiness, eyes bright and teeth out of hiding. That is why I wrote these posts.

Off topic: "What did you do this summer?"

I have a confession. I have become a Facebook stalker. It all started out innocent enough I guess. Occasionally glancing at photo albums from friends trips, until one day, I caught myself purposely seeking out the Info tab of some friends to see if anything new was happening.

I blame my distance. The world, friends and faces I grew up with are moving along without me. How else am I supposed keep up? But I digress...

My real reason for this off topic post is that age-old question, “What did you do this summer?” I remember dreading that question, and unfortunately, as sure as the sun will rise, it would come up at the beginning of every school year. As a little kid I can remember sitting in my desk trying to come up with some halfway decent answer and inevitably failing. Truth is, my family and I rarely went anywhere when I was growing up. I can count the number of vacations we took on one hand.

Sure enough, the teacher would start at one corner of the room and off we would go retelling our adventures for the last two months. The room would fill with lofty tales of cruises or trips to the beach. Somebody would always chime in with a trip to Disneyworld. But all of these would come crashing to the floor as soon as that one kid in the room mentioned Europe.

I usually had to follow that kid.

Interestingly enough, my recently developed habit of Facebook stalking has brought to my attention a new evolution in this timeless question. Gone, it seems, are the days or waiting for the teacher to give you the open invitation to ooh and ah your friends. Now, its as easy as a tweet and the world knows just how cool your summer was.

School is back in session, and the Facebook photo albums are piling up. Countless people are doing the profile makeover. And it seems, we Christians have our own brand of “pimp my profile.”

In case you may not be sure if your friend had a “Christian summer”, here is the evidence:

1. Their most recent photo album title has the words “camp” and “creek” in it. Other variations will be words that end in “crest”, “cove”, or “ridge.” 
2. They are giving some person from the third world a side hug in their profile pic. Bonus points should be given for the shot of them surrounded by a crowd of children. If its on a dirt road its better still. Alternately, they may be standing entirely too close to some animal that should have already eaten them, and there is no cage between them and said animal. 
3. They clog your news feed with constant “liking” of obscure causes and charities. 
4. The “Write something about yourself.” blank on their profile has been filled with some recently learned statistic about illiteracy or “global lostness” in the “10-40 window." 
5. Their profile references the “10-40 window." 
6. Instead of ridiculously skimpy swimsuits, they opted for the do-rag and long dress look as the outfit of choice in all their summer photos. (Guys will be wearing the pants with legs that zip off.)
7. Their status updates, which sound like a love letter to an old boyfriend, are actually lyrics out of some new worship song they heard at that camp whose name ends in “creek”, “crest”, or “cove”. (See point 1.)
8. In the Religious Views blank on their Info page, the actual denomination they belong to has been replaced with, “Hopelessly and endlessly pursuing the one, true, holy, matchless, boundless, unchanging, creator of heaven and earth, who fills my heart with inexpressible joy.” Or something like that. 
9. They have an ongoing wall discussion full of inside jokes with their new best friend they met while building a house in Alaska. 

Oh, and the list goes on. What do you think belongs on this list? Comment below with your additions...

Why I am not a monk

I have been thinking about monks a lot lately. Not the “blaze orange wearing, nun-chuck carrying” kind. Instead, I am talking about the “crawl off into a cave with their Septuagint” type.

One of our stops on the tour de force through Turkey was Kapadokya, or ancient Cappadocia. Admittedly, this area is one of the strangest landscapes I have ever visited and boasts terribly unique landforms. It has an arid climate and would probably be classified as a desert region. The region is pocked with valleys, and each valley is littered with dozens of large rock towers shooting up into the air. The resulting impression is a desert valley full of rock trees.

What is even more intriguing is the ancient use of this remarkable landscape. The cliff walls and even the rock towers themselves were carved out and fashioned into dwellings places. High rock cliffs full of little, black windows fill the eyesight. In these caves, much of Christianity's early monastic tradition was conceived. Small stone doorways lead into vast cathedral caverns, covered floor to ceiling with Byzantine-era religious frescos.

For better of worse, the monastic tradition is a large part of Christian history. Some of its earliest adherents were women living in little, celibate groups that focused on their piety. Others were men who trudged off into the Egyptian desert alone to live as hermits. Even still, some made giant towers up into the air and lived on these columns to seclude themselves from a sinful world and live closer to the heavenly ideal. And in Cappadocia, men and women would separate into fellowships under the head of an abbot (abba for “father”) and live in these cave dwellings.

Whether it was the rise of secular influence in the church as the Roman empire became increasingly friendly, or brushing elbows with other world philosophies that sought asceticism as the ideal, the idea of the monk became widely popular in the developing Christian communities of the fourth and fifth centuries.

At best, this lifestyle was a pious means of refusing the “good life” and seeking a higher end, deeper fellowship with God. At worst, it was a means of punishing oneself for their depravity or running from the “evils of the world” and sometimes even the church. Nevertheless, the result was a seclusion of sorts from the society around them for reasons of sanctification.

I think there are times when this approach sounds good. Sometimes I want to get away from the wickedness around me. Sometimes I need to remove the distractions and set my mind on God's Word and His goodness. The world can be a distracting place. Jesus himself would occasionally retreat from civilization in order to focus on oneness with the Father, or fast from the world. He would go up the mountain to pray, or would fast in the wilderness.

So, is seclusion the right approach? We are truly not of this world, and it seems the more I surround myself with it, the harder it is to separate myself from it. Much of the time it seems Western culture is sinking its tentacles further and further into the life of the church. When we look at the average church culture and compare it to secular culture, they do not seem too different anymore. At least, that is what the statistics on divorce, drug and alcohol abuse, premarital sex, and a whole list of moral failures would say.

In response, it seems we often try to “hole up” inside the walls of our church buildings. We retreat inside and make sure we have plenty of activities to occupy ourselves. We spend all of our time in book studies, Bible schools, youth activities (many of which are just Christianized versions of what our kids would be doing outside the walls of the church), and an endless supply of things that make us feel like we are working real hard on our sanctification. In the last 25 years or so, hundreds of churches across America have even pulled themselves out of downtown areas where sin and vice are the worst and built themselves new compounds, complete with athletic courts, activities centers, and a Starbucks, in the newer suburbs of major metropolitan areas.

Before I make some of you irate at my suggestion that these activities are wrong, please let me say that is not my intention. Indeed, I feel most of the activities mentioned above are essential to discipleship. (See my posts on Bible study.) However, is it possible that if we focus on these things with the wrong intentions we can lose sight of a bigger kingdom mission? My ultimate end as a follower of Christ is not to become “Super Christian.” My highest achievement on this earth will not be what I have become. Instead, I become this so that Christ's name may be known. I am to work on myself (truly, submit to God's work in me), so that God will be glorified and his kingdom advanced. Why sharpen a knife that will never cut anything?

In the fourth century, as secular culture made its way into the church, the temptation was to retreat. In an attempt to hold back the tide of nominalism, groups began to seclude themselves. In order to stay pure, cave monasteries popped up in cliffs. Communities developed around rigorous moralism. No sin, no sex, no worldliness was the rule. Disciplined Christian life at its finest was the goal. They began to sharpen themselves.

But something interesting happened. A tradition had grown up in the church that martyrdom was the ideal life of sacrifice and allowed you to identify with Christ's own suffering for us. Martyrs became saints and it was the way to ensure your name in the Christian hall of fame. To boldly refuse apostasy and publicly proclaim Christ in the face of your murderers was the mark of the true Super Christian.

However, when persecution by the state stopped, so did the killing of Christian martyrs. No longer able to sacrifice their physical life in the face of paganism, people began to sacrifice in other ways. For many, monasticism became the new martyrdom. It was the new way to be a Super Christian. What started out as a means of removing oneself from a world of sin, created a world of pride and exclusivity. They removed themselves from the world and became full of themselves.

Trying to figure out the Christian's relationship with culture was not a new development in the fourth century. This monastic tradition had not found the answer to a new social problem in the church.

Jesus would retreat. Jesus would spend time alone, focused on his relationship. He would disappear and seclude himself from the world around him, but he always came back. He would roll up his sleeves and step back off into the crowds that were surrounding him. He would heal the sick and he would cast out demons. He would confront sin and he would stand as an example.

This is why I am not a monk. We are called to be the best Christians we can. Indeed, we are commanded by God's Word to live a life above reproach. We are to be disciplined and pious. However, the reason we do this is to point to one greater. Truly, it is God's work in us. First Corinthians talks about how God chose the foolish of us to shame the wise. I think Paul was talking about me when he wrote that.

And despite being wholly unimpressive, if I am not careful, I will still become puffed up and proud of myself. If our churches are not careful, we will wall ourselves up, and become quite proud of the fact that we have nothing to do with the world.

Sermon Fodder - Turkish Baths

It appears that life is fashioned in such a way as to provide us with those little moments which necessitate being retold. Furthermore, any preacher or teacher will understand the great desire to take these little jewels once given and turn them into some rich illustration that produces a poignant response and the clear understanding of some deep spiritual truth inside the hearer. Hence, sermon fodder is born.

I had just such an incident on vacation.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Amidst our mad dash through the touristy regions of the country, a friend of ours in the know decided a trip to a Turkish bath was a needed experience. Envisioning in my mind some last vestige of ancient Roman baths, and having never set foot into one of these places, I agreed this would be a fun outing. If only I had known.

Upon arriving at the 800-year-old Hammam, or Turkish bathouse, I was promptly instructed to remove all of my clothes and replace them with a towel. Then I was ushered by some comical looking Turkish man into a small stall with another of my companions. Apparently, changing rooms in Turkey are two-seaters.

Having divorced myself from my garments, with my friend as an audience mind you, and adopting this towel, which really looked more like a scarf, I presented myself to the Turkish man once again. We were then escorted to the back room.

The building was very old indeed. Running upwards into a large dome, the ceiling finished at a skylight in its center. The rest of the room was a sanitary assortment of stone and ceramic tile. In the very center of the room was a large marble slab looking much like a giant table.

A strange mixture of emotions flooded my mind as I took in my surroundings. Had I entered a day spa or a torture chamber? As I presently write this, I can not tell you the answer to that question.

The following hour, or hours (for I am not sure; time seemed to stand still in that place), presented a series of chambers into which I was thrust only to be pulled out and placed in another. The first chamber was filled with a dry heat, and quickly made itself unbearable. The second chamber was at least as hot but was also filled with steam.

There is a point where heat stops being a condition and is so forceful it is itself a thing, looming over the room. This steam room was so hot I could reach out and touch the heat. It was oppressive and the steam, infused with some form of menthol, filled my lungs so that it was hard to breath. Consequently, I discovered I have pores in places where I did not know it possible, as they all began to cry out for fresh air. I produced myself, a sweaty, exhausted mess, from the steam room and my body rejoiced as it was reunited with the air outside.

It was then that they entered.

A collection of Turkish men, wearing only towels and their body hair, entered through the only door to the room. There was one Turk for each of us. I think mine was the biggest.

Instead of dallying with our obvious language barrier, these men chose simply to demonstrate what they wanted us to do by taking hold of our bodies and positioning them as they saw fit. Before I knew it, we were all spread out on the marble slab. What followed was surreal. My personal Turk began scrubbing my body with soap, contorting it as he saw fit. It was not a massage, and it was not a bath. Yet, somehow it was both.

Despite the slight argument over the precise position of my towel that continued throughout the event, I felt like the fellow and I shared some form of experience. He was the giver, and I was indeed the recipient, whether I liked it or not. It was horrible, but it was wonderful. It hurt, but it was relaxing.

Little did I know, the event was not over. Truly, what happened next was the crescendo, it was the orchestral hit at the end of the symphony. It was the shock pool.

When my masseuse/ inquisitor finished his performance, I was sat up and rinsed off. He then helped me, as I needed help by this time, out of the room with the large dome into another, smaller room. Inside was a small pool of crystal water. The temperature dropped drastically as we changed from one room to the next. Half expecting to be pushed, I stood there awaiting my fate. Instead, he smiled at me and motioned that I should get in.

I cannot find the language to accurately describe to you the feelings produced from jumping into that pool. I dare say it would have awoken the dead. I felt as though my body, which had been pushed to the very cusp of breaking, would indeed snap. As my body sank lower into that glacial water, each muscle was revived from its numbness. Until that moment, I only thought I knew what it meant to be awake. My head reemerged from the water, and I was a new man.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Stories like these have “sermon fodder” written all over them. The question at hand is how to use it.

Here is my list so far:

Sermon 1 – Use it as an example to explain God's discussion of hot and cold water in the letter to Laodicea. It has the obvious advantage of taking place in the same location. The hot and cold water both served their purpose. However, this one does not sound like much fun.

Sermon 2 – Sanctification. Ah, the story plays right into this topic. God, like the big, hairy Turkish guy, works his hard hands over us, shaping us into who we should be. It hurts, but we come out the other side better for it. Endless word plays about getting “cleaned up” or “scrubbed down” would abound.

Sermon 3 – Admittedly a stretch, one could take the approach of contrasting the “heat and pressure” that comes from a sinful life and the refreshing exhilaration that comes from jumping back into the “cold pool” or God's love.

I have the list started; now it is your turn. Take a minute and let the creative juices start flowing. How would you use this as a sermon illustration?



Comment with yours below...

Causing ripples

Ephesus was kind of a big deal. Think of it as the “New York” of ancient Asia Minor. With a population of 400,000 people during the first century AD, it was the second largest city in the world after Rome. It was the political and economic center, not to mention the major port, for all of Roman Asia. The city was home to the second largest library on its side of the Mediterranean (after Pergamum), the largest theater anywhere in Asia Minor (holding upwards of 44,000 spectators), and one of the seven wonders of the ancient world (the great temple to Artemis). Needless to say, when the emperor came to visit the area, Ephesus is where he parked his boat.

In Christian history, Ephesus racks up quite a scorecard as well. It boasted Paul's longest stay in any one place during his missionary journeys, 1 Corinthians was written from Ephesus, and one of Paul's other letters was written to Ephesus. Church tradition tells us that John moved to Ephesus and may have penned his gospel while living there. Certainly the letter of Revelation was written by him to Ephesus and the surrounding cities.

Today, Ephesus would remind you more of Disneyland than New York. For starters, when we arrived, we had to wait in line for our ticket. (Not a good start.) But while I was there, an interesting thing happened. As the mobs filed in through the turnstiles, the ancient city began to fill up with people. Crowds walked the old city streets and wandered through the agora where sellers would have had their shops. The Celsus Library was bustling with people and each temple seemed to have a crowd of gawkers. I saw a city animated.

Unlike the ruins of other cities we visited, I saw Ephesus more as it would have looked. Crowded streets and busy buildings. The whole town came to life, and it was a busy place. Imagine what it would have been in its golden age, 400,000 men, women and children squeezing through the streets and meandering through some of the most fantastic structures of their day.

This is the world Paul came to visit in Acts 19.

He stayed for around three years reaching out to all the cities in the area, with Ephesus as his base. Christianity took hold in Ephesus, and it grew some serious roots. Despite its claim to fame as the very throne of Artemis and its huge industry in witchcraft and pagan goods, this city began to feel the impact of Christian witness from its community of believers. On one instance believers confessed their former witchcraft and brought all of their old resources together to publicly burn them in the sight of everyone, so that all would know they no longer practiced this kind of lifestyle. This was no small group either. According to Acts, so many books were burned the result was a multi-million dollar pile of ashes.

The story gets better.

Apparently, this new Christian witness was having such an impact in its first couple years that it began making a dent in the economy of Ephesus. Imagine that, this band of believers was actually shutting down the idolatry industry in the second largest city in the known world. After what appears to have been a chamber of commerce meeting, a demonstration broke out against the Christians that can only be labeled as a riot. Scores of people poured into the massive theater and chanted for hours for their patron goddess and against the Christian movement. The city stood still, all because the Christian influence was strong enough to sucker punch their sinful livelihood.

Little wads of tourists shuffled in and out of the massive theater while I sat there pondering the events that took place there 2000 years ago. Standing on the middle of that stage, looking up at the endless rows of seats, I could not help wondering about the range of emotions experienced by the Christians who were the target of that riot. I also could not help but be a little jealous. Not of the snarling multitude who wanted them dead mind you, but of the impact they had on their city. In less than three years, they had changed everything. The rules were different in Ephesus, and they had worked paganism into a rioting frenzy because of their presence.

I think my temptation is to say that it was a different time in history. It is easy to think of this as some special exception because it happened in “bible times.” God does not work that way anymore right? Now the work is slow, gradual, and nominal.

However, there is another approach. What if we, like the believers in Ephesus, brought all of our sin, our past habits, our evil out of the closet and burned it before the world? What if we gave a real sign that we were different and were not going back? What if we released our secret grip on money, materialism, sex, alcohol, drugs, pornography, and the countless idols we hold on to?

Could we change our city?

Piles of rocks

I am on vacation. Some friends of mine and I got this ridiculous idea a year ago to galavant across Turkey (ancient Asia Minor) and see as much of the New Testament as possible. Last week, this idea became a reality.

In the last 10 days, I have walked the streets of Ephesus and climbed the acropolis of Pergamum. I have wandered through Lycian tombs and sat in giant Roman amphitheaters. I have walked as close in Paul's footsteps as is humanly possible today.

I am still not sure what my purpose in doing all of this was in the beginning. Did I feel it would somehow make me more spiritual? Perhaps I thought it would be some form of pilgrimage that would connect me with our ancient fathers of the faith, even though we evangelicals do not really do that sort of stuff. Maybe it was because I am a nerd, and these are the nerdy things I do for kicks and giggles. Whatever my original purpose may have been, it is now lost to me.

There is no way to describe this journey. I have a bunch of pictures to prove I was here, but they will no more recreate the experience than staring at an advertisement for a steak will fill you up. Nevertheless, I felt the need to share my thoughts from one particular endeavor this past week.

Laodicea was a big city in its day. It was a major center of trade in textiles during its height and was a rich city. A great hill overlooked the surrounding valleys capped with temples, baths, civic buildings, and a grand agora full of shops. This city had two separate amphitheaters, one facing east and one facing west, so that events could be held in the morning and the evening. The city centered on a grand pillared avenue that ran straight through the heart of the buildings. Two rows of columns rose on both sides of the street.

If you are not familiar with Laodicea, it is the final of seven churches addressed in the Apocalypse of John. The book of Revelation was most likely penned toward the end of the first century AD, when this particular town was at its greatest chapter in history. Indeed, Jesus himself had John write down his advice to the community of believers that lived in this city.

This is what Jesus had to say to the church at Laodicea,

I know your works: you are neither cold nor hot. Would that you were either cold or hot! So, because you are lukewarm, and neither hot nor cold, I will spit you out of my mouth. For you say, I am rich, I have prospered, and I need nothing, not realizing that you are wretched, pitiable, poor, blind, and naked. I counsel you to buy from me gold refined by fire, so that you may be rich, and white garments so that you may clothe yourself and the shame of your nakedness may not be seen, and salve to anoint your eyes, so that you may see. Those whom I love, I reprove and discipline, so be zealous and repent. Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me. The one who conquers, I will grant him to sit with me on my throne, as I also conquered and sat down with my Father on his throne. He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches.

Today, Laodicea exists not as a great center of culture and enterprise but as a field in the middle of nowhere. All of its glory has been reduced to piles of rocks, crumbled and sticking out of the ground. The great buildings and amphitheaters that showcased their wealth and importance have long since sank into the dirt. Instead of inspiring awe for the works of its inhabitants, it exists as a skeleton of a former achievement. All that is left are the bones of a once great society.

I have no idea if the people to whom Jesus' words were addressed heeded his warning. We must keep in mind that the recipients were the believers in the city and not the city itself. Jesus was not passing some condemnation on to that city; however, he was providing those who called themselves Christians a poignant word of caution.

Like lukewarm water, neither refreshing or relaxing, they had become useless. Furthermore, they had become self-reliant. Jesus accuses them of thinking they were rich. Whether this was a reference to actual monetary wealth or some form of self aggrandizement or false piety, they had decided they were well off.

And, as anyone who buys into this lie would do, their trust turned inward. If they were rich in money or morals, why did they need Christ? Self-reliance always replaces dependence.

But Jesus knows their works. They think they are clothed in royal robes, yet they are poor and naked. They think they see clearly, but they are blinded to reality. They swallowed a lie and looked pathetic in the sight of God. And despite all of this, Christ shows mercy by providing them a way out of the despicable sin of pride. Buy my gold, which is the purest of all; and buy my clothes, which are the whitest of all; and buy my salve, so that you will see as I see. These were the words of Christ.

Sitting in the remains of the Laodicean amphitheater, reading these words, God reminded me they were not just words to a group of believers in the first century. They were written to me as well.

Whatever riches the church at Laodicea had used to replace their dependence on God, they are gone now. It was a kingdom made of stone, and no kingdom made of stone is eternal. May we not fall into the same trap.

What are we trusting in? In 2000 years, will it still be there? If not, Christ stands at the door knocking for all who will let him in, and he brings with him victory.