The Radicalness of a List of Names

Rahab. Tamar. Ruth. Bathsheba. Mary. Their names shout out from the long list of male names in an otherwise standard-form-ancient-patriarchal genealogy in the first chapter of Matthew. Ancestry in that context was traced through the fathers. Matthew did not have to include women, would not be expected to. This is an intentional act. Just the inclusion of some women in the list makes a radical statement that prefigures the inclusive practice of the one at the end of the genealogy—Jesus. But Matthew did not include all the mothers, only these five. The intentionality goes beyond the inclusion of women, there is intentionality in which women are included. Why these women? There is something out-of-line or impure about all of them. In bounded-set terms we could say they are all on the wrong side of Israel’s purity code—either because of being a non-Jew or questionable sexual behavior, or both. (Although in the case of Bathsheba it is not so much her, she was a victim, rather her inclusion in the list as Uriah’s wife highlights the other-side-of-the-lineness of one of the most revered names in the list—David.)

None of the above was new to me. I have observed and talked about these things before. But as I read the list this week the radicalness of it, the power of it, moved me as it had not before. Perhaps because bounded and centered are so much on my mind these days (as I work on my book). Perhaps because there is so much judgmentalism, racism, and disdainful dismissal of others these days—by both the right and the left. Probably a combination. The very first words in the story of Jesus that God inspired Matthew to write are an intentional frontal assault on bounded group purity culture. And note, it is not just that marginalized people are quietly allowed in—given some seats off to the side. Their presence in the lineage of Jesus, God incarnate, is heralded. And remember, who is the one writing this—Matthew, one who has experienced the shameful exclusion of being on the wrong side of the line. He personally experienced radical inclusion through Jesus’ line-erasing actions.

Are there ways that you have recently felt “othered,” looked down upon? Take a moment imagine what Matthew might say to you? What would Jesus say to you?

What are ways you get pulled into the judgmentalism of the day? How might you reorient toward the way of Jesus?

Who are people in your circles who are feeling the weight of being on the wrong side of someone’s lines? How might you take Jesus-like actions toward them?

Let us as followers of Jesus be as radical as this text and confront the judgmental purity codes of our day.

The Cross: Atonement Analysis is One Thing. What does it Mean for Me?

I had already finished this month’s blog, sent it off to the webmaster. Then the cross broke into my life. Part 2 of last month’s blog will have to wait!

Good Friday. In addition to participating in a Zoom church service I decided to reflect on the significance of the day by reading two chapters from Proclaiming the Scandal of the Cross—Chris Friesen’s and Debbie Blue’s. Amazing chapters—a conversation in a coffee shop and a sermon. As I re-read these chapters the authors, once again, impressed me with their insight and the power of their images. I wish I was as smart as them and able to communicate as well as they do. In the middle of my appreciation of their atonement theology, however, an inner voice said “Mark, read this for you. What does this mean for you?” I have thought so much about the atonement, written so much about the atonement, taught so many times about the atonement, when I encounter talk about the saving significance of the cross my default is to go to analysis. I stepped aside from my appreciative awe of their excellent work and let their words and images engage my life. I am newly impressed that even with as much time as I have spent reflecting on the cross and resurrection, I have not exhausted the meaning of the atonement—neither at the level of analysis nor at its significance for my life.

I will not attempt to condense and communicate the images themselves. I encourage you to read, or re-read, these chapters yourself. I will summarize an aspect of the content of their images and focus on how they impacted me.

One of Friesen’s images is the cross as God turning the other cheek. God does not strike back to balance the relational equation. Turning the other cheek causes the math of reciprocity and retribution to unravel, leading to a relational situation with remarkable possibilities for reconciliation and growth. A beautiful, powerful message. Rather than responding in kind to our disrespect, disloyalty, disobedience (ours today and literally at the cross) God forgives. Through God’s act we are freed from the revenge and retaliation cycle and freed to forgive as well. A great message for the men in my jail Bible study, but for me? Today? I put the book down, prayed, asked God, “What does this mean for me?” Almost immediately I thought of a few students that frustrated me this week—for not following directions or for missing class, from my perspective, unnecessarily. I certainly would not call them enemies, and I am not plotting revenge. Yet I let the frustration simmer in my being; I complained about them to a couple friends. The cross of Jesus calls me to something else. I prayed and released what I was holding against them. I invite you to do the same. Take a moment, pray, listen—who or what comes to mind? And, may this, for you and me, be more than just a Good Friday activity.

Debbie Blue’s sermon on the last part of the Gospel of Mark’s passion narrative (15:21-39) begins with powerful stories of people coming together by uniting against a common enemy. She calls it the scapegoating machine. The power of the stories is not in their grandness, not Hitler uniting Germans against the Jews, rather in their everydayness. Her point is we do this all the time. Then she turns to the cross. She observes, Jesus could have done this; he could have easily unified the crowds against the religious leaders or against the Romans. But the cross is the opposite, all the competing factions in Jerusalem unifying against Jesus.

Blue says, at this point God could have responded with the ultimate scapegoating move—displaying how bad all these people are. But, she writes:

The death and resurrection of Jesus Christ isn’t a New Great Big Way to make the machine run, the Most Powerful Fuel Ever for that old mechanism, so that now God’s people can clearly unify, the believers in Jesus against the unbelievers. It collapses the machine. . . This story is not the ultimate reinforcement of over/against, this story reveals to us the destructiveness, futility, utter deathliness of all our againstness, shows us how our deeply ingrained mechanism for creating unity leads to death, even the death of God.

But surprisingly, stunningly, beautifully, unexpectedly and amazingly, the revelation does not end with utter condemnation for the violence at the heart of the social order. . .  It’s a story about Jesus absorbing, taking in, all our againstness, accepting all the death we have to hand out, all the fears that make it so impossible for us to be truly vulnerable, all the weakness that makes us mean. He takes it all totally and thoroughly in. And comes back. Comes back unbelievably undefeated by it. Comes back, not vengeful and resentful, all hyped to form some oppositional unity, some group communion against us (or anyone), all ready to get his army up against the bad stupid scapegoating people. He comes back and he comes back again and again and always, irrepressibly for them, us, all. He comes back loving and forgiving and desiring, as always, communion with the world.

It’s a little hard to get. It may not even seem entirely appealing to us, but this story isn’t told to harden our hearts against anyone. It’s given to us to break our hearts open.  To make love and communion. To make relationship with the Other (who’s the complete other) possible. To reveal to us how we are all together now, not in opposition, not in condemnation, but in forgiveness, gathered together in the love of God (68-69).

Then as I read her next lines I thought, bounded and centered. I invite you to look for that connection too.

It doesn’t seem like this story should fuel our sense of divine righteousness against bad people, wrong ways, strange, weird others, it seems like it might break our hearts open, for relationship based not on exclusion but on the ridiculously inclusive forgiving and redeeming love of God. It shows us that we can’t relieve our separateness by making a scapegoat, we can’t create love and unity fueled by againstness. The old mechanism, the old story is not creative of communion, or if it is, that love and communion is some thin false scared union compared to the new, practically unimaginable, vitally alive, thorough and wild communion made possible by the love and grace of God (69-70). 

As you know, I think relating church to bounded sets, fuzzy sets, and centered sets is a great tool. Reading this paragraph, however, reminded me that the tool is just an aid for understanding. What makes a centered church possible is the God of the center. It is through Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection that the wild, vitally alive, ridiculously inclusive communion of a centered church is possible. Beautiful thought, but then again the question: “What does this mean for you Mark?” I began to ponder, to listen. Where do I practice “againstness” rather than allow the reality of God’s work through the cross and resurrection to flow in my life? Ironically, the very first thing that came to mind was people who have attacked me because of my books on the atonement. It is not a stretch to say I have been scapegoated. Although I have not reciprocated by openly attacking as I have been attacked, I have feed the scapegoating machine with us vs. them thoughts in private and in conversation with friends (who are “on my side”). Other us vs. them dynamics easily came to mind. There is so much of it in the air in our society today.

I took a walk and pondered. What does it mean for me to let loose the resurrection reality in these us-them dynamics? What does it mean for me to practice a centered approach with these people? A key move is to distinguish agreement from communion. I feel no call from the Spirit to change my positions. Thinking of Jesus was helpful here. Jesus practiced amazingly inclusive table fellowship. He did not, however, approve of the behavior or beliefs of all those he ate with. For instance, eating with Levi, Zaacheaus, and other tax collectors was not an endorsement of their actions. What then am I called to do? Three ideas. 

First, when I feel us-them, over-and-against, type thinking in my being (or scapegoating sort of talk with others), remind myself: I do not need this for security or identity. My security and identity are found in the center—Jesus. We do not need an other, a scapegoat, to unite us. Our communion flows from God’s loving and gracious action of inclusion. We are united by the center—Jesus. 

Second, compassion. It is so easy to see a person only as their theological position or their political position. As I wrote in a blog two years ago: How might it change our days if we wrapped every thought about another person in a blanket of blessing and compassion? (See also this blog on Father Greg Boyle.) I will seek to shift my gaze.

Third, look for common ground, focus on common values and commitments.

What came to mind as you read Debbie’s words? Who came to mind? What ideas might you add to my list?

Which Gang are you Running With?

I am surrounded by gang members every Friday afternoon. Recently during a jail Bible study “Steve” asked me if God would accept him into the Kingdom if he was still a gang member. During the Bible studies I often make a comment or ask a question that invites them to contrast the ways of the street with the way of Jesus. But I never directly challenge them to leave the gang. Years ago I asked a seminary student and former gang member, Ivan Paz, for counsel on how to approach the gang issue with men in jail. He recommended I not focus on trying to get them to leave the gang. He advocated for leaving that to the Spirit, and recognize it will happen at different times in different ways.

Steve, about 40, explained that he was committed to doing the “family thing” when he gets out, and was beginning to take steps needed to leave the gang. He said, “But in jail you have to run with something.” So he is waiting until he is out. He asked me, quoting scripture, “am I ‘sealed with the Holy Spirit’ or not in this case? Will God consider me restored even though I am still in the gang?”

I tried to do three things in my response. First, I acknowledged that I have no gang experience; I even mentioned talking to Ivan to let Steve know that I do not see myself in a position to tell him what to do and when to do it. Second, most prominently, I sought to shift the focus to God and who God is. I referred back to our study that day. How had Jesus responded to Peter after Peter had denied him? Thirdly, although hesitant to tell him what to do, I also did not want to imply that it is no big deal, that it does not matter. So, seeking to move away from the punctiliar: restored or not, and from the bounded: right side of the line or not; I said, “You are being restored, God is in the process of restoring you.” I emphasized the “being” and underlined the “ing” in “restoring.” I affirmed the work God is doing in his life, and changes and commitments Steve has made. Then I again brought in Peter, and went over some of his ups and downs. We, like Peter, are in process and will have ups and downs.

I think pastorally I did well. Steve seemed to have received comfort from our conversation. But it did bring up in my mind this gang theme that is present every week, visible in the tattoos, and frequently referred to when they talk about “homies”—most often in positive ways. In the world I am from gang activity and membership is solidly in the “wrong” category. Yet when I stepped into Steve's situation it felt more complex. I reflected on what I had said. I clearly did not take a bounded approach. I tried to be centered, but not fuzzy. I was not sure I succeeded, but I also did not  do a lot of second guessing. Rather, my thoughts turned to myself. As is so often the case, entering into the lives of men in the study led me to think about things in my own life differently. This time a Debbie Blue sermon enriched those thoughts.

In reflecting on Herod’s (and all of Jerusalem’s) being disturbed by the news of the birth of a king, the Messiah, she writes: “Well, it does seem like it might be a little disruptive to suddenly have the kingdom of God break into the reality everyone’s gotten used to, after all. It seems like there would be maybe a little tension surrounding the emergence of a whole new order. Mostly it seems like there’s really not room for another king, a whole different way.” Then she turns from Herod to us and the king Jesus. “There’s not room for this king and his ways. It doesn’t mesh very well with what we know, it’s all the wrong shape for any preconceived space. It doesn’t fit. I mean how does ‘love your enemy,’ or ‘turn the other cheek,’ or ‘blessed are the merciful…’ really fly in the Pentagon or the White House or your own psyche? How about ‘you cannot serve God and Mammon.’ Does that fit? . . . It doesn’t fit with our evolutionary drives, for pete’s sake, to gain, to compete, to succeed, to strive for personal success, to make our own way in the world” (Sensual Orthodoxy, 19).

Through the lens of those lines I see how so much of my life is not that different than Steve’s saying, “but here in jail you have to run with something”—you have to be part of a gang. In so much of my life as a seminary professor I am in essence saying, “I have to run with something.” And the institution I run with, as it seeks to serve the King, is still in so many ways enmeshed with the State, the Department of Education, Mammon, academia—institutions and practices where the way of Jesus does not fit.

I think I do well at not coming across to men in the Bible study as holier than thou. I think I do pretty well at practicing a centered approach. Yet, honestly at some level in my being there still is the same sort of line-drawing going on that I did in high school. Being an active gang member is wrong. I am not an active gang member and do not do the sort of things that come with running with a gang. Yet as I reflected on Debbie’s sermon I saw Steve as being ahead, not behind me. He recognizes the tension, knows his running does not fit with the Kingdom of God. Society does not label my running as inappropriate, but fitting in as part of this society is actually a quite questionable thing through the lens of the Kingdom of God.

Debbie ends her sermon not by finger pointing, “Don’t be like Herod,” but rather by underlining the great hope of incarnation, of Epiphany. There is no room; God does not fit. But God came, and keeps coming. God finds a way in."

May we be open to the Light—as Steve has been. And may we all continue in the process of being restored.

Postmodern Christians, We Have a Problem (Or Two)

Guest blog by Dallas Nord, Fresno Pacific Biblical Seminary student, farmer and writer.

Here’s the situation: We are millennials. We grew up, came of age, and entered (or are entering) adulthood all within a postmodern society. That’s important—and perhaps problematic—if you’re a Christian. If you’re a millennial Christian like me, then you probably don’t really love the ways that Christians and the church have behaved, how they’ve read Scripture, or how they’ve engaged society and politics in recent years (or in recent centuries!). Why not? Well, it has something to do with the transition from modernism (key words: reason, proof, objectivity, universal truth, etc.) to postmodernism (key words: culture, context, subjectivity, diversity, relative truth, etc.) that has been happening over the last few decades in our part of the world. Young folk like us who are accustomed to this postmodern landscape are far more comfortable with uncertainty, ambiguity, and diversity than our parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents were. While these older generations (who grew up, came of age, and entered adulthood within modernism) have trouble accepting ideas, lifestyles, and beliefs that seem to contradict their own, our generation is actually pretty good at being generous and accepting of those who differ from us. We recognize value and validity in each person’s experience and the beliefs that emerge from those experiences. We think it is a bad idea to hate people just because they’re different, and we think it’s a really good, Christlike idea to love everyone no matter how different from us they may be. Props to the millennials for figuring that one out! (Ok, so we’re not the first ones to figure out the whole “love everyone” thing, but we certainly say it louder than generations past.)

However, we may have a problem. Actually we might have two problems. Well ok, we have lots of problems, but I’ll only address two of them here. First, those modernist, older folks that call themselves Christians but don’t seem to be following the same Jesus as us—we don’t like to allow them the title of “real Christians.” That title we reserve for people like us who truly care about social ills in the world, who value ethics over doctrine or tradition, and who know how to be nice to people who are different from us. Aside from the fact that this causes us to be mean to “the mean Christians,” this posture assumes that we can judge who belongs to God’s people and who doesn’t. Karl Barth—the most important theologian of the twentieth century[1]—argued that there have been multiple bases by which some Christians have tried to discern who the “true Christians” among them were. Some tried basing it on sacraments like baptism—if you’re baptized, you’re “in.” Others tried basing it on holiness or morality—if you don’t screw up, you’re “in.” Both of these were misled, Barth says. While we cannot know with certainty who is like chaff and who is like wheat in God’s eyes, we can know with certainty that Christ’s redemptive act is as much for them as it is for us. Barth writes,

But when we believe in Jesus Christ, presupposing that we are in the community which is before us and that we live with it, we are required to accept as a working hypothesis that other members as well as ourselves can be holy and not unholy; not on the basis of their own thought and will and action, but in spite of the doubtful nature of all human thought and will and action, as those who are separated by the Lord of the community and therefore genuinely, as real Christians.[2]

So even though those old, stiff-necked modernists in our church are old, stiff-necked, and modernists, we do not get to exclude them from the body of Christ. This should be easy for us—we are all about inclusion, not exclusion—but it is terribly difficult to uphold that virtue when it comes to our own people.

Speaking of inclusivity, that leads us to our second problem. It seems that in our effort to be loving and to embrace everyone no matter what, we have sacrificed our ability to truly speak into each other’s lives. When we take postmodernism’s tolerance virtue to its extreme, we become unable to call our friends (and ourselves) away from certain ideas or behaviors (in church we call this “repentance”) and toward better ways of life (maybe we can call this “salvation”) because to do so would seem intolerant or unloving. We are a generation that is really good at affirming others; we know how to say “Yes.” We have trouble, though, ever saying “No.” In reaction to modernism’s failure to embrace others in love, we have chosen to err on the side of silent acceptance. Again, I’m pretty sure that this is better than outright hatred and rejection, but if we truly want to love our friends and neighbors, won’t we want what’s best for them? Sometimes while saying Yes to them, that Yes will need to include a No. At least, that’s what Karl Barth said.

I think Barth is right. Just take a look at Jesus. I’m sure most of us millennial Christians would affirm that Jesus is a Yes kind of guy. He didn’t reject anyone, even if they were unclean, poor, foreigners, liars, traitors, racists. He’s the very person that inspires our loving embrace of all people! And rightfully so. Notice, though, that he also wasn’t afraid of confrontation. In his Sermon on the Mount, Jesus explicitly says that his kingdom is for the poor and the vulnerable and the outcast. That’s a pretty big YES! But he doesn’t leave it at that. He still has words of admonition: don’t be angry at each other (Mt. 5:22a), don’t insult each other (Mt. 5:22b), don’t give into lust (Mt. 5:27-30), don’t act violently (Mt. 5:35-42), love even your enemies (Mt. 5:43-48), etc. These are the Noes. But recognize that these are not bad ideas. These are all good ideas for better living. Jesus only gave a No within a larger Yes. Now think about the disciples—especially Peter. Jesus gave each of them a big Yes when he called them to be his followers and friends. All along the way, though, he was calling them out wherever they were failing or missing the point. Despite those moments of rebuke, however, they never felt rejected by Jesus. They kept on following him (except for Judas I suppose) and continued his mission once he was gone.

This should be a model for us as we dialogue with our neighbors and friends. We should lovingly embrace each one of them—certainly!—but let’s not be afraid to encourage real transformation in their lives when needed. A “Yes” without a “No” is just a “So What.” A loving Yes will want the best for the other and will include a No to the things that are not life-giving for that person. Sometimes we will need to say to our friends, “I’ve experienced this new way of life in Jesus and have given up [insert old way of life here]. I think you would find it refreshing and life-giving as well.” Were there things that you felt called away from once you started following Jesus? Name those things and explain how life was better as you left those things behind. When I began to encounter Jesus in a meaningful way, I felt compelled to give up my aspirations of wealth and “success” as popularly defined. I totally rerouted my college and career direction in search of a more service-oriented lifestyle. And that has made life so much fuller for me. Based on that experience, I can suggest a similar repentance and transformation in other’s lives.

Today, my wife and I like to borrow a line from Wes Anderson’s film, Moonrise Kingdom. In the film, Suzy tells Sam that she wishes she were an orphan. Sam, an orphan, responds, “I love you, but you don’t know what you’re talking about.” Suzy pauses briefly, then replies, “I love you too.” Sam’s response to Suzy’s insensitive remark is a No within a Yes. It is a loving rebuke. And it is effective. Suzy gets it. She hears and feels the No, but it is the Yes that she feels most deeply and responds to. So while we probably shouldn't use Sam’s words exactly, we should carry the spirit of them when we need to communicate a No to our friends. Let the Yes be so true and so meaningful that the No is understood as an act of honest love.

In sum, if we want to be embracing of all people, then that will include embracing our modernist brothers and sisters in the church. Even when we speak a No to their actions, attitudes, or theology, let’s be sure we situate it within the Yes of affirmation to their membership in the body of Christ. And if we want to be good neighbors to our fellow postmodernists, then we cannot be afraid to include a No with our Yes as we engage them in relationship. To give only a No to the church and only a Yes to our friends is to fail to love on both fronts. Let us be people of love on every front.

[1] If you don’t know who Karl Barth is, Google him after reading this. For now just know that he was a brilliant preacher and theologian who didn’t really love the whole modernism thing either.

[2] Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics IV.1: The Doctrine of Reconciliation, 699.

Red, Blue, Jesus?

Guest Blog by Phil Schmidt, pastor and 2012 graduate of Fresno Pacific Biblical Seminary.

Greetings from Tabor Mennonite Church in rural Kansas. In light of the political tension in our country throughout this last year, our church sought to respond in a way that would unify us as a congregation instead of causing deeper divisions. You see, Kansas is a "red state" and many in our congregation also identify more with Republican ideals of smaller government, lower taxes, etc.... But we also have many people in our congregation that identify with Democratic values of larger government for the purpose of caring more for people living on the margins of society. That being said, over these past months, several people in our congregation suggested that they did not feel good about either the Democrat or Republican candidate for president, saying that they were both bad options. In light of these political conversations taking place all around as well as the country's insistence that we fit into one of two groups (Red vs. Blue), we sought to focus on Jesus and find a third way. 

 In the weeks leading up to and surrounding the United States Presidential election, we at Tabor Mennonite Church sought to approach the political tension in our country from a centered-set perspective. We sought to center our thought, discussion, and imagination on Jesus in two specific ways:

 1) Beginning in September, we invited people in the congregation to join a Faith Formation class in which they would read and discuss Shane Claiborne and Chris Haw's book, Jesus for President: Politics for Ordinary Radicals. As the authors say in the book, "Our president is not organizing another political party...Jesus is forming a new kind of people, a different kind of party, whose peculiar politics are embodied in who we are. The church is a people called out of the world to embody a social alternative that the world cannot know on its own terms" (228). This book explores the Bible through this lens and then the last section of the book provides many practical ideas and examples of what this social alternative can look like in the real world. Throughout this Faith Formation class at Tabor, we were challenged to continue centering our minds and imagination on Jesus: how he lived, and how he calls us to live as citizens of God's kingdom each end every day. This also meant shifting our minds and imagination away from the divisive political rhetoric happening all around. The class ended by reading/praying together the "Litany of Resistance" found in Appendix 4 of the book. If you have not read Jesus for President, I encourage you to do so. 

 2) Beginning in October, we participated in a worship series entitled "Faith and Politics: Living the Sermon on the Mount." Throughout this worship series, we reflected on passages from Jesus' revolutionary Sermon on the Mount paired with other powerful passages of scripture (e.g. James 3:13-18, Romans 12:9-21, Matthew 22:15-22) that all emphasized giving our full allegiance to God's upside-down kingdom. Each Sunday, we sought to name the tension in our political system while focusing on the teachings of Jesus to be agents of peace and reconciliation, to live fruitful lives, to treasure up treasures in heaven, etc.... Each Sunday, we prayed the Lord's Prayer together following the intercessory structure of Week 1 in Take Our Moments and Our Days: An Anabaptist Prayer Book. Finally, we ended each service with a benediction in Jesus' words from Matthew 5:13-16: "You are the salt of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything, but is thrown out and trampled under foot. You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven." Our constant encouragement throughout this series was to be salt and light by giving our allegiance to Jesus and God's kingdom (and not to a particular political party, platform, or person). 

 On the Sunday following the presidential election, we did not celebrate a victory for the Republicans. Nor did we mourn a loss for the Democrats. Rather, we named the fear and pain experienced by many people in our country, especially those living on the margins of society. In the midst of fear and rioting, we prayed for God's peace to reign. And, we again declared our allegiance to God's kingdom and to Christ's way of reconciliation. 

Throughout these last weeks, we have sought to center our focus and imagination on Jesus and God's in-breaking kingdom. Some in the congregation resisted the direction we took in this series, suggesting that I preach a sermon in which I would encourage everyone in the congregation to vote in the upcoming election (and they made it clear to me which candidate was the correct one to vote for).

However, I did not take their advice to encourage people in my congregation to vote for the president of the United States. Rather, I preached a sermon entitled "vote with your life," in which my encouragement was for us all to vote each and every day for God's kingdom through acts of compassion, service, and love. After all, in God's kingdom, the polls are always open (it is best to vote early and often)!

On the other hand, several people in the congregation expressed appreciation for the approach we took through this Faith Formation elective and worship series. During one of our Jesus for President discussions, two young people from our congregation decided that they would spend their Thanksgiving weekend traveling to Standing Rock, North Dakota, to join Christian Peacemaker Teams in standing with the Sioux people protesting the Dakota Access Pipeline. This kind of creative action is a natural result of centering our minds, hearts, and imaginations on Jesus and God's in-breaking kingdom.

I pray that all followers of Jesus can likewise resist the divisive thinking of conservatives vs. liberals and instead pursue a third way, embracing imagination and opportunities to embody God's kingdom on earth as it is in heaven. 

 *  *  *  *

We invite readers to share in the comment section ways you have in recent days sought to lessen division and polarization through centered ways, and ways you have reached out to those on the margins living who are living with increased levels of fear.

Re-Orientation

In this political season in the United States we have observed people bend the truth, lie, change their positions, and abandon former allies--all in calculated ways to obtain or keep their positions of power. And this is not limited just to positions of national prominence. Two years ago my friend Robb Davis was elected to the city council of a city of less than 70,000. At a recent conference on Jacques Ellul Robb shared how Ellul’s writing on ends and means has influenced him. He told me, “I must re-orient regularly. I so easily get pulled off the way of Jesus.” For instance, he is a strong advocate of restorative justice. He is regularly urged explicitly, or feels an internal pull, to do more to increase people’s allegiance to him and thus increase his level of power so he can more easily enact programs using restorative justice. Two things can occur. First, he can use the positive end, restorative justice, to justify means inconsistent with the way of Jesus. Second, with increased emphasis on the means to achieve power, eventually the original end of implementing the practice of restorative justice can get lost. Achieving power becomes the true end—even if not the acknowledged one.

“With increased emphasis on the means to achieve power, eventually the original end of implementing the practice of restorative justice can get lost. Achieving power becomes the true end—even if not the acknowledged one.”

It is true that the political realm may be especially challenging, but I think we all could benefit from following Robb’s example of re-orientation. I have been reflecting on how and why it is needed in my life—in two different ways.

The first is the same sort of twisting of ends and means that Robb describes. Here are a few examples. Most of my life I have worked for Christian non-profit organizations that depend on donations to carry out their mission. Money, fundraising, is a means, but I have seen churches and organizations get off track in both of the ways Robb described. They have compromised their values in order to get (or not lose) donations. In some cases obtaining donations becomes the true end of the organization in the sense that it drives what they do. Generally, people in the organization are not consciously aware of this shift, and, in fact, it is not as clear as the previous sentences imply. There is a continuum, and the shift from money as an appropriate means to money as a distorted end is subtle. For that reason, the regular evaluation and re-orientation that Robb calls for is necessary.

As an author, I observe the dynamic Robb describes. There was certainly some amount of ego involved in writing my books, especially the first. But mostly it was not about me. I did not write books about the atonement as a means of making Mark Baker famous. I wrote in order to contribute to paradigm change in relation to the atonement. But an author with higher stature, more notoriety, will lead to more people buying and reading the book. So, for instance, I was glad to receive an invitation to speak at a national study conference of the Brethren in Christ Church in Canada. I assumed it would help sell more books—spread the word.  Last year I improved my website. I tell myself that the reason I did that (and the reason I just included the link) is to promote my writings—contribute to paradigm change in the way of Jesus. But these things can easily become about promoting me. Regular re-orientation, taking an honest look at means, is important and necessary.

What are ways that means and ends can get confused in your life? What things pull you off track? How might you practice re-orientation?

“I have written a big ‘why?’ at the top of my daily prayer/reflection guide. I reflect on the day ahead and, with Jesus in mind, I ask ‘Why am I doing what I am doing?’”

A second way of re-orientation needed in my life differs from what Robb describes. It is not so much that means pull me away from the true end and I get off course. Rather I have been doing the same things for so long I stop thinking about the end. I am on auto-pilot. I teach classes because it is my job; I preach a sermon because I was invited to; I offer guidance to students because they are my advisees; I raise money for projects in Latin America because I have done so for decades; I work on a book manuscript because I committed myself to the project a few years ago; I write a blog like this one because we committed to doing so monthly, etc. I am not saying I do all this with no sense of mission—pure obligation no passion. Rather my point is that I have not generally started my days reflecting on the coherence between what I am doing and the way of Jesus. The things I do in a day are good things; unlike the examples in the previous section, relatively speaking, I am on course. Yet, re-orientation is beneficial. I have written a big “why?” at the top of my daily prayer/reflection guide. It reminds me to reflect on the day ahead and, with Jesus in mind, I ask “Why am I doing what I am doing?” Asking the question has not led to significant changes in my days in terms of what I do, but it has changed how I have done them. It has surprised me what happens, for instance, when I think ahead to a meeting I have with a student and ask the “why?” question. Things come to mind to talk about that would not have if I had remained on auto-pilot. It has rarely changed the content in the class I have that day, but it has changed my posture and passion toward the class—which in the end probably does impact the content even if I use the same notes I used last time.

Re-aligning with the way of Jesus is fundamentally good news—better for us as individuals and better for the world. When I re-orient I feel more alive, more engaged. I invite you to join me in more intentionally practicing a discipline of looking at our lives and re-orienting them toward Jesus our center.

Speaking of Jesus...

I had heard of Cornel West, walked by him at conferences, was intrigued by him, but I had never heard him speak. Last summer I had the opportunity to do so at the Hispanic Summer Program. HSP, started by Justo Gonzalez, provides Latina and Latino seminary students the opportunity to take a two-week course from a Hispanic professor in a setting in which they are not a minority in the classroom. Fresno Pacific Biblical Seminary became one of the thirty-plus sponsoring seminaries in 2013 so that our students could participate. I was at HSP for a shorter program, called Through Hispanic Eyes, for non-Hispanic seminary faculty and administrators. Cornel West gave an evening lecture to HSP students on black-brown relationships—participants in my program, as well as people from the community, were invited to sit in on the lecture.

I expected West to be radical. His passionate critique of the status quo did not surprise me; it did surprise me when he started talking about the cross. Numerous times he called the audience to look through the lens of the cross. He declared, “and what is seen through the lens of the cross is not a proposition.”

Too often it seems that the more academic the setting the less Jesus talk there is. And that had been true of the sessions I had been in with other seminary professors talking about how to better recruit and serve Latina and Latino students. We started each day with a devotional led by one of the participants. The devotionals were good—clearly people in the group had deep faith commitments, but Jesus was not mentioned again the rest of the day. We, myself included, never said, “let’s look through the lens of the cross. How might that shape how we approach this?” We did not talk about how following Jesus related to the topic of our training.

“What most challenged me was the fact that he so explicitly brought Jesus into his talk. Why do I not more often do what he did? He integrated talk of Jesus and the cross into a topic that did not demand it.”

West did not just mention Jesus, he proclaimed him!

This was not a sermon. It was a lecture and he spoke about many things, but he also preached—and without hesitation. He asked us “Do you have the nerve to follow Jesus? Are you willing to cut against the grain?”  He stated, “You can call Alexander great if you want, but he is not great through the lens of the cross. Through the lens of the cross love and serving others is what is great.”  “The way of the cross is the way of unconditional love and truth.” He exhorted us to put the cross first, not the flag of our nation.

If West, a former Princeton University Philosopher professor and current Union Seminary philosophy professor, had not mentioned Jesus or the cross in this speech on black-brown relations, I would not have left saying, “Can you believe that? He never talked about Jesus!” Similarly, I had not ended the first day of our sessions by calling home and telling my wife, “Lynn, I can’t believe it—hours together with seminary deans, professors, and admission directors, but no talk about Jesus in relation to our topic.” It is telling that what caught my attention, what surprised me, in those days was not the lack of Jesus talk in our session, but the presence of Jesus talk in West’s lecture.

A number of things West said challenged me, left me pondering. But what most challenged me was the fact that he so explicitly brought Jesus into his talk. Why do I not more often do what he did? He integrated talk of Jesus and the cross into a topic that did not demand it—that many people would talk about without mentioning Jesus. My question is not: why don’t I talk about Jesus? I actually talk about Jesus quite a bit in classes and Bible studies. I even have a book titled Centrado en Jesus (Centered on Jesus). But it is one thing to talk with passion and conviction about Jesus when leading a Bible study, another thing to do so when talking about other topics. For instance, I frequently have conversations with people about the themes of this website without any Cornel West-like lines about the cross or Jesus. Why?

One answer could be that I have not looked at these topics enough through the lens of the cross to be able to integrate Jesus comments into my conversations. I do not think that is the case. I have thought of two other possible reasons. First, when in conversation with other Christians I think I and others assume the Jesus factor—sort of a “Well of course Jesus influences how we think about this, we are Christians.” So we do not bring Jesus into the conversation. Second, I think it is a reaction against some Christians overusing Jesus talk in clichéd ways. Not for the first time, I have reacted to some people’s negative version of a practice by abandoning the practice rather than reforming the practice. Cornel West’s example challenges me to do otherwise. It is not a call to sprinkle in Jesus talk just so I sound more Christian. Instead it is a call to bring more Jesus talk into conversation to acknowledge the reality that the point being made is influenced by Jesus and the cross, or as way of inviting reflection on how the conversation could be more profoundly Christian.

I can imagine some of you getting nervous now, perhaps thinking, “But wait a minute Mark, there are situations in which explicit Jesus language could be counterproductive—might end a conversation.” I acknowledge that. For instance I recently read Just Mercy. The Christian author writes a book in line with Cornel West’s observations and critiques. I believe the author, Bryan Stevenson, looks at the criminal justice system through the lens of the cross, yet he does not mention Jesus or the cross in the book. I imagine that was an intentional decision. He did not want to limit his audience by using explicitly Christian language. I do not critique Stevenson’s decision. I also, however, do not think it is always the best decision. I hope that the challenge of West’s lecture will lead to me bringing Jesus up more often in conversations with non-Christians on themes like consumerism or technique. Yet, I want to point out that the events described in this blog, HSP sessions and lecture, were Christian settings. It is Christian settings I have most in mind as I write this. Let us start there in increasing our Jesus talk.

After hearing Cornel West I added this line to my daily prayer guide: “Be like Cornel West -- let my Jesus commitments and convictions be more explicitly evident.” What has happened? There have been a number of times that this Cornel West-nudge has led me to explicitly bring Jesus into informal conversations, presentations and things I have written (including a couple of these blogs)--places where I probably would not have before. It has not, however, been as much as I thought it would be or as I would like it to be--plenty of room for growth here. Just last week after a lunch-time discussion with a few students about money/Mammon I realized that although I had used a few Christian words like “faith” and “trust in God,” I had not brought Jesus and the cross into the discussion in ways I could have. This is, however, progress. Pre Cornel West I would not have even had the evaluative thought, would not have recognized the missed opportunity.

“After hearing Cornel West I added this line to my daily prayer guide: “Be like Cornel West — let my Jesus commitments and convictions be more explicitly evident.””

Does this really matter? Is it that big of a deal? Certainly there is value at the level of witness—speaking of Jesus in this way makes public my allegiance to him. Yet it is more than that. Hopefully it is true that much of what I think and say is shaped by Jesus, and I am not calling us to label every thought. For instance, returning to the seminar I was in at HSP, I am not saying that the things we discussed were not influenced by our faith commitments, nor that we should have begun every paragraph by saying “Through the lens of the cross…” Yet, I have found that bringing Jesus into conversations has changed things. It is not just window dressing. It has led me to think and say things that I would not have had I not brought Jesus explicitly into the conversation or presentation.

I wish in the midst of that seminar I would have asked, “how as followers of Jesus do we approach the issues of recruiting and serving Latino and Latina students differently than others?” This question would have brought new insights, new emotions, new convictions and new challenges into the discussion.

I invite you to join me in expressing your Jesus commitments and convictions more explicitly in areas you currently do not do so.