If you check out Facebook’s policy against hate speech, you will find a moratorium on any speech that directly attacks people based on:

• Race
• Ethnicity
• National origin
• Religious affiliation
• Sexual orientation
• Sex, gender, or gender identity
• Serious disabilities or diseases

That’s a pretty broad list, but there’s one glaring category of abuse missing—age. In a survey by the The Gerontologist, it was found that in Facebook groups started by 20–29-year-olds: 75% criticized older people, 27% infantilized them, and 35% advocated banning them from public activities.

Our history of ageism

Western nations have always struggled with ageism. For the last 40 years or so, the number of nursing home residents who receive one visitor a month (or less) has hovered around 80%. The last I checked, it had climbed to 85%. As the cases of Alzheimer’s disease increase (by 2025 it’s estimated to be up 40%), the number of unvisited elderly will only increase. It’s emotionally devastating to visit a person who no longer recognizes you or exhibits behavior that is uncharacteristic of a loved one.

But the lack of connection to older citizens is really driven by a culture that celebrates the independence and individuality of youth more than it is any particular disease. The natural progression for aging Americans is retirement community –> assisted living –> nursing home. For most in the west, growing older is a gradual separation from friends and family that eventually results in complete isolation.

As you look around the world, this isn’t a universal problem. Like they do in Latin and Mediterranean cultures, many communities integrate the aging into family life. Countries like China and France actually have laws on the books that require loved ones to visit their aging relatives.

Many sociologists attribute America’s disposable elderly as a natural evolution of the Protestant work ethic. If you’re value is tied to your ability to work, what happens when you can no longer produce and contribute?  The obvious irony is that Protestantism is built on a religious philosophy that argues for the sanctity of all life.

Unlike Korean culture, where elderly family members are not only cared for but celebrated, many Americans die alone, surrounded by strangers, sterile walls, and florescent lighting.

The race goes to the swift

Even though we’ve often struggled to know how to handle our aged,  we have maintained culture of respect for our elders—despite how incongruous it sounds with the way we treat those who are no longer able to contribute.

A lot of that respect was based on our social framework. The gatekeepers of our economy used to be older men and women (45–50) who had built businesses and ran civic groups. They were people who fought in important world wars, made their way through a horrible Depression amassing deep wisdom from a myriad of life experiences.

In the last 20 years, technological advancements have dramatically altered this framework. It’s no surprise to see a twentysomething running a Fortune 500 company, or making millions from a high-tech  startup. On top of that, internet shopping and big box stores are making it harder and harder for mom and pop stores to keep their doors open. Many caught between the Boomer and Gen x generations have found themselves on the shifting sand of an economic system that’s in complete flux, and much different than the climate they had been prepared for.

People in their late forties and fifties are struggling to maintain their relevance in a rapidly changing environment.

This shift has happened in the church as well. Where you used to find older believers leading and discipling younger believers, you can find many churches where there isn’t anyone over the age of 35 in leadership. More and more, the input of older people is seen not as integral as the need to keep fresh and relevant.

The diminishment of social capital

On top of a tectonic shift in the nation’s professional hierarchy, the capital required for social relevance is changing, too.

We’re too close to the advent of the internet to really discern its social implications, but we can see some of the signs. There was a time when society’s older contingent played an important role in archiving and interpreting our collective history. They provided context, perspective, and wisdom. We went to them for advice and guidance.

Today we literally have the world at our fingertips. Our ability to Google whatever we need to know has leveled the informational playing field. We’re no longer reliant on the collective knowledge of the elders in our lives—we have a repository of humanity’s amassed learning, and it’s growing all the time.

This informational shift—along with the rapidly changing technological platforms required to share and consume this information—is quickly edging out society’s older members.

What we’re losing

The glory of young men is their strength, And the honor of old men is their gray hair.—Proverbs 20:29

There has always been an element of discord between generations. As Proverbs says, the glory of the young is in their strength, and that strength has always manifested itself in an idealistic determination to right the wrongs of our forefathers. In the past, that tension was kept in check by the economic and social dominance of the previous generation—in many ways, we showed deference and respect to our seniors because they were the societal gatekeepers.

As we have noted, there are a many elements contributing to a shift in the social structure:

• Rapid technological advancement creates challenging elements affecting work, social interaction, and economic advancement.
• The universal availability of the world’s information has created an archive of knowledge independent of human consciousness.
• A new economy built upon technological advancement offers economic opportunities that favor the young.

These changes have thrown off the generational equilibrium. The James-Dean-like rebellion of the fifties was marked by its in-your-face defiance and morphed into teenagers abandoning the family structure in the sixties and embracing an entirely different culture where they didn’t feel beholden to familial economic and social structures.

Eventually the hippy generation became the establishment themselves. They led us into Reagan’s prosperous eighties and seemingly undermined everything the sixties were about—paving the way for an entirely new revolution. Thanks to the technological seeds planted by the Boomer generation, today’s youth doesn’t need to defy their elders or break away from their economic tyranny to create their own communities, they can create their own economy and social structure and move their forefathers to the fringes.

Recapturing wisdom

As the proverb says, “the honor of old men is in their gray hair.” Gray hair has always been a symbol of wisdom since it was believed that wisdom was acquired through a person’s life.

But what is wisdom?

The clichéd definition of wisdom is “applied knowledge.” To stretch the cliché even thinner, “Knowledge tells you that a tomato’s a fruit, and wisdom tells you that you shouldn’t put it in a fruit salad.” But is that true? Well . . . yes, and no.

There is definitely an aspect of applied knowledge in wisdom . . . but it’s much more involved than knowing what to do (or not do) with knowledge. Wisdom is a hard-won prudence born out of experience—and often hardship. It’s not only an individual quality, but translates into a generational/cultural element as well.

A man may have developed a personal philosophy and wisdom culled from his harrowing experiences in WWII, but there is also a collective wisdom experienced by an entire generation that walked through the Second World War together. That generation learned something valuable about sacrifice and loss that contributed to a generational consciousness. The very same thing could be said about the generations who walked through the American Revolution, the Civil War, the Depression, etc.

A gay friend of mine was part of the generation who walked through the heartbreaking discovery and spread of AIDS. He not only suffered the loss of so many close friends, but experienced the abuse and ostracization of the church (and the rest of society). We have talked multiple times about the marginalization he now feels in his fifties at the hands of a gay community that sees his voice as irrelevant. In many ways, the scars, understanding, and wisdom that cost him (and so many of his peers) so much, and which is an important part of that community’s story, remains shut up in his bones. And it’s the community that suffers for its lack of wisdom.

It’s important to understand that this doesn’t mean that wise people are faultless or blameless. The wisdom that grew out of the Revolution came from a slave-owning culture. The sexism of the 1950’s sprang from a post-WWII culture—despite the fact that WWII saw an incredible number of women in the workforce. The mistaken assumption that wisdom cannot exist or evolve within a flawed or broken culture (or within flawed and broken people) makes it easy to dismiss our elders as inconsequential.

A balanced society needs wisdom

I was having a discussion about gun control with a second-amendment advocate in his twenties, eventually he told me, “I can tell from your profile picture that you’re a member the generation who helped create this problem to begin with.” I didn’t think my Twitter profile made me look that old (by that I mean that I didn’t think I looked old enough to be a member of the generation that drafted this amendment). But the interesting element of his comment was really, “you (old people) created the problem we’re trying to solve. Why don’t you shut up and get out of the way.”

This doesn’t mean that the opinion of every older person needs to be accommodated. Obviously, older people are not right or wise simply because they’ve avoided death. But when you factor in all the elements involved in solving social ills, experience and the potential for wisdom needs to be factored in. The fact that they might disagree with you (or might even be wrong on an issue) doesn’t negate any wisdom their part.

Youth often struggle with the idea that they understand things better than they do. The access to instant information (and the interpretation of that information) can tempt us with the idea that we’re further along in our comprehension than we really are. There is a perspective and understanding of that information that can only be understood in light of experience, maturity, and familiarity.

Youth and age provide a valuable yin and yang to the social structure. The young are revolutionaries, ready to go to war to fix broken infrastructures and social frameworks—and sometimes a revolution is exactly what’s needed.  The aged carry their experiences (and the experiences of their forefathers) providing valuable nuance and perspective. They were revolutionaries at one time, too. They have unique perspective on the other side of those experiences.
We desperately need both.

Don’t be so quick to dismiss your elders. Go listen to the stories of the men and women who have walked this road before. And for God’s sake, go visit your grandparents.

The post What We Lose When We Marginalize Our Seniors appeared first on Jayson D. Bradley.

Pastoring isn’t easy, and its challenges have many pastors daydreaming about other jobs. So, I’m a huge advocate of appreciating the people who serve us, and if that requires specific time set aside (Pastor’s appreciation month—October) to ensure it happens, I can get behind it.

One of the funny things I’ve noticed about pastor’s appreciation month is that churches who remember to do it are generally churches who do a good job appreciating their clergy all year around. These congregations will often take offerings for the pastor’s birthday, anniversary, and other special occasions.

There’s just one thing I think we all need to remember as we say “thank you” to our ministers in October: they’re not the only ones holding the church together.

Remembering our volunteers

Because larger churches get a lot of media attention, we have an idea that the average church size is about 5,000 people. It’s not. If you’re in a church of 95 people, your congregation is above average. Most of the churches I’ve served in have averaged about 100–200 people.

You quickly find in most smaller congregations that the regular work is being done by volunteers—often ones who are serving outside of their gifts. We’re talking about nursery workers, Sunday school teachers, kids’ and youth ministry leaders, worship teams, etc.

These are people who sacrifice their time week in and week out, year after year, to prepare for and implement the ministries and work of the church. If they’re leading these ministries, they’re also dealing with other volunteers and many of the same frustrations and indignities that pastors experience.

It’s human nature when things are running smoothly to forget about the effort poured into it. We kind of expect things to run without a hitch, so we don’t think twice about it when it does—and we don’t even see the hands that are doing the work.

What makes it even worse is that people are quick to criticize elements of these ministries that aren’t going the way they’d like. This means that the feedback these volunteers get isn’t, “thank you,” it’s “why aren’t you doing it this way?” This is often criticism from people who benefit from these ministries, but aren’t volunteering themselves.

The trouble with pastor appreciation

The difficulty with pastor’s appreciation is that many churches are pouring energy, time, money, and attention to the organization’s one employee—and forgetting the people who are working hard out of devotion. This doesn’t mean that pastors don’t deserve appreciation—they do. It’s just important that we don’t forget the workers pouring their hearts into the church, and the people in it.

Of course no one should be serving for recognition, but that doesn’t mean they don’t deserve it. Ideally, everyone serves from the pure desire to serve God, and then we cheer them on and show appreciation when they do.

Remember to appreciate your pastor, but not at the expense of others who serve. Remember to show your gratitude on them as well—it can mean the difference between meaningful ministry or burnout.

The post Something Important to Consider during Pastor Appreciation Month appeared first on Jayson D. Bradley.

If you’re a faith-based business or organization, you can’t afford to fail at marketing. You need to reach people who will benefit from your ministry, service, or product. You need to make an impact on donors and clients. You need to get your story in front of the right people.

But let’s face it, many Christian companies struggle with twenty-first century marketing. Quite a few publishers, seminaries, Bible schools, charities, churches, and ministries still pour the lion’s share of their marketing budget into outdated channels like print and radio, and when they do focus on internet marketing, they spin their wheels. Too many use their websites, ads, and social media channels to push people to subscribe, donate or buy—and get very little response.

And don’t even get me started on the manipulative elements of marketing which seem completely opposed to the Gospel. Theologian Roger E. Olsen wrote a blog post in 2011 asking if Christians should even work in marketing. Lord knows, we can all recite deceptive examples of practices that would help justify Olsen’s position.

Marketing doesn’t have to be that way

The content marketing revolution has happened, and a lot of Christian companies missed it—and it’s a huge shame. Because these organizations could be creating strategic and valuable content that tells their story, provides meaningful value to others, and draws the people they want to reach to them! Because when you’re providing value to people, they become invested in your story—and you.

I can’t think of a Christian business, charity, or organization, that doesn’t have a tale to tell, and likely an area of expertise to share with others. And if they do it right, Google will continue to bring people interested in their content and story for years to come. That’s right, the money spent on that ad with the extremely short shelf life could be paying dividends indefinitely.

The nuts and bolts of content ministry

Imagine a charity that builds wells for third-world countries. They desperately need laborers and donors. In the past, they might put an ad in a magazine that would (hopefully) capture the attention of a reader, and move them to donate or contact them to find out more.

But what if that charity had a YouTube channel or blog that told the story of the organization, regularly talked about the needs in these areas, shared biblical lessons, and ideas about how people could get involved? What if they understood how to rank on the front page of Google for searches like “water charity (a search terms that gets over 18,000 searches a year),” “clean water,” and “water charities”? What if they had a simple strategy for building an email list of 250,000 people they could reach when they needed?

They’re no longer relying on a few moments for that magazine ad to:

1. Capture someone’s attention
2. Generate a provocative enough appeal
3. Communicate all of the information that needs to be said
4. Compel a next step

Instead, they are investing in a process that is going to drive people (who are already looking for they provide) to them.

Enter GradLime

This is where I make a big announcement about what I’ve been doing . . .

I have fantastic friends who love the church as much as I do, and we all have a particular set of skills. (I’m pretty intelligent, but I’m definitely the dumbest one in this group.) We realized when we pooled our expertise, we had the perfect team for helping Christian organizations find some wins in the competitive content marketing space—and GradLime was born.

Before we could even discuss a proper company launch, we were already working with awesome brands like Zondervan, PushPay, and the Jesus Film Project. It was a pretty powerful confirmation that we offered a service that met a significant need.

And we’re excited to help meet that need for others.

A winning strategy

GradLime excels at strategy. Not every organization has the same needs, and isn’t helped by cookie-cutter approaches to marketing. So we focus on discerning what success looks like for our clients. And with our collective prowess in areas like:

• SEO
• Market research
• Content marketing
• Donor development
• Branding
• Paid Advertising
• Writing
• Design
• Web development

we find their competitive edge and craft a step-by-step plan that set them up for long-term victories and quick wins.

There’s a lot of information about content marketing out there—a lot of it’s helpful, some of it’s outdated, and some of it conflicts with the rest. The good news is that we’ve not only jumped that informational hurdle, we’ve all invested time in making wins with various projects of our own (and for others). As GradLime’s CEO, Jeffrey Kranz, likes to say, “It’s not easy, it’s just simple.”

We not only demystify content marketing for faith-based organizations, we position them for success.

If you think you know someone who could benefit from getting in touch with us, share this with them. We look forward to hearing from them.

The post Gradlime: Content Marketing Strategies for Christian Organizations appeared first on Jayson D. Bradley.

The Jewish, Islamic, and Christian creation stories all begin in a garden. God releases the first man and woman into his paradise with only one prohibition—don’t eat from a specific tree.

A tempter comes in the form of a serpent and tells the woman that God is holding out on them. The snake informs her that God knows that if they eat of this tree, they will be like him.

Immediately Eve is overcome with a fear we all have; the fear of missing out. What if God is withholding something important!? So they eat.

The man and woman’s first action after this treasonous act? Cover themselves and hide. . . and we’ve been hiding ever since.

The fear that controls us

If you asked people what underlying human emotion is responsible for our worst behavior, you’d get a ton of responses: greed, hate, pride, etc. But I think it’s fear. In fact, I think fear is the first cause of many of our terrible character flaws. if you think about it, jealousy is the fear of loss; pride the fear of diminished position or status; greed the fear that someone might have more than you.

Who said it better than Yoda? “Fear is the path to the Dark Side. Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering.”

It’s not just our negative behaviors that are fueled by fear, it’s many of our sins of omission. The things we leave undone, the conversations we never have, the risks we don’t take, and the adventures we don’t have are all influenced on some level by fear.

Did you know that anxiety disorders are the most common form of mental illness in the U.S., affecting 40 million adults in the United States age 18 and older, or 18% of the population? It’s true. People with an anxiety disorder are six times more likely to be hospitalized for psychiatric disorders than those who do not suffer from anxiety disorders. Fear predisposes us to illnesses and then makes the recover very difficult.

Most of the time we don’t recognize how fear affects our health and behavior. For something we all deal with, it’s seen as a huge weakness. It’s really too bad, because if we were more willing to recognize its affect on us, we could do more about it.

Culture sells us fear

Compounding the problem is how the media manipulates us knowing that fear is the greatest motivator for human behavior. Researchers from the Emory University did a study on the media coverage of health dangers in television news, magazine, and newspaper articles. What they found was a strange inverse relationship between news coverage and actual health concerns. Heart disease, the number one cause of death, received much less coverage as homicide, the eleventh-ranked cause of death.

People don’t seem to understand how their worldview is shaped by the news that is sold to us as a product. When interviewed for a Hunter College study on perspectives and media, a group was asked about their views of serious crime problems in America. 76% of people backed up their perspective with stories they had seen in the media, and only 22% cited personal experience.

Between 1990 and 1998 when the nation’s murder rate was down by 20%, the number of murder stories on network news stories were up 600%.

Social media doesn’t help. We tend to congregate in groups that reinforce our perspective and curate news stories that fortify our specific fears and prejudices.

Scripture’s strong counsel

It’s no wonder that “Do not fear” is the Bible’s number one admonition. It’s been said that some form of “Fear not” was used in the Bible 365 times (not true), but it is used a lot. Jesus gives us 125 imperative statements, and 21 of those are a variation of “Fear not,” “Take courage,” or “Have no fear.” Nearly every angelic visitation starts with the same advice, “Do not be afraid!”

What if this advice is more profound than simply telling the listeners not to be scared about what they’re experiencing right now? What if all of heaven is constantly crying out to us, “Stop being afraid! Your life and faith is being diminished by the fears you let control you!”

Think about the things we fear and how our lives are being weakened by them:

• We’re afraid to be hurt, so we’re never truly vulnerable
• We’re afraid to look stupid, so we never ask questions
• We’re afraid not to be liked, so we never let people see the real us
• We’re afraid of failure, so we never take that risk
• We’re afraid of conflict, so we never have that difficult conversation

If I was the devil, I would pour 100% of my effort in keeping everyone afraid. Because, although we all know that perfect love drives out fear, we know the opposite’s true. Perfect fear drives out love. It drives out faith. It drives out mercy. It drives out everything good in our lives.

As I write this, there is a debate going on in my country about whether we should be taking in Syrian refugees who are looking for shelter. Love says, “Of course we should.” But fear says, “That’s ridiculous. If there is any …  possible … risk … at … all, it’s not worth it.” It’s interesting how many of our foreign and domestic policies are controlled by fear. But let’s be honest, isn’t most of what we do?

And it’s sad that we miss the fact that our life grows or shrinks in direct proportion to our courage.

Making a change

How would your life change right now if you just decided not to be ruled by nagging fears, anxieties, and insecurities? What would your life look like if you had faith in that creation had an underlying sense of benevolence and kindness to it? What would you do if you actually trusted God’s promises?

Do you think your life would look any different if you sincerely stopped worrying about how people felt about you?

One of my favorite books is Henri Nouwen’s Genesee Diary, a journal of the seven months he spent in a Trappist monastery. During his time of work and silence, he had some big revelations about life and his place in it:

“You need a lot of trust to give yourself fully to someone else. . . . Many people adapt . . . but they’re not really obedient. They simply don’t want to make waves and instead go along with the trend. That is not obedience. That is adaptation. If I was able to trust more, to open myself more easily, to be more vulnerable, then obedience would not be so hard.”

How many things do we miss because we’re afraid to follow God into the unknown and do something that seems crazy, risky, or foolish?

Ask anyone over 70 and they’ll tell you, the biggest regrets you will carry at the end of your life are the acts of adventure and obedience you were too afraid to take.

Be not afraid.

The post Quit Letting Fear Control You appeared first on Jayson D. Bradley.

My furry friend Chuck who recently started a new blog, Hippie Heretic, invited other bloggers to blog through the gospel with him—and I immediately said I would. After a day passed, I began to think of millions of reasons why it was probably a bad idea.

1. Talking Scripture with Christians can a pain

When it comes to talking about specific Scripture, Christians often speak rather than listen. I’m not even talking about their need to contradict or police your views. You can make the most benign observation about a passage and someone will use it as a jumping off point to begin to demonstrate their mastery and extensive background knowledge.

Because the Bible is so important to the Christian faith, scriptural knowledge is a way to establish a spiritual pecking order. I think I’m sensitive to the abuse because I’m so tempted by it. I used to be one of those pedantic pedagogues who wanted to show off his scriptural knowledge and insert historical church facts and tenpenny theological terms into every conversation. Not only do I not want to be that guy anymore, I find that guy kind of annoying.

It’s kind of like the church is full of Sheldon Coopers. I think eventually you get to a place where you realize that being widely read and reading deeply are not necessarily the same thing.

So not only am I reticent to awaken my annoying, cloying need to be taken seriously as a student of Scripture, I’m not looking forward to being schooled in the comments by people who need to put me in my place—or just want to pass off the opinions of theologians as their own.

2. My readership will go way down

The truth is that the people I was speaking of in the last item are the ones who are most likely to read a series of blogs about the book of Matthew. For the most part Christians don’t want to read the Bible. Don’t get me wrong. It’s important to them, and they really intend to—just not right now. They’re going to see a post about Matthew and instantly think, been there; done that.

When I write hot topic pieces about the rage du jour, I get clicks, shares, and periodicals asking to share my thoughts. I know that will dry up as I start talking about Scripture every week.

3. What can I really add?

As I’ve read through chapter one over and over in many translations the last couple weeks, I’ve felt a profound sense of ennui. How many Christmases have I heard this passage preached through, or preached through it myself. Let’s be honest, I probably wouldn’t click through to read a post about the beginning of Matthew.

Just looking at the genealogy the kicks off Matthew made me think, “Ugh, what am I going to say about this? Does the world need more sentences about how shocking Matthew’s genealogy is to first-century readers?”

I’m not only intimidated by the subject matter (rightly so), I’m intimidated by how obvious, boring, and tame we’ve all made it.

4. It’s a huge commitment

I am not the best with follow through, and I don’t trust myself to stick it out. I think I have about four blog posts about the each of the seven deadly sins here. I just lost interest (probably faster than everyone else did). I am scared to commit to something else that history says I won’t follow through with.

Why I’m doing it anyway

After spending a full week of trying to talk myself out of it, here’s why I am going to do it.

1. I’m burned out on blogging.

I write all day long, every day. So it takes some real focus to sit down after a long day of writing and say, “Okay, now I am going to write something for myself.” My last blog post was a month ago!

It’s not that I’m tired of writing. It’s that I sit down to start writing and I realize I don’t have the energy or desire to jump aboard the cultural rage train. I think it was about the time that everyone was talking about red Starbucks cups and my Facebook feed was red Starbucks cup post after red Starbucks cup post that I realize I didn’t want to do it anymore.

If being culturally relevant means racing from crisis du jour to crisis du jour, I don’t want to be relevant. I don’t like who that makes me. I think my wife is weary of hearing me start sentences with, “You know what pisses me off?” But feeling the need to feed the machine with my angst about the next hot topic has been turning me into a cynical jerk who’s on the hunt for something to get upset about (Hopefully before every other blogger realizes they should be upset about it, too.)

Let me just sneak this caveat in here: If I feel like jumping ship for a couple weeks to talk about something else, I reserve the right to. It’s the only way I can guarantee that
I’ll follow through.

2. I need to tell my truth

I avoid telling people what I really think a lot. That might be a surprise because I’m loud, obnoxious, and opinionated, but it’s true. There are a lot of things I play close to the breast because I’m scared of what people are going to think about me if I tell them how I really feel.

I think blogging through Matthew will help me confront some of my own monsters and force me to be a little more honest—consequences be damned.

It’s not that I need to elucidate Scripture for everyone; it’s that I think this might be an opportunity for Scripture to reveal the truth about me. I think you, the reader, and I, the writer, will be better served by the blatantly honest and horribly beautiful things the Bible has to reveal about us.

In the words of Elvis Costello:

“One day you’re going to have to face
A deep dark truthful mirror
And it’s going to tell you things that I still love
you too much to say”

That time for me has come.

3. I need to return to my first love

I just am ready to get closer to Jesus. I want to spend more time meditating on and focusing on him this year. I’m looking forward to spending however long it takes to get closer to Jesus, and I invite you to join me.

The post Why in God’s Name Would I Blog through Matthew? appeared first on Jayson D. Bradley.

It’s crazy that I need to ask you this question, but for the sake of all involved, does everyone at your church know what to do if a shooter shows up? I know that there are a lot of opinions, on both sides of the gun issue, but your leadership needs to have this important discussion.

After the church shooting in South Carolina, I remember a pastor saying that if everyone was packing this wouldn’t have happened. And even though many combat veterans, SWAT members, and police officials say otherwise, there’s a strong belief among some (many who are in your church) that only a good guy with a gun can stop a bad guy with a gun.

What are you going to do?

Think about this for a minute—visualize it in your mind. It’s the middle of a service and the minister is up front praying and someone bursts into the sanctuary with an assault rifle and starts firing. It’s going to be instant chaos—people will be diving to the floor and running for exits. It’s going to be bedlam.

Now imagine one or a number of other people in your congregation stand up and start returning fire from various areas in your sanctuary. Now the mayhem is amplified. Honestly, people carrying firearms in your congregation are going to have varying training and readiness for a situation like that, despite what they’ve learned from watching action films.

Can you see the problems that could develop in a crowded church if your leadership team hasn’t really come up with a plan and communicated it?

Things you need to know/consider

Do you know who is carrying in your church? Have you come to a consensus on how you feel about that as a church, and what you’re communicating about it?

If you do subscribe to the idea that you’re safer with people carrying weapons into your church, are they placed strategically? Do they have the leadership’s blessing to stand up wherever they are (even if they have to shoot over the panicked heads of their fellow congregants) and start firing at potential danger? Do you need to deputize a couple people and ask others to not return fire?

I know . . . it seems crazy for me to have to write it.

Do you have a way to communicate with and lock down kids classes and the nursery? How about if a shooter starts there?

I don’t want to be an alarmist, but let’s be honest, it’s getting more and more likely that this is a reality that we need to prepare ourselves for.

Here are some things I would encourage you to do:

1. Find out who what the concealed carry laws are in your town.
2. Find out how many concealed weapons might be in your church. (You might send out an email asking people with concealed weapons permits to alert the leadership if they are carrying in church, but there’s a high likelihood that many won’t tell you. You can also send out a free survey via SurveyMonkey).
3. Discuss scenarios with the leadership and decide whether you want to allow guns in your sanctuary. Under law in most states, in order to prohibit carrying a gun in church the church is required to post a sign saying that no guns are allowed, at every entrance to the building.
4. If you decide to allow firearms in your church, you need to consider the possibility that there are quite a few. It’s probably best that you don’t leave it open to everyone’s best judgement on what to do in a high-stakes, dangerous situation. The leadership team needs to have this conversation and communicate it openly at an open meeting and in writing.
5. Look through all areas of ministry and consider the security that’s in place. Do teachers and helpers know what to do if a gunman/woman is in the church?

I can’t believe I have sat down to write this all out. It seems so insane, but it seems like we’re at the place where we need to accept this is the way of life in America. I guess we need to consider how it will affect the people in our care.

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I made a commitment to write my way through Matthew. But honestly, nothing dampens your enthusiasm like having to start with a genealogy.

I’m not ashamed to say that I tend to scan them, if I bother reading them at all. I mean, come on. I don’t even know the name of the people three generations back in my own family tree. Our culture doesn’t really care where we came from . . . or where we’re going.

So despite the fact that I know that all Scripture is useful, I have a hard time caring about Amminadab’s offspring. Sorry . . . Nahshon.

The Genealogy of Jesus the Messiah

The record of the genealogy of Jesus the Messiah, the son of David, the son of Abraham: 

Abraham was the father of Isaac, Isaac the father of Jacob, and Jacob the father of Judah and his brothers. Judah was the father of Perez and Zerah by Tamar, Perez was the father of Hezron, and Hezron the father of Ram. Ram was the father of Amminadab, Amminadab the father of Nahshon, and Nahshon the father of Salmon. Salmon was the father of Boaz by Rahab, Boaz was the father of Obed by Ruth, and Obed the father of Jesse. Jesse was the father of David the king.

David was the father of Solomon by Bathsheba who had been the wife of Uriah. Solomon was the father of Rehoboam, Rehoboam the father of Abijah, and Abijah the father of Asa.Asa was the father of Jehoshaphat, Jehoshaphat the father of Joram, and Joram the father of Uzziah. Uzziah was the father of Jotham, Jotham the father of Ahaz, and Ahaz the father of Hezekiah. Hezekiah was the father of Manasseh, Manasseh the father of Amon, and Amon the father of Josiah. Josiah became the father of Jeconiah and his brothers, at the time of the deportation to Babylon.

After the deportation to Babylon: Jeconiah became the father of Shealtiel, and Shealtiel the father of Zerubbabel. Zerubbabel was the father of Abihud, Abihud the father of Eliakim, and Eliakim the father of Azor. Azor was the father of Zadok, Zadok the father of Achim, and Achim the father of Eliud. Eliud was the father of Eleazar, Eleazar the father of Matthan, and Matthan the father of Jacob. Jacob was the father of Joseph the husband of Mary, by whom Jesus was born, who is called the Messiah.

So all the generations from Abraham to David are fourteen generations; from David to the deportation to Babylon, fourteen generations; and from the deportation to Babylon to the Messiah, fourteen generations.—Matthew 1:1–17

Building a kingdom on a faulty foundation

When you do read about the genealogies, you often hear about the revolutionary way Matthew includes women into Jesus’ lineage (a no-no) or the parade of sinners that contribute to his pedigree.

My friend Chuck does a good job unpacking these issues in his post Matthew’s Subversive Genealogy of Jesus. Jesus’ human bloodline is a complete and utter mess.

David

Here’s a guy who isn’t unfamiliar with the law of God, but isn’t opposed to watching women bathing from his roof. He’s stricken by a particular beauty and questions his advisers about the woman. The NASB has this to say about what happens next, “David sent messengers and took her, and when she came to him, he lay with her; and when she had purified herself from her uncleanness, she returned to her house.”

He didn’t woo or seduce her—he used his position as king to compel her to come and have sex with him. She didn’t really have a choice and therefore couldn’t have consented. This was rape by use of compelling power, pure and simple. Her return home should have been a clear sign that she was more into being Uriah’s wife than being David’s concubine. David, who wants to own Bathsheba but doesn’t want to get blood on his hands, has Uriah sent to the frontlines of battle and left unprotected to be killed.

When Bathsheba learns about his death, we’re told “when the wife of Uriah heard that Uriah her husband was dead, she mourned for her husband.” But this isn’t just customary mourning (ʾēbel), it’s mourning more closely related to wailing and lamenting (saphad). She was genuinely horrified and heartbroken.

Now, I know that you’re tempted to say, “When David was confronted, he repented.” That’s absolutely true. There’s a temptation to let David off the hook here because he’s the hero of biblical literature—a man after God’s own heart—but let’s look unflinchingly at David’s sin. This episode makes him a power-abusing rapist and murderer.

Can you imagine if Bill Clinton had done this?

We wink at this episode with David, yet often refuse to give penitent people close to us a clean slate for much tamer sin.

Abraham

This bloke twice passes off his beautiful wife, Sarah, as his sister because she’s so hot, and he’s scared that he’s going to be killed and she’s going to be taken from him. I mean, he’s fine with her being taken from him . . . as long as he isn’t killed.

The first time he pulls this stunt, she’s taken into Pharaoh’s house (most likely a reference to her being part of Pharaoh’s harem), and Abraham is rewarded with livestock and servants. Yeah, he swaps cows, sheep, and slaves (both genders *wink*) for his wife. 

Who knows how long this goes on? Long enough that the Lord strikes Pharaoh’s house with plagues (plural). Some will try to convince you that God intervened before Pharaoh could defile her, but I highly doubt it. There seems to be a bit of time passing here, and Pharaoh did pay Abraham handsomely for her. It’s not likely that he had to spend months working up an appetite in order to indulge himself in Sarah’s beauty.

God doesn’t send plagues when Abraham pulls this crap a second time with Abemilech. So the plague thing with Pharaoh was probably a last resort from a God who was tired of this whole scenario turning into a prolonged Russ Meyer film.

And like I said, he does it again. This time God intervene’s before Abemilech can enjoy the new edition to his court.

Isaac

Poor Abemilech . . . in a perfect example of “the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Isaac pulls the same “that’s not my wife, it’s my sister” nonsense that his father pulled with Sarah–with the same king!

Luckily Abemilech looks out his window one day and sees Isaac “caressing” (I looked up the Hebrew word for caressing and it said, “see petting” so . . .) Rebekah and gets wise.

Abemilech can’t catch a break from these lying Israelites.

Jacob

Manipulating cheat.

Judah (and his brothers)

Of course we know that Judah and his brothers sold their younger brother Joseph into slavery because he was daddy’s favorite. Then they covered Joseph’s tunic in blood and said, “Wow, pop. Look what we found, doesn’t this look like Joseph’s jacket?” To which Isaac screams, “OMG! He must have been eaten by animals!”
“Tough break dad, what’s for dinner?” I guess boys will be boys.

But Judah’s mention in this genealogy is in his connection to Tamar. Interesting story this one . . . Tamar was the wife of Judah’s son, Er. Er dies and, as is the custom, Tamar gets handed off to Er’s brother Onan so that Onan can create a descendant for Er (*shrugs*), but—in a verse that somehow gets used as a prohibition on masturbating (Gen. 38:9)—Onan wastes his sperm by throwing it on the ground. This ticks off the Lord (who seems to have a real thing against Judah’s sons), and he dies too.

Judah’s out of marrying-aged children to force his daughter-in-law to have sex with, so he tells her to go back to father and live like a widow (a horrible sentence) until his last son is old enough to marry.

Years later Judah’s wife dies and he does the customary mourning thing and then heads to Timnah where Tamar is. Knowing he’s on his way and that his third son is marrying age, she covers her face with a veil and waits for him at the city gate. Judah sees her, assumes she’s a prostitute, and greets her with immortal pick-up line, “Here now, let me come in to you.” (Obviously, Genesis wasn’t much different than Tinder.)

Smartly, she negotiates a baby goat out of the deal—even more smartly she basically gets his identification as a promissory down payment on the goat. When Judah gets home he sends his friend to go pay his debt and get his stuff back. As it turns out, no one knows anything about a prostitute that hangs out at the city gate. So naturally Judah’s like, “Uh . . . well, let’s just forget about my stuff because we’re going to look like idiots.”

A couple months later Judah gets a text, “Yo bro, guess wut? Tamar, that whore, is pregnant.” And Judah’s like, “KTHXBAI!” And he indignantly rushes back to Timnah, where he says, “Send that whore out here where we can burn her in the street!” (Because as we all know, women have always suffered the worst for the indiscretions of men.)

And like a boss she sends out Judah’s stuff and says, “I’m pregnant by the guy who owns this stuff.” And Judah’s completely busted—enter the twins, Perez and Zerah.

(Side note: This whole episode is always portrayed as a trick Tamar played on Judah. I don’t necessarily buy it, but it does play into our whole “those conniving women using their wiles to trick men” narrative.)

Rahab: Here’s the prostitute from the book of Joshua whose misdirection (lie) enabled the Israelites to capture Jericho.

Ruth: I love Ruth. . . but she was a Moabite, and as we know, “No Ammonite or Moabite shall enter the assembly of the Lord; none of their descendants, even to the tenth generation, shall ever enter the assembly of the Lord. (Deut. 23:3)”

Solomon: David’s son was the wisest man that ever lived (with 700 wives and 300 concubines). Did “wise” used to mean “busy?”

Rehoboam: Meet the horribly politically unsavvy son of Solomon. After the king’s death, the people come to Rehoboam and say, “Look, man. Your dad was kind of a jerk and taxed us like crazy . . . probably because all those damned wives he had to support. What do you say? Wanna lighten up on us a bit?”

Rehoboam seeks counsel from some of the older, wiser advisers to his father, and they suggest that lightening up would be a good idea. All he has to do is treat them kindly and grant their petition, and he’ll be a hero. But Rehoboam blows them off and goes and asks a whole bunch of stupid, young guys what they think he should do, and they’re response is amazing . . .

“Dude,” they say, “you need to go to them, look these people straight in the eye, and tell them ‘You thought my dad was a bad ass? Well, my little finger is thicker than my dad’s manhood” (I’m not kidding. 1 Kings 12:10). “You thought my old man was tough, you ain’t seen nothing yet.” And he follows their advice. So . . . typical jerk politician.

Uzziah: This guy took the throne and had one of the most prosperous kingdoms since Solomon. Things are going great until he starts to get a little full of himself, bypasses the established order of the priesthood and marches into the Temple to burn incense on the altar. I know, I know . . . it doesn’t sound like a big deal. But it’s a total jackass move of a guy who becomes so arrogant that he thinks he can do whatever he wants—and ends up with with a bad case of rage leprosy.

Ahaz: Impressionable grandson of Uzziah who thought the Assyrians were soooooo cool. After checking out the altars of Assyrian king, Tiglath-pileser, he came back and rebuilt and reorganized God’s Temple so it could have a little more of that Damascan feng shui. His descent into idol worship eventually leads him to sacrificing one or more sons in a fire to Molech (2 Chron. 28:3).

My place in Jesus’ filthy pedigree

I could keep going, but you get the point. Jesus’ genealogy is complete chaos, and I couldn’t be more grateful.

There’s a certain virtue applied to Christianity in America. In the small christianized burg where I live, going to church every Sunday gives you an air of well-bred credibility. It’s easy for religion to give us a collective sense that we’re better, more stable, and more righteous than everyone else—or at least than the world’s unwed teen mothers and followers of other religions.

But as long as we’re clinging to our culture’s idea of Christianity’s respectability, we’re missing the point of Christ’s genealogy—or his whole ministry for that matter. We’re a total friggen mess. We aren’t grafted into this family tree based on our moral superiority, and once we’re in, our goodness definitely isn’t holding us fast.

My story is full of terrible moments and episodes that wouldn’t play any better than the chumps in Christ’s genealogy. I can’t sit here and feel superior that I haven’t had the opportunity to fail as dramatically as the people in Jesus’ family tree. But I can assure you that I’ve taken advantage of many opportunities to sabotage situations, relationships, and my own righteousness.

When I’m completely honest, I know that it’s fear of repercussion and consequence that keeps me from doing a lot of stupid things, and not necessarily my inherent goodness.

The moment I start delving into Jesus’ lineage, I’m encouraged. Jesus didn’t descend pure and untouched into the sinful brokenness of humanity. He sprung from it, and for all our sake’s
transcended it.

Even before it begins, the genealogy of Jesus is an invitation to the outsiders, failures, criminals, and losers to join the family of God.

None of us deserve to be part of it, and yet here we are.

The post My Place in Matthew’s Messy Genealogy of Jesus appeared first on Jayson D. Bradley.

Like so many others, I discovered Bowie in high school. It was 1985, and I was an awkward fourteen-year-old. Despite hearing hits like “Modern Love” and “China Girl” off 1983’s Let’s Dance, I wasn’t really familiar with his catalog.

I borrowed a Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars cassette from a friend, and it felt like the world opened. His work was an accelerant  poured all over the spark of my adolescent creativity.

I devoured everything of his that I could get my hands on. I bought all his albums, read every biography I could find, and followed him with rapt attention. This is the first time in my life where the passing of a celebrity has created in me a sense of mourning that’s entirely inappropriate for someone I never really knew.

Here are 5 lessons about creativity I learned from the thin white duke:

1. You can be autobiographical without being self-indulgent

David’s half-brother Terry Burns struggled with mental illness and eventually killed himself at 47. David struggled to understand his brother who would disappear for months or years at a time staying in institutions and halfway houses. When Terry would show up again, it would create family turmoil. But it was through Terry that Dave was introduced to philosophy and jazz. He even helped little David Jones transition into David Bowie.

Throughout David’s repertoire you can see him drawing upon his relationship Terry, and his fear of a predisposition to insanity that might show up in his own life. You can see it in Aladdin Sane (All the Madmen) and in songs like “Jump They Say” off Black Tie White Noise. 

Even though those elements and ideas find their way into Bowie’s work as a way to process his own history, they weren’t self-referential and obvious. This is the beauty of Bowie’s catalog; you can catch glimpses of the man, but not in a way that makes him the center of his work. It helped facilitate Bowie’s mercurial chameleon.

2. Give them what they don’t expect

David was 24 when he began work on Ziggy Stardust. Driven by his love of the theater, he came up with the idea of  Ziggy as a fully formed character and not just a musical concept. He followed it up with Aladdin Sane which he described as “Ziggy goes to America.” By that time he had become a worldwide phenomenon, and he dropped the album Pin Ups—a rather strange collection of cover songs.

From there, Bowie was always delivering something out of left field. He might drop the austere and avant garde Berlin albums on you (Low, “Heroes”, Lodger) or he might decide to front a hard rock outfit like Tin Machine.

3. You don’t owe anyone anything

Bowie loved and appreciated his fans, but he didn’t feel beholden to them. He pursued his muse wherever it took him, even if that meant alienating some of the people who had discovered him during his last incarnation.

After the unprecedented success of Let’s Dance, David found himself with a large top-forty following. The advice, which he tried to follow, was to hold on to this new fan base. His next two albums (Tonight, Never Let Me Down) were not commercially or critically appreciated. After Never Let Me Down (which, despite the regular slagging it gets, I quite like), Bowie shrugged of pop stardom and put together Tin Machine, real band with four members equal in pay and input. Tin Machine walked a dizzying line between hard rock and punk.

Tin Machine was critically panned (as was often the case with Bowie, he prophetically introduced grunge before it was vogue). But Bowie was more relaxed being hated for something he felt passionate and creative about rather than releasing stuff for mass consumption that wasn’t appreciated either.

As David said, “For better or worse it helped me to pin down what I did and didn’t enjoy about being an artist. It helped me, I feel, to recover as an artist. And I do feel that for the past few years I’ve been absolutely in charge of my artistic path again. I’m working to my own criteria. I’m not doing anything I would feel ashamed of in the future, or that I would look back on and say my heart wasn’t in that.”

This kicked off a very prolific period of genre-shaking music like Outside and Earthling.

4. Sometimes accidents are more valuable than technique

David has always chose amazing guitarists to work with like Reeves Gabrels, Peter Frampton, Earl Slick, and even a virtually unknown Stevie Ray Vaughn. From the Hunky Dory album through Pin Ups, he worked with the incredible Mick Ronson, a tasteful and well-loved member of his entourage.

As he was finishing up Pin Ups and writing material based on Orwell’s 1984—which would eventually become the album Diamond Dogs, Bowie decided to play all the guitars himself. When you consider the fact that David’s skills as a guitarist were rudimentary at best and this was a guitar-heavy production, this was a surprising decision.

But since the material was based on a disjointed and dystopian future, David’s decision to handle the lead guitar duties himself gave the production a raw, semi-amateurish feeling that contributed to the music’s immediacy instead of distracting from it.

Sometimes technique gets in the way.

5. Nothing can ruin creativity like success

The trifecta of Let’s Dance, Tonight, Never Let Me Down fed into Bowie’s fears of success which he brilliantly communicates in this quote, “Fame can take interesting men and thrust mediocrity upon them.” The feeling that you need to keep copying the successful elements in your work can be a trap that you can’t escape from. In the end, there’s an inherent danger that trying to recreate your success is exactly when you stop being creative.

“All my big mistakes are when I try to second-guess or please an audience. My work is always stronger when I get very selfish about it.”—David Bowie, 2003

The secret to Bowie’s success came from continuing to follow his curiosity and hunches, and not letting accomplishment color his inquisitive nature.

Thank you for not playing by the rules

David, it was from you that I learned that identity could be fluid, and not only could I recreate myself, but sometimes the best ideas come to you when you’re seeing things through someone else’s eyes. And ultimately, if I didn’t like who I was, I could choose to be someone else.

You taught me that everything, from friendship to locale, could be mined for creativity.

“I am he who quotes, I am the sponge that absorbs, I am the shepherd of my own self. I am also very careful regarding the use of the word “innovative”. This word, particularly when one uses it to describe one’s own work, indicates a certain amount of arrogance. I would rather aspire to be someone who always tries out new things—both alone and together with other people. Ultimately I try to do the things that fascinate me. It should be added that I have actually always felt infected and inspired by the cultural context that I have found myself moving around in. It was that way in Berlin, it was like that in America and it is like that in London. For me that is the main reason for travelling, to absorb these new sensations, to search for oneself in others, to actually become a part of new environment.”—David Bowie

You took this socially awkward teenage, and told me it was okay to see things differently and trust my instincts. Your death came as a complete shock to me this morning, but I want to thank you for what you left me. It’s a debt I can’t repay.

God speed.

The post 5 Lessons about Creativity from David Bowie appeared first on Jayson D. Bradley.

Matthew gets a lot of love for his inclusion of women into Jesus’ genealogy (Matt. 1:1–17), and rightly so. It’s a big thumb in the eye of a strongly patriarchal culture where women were chattel. With this in mind, however, I find the omission of a lot of Mary’s story surprising.

Now the birth of Jesus Christ was as follows: when His mother Mary had been betrothed to Joseph, before they came together she was found to be with child by the Holy Spirit. And Joseph her husband, being a righteous man and not wanting to disgrace her, planned to send her away secretly. But when he had considered this, behold, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream, saying, “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife; for the Child who has been conceived in her is of the Holy Spirit. She will bear a Son; and you shall call His name Jesus, for He will save His people from their sins.” Now all this took place to fulfill what was spoken by the Lord through the prophet: “Behold, the virgin shall be with child and shall bear a Son, and they shall call His name Immanuel,” which translated means, “God with us.” And Joseph awoke from his sleep and did as the angel of the Lord commanded him, and took Mary as his wife, but kept her a virgin until she gave birth to a Son; and he called His name Jesus.—Matthew 1:18–25

So much of the story is missing. Matthew doesn’t mention the angel coming to Mary (Lk. 1:26–38), Mary’s visit with Elizabeth (Lk. 1:39–45), or the Magnificat (Lk.1:46–55), which I believe is one of Scripture’s most beautiful passages. Obviously Matthew is privy to these stories. I mean, he was a member of Christ’s inner circle. All of Luke’s Gospel was compiled from interviews with people that Matthew would have had first-hand experience with.
It’s curious to me that Matthew omits all that.

Matthew’s genealogy joke

“Well,” I can hear someone condescendingly say, “Matthew’s genealogy runs from Abraham to Joseph. He’s not really focused on Mary’s story here, he’s talking  about Joseph.”

Right! But here’s the thing . . . he sets up this whole genealogy to get us to Joseph—who he calls the “the husband of Mary, by whom Jesus was born”—to only reinforce the fact that Jesus isn’t really even related. It’s like that whole genealogy is a prank. Here’s 27 people—broken into two groups of 14 so it’s easier to remember—that Jesus isn’t even related to.

My hero, Joseph

It’s interesting that Matthew focuses in on Joseph. He completely glosses over the chance that God chose some teenage girl out of the sweaty mess of humanity to carry his greatest gift. Luke, some gentile Dr. McDreamy, gets it, but not Matthew. Why? In the whole gospel story, Joseph is a bit player—a narrative prop that moves the story along. Here today—gone tomorrow.

When I read the first chapter of Matthew, I get melancholy. Here’s a patriarchal culture where genealogy is everything—and Joseph comes from pretty good stock. But when it gets to the climax, he becomes the simple husband of the girl that is carrying the messiah. In fact, the way the story presents itself, I can’t imagine him not wondering in the back of his mind throughout Jesus’ childhood if he’d been had.

All the sudden you find that the girl you’re engaged to be married to is “found to be with child (vs. 18).” Neither Matthew or Luke mention how Joseph finds out. Did Mary tell him? Was she too embarrassed or know he’d never believe her? Did a relative tell him? Was she showing after her trip to Judah? There’s so much of the narrative left to our imagination. And within that missing narrative element, there’s a whole lot of unaccounted for humanity.

We do know that Joseph didn’t know how to respond and was mulling it all over. It’s interesting that Matthew takes Joseph’s desire not to humiliate her as a sign of Joseph’s righteousness (vs. 19). It would seem that following Old Testament law would have been a sign of his righteousness.

But if this charge is true, that the girl was not found a virgin, then they shall bring out the girl to the doorway of her father’s house, and the men of her city shall stone her to death because she has committed an act of folly in Israel by playing the harlot in her father’s house; thus you shall purge the evil from among you.—Deut. 22:20–21

Seriously, think about that for a minute. Here’s Joseph being considered righteous because, in his mind, he wants to send her away instead of inviting the local guys over for a BBQ and good old-fashioned stoning. The idea of stoning a betrothed non-virgin isn’t presented in Deuteronomy as a suggestion . . . putting her away quietly wouldn’t have been a righteous biblical alternative. It really seems to me that Joseph is being lauded for elevating common-sense humanity over a wooden understanding of the Scriptures.

I often wonder if Jesus is thinking about Joseph’s kind heart when he is standing between the woman found to be in adultery and a mob of men who want to stone her (Jn. 8:1–11). Was he kneeling in the dirt and doodling Jospeh’s name? Probably not, but the idea always makes me smile.

Would I believe such a dream?

While Joseph is struggling with what to do, he goes to sleep and has a dream. In that dream, he is visited by an angel who tells him not to be afraid to take Mary as his wife. The angel basically confirms what Mary has probably already told him, “The Holy Spirit knocked me up!” And when Joseph wakes up from the dream, he does exactly what the angel says.

I wish I understood how this worked. I remember once waking up after dreaming I got a train set. I spent half the day looking for that train set, and the other half crying because it was just a stupid dream. What does a dream like this look like? How do you know its true and not nonsense? Was Joseph inclined to follow the dream’s advice because it kind of confirmed what he really wanted to believe?

Look, I don’t doubt the validity of the dream. I’m probably kind of messed up after spending years around charismatics who often pointed at dreams to confirm that God wanted them to do what they already intended. Holy visitation in dreams happens so infrequently in the Bible, and they always go well. I don’t know of any stories where the dream was misinterpreted or ignored with a dismissed shrug. And yet, every one of my dreams is a strange cornucopia of profanity-screaming chickens running around with baseball bats (I should probably see someone).

All I know is that Joseph receives, and follows, this dream—and the dreams that he’ll get from here on out. And then, as Jesus grows, he just disappears from the story. Like the heroes of Hebrews 11, he doesn’t seem to stick around to experience the fruit of his obedience. He is not there for Jesus’ miracles, death, and resurrection. Joseph made a lot of sacrifices that he couldn’t have ever been entirely sure were right. I know he had faith, but there had to be quiet a bit of doubt mingled in there with it.

He’s just a gentle, faithful guy stuck in the middle of a narrative that’s much bigger than he is. The kind of guy I hope to be.

The post Joseph, the New Testament’s Antihero appeared first on Jayson D. Bradley.

The second chapter of Matthew demonstrates a powerful lesson that we’ve never bothered to learn. This instruction’s delivered using a tale of some well-intentioned protagonists caught in the web of a deceitful and monstrous villain. The story opens on our heroes:

Now after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea in the days of Herod the king, magi from the east arrived in Jerusalem, saying, “Where is He who has been born King of the Jews? For we saw His star in the east and have come to worship Him.”—Matt. 2:1–2

We hear this story so often that we romanticize and Christianize it. We forget that these are “pagans.” They’re not here to worship Jesus as God. They’re likely Zoroastrians, schooled in sciences, mathematics, and the occult, and advisers to kings and kingdoms. It was their job to stay abreast of momentous events.

Talking about the time before Jesus arrived, the Roman historian Suetonius wrote, “There had spread over all the Orient an old and established belief that it was fated at that time for men coming from Judea to rule the world.” These magi were coming to worship a king that they believed might be fulfilling a local prophecy. Astrology had alerted them that the timing was right, and we have no real specifics as to the how or the why. All we know is that they showed up in Jerusalem bugging everyone for the whereabouts of this new king.

Soon their inquiries make their way to the scoundrel of the story.

When Herod the king heard this, he was troubled, and all Jerusalem with him. Gathering together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. They said to him, “In Bethlehem of Judea; for this is what has been written by the prophet:

‘And you, Bethlehem, land of Judah,
Are by no means least among the leaders of Judah;
For out of you shall come forth a Ruler
Who will shepherd My people Israel.’”—Matt. 2:3–6

Herod had the title “king of Judea” which had been granted to him by the Roman senate. He’d come from a family of Jewish converts, and he identified himself as a Jew. As a sign of his commitment to God, he took responsibility for a massive rebuilding of the Temple. While the historian Josephus portrays Herod’s reign positively in The Jewish Wars, many Israelites are skeptical of Herod’s commitment to God—and rightly so.

As soon as Herod hears about these eastern visitors, he’s upset. He instantly suspects that they’re looking for the Messiah. While any true Jew would rejoice at the idea that the long-awaited Messiah had come, Herod’s worried about his authority and security being threatened.

Think about how goofy this is. Herod is, at the very least, between 65–70, and he’s concerned about a baby. Obviously he’s not concerned about a toddler raising up an army and coming to overthrow him. By the time this Messiah would be old enough to do anything of significance, Herod will be dead.

He’s concerned about not being the center of attention. He’s worried that this child is going to undermine his significance in Judea.

Herod hatches a plan

Then Herod secretly called the magi and determined from them the exact time the star appeared. And he sent them to Bethlehem and said, “Go and search carefully for the Child; and when you have found Him, report to me, so that I too may come and worship Him.”—Matthew 2:7–8

Why did Herod gather the Magi in secret? Because as soon as they reveal where the Messiah is, Herod intends to have the child killed and doesn’t want it traced back to him.

Understand this: Herod believes in the Messiah. He is putting all of this in motion because he believes. This means that he truly, honestly believes that there is a God whose plan has always been to send a redeemer to Israel. By plotting to kill this child, he isn’t just taking away the Messiah the Jews have been pining for, he’s going to war with God himself in the twilight of his life—you’d think he’s be a little more reflective about his mortality.

The wisemen meet Jesus—and Jehovah

After hearing the king, they went their way; and the star, which they had seen in the east, went on before them until it came and stood over the place where the Child was. When they saw the star, they rejoiced exceedingly with great joy. After coming into the house they saw the Child with Mary His mother; and they fell to the ground and worshiped Him. Then, opening their treasures, they presented to Him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And having been warned by God in a dream not to return to Herod, the magi left for their own country by another way.—Matt. 2:9–12

The magi excuse themselves and start charting the star’s course to Jesus. Again, there are more questions than answers here, but we know they find him, worship him, and give him gifts.
And Then a peculiar thing happens, God comes to them in a dream and tells them not to go back to Herod. So they leave by another route.

It’s important not to over-spiritualize this part of the story. These magi aren’t Christian converts. They’re not unaccustomed to having spiritual experiences, and the fact that they heard and responded to the Lord’s visit in a dream is more of a sign of their spiritual sensitivity than their proclivity toward Judaism. God spoke to them because he needed to protect Jesus, and he knew they’d be responsive.

Herod loses his ever-loving mind

Then when Herod saw that he had been tricked by the magi, he became very enraged, and sent and slew all the male children who were in Bethlehem and all its vicinity, from two years old and under, according to the time which he had determined from the magi. Then what had been spoken through Jeremiah the prophet was fulfilled:

“A voice was heard in Ramah,
Weeping and great mourning,
Rachel weeping for her children;
And she refused to be comforted,
Because they were no more.”—Matt. 2:16–18

These two verses are more horrific than the plot of any film I’ve ever seen.

In my mind’s eye, I can see Herod flipping over tables, white foam gathering at the corners of his mouth, as he screams in rage at his guards. But I can’t even force myself to create a mental image of soldiers going door to door to slaughter tiny children. I can’t imagine what that does to a city—how many generations it has to affect. It is the most horrendous thing I can imagine.

Sometimes the good guys aren’t God’s guys

The heroes of this story aren’t “God’s people.” They’re well-meaning, good people with entirely different beliefs and motives. God is willing to use them, and they’re willing to respond. Adversely, Herod, the ruler who wants to align himself to God and His people when it benefits him, is not a good person. In fact, he might be on a short list of the most terrible individuals humanity has ever produced.

Why does this matter?

In the U.S., nearly every political figure bends over backward to align themselves with evangelical voters. They want to speak at Christian schools, they want to share their anecdotes about their family’s faith, they want to be photographed coming out of church, and they want their speechwriters to drop Bible verses or Christian allusions into their speeches—and Christians gobble it up. It seems like you have to give lip service to Christianity to win this large and important voting block.

It doesn’t matter if the rest of the things these politicians say are contrary to the spirit of Christ. It doesn’t matter if they casually talk about “boots on the ground” as if they were talking about appointing a Librarian of Congress. As long as they claim to be part of our club, and fall in line with some of our buzzwords and important issues, we’ll take up their flag and fall in line.

Followers of Christ can’t afford to let themselves be so easily manipulated. Sometimes the good guys aren’t going to be followers of Christ. The ones with integrity aren’t even going to pretend to follow Christ. They’re not going to make promises that benefit or prefer Christians—because they’ll be working for the benefit of all people. Sometimes God’s going to use the best people available, and he doesn’t mind if they’re off brand.

We can’t afford to constantly throw in with someone because they use our jargon and make us special-interest promises. Sure you may end up with a new temple, but you might end up with a lot of dead children, too.

Check out my other posts on the Gospel of Matthew.

The post When the Good Guys Aren’t God’s Guys: The Story of Herod and the Wisemen appeared first on Jayson D. Bradley.

I’m tired to death of self-help, formulaic Christianity. For the last 25 years, I have sat through sermons and conferences, and read books and articles that imply a cause and effect relationship between Christian expectations and my personal happiness and fulfillment.

We’ve been force fed Christian steps to better health, more successful businesses, stronger interpersonal relationships, and unlimited joy. And even though these steps never exactly deliver, we keep showing up to receive more.

But when I stop and think about John the Baptist, I realize that we’re making all of this nonsense up.

John’s auspicious origin story

When it comes to birth stories in the New Testament, John almost has Jesus beat. Sure, Jesus had the born of a virgin thing going for him, but his whole story happened pretty inconspicuously.

John’s birth, on the other hand, came with a big splash. His priestly father, Zechariah was visited during his temple service by an angel who announces that he and his elderly wife, Elizabeth, are going to have a child. The angel tells him that this child will be a predecessor for the Lord, and turn Israel’s heart back to God. When an ancient Zechariah shows a moment of skepticism about how this could even happen, he’s struck mute.

It turns out that Elizabeth does get pregnant. During her pregnancy she’s visited by an expectant Mary. John’s fetus leaps in response to Jesus in Mary’s womb, and Elizabeth is filled with the Spirit—instantly recognizing that Mary is carrying the Messiah.

When it comes time to circumcise Elizabeth’s new son, the priest and family want to name him after his father. Elizabeth objects and, in keeping with the angel’s instructions, says that he will be called “John.” Of course everyone argues with her because she’s just his mother, so what does she know? Zechariah requests a writing tablet and writes, “His name is John.” And immediately he can speak again.

Then Luke tells us:

 All the neighbors were filled with awe, and throughout the hill country of Judea people were talking about all these things. Everyone who heard this wondered about it, asking, “What then is this child going to be?” For the Lord’s hand was with him.—Luke 1:65

Nothing like entering the world with the sky-high expectations of your entire community.

A prophet in the desert

The next time we hear from John, he has a ministry in the Judean wilderness.

In those days John the Baptist came, preaching in the wilderness of Judea and saying, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” This is he who was spoken of through the prophet Isaiah:

“A voice of one calling in the wilderness,
‘Prepare the way for the Lord,
make straight paths for him.’”—Matthew 3:1–3

So where has he been all this time? We’re not really sure. It’s likely that his elderly parents died pretty early in his life. Many people believe John was put in the care of the Essenes, a group of desert-living Jewish mystics. We do know that he lived a very poor, ascetic lifestyle of eating bugs and wearing less-than-comfy camel hair blazers (Matt. 3:4).

Did he grow up with the weight of prophetic expectation on him? Nearly everyone in Judea knew about his divine birth and the prophecies that surrounded him. Obviously there had to be enough eyewitness testimony for Luke to be able to pull together John’s birth story.

It’s very likely that John grew up with the knowledge and weight of expectations that he was to do amazing things in preparation for God’s Messiah to be revealed.

That is probably why he adopted a severe lifestyle similar to the Old Testament prophets because, after all, that’s what is expected of those Ezekiel types. Apparently people were curious enough to come out in droves to confess their sins to him and get baptized—a purifying practice popular with the Essenes (Matt. 3:5).

Jesus takes over

We’re told that Jewish leaders were pressing John to find out if he was the Messiah. John denies it. He was never in this for personal glory or fame.

Now this was John’s testimony when the Jewish leaders in Jerusalem sent priests and Levites to ask him who he was. He did not fail to confess, but confessed freely, “I am not the Messiah.” They asked him, “Then who are you? Are you Elijah?”He said, “I am not.”
“Are you the Prophet?” He answered, “No.”—Jn. 1:19–21

When John sees Jesus, he immediately identifies him. This identification shifts the focus off his ministry unto Jesus where it belongs.

The next day John saw Jesus coming toward him and said, “Look, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!—Jn. 1:29

John baptizes Jesus (Matt. 3:13–17), and two of John’s disciples leave John to follow him.

It’s probably significant to note that John knows who Jesus is and addresses him as if he is the Messiah. He was probably instructed about Mary and her divine child during his childhood, even if the two children never had a chance to meet.

Whatever he’s been told, he recognizes that Jesus is greater than him and willingly gives his disciples up to Christ. He knows at this point that he has fulfilled his purpose of pointing people to the chosen one.

In John’s most famous quote, we’re given a hint into the true piety of his heart, “He (Jesus) must become greater;” he says, “I must become less (Jn. 3:30).”

Sadly, John has no idea how true this is.

John gets thrown in prison and begins to doubt

Always the outspoken prophet, John begins to criticize Herod publicly for his evil behavior—mostly because of Herod’s questionable new marriage.

But when John rebuked Herod the tetrarch because of his marriage to Herodias, his brother’s wife, and all the other evil things he had done, Herod added this to them all: He locked John up in prison.—Lk. 3:19–20

It’s important to know that, despite being imprisoned, John still has followers that are loyal to him. As he sits in Herod’s dungeon, he’s getting reports about Jesus’ activities. Just think about the information that’s coming in:

• Jesus is hanging out with tax gatherers and prostitutes
• He’s talking to Samaritan women
• He’s healing gentiles
• He’s healing on the Sabbath

The reports he is getting back don’t sound anything like the Messiah he, or the rest of Israel is expecting. John lived out in the desert and denied himself. He sacrificed to serve God. The Messiah is supposed to be overthrowing Rome and returning the power to righteous Jews. Jesus just sounds like a self-indulgent troublemaker, not their chosen redeemer.

John’s whole life has been about holy self denial, while Jesus is out there making wine for wedding parties.

Jesus will sum up this difference well:

For John came neither eating nor drinking, and they say, ‘He has a demon.’ The Son of Man came eating and drinking, and they say, ‘Here is a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners.’ But wisdom is proved right by her deeds.”—Matt. 11:18–19

In this comment Jesus is pointing out how Israel finds fault with all her prophets, but another point comes shining through. Jesus is developing a terrible reputation because of the people he’s hanging out with—a reputation that’s been making it’s way back to John.

John has to be starting to wonder if he’s made a huge mistake. Is he sitting in prison because he threw his support behind the wrong man? Wasn’t John always faithful? Didn’t he deserve better? Wasn’t he told his whole life that he’d be significant, and an important figure in the Messiah’s story? WHAT IS GOING ON!?

John confronts Jesus

When he’s had just about enough, he sends his followers to confront Jesus.

When John, who was in prison, heard about the deeds of the Messiah, he sent his disciples to ask him, “Are you the one who is to come, or should we expect someone else?”—Matt. 11:2–3

There’s no mistaking the accusation in this inquiry. Through his disciples, John is saying, “I have endorsed you as the Messiah, and you acknowledged that role. I’m sitting in prison trusting that I didn’t make a mistake. Are you who you said you are or not? Should Isreal be looking for someone else!?”

John deserves a forthright answer, but Jesus doesn’t exactly give him one.

Jesus answered and said to them, “Go and report to John what you hear and see: the blind receive sight and the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed and the deaf hear, the dead are raised up, and the poor have the gospel preached to them.”—Matt. 11:4–5

Pointing at the miraculous work that he’s doing and away from the gossip, Jesus is basically saying, “If you pay attention, you will see that I am.”

And then he says the most enigmatic, heartbreaking thing to John. He says:

“And blessed is he who does not take offense at Me.”—Matt. 11:6

“Despite all you’re being told, and the fact that you’re sitting in prison. Don’t be offended at me. Don’t stumble in your faith on my account. I know you had expectations about how all of this was going play out, and I am sorry to tell you that—it’s nothing like you imagined. Trust me, and don’t let the offense of your dashed presumptions shipwreck you.”

Then Jesus looks at the crowd that’s gathered around them and tells them exactly what he thinks of John:

“Truly I tell you, among those born of women there has not risen anyone greater than John the Baptist . . .”—Matt. 11:11

John is beheaded

After Jesus tells the crowd that John is the greatest man and prophet that’s ever been born, does he swoop in, guns blazing, and break John out of prison? No. He goes on with his business. Despite these glowing words about John, he presses on with his own agenda.

Meanwhile, John continues to languish in jail, but it could be worse. So far Herod has protected him because he fears this man of God. He’s even enjoyed wandering down to talk to John on occasion (Mk. 6:20), but that’s all about to change.

During a particularly huge and wild party, Herod’s stepdaughter, Salome, dances for the guests. She does such an exceptional job that Herod drunkenly swears an oath to give her anything she asks—up to half his kingdom.

Salome confers with Herodias about what she should request. And, because Herodias has borne the brunt of John’s criticism, she tells her daughter to request John’s head on a platter—which Salome does. When he hears what his stepdaughter wants, Herod’s troubled. He doesn’t want to do it, but because he swore an oath in front of his dinner guests, he immediately sends executioners down to kill John. And just like that, with absolutely no warning, John is slain. This barbarity is compound with the indignity of John’s head being presented to Salome at a crowded dinner party.

Think about that for a second. John has done everything right . . . . Not only does God not deliver him from jail, but he also let’s John be murdered to fulfill the wish of some teenage girl. It’s not just that the manner in which he dies is awful; the reason he dies is completely ridiculous. If anyone born of a woman deserved better, you’d think it would be John.

He spent the last months of his life mourning the death of his expectations and struggling with doubt. And then he’s ignominiously killed at the request of a teenager because of a personal vendetta? Is that what obedience gets you?

God doesn’t do quid pro quo

The most difficult part about this story is the way it spits in the face of cultural Christianity. We’re consistently spoon fed a Jeremiah-29:11 Christianity that promises that our goodness, self-discipline, and morality are exchanges that we make for blessings and comfort. We’re given 5 steps to a happy marriage and rules on growing our kids God’s way. And if our marriages fail or our children struggle, we’re left to wonder which formula we screwed up.

Despite the fact that we’re promised difficulties and hardship, we assume every terrible thing that’s happened to us is personal and intentional. We look in our dark experiences for the lessons that God’s obviously trying to teach us, as if we can turn that key and be released from whatever crappy situation we find ourselves in. Because bad stuff has to happen for a reason, right? Jesus’ friends should expect a lifetime of pizza parties and ice-cream socials.

But John wasn’t learning some valuable lesson in Herod’s prison. He didn’t have his head removed from his shoulders because of some secret sin or lapse in piety. In fact, despite the objections of my Calvinist friends, I don’t think John’s death played any major part in God’s righteous plan. It was the terrible fallout of a complex collection of free-will decisions in a horribly unjust world.

If you embrace a theology that assumes life’s struggles are for the people outside of God’s grace, you’ll only compound your suffering. Instead of enduring trouble with patience and stamina, you’ll writhe around trying to decipher the mystery of why you’re not being delivered. Is God to blame, or are you?

Does God intervene? Yes. Sometimes he does—but sometimes he doesn’t. The reasons are numerous, complicated, and unknown to us. It’s why Teresa of Ávila, the mystic writer once said of Jesus, “If this is how you treat your friends, no wonder you have so many enemies.” John probably felt the same way.

And Jesus’ response?

“Blessed is he who does not take offense at Me.”

The post Sometimes God Doesn’t Rescue You: John the Baptist’s Story appeared first on Jayson D. Bradley.

Then Jesus was led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil.—Matthew 4:1

I can’t imagine the silence of the desert. In fact, I can’t really imagine silence at all. Let me tell you about my typical day:

• I wake in the morning and scroll through my phone while I chat with my wife.
• As she gets ready for work, I’ll turn the news on and keep staring at my phone.
• When she leaves, I will walk upstairs, put on some music and start writing.
• As I write, I fight a losing battle to drift around the internet and comb through social media platforms.
• Eventually I take a break, make something to eat, and watch the news—or maybe a Netflix show.
• I go back to writing while listening to music or a podcast.
• If I go anywhere, I’ll listen to music in the car.
• Sometimes I will make dinner while listening to music in the kitchen.
• Maybe I will go to the gym and listen to a sermon or a playlist.
• I’ll come home and kick it in front of the TV with the Mrs.
• We’ll go to bed and I will watch a little Netflix, and pray a little before I pass out.
• Wash, rinse, repeat . . .

I’m not even remotely kidding. And as ashamed as I am to write that, I don’t imagine that I’m alone.

Drowning in stimulus

When I hear someone in the church decrying modern culture, they’re usually railing about its decadence and sin. It’s as if the world is a bowl of grapes, some of which are rotten. If we could just remove the bad ones, we could gorge ourselves on the rest without any repercussions. But what if we’re looking at it all wrong?

The biggest problem we might have in our culture might not be the presence of “bad” stuff; it might be the mistaken idea that we can regularly indulge in the “good” without limit or boundary.

I cannot begin to fathom that there was a time, not too long ago, where people would go out in the fields or factory to work and it was just them and their thoughts. I’m surprised I can think as well as I do as completely overstimulated as I am. It’s like my thoughts are dandelions that have to fight their way up through the cacophonous concrete around me.

We’re a culture that can’t sit quietly in a room with nothing to do. With the world around us is on fire with noise, information, and the opinions of others, we’re systematically destroying our attention span. There’s too much to do, see, and comment upon.

Tempted in the desert

I’ve been blogging my way through Matthew, and I wasn’t prepared for my reaction to the way the fourth chapter starts. I mean, sure, I’ve read it about a million times—but it really hit me this time.

The spirit drove Jesus out into the desert to be tested. Why? Why in the world would he do that? Was it just so loud in town with all the cars, air conditioners, and portable stereos? Was it just so stinking loud that he just had to get out of town to hear himself think?

Probably.

That’s when it hit me. Jesus didn’t have a quarter of the stimulation that we do, and his testing required self-denial, focus, determination, and solitude. I’m being tested all the time, and I am trying to pull off a victory with about 1/12 of my capacity and focus.

It’s no wonder I fail so often.

It’s like I’m Elijah, burned out and despondent looking for God in the chaos of my life (1 Kings 19). But he’s not in the wind, the earthquake, or the fire—he’s in this quiet, persistent whisper deep in my heart that I can never quite hear or discern.

Embracing the silence

In his book Silence, Fr. Ambrose Wathen says:

“The present age is recognized by many as an age of noise. Modern communication media have made it possible for man to enjoy sound whenever he desires and wherever he may be. . . .  it has been observed that noise has had an influence on blood pressure, circulation, and nervous disorders.”

Is it possible that our diminished capacity to sit quietly in a room is making us physically, emotionally, socially, and mentally ill? I’m beginning to think it is.

We don’t just need a Lenton break from social media, we need to intentionally fast from the our constant need for stimulus, approval, and an outlet to express every opinion we have. As Richard Foster tells us in Celebration of the Disciplines, “The desperate need today is not for a greater number of intelligent people, or gifted people, but for deep people.”

This troubles me because, while our culture seems to be creating more and more intelligent and gifted people, deep ones seem to be in short supply.

Carving out the room for quiet

In a church culture that elevates catch phrases and microwaved wisdom, Maybe there’s no demand for thoughtful prudence. But wisdom just might be required for people who want to resemble Jesus. And I just don’t think we can draw wisdom from deep wells without solitude, quiet, and self-denial. It’s time to make silence a priority.

Because right now the Spirit could drive me out into the desert, and I would only stay until my phone died.

The post Jesus in the Desert: My Complete Fear of Silence appeared first on Jayson D. Bradley.

Jesus sat in a shaded outcropping of rocks as the heat rose off the desert floor in distorted waves. After forty days of fasting, starvation was beginning to set in, and with it, a tired lethargy. It was in this desperate state that the tempter appeared.

These tests of the devil are not the enticements we typically associate with “temptation;” they’re not related to leisure and diversion.  Instead they offer Jesus alternative routes to fulfill his legacy and calling. Like all temptations, they leverage Jesus’ talents and abilities in a way that one could argue would ultimately serve the common good.

What’s troubling is that he is still presenting the church with these exact same temptations, and because the temptations don’t come all bundled in one big desert showdown, sometimes the church acquiesces. Unlike Jesus, we often believe the end justifies the means.

The temptation of a social gospel

And the tempter came and said to Him, “If You are the Son of God, command that these stones become bread.”—Matt. 4:3

In Jesus’ emaciated state, it’s no wonder that the enemy would start here. On the surface level, it’s a purely self-serving test. I’m not sure I could have resisted this offer after skipping one meal, let alone 120 of them.

But beyond the opportunity to feed himself, this suggestion carried more seductive elements. There are many in Jerusalem that are starving under Roman rule. Israel is waiting for a Messiah to usher in utopia. They’d be immediately inclined to offer him their allegiance if free food involved.

But Jesus rebukes Satan with a passage from Deuteronomy:

But He answered and said, “Man shall not live on bread alone, but on every word that proceeds out of the mouth of God.”—Matt. 4:4

It’s not that Jesus is afraid of feeding the multitude; it’s that he knows exactly what that will get him. The time Jesus does miraculously feed a large gathering (5,000+), he’s followed by more people than ever.  But Jesus isn’t fooled:

“Truly, truly, I say to you, you seek Me, not because you saw signs, but because you ate of the loaves and were filled. Do not work for the food which perishes, but for the food which endures to eternal life, which the Son of Man will give to you, for on Him the Father, God, has set His seal.”—John 6:26–27

The church’s temptation

There’s no question that social justice and the gospel go hand in hand. Immediately after the temptations in the wilderness, Jesus kicks off his ministry by reading these words from Isaiah:

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he anointed me to preach the gospel to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives, and recovery of sight to the blind, to set free those who are oppressed, to proclaim the favorable year of the Lord.”—Luke 4:18–19

As Jesus attributes these words to his ministry, he makes it clear that the gospel cannot be separated from the justice it creates. Throughout Jesus’ ministry he reinforces this fact, even sharing a parable that, at face value, seems to suggest that salvation is contingent upon the work done for those on the margins.

But while we get passionately involved in helping others because the gospel confirms the value of all people—helping others isn’t itself the gospel.

This is an area where I struggle. As I talk to my skeptic and atheist friends, there’s always a temptation to play up the social justice element of the gospel and quietly downplay the troubling and puzzling aspects. If I sincerely want to be like Jesus, I can’t afford to confuse the two.

If the gospel was simply about helping people, there’d be nothing off-putting or confrontational about it. But the New Testament regularly reinforces that people aren’t going to be happy with the gospel because it requires them to come to grips with their need to be reconciled to God.

Jesus  amasses this huge crowd after feeding the 5,000, and then he seems to go out of his way to alienate them. This is when he launches into the whole “you need to eat my flesh and drink my blood” spiel. It’s intentionally troubling and confusing—and Jesus isn’t too concerned about clearing up any misunderstanding. Many of the people following Jesus leave—even some who considered themselves disciples. As if that’s not enough, Jesus turns to the twelve and chides them too, “You do not want to go away also, do you?”

I have serious doubts about the sincerity of anyone who claims to follow Christ and feels no responsibility for the poor or those culturally marginalized by gender, race, or sexuality. Followers of Jesus seek justice and care for the poor and oppressed because they’re important. But that care is not the gospel; it’s an implication of the good news.

I have a wonderful friend who is so supportive of my Christian views because I’m “nice and nonjudgmental unlike those other Christians.” She’s caught off guard because of the combative nature of a lot of Christianity.  But in our discussions about the actual gospel, she’s resistant. While she totally would have followed the kind rebel Jesus who thumbed his nose at the religious establishment and cared for sinners and prostitutes, she’s opposed to anything that smacks of Christ’s exclusivity, her responsibility to God, or any perceived loss of personal autonomy.

The temptation of signs and wonders

The enemy tries a different tact:

Then the devil took Him into the holy city and had Him stand on the pinnacle of the temple, and said to Him, “If You are the Son of God, throw Yourself down; for it is written, ‘He will command His angels concerning You’; and ‘On their hands they will bear You up, so that You will not strike Your foot against a stone.’”—Matt. 4:5–6

Levitating off the temple would have definitely given Jesus credibility. There was no place as central and obvious as this holy site for a dramatic miracle. Something so grand would have galvanized Israel for sure. But Jesus deflects:

Jesus said to him, “On the other hand, it is written, ‘You shall not put the Lord your God to the test.’”—Matt. 4:7

The church’s temptation

I was serving in a Foursquare church throughout the nineties. I was there when the “Toronto Blessing” blew up at the Toronto Airport Vineyard with all kinds of “signs and wonders.” There was holy laughter and people “drunk in the spirit.” Some of the excesses included people barking like dogs, rolling around on the ground, and just getting bizarre and out of control.

Soon the movement devolved into this strange one-upmanship. You’d hear about a church where people’s fillings were turning gold, and then there would be another church somewhere else where gold flakes where materializing in the sky. I desperately wish I was kidding, but I’m not. I had acquaintances who’d follow these movements around with the devotion of seventies-era deadheads.

At the same time, Benny Hinn was packing out stadiums with his own brand of sideshow nonsense—and the Trinity Broadcasting Network was giving preferential treatment to signs-and-wonder hucksters.

There was some attempt to usher the movement into our church, and that’s about the time I started to sour against my charismatic roots. Don’t get me wrong; I think the Foursquare association, which I belonged to, is wonderful and full of fantastically sincere people. It’s just a fringe element within the charismatic movement which seemed to lose the plot. While I’m definitely not a cessationist who believes that miraculous gifts have ceased, I’m not sure I would ever actively identify as a “charismatic” again.

Jesus performed miracles all the time, and went out of his way to keep them quiet. There was nothing about him that wanted to build a movement on his ability to perform miracles. It’s a desperately shallow motivator for faith. Once you acclimate to miracles, you need something more dramatic to pique your interest. That’s why the people I knew would go from movement to movement. If they were no longer receiving the emotional jolt they were looking for, they’d would have to go someplace else.

The temptation of power and control

Again, the devil took Him to a very high mountain and showed Him all the kingdoms of the world and their glory; and he said to Him, “All these things I will give You, if You fall down and worship me.” Then Jesus *said to him, “Go, Satan! For it is written, ‘You shall worship the Lord your God, and serve Him only.’”
Then the devil left Him; and behold, angels came and began to minister to Him.—Matthew 4:8–11

It’s always interesting to me that Jesus never questions whether Satan is able to deliver on his promise. It’s obvious that Jesus knows he is. In fact, Jesus calls him the “ruler of this world (Jn. 12:31).”

The devil tempts Jesus with a influence and power if he’d just compromise. It’s obvious that Herod would have done it—Jesus passes.

The church’s temptation

I think this is the still the church’s biggest temptation. Despite our tendency to misuse power and influence, they hold so much allure. So many discussions in the church revolve around authority and submission. Who’s in charge? Pastors? Elders? Parents? Men? Who needs to submit? Who gets to have a title? Every singly person believes that they’re above power’s corrupting influence—but few are (and the ones who are don’t want power).

To really wrap our minds around the dangers of authority, we need to remember that power is the only temptation Satan offers Jesus where “selling one’s soul” is a prerequisite. The other two temptations are a misuse of talents to facilitate an ultimate goal, but authority allows us to further our vision using compulsion and coercion. It’s a tactic more closely associated to our enemy than the lover of our souls.

Wielding power over others is so intoxicating—and genuinely appears to be effective way to facilitate God’s aims.  It’s why there’s such a pull towards political power among the religious. If we can wrest power away from the wrong people, and get it in the hands of the right (no pun intended) people, we can pass laws and enact measures that force people to be good—or at least incentivize goodness.

But there’s nothing in the New Testament that sees Christianity operating from a top-down power model. The gospel comes alongside and lifts up. It’s grassroots oriented and always challenges power; it doesn’t try to replace it. Christianity takes up it’s own cross; it doesn’t put others on crosses. As we see in Satan’s offer, the cost of choosing power is always going to align us with the devil. It’s going to require compromise and judgment.

A steady obedience

Jesus refused any strategy that might further his mission at the expense to his connection to God. He reinforced his scripturally informed conviction that we should be living by God’s Word (instead of trusting in our own abilities),  trusting God (instead of testing him), and serving him (instead of furthering our aims by making others serve us).

When the devil comes a-calling, I hope we learn to make the same decisions.

The post Lessons the Church Could Learn from the Temptations of Christ appeared first on Jayson D. Bradley.

Its probably no surprise that many people associate the word “Christian” with the word “hypocrite.” Christians have developed a reputation for saying one thing and doing another. Anton LaVey, founder of the church of Satan and the author of The Satanic Bible, attributes his philosophic origins to his early exposure to Christian duplicity. While playing the calliope for traveling carnivals and organ for subsequent tent-revival meetings, he watched it play out every weekend.

“On Saturday night, I would see men lusting after half-naked girls dancing at the carnival, and on Sunday morning when I was playing organ for tent-show evangelists at the other end of the carnival lot, I would see these same men sitting in the pews with their wives and children, asking God to forgive them and purge them of carnal desires. And the next Saturday they’d be back at the carnival or some other place of indulgence. I knew then that the Christian church thrives on hypocrisy, and that man’s carnal nature will out no matter how much it is purged or scoured by any white-light religion.”

I recognize the truth in those words. I live in a small town that excels in Saturday night drunkenness and Sunday morning church attendance. In the news, we’re regularly confronted with embezzlements, affairs, abuses of power, and worse from high-profile Christians. We all have Christian we consider frauds in our lives. And if we’re being honest, hypocrites stare back at us while we brush our teeth.

I’m convinced that some form hypocrisy is nearly inevitable. Our ability to live up to our aspirational virtues is impossible without spiritual empowerment. As hymnist Robert Robinson wrote in “Come Thou Font of Every Blessing,” we’re all “prone to wander.”

I think we need to look at the ways that the church reinforces or rewards hypocrisy—and why the world’s so giddy when it’s exposed. When we stand at the intersection of these points, we’ll benefit from a less fraudulent faith.

Behavioral monitoring enables Christian hypocrisy

I’m not much of a drinker, but I enjoy an occasional adult beverage. One year, I made the mistake of commemorating an exceptional pumpkin ale with a Instagram/Facebook post. A couple weeks later I found myself having a conversation with a dear woman who felt the need to share her disappointment with me.

I lead worship in a Nazarene church, and although the denomination has made huge strides in it’s philosophy and practice, it has a strong “holiness” background. Not too many decades ago, you couldn’t be a member in good standing and dance, play cards, or see a movie. This woman, who was brought up by a strict holiness pastor, saw my beer and was instantly trying to figure out if I needed to be relieved of my church responsibilities. Even though this conversation had a positive outcome, I found myself thinking carefully about what I posted, worrying that things I was comfortable with would be used to incriminate me.

While the threat of disapproval may get us to change or hide our behavior, it doesn’t change our beliefs—it simply drives them underground. This woman’s strong and negative reaction to my beer didn’t change how I felt about pumpkin ale. It just made me question how forthright I could be about who I am, and how much I could trust my community.

This is always the outcome of behavioral watchdogs. I know many people raised in holiness churches who’d load their kids up and take them three towns over to see a forbidden movie so that no one in their church would find out. The message that gets reinforced is: If people are going to get upset at you, just hide it. It greatly undermined the ability for the children in those families to be honest in churches when they grew up.

While this kind of suppressive behavior starts because we want to avoid the hassle of nosy, judgmental Christians, it eventually paves the way for abuse. Once we learn to avoid problems by compartmentalizing areas of our lives, we become way too comfortable with duplicity. What starts out as simply hiding the fact that we enjoy an occasional beer or listen to secular music can comfortably morph into hiding more disastrous behavior like affairs or addiction.

Avoiding hypocrisy

I have finally come to the conclusion that it’s okay for me to have different convictions or beliefs than other people in my faith community. In the past, I tended to downplay or hide those differences in order to make other people happy. But that was terrible for everyone involved because:

• I wasn’t being open and transparent
• I couldn’t be confronted in areas I was wrong
• I wasn’t giving judgmental people the opportunity to learn to be good neighbors
• I was enabling my own dishonesy

I no longer worry about whether people agree with me. I don’t hide my politics, opinions, or the things that I’m into, and it all stems from a desire to live a more integrated, holistic inner life. I’m open to dialog with people who question my preferences, but I don’t feel the driving need to make them agree with me. . . I do, however, recognize my need to be open to correction.

I have found that the church is full of people who are concealing feelings or perspectives they think will get them ostracized. Sometimes living transparently gives permission for people around you to do the same.

Behavioral modification creates Christian hypocrisy

I recently ran into this quote from Christian writer and theobrogian, Jarrid Wilson. It comes from his book Jesus Swagger:

“The way you walk, talk, and present yourself to others matters when it comes to your faith. Why? Because if you claim to be a Christian, then people are going to expect you to act like one. Simple. Your swagger truly matters. No matter how long or how briefly you’ve known Jesus as your Lord, you are held to a higher standard of accountability by those around you.”

This quote is a typical evangelical response to the problem of Christian duplicity. I’ve attended too many youth and men’s groups where this was the underlying message of a gathering. “The world is watching you, so for the sake of your Christian testimony, quit doing stupid and/or bad stuff.”

The problem is that this kind of image-oriented swagger actually hurts Christians more than it helps them. Is it possible to be a Christian by simply “acting like one?” Is Christianity a fake-it-till-you-make-it religion? In the end, is it like 50 Cent telling the bankruptcy court judge that the fat stacks of cash in his Instagram pictures are phony props to give him credibility. What are you really supposed to believe about holiness?

A lot of this misunderstanding stems from our turning Christian evangelism into an emotional appeal followed by a “repeat this prayer after me” response. Instantly someone who hasn’t really given Christianity much thought or counted its costs finds themselves on the inside. After they’ve already made the purchase, they’re given a bill featuring all the things that their new, free faith is going to cost them. It’s no wonder that they want to hold on to the religious perks and their personal preferences.

It’s kind of amazing how many people in the first-century wanted to follow Jesus but were sent away frustrated. (Mark 10:17–27, Luke 9:57–62) I think we need to present Christianity in a way that encourages people wrestle with its claims and sacrifices. We’re so set on getting people “saved” that we end up packaging the gospel with a complimentary set of Ginsu knives—anything to get them to buy now. Unfortunately, Jesus encouraged us to make disciples, not just “save” people. (Matt. 28:16-20)

Teaching the pursuit of Christ

I really wish behavior modification worked, but it doesn’t. I understand the draw of focusing on conduct change. After all, it’s measurable and quantifiable. On the other hand, true spirituality is a mess and there’s no way to really know for certain how someone is progressing. Being the pragmatists that we are, it’s no wonder that we’re drawn to to-do-list Christianity. We want progress to be easily quantitative and reproducible.

But if we’re pushing an agenda focused on outward appearances, we’re creating hypocrites—a glittering image of godliness. Eventually people are going to get tired of keeping up appearances, or they’re going to get careless, believing that they’re more spiritually advanced than they truly are.

But as Blaise Pascal said:

“We have established and developed admirable rules of polity, ethics, and justice, but at the root, the evil root of man, this evil stuff of which we are made is only concealed; it is not pulled up.”

The only way we can get at the root of someone’s spiritual sickness is to expect, encourage, and equip them to pursue Christ—not good behavior, not approval, and not theology. We need to realize that people might display all the behaviors we expect of “good” Christians, and still have unrepentant and unchanged hearts. Adversely, their life might appear to be an ungodly mess and the Spirit might be hard at work on them.

We are just not equipped to look at someone’s life and easily dictate who is and who isn’t “acting like a Christian.” Sometimes the people closest to God, are the people we would least expect.

And the minute we think the gospel’s credibility rests on how good we are doing Christianity, we’ve completely lost the plot.

Avoiding hypocrisy

The worst thing about falling for appearance-oriented Christianity is that the first person you fool is yourself. Once you start mastering the church’s language, rules, and expectations, it’s easy to believe that you’re making spiritual progress. But the true signs of your spirituality are largely invisible to others. And if you really want to be genuine, you need to spend more time focused on your secret acts of devotion and your growing awareness to God’s constant empowering presence. This pursuit is your true Christian testimony. Everything else is window dressing.

Being honest with yourself can be difficult, but it’s important. If you find that you’re making changes in your life, you need to ask yourself whether those changes are for the approval of others or in order to facilitate a more spiritual awareness. If you’re doing it to impress others, don’t bother.

Culture’s outrage at our condescending hypocrisy

One reason the culture loves to point out every terrible thing Christians do is because we spend so much time lecturing them. Who doesn’t love to watch holier-than-thou people get their comeuppance? For some reason, the people with the most to hide are so good at pointing fingers at others.

Instead of serving others and pointing them toward the cross, we think Jesus conscripts us into service as Old Testament prophets. Our job is to go around the countryside shouting at people about their sins. Of course, we’re doing all of this browbeating while struggling with our own piety.

But when we’ve been trained to see Christian obedience as an act of our will, then—even though our theology says the world incapable of responding to God without his enabling grace (whether prevenient or irresistible)—we blame them for their faults and shortcomings. When it becomes obvious to them that we haven’t dealt with our own baggage and we’re no better than they are, then of course the world ‘s going to call us out on our bullshit.

In the end, it’s not our blamelessness and self-righteousness that draws people to Christ. It’s our our manifestation of Christ’s sacrificial nature, and even that christlikeness comes through Spirit empowerment and cannot be manufactured, coerced, or willed into existence.

The only way we’ll truly beat hypocrisy is by being willing to recognize that every single one of us is a spiritual novice. Christianity doesn’t make us better, smarter, righter, or happier than anyone else. It re-aligns us with God and allows him to begin the messy, mysterious, and often brutalizing work of untangling our twisted spirits.

And even though it can feel disastrously slow or even entirely imaginary, there’s no reason to pretend that it’s happening any faster or more dramatically than it is.

The effort we waste on appearing more godly to others and ourselves is wasted, and only the effort poured into pursuing Christ matters.

The post Coming to Grips with Christian Hypocrisy appeared first on Jayson D. Bradley.

Just like anywhere else, the Christian blogosphere is full of personalities with varying motives and goals. Some are authentic and personable, and some are surly and defensive (I probably fall into the latter category). Some are driven by a desire to communicate their understanding of God, while others are motivated by internet fame and notoriety.

But I can tell you this with complete certainty: Morgan Guyton is the real deal. I’ve been following him for some time and I’ve always admired his sincerity, transparency, and his vulnerability. He’s a gentle prophet who calls it like he sees it, but strives to do it in a way that doesn’t alienate and marginalize—and in the factious, volatile online world, that’s rare. I genuinely look up to him.

So obviously I jumped at the chance to read his new book How Jesus Saves the World from Us.

When I received my copy, I was taken by the subtitle: 12 antidotes to toxic Christianity. That pulled me in immediately. There are definitely elements of Christianity that are exploitable and dangerous. Our call to create disciples easily morphs into a numbers game that’s about building the largest edifice. The fact that we’re called to be a people set free by the truth can create a culture where it’s better to be right than kind. I was excited to see how Morgan suggested we detoxify the church. 

I wasn’t disappointed. In keeping with my impression of him, Morgan’s book continually points us to focus more on following Christ than promoting christianity. Throughout How Jesus Saves, he weaves a picture of justification and sanctification that resonated with me deeply. I wasn’t too far into the book that I decided that I wanted to ask him some questions about it.

The following is the exchange we had about his new book:

Initially you were going to title the book Mercy, Not Sacrifice. How did the current title come to fruition and what does the new title tease out about the book’s content?

I wrote a hip-hop song a couple of years ago called “Jesus, save the world from me.” It was part of a journey of coming to understand that Christian salvation has been grossly misrepresented by pop Christianity. Jesus saves us from sin. What that means is Jesus saves me from being a toxic person. It is my toxicity that is my personal hell, my self-alienation from God. When we have a warped view of salvation, we aren’t going to receive the spiritual transformation we actually do need to escape our personal hell. So the church as a whole needs to be saved from our bad conception of salvation. That means that we need some major paradigm shifts in our values. I’ve identified 12 of them in my book chapters.

There’s a large number of Christians, many of them evangelical, that will respond to your title like, “Wait a minute . . . Jesus is saving the world through us—NOT FROM US!” What would you say to them that might lead them to pick your book up?

If you believe in the gravity of your own sin, then Jesus needs to save the world from you. If you’re offended by that claim, then you might want to reflect on whether “sin” is more than a theological concept for you that you apply to other people. When I started writing this book, I thought it was going to be about how Jesus needed to save the world from THEM, i.e. those crazy evangelicals who are ruining Jesus’ reputation. But God dealt with me as I was writing it and showed me how I was part of the “us” that needs saving. My hope is that each chapter will provide a source of personal spiritual transformation. This is a book about how we can change our priorities and habits both so that we can represent Jesus better and also so that we can better taste his glory.

Works of Christian theology or spiritual formation don’t always reveal a lot about the author. Writers can communicate Christian ideals in way that is quite removed from who they are as a person. I think readers of How Jesus Saves the World from Us will really feel like they get to know you. Was there a point in writing it where you felt that you were revealing a little too much Morgan or any parts you second guessed including because they felt a little close to home?

In real life conversation, I’m a very shy person. But when you put me behind a pulpit or in front of a laptop screen, I’m quite an exhibitionist. So I’m constantly worried that what I’m doing is narcissistic. I feel like God has used my juvenile need to be a rock star as a catalyst for my writing. But I hope that need hasn’t created a distraction in any of my chapters. My hope is that the life examples I gave are actually helpful to my readers.

Out of the 12 antidotes to toxic Christianity you discuss, which has been the hardest for you to internalize?

Worship not performance, which is the root of everything else. As long as I’m trying to justify myself before God and other people, I have not yet been saved. I’ve had tastes of authentic worship where God made his presence wonderfully known. But too much of my life I spend putting on a show for myself and other people. I long desperately for those moments in which the ruthless self-analysis goes away and I’m simply enjoying God’s glory without watching myself or congratulating myself for enjoying it. There are generally two places where I’m able to do this: walking on the beach and during a Roman Catholic mass.

You dedicate the book to your father, John Guyton. You say he taught you to be a Christian thinker. What did you learn from him about how to think? And how are you passing that on to your sons?

My dad has treated me like a worthy dialogue partner in his quest to understand the world since I was about three years old. He has written about three book-length manuscripts on philosophy that have never been published. When I watched him pour himself out into his writing, I felt like it was my duty to take up his cause. We’ve had some truly epic conversations over the course of our lives. I’m hoping to do a better job of learning in community with my sons as well. For a season, my writing took me too much away from my fatherhood, but currently I’m trying to correct that.

I can honestly say that How Jesus Saves the World from Us is worth a read and that you should pick up a copy of it immediately. But I want you to understand, I’m not just suggesting that because I enjoyed it, but because it’s a thoughtful and convicting book written by a guy who truly inspires me.

You can follow Morgan on Twitter and keep up with him on his Facebook page!

The post A Discussion with Morgan Guyton about How Jesus Saves the World from Us appeared first on Jayson D. Bradley.

“I don’t think that I can worship a vulnerable God.”

I had just pitched a synopsis of my book idea over breakfast. I said that we might have the idea of sovereignty all wrong, and that Scripture reveals a God who intentionally limits his own freedom in order to give humanity genuine involvement and input. I shared how God’s desire to have beings who loved like he did required the freedom to choose otherwise. Jesus, I argued, demonstrated that godly power was gloriously revealed in vulnerability.

My friend’s response that he couldn’t worship a vulnerable God made me smile.

I knew I was on to something.

What is power?

When we think about power, we think about sheer, brute force. We think about people who, through compulsion, influence, bribery, or intimidation, are able to make things happen. This is the power that humans recognize—and secretly long for. And it’s this kind of power that most religions attribute to God.

I’m not suggesting that the Christian God is not powerful. I believe wholeheartedly in God’s omnipotence (Omni = all, Potent = powerful). It’s just that I wonder if God wields it like we imagine. For many Christians, sovereignty means that—from cancer to parking spaces—God dictates every single thing that happens to us. This is what we believe power is.

While I think that God can and does occasionally influence events, I don’t agree that this is the primary way that he exercises power. Instead, I think that he empowers others. And by doing so, makes himself extremely vulnerable.

The choice at the center of creation

In the creation story, the first people are placed in a garden and given a singular prohibition. They are not to eat of one particular tree—the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. He gave Adam and Eve a choice, and this choice had the potential to open a Pandora’s Box of horrors. He had the power to remove this temptation and protect his creation, but instead he prioritized the relationship with Adam and Eve enough to “share” his power.

The decision to let them choose disobedience put everything that God had already declared “good” in jeopardy. Offering them this choice wove vulnerability into the fabric of creation.

Most Christian theology traces everything broken and disastrous in our world back to the moment when the first couple put this fruit to their lips. This introduces a significant quandary—what does love look really look like? If the wrong decision would plunge humanity into a nightmare, why allow it?

Think about it; God could have spared himself the pain of watching an endless timeline of brutal inhumanity. If he loves us like we’re told, our history must be more painful for him than we can ever imagine. Why not curtail the implications of Adam and Eve’s choice? What if—instead of completely poisoning the human race—eating this fruit just gave them explosive diarrhea for a year?

Unless . . . God’s desire to have an creation with the ability to truly love him—and love like him—required an ability to make choices that have staggering, irrevocable consequences. What if our capacity to do all the good we’re capable of is only as valuable as our potential to choose otherwise?  If God wanted people who truly practiced love, they couldn’t be programmed to do good—they’d have to choose it.

By making this choice, God decided to make himself (and the rest of us) vulnerable to humanity. This doesn’t diminish his sovereignty— it was a sovereign choice.

In the next couple weeks, I’m looking forward to unpacking some more examples (and potential implications) of worshiping a vulnerable God.

The post Worshiping a Great Big Vulnerable God appeared first on Jayson D. Bradley.

Did God intentionally choose to make himself vulnerable in order to have a creation that could love and serve him? This is the discussion I started in my last post: Worshiping a Great Big Vulnerable God. 

One tweet I received in response basically said, “Lovers are vulnerable. If God is infinitely love, then he is infinitely vulnerable.” There is truth to this. In the sense that God’s love for us makes him vulnerable because it causes him pain when we make decisions that hurt ourselves and others, I don’t think most Christians would disagree. But I intend to push the envelop a little farther than asking whether God’s love makes simply him emotionally vulnerable.

The real questions is: Did God intentionally order the universe in a way that wove risk into its fabric? Many will immediately say, “NO! This diminishes his sovereignty.” But I think that’s only the case if God didn’t choose to make such a world.

God’s ecosystem and free-range humans

The creation story puts Adam and Eve into a carefully created environment. And although they are given dominion over everything in the garden, they are still part of this intricate ecosystem. Their “dominion” or power over creation is a gift and display of trust (and vulnerability) on God’s part. In order to empower humans the way he intended, he put an entire creation that he has called “good” at risk.

I think we need to understand creation as a complex ecosystem where human (and on some level angelic) decisions have an outcome larger than the immediate consequences to them personally. It isn’t until we really appreciate how delicately woven together creation is that we can understand the peril involved. Obviously we know that Adam and Eve’s decision to eat of the forbidden fruit cast everything into chaos. It wasn’t an act of disobedience that resulted in punishment for them alone; it was an act of rebellion that affected everything, and would lead God to despair that he had ever created mankind.

“The Lord saw that the wickedness of humankind was great in the earth, and that every inclination of the thoughts of their hearts was only evil continually. And the Lord was sorry that he had made humankind on the earth, and it grieved him to his heart.” (Gen. 6:5–6)

Give us a king!

In the eighth chapter of 1 Samuel, Israel comes to the prophet Samuel demanding a king like all the other nations. Currently operating as a theocracy, Samuel serves as an intermediary between the Lord and Israel. Samuel immediately takes their request as a personal rejection, but God sees it for what it is—a rejection of him. In one of Scripture’s saddest passages, God tells Samuel:

Listen to the voice of the people in all that they say to you; for they have not rejected you, but they have rejected me from being king over them. Just as they have done to me, from the day I brought them up out of Egypt to this day, forsaking me and serving other gods, so also they are doing to you. Now then, listen to their voice; only—you shall solemnly warn them, and show them the ways of the king who shall reign over them. —1 Samuel 8:8–9

So Samuel warns them of the consequences of this choice:

“These will be the ways of the king who will reign over you: he will take your sons and appoint them to his chariots and to be his horsemen, and to run before his chariots; and he will appoint for himself commanders of thousands and commanders of fifties, and some to plow his ground and to reap his harvest, and to make his implements of war and the equipment of his chariots.

He will take your daughters to be perfumers and cooks and bakers. He will take the best of your fields and vineyards and olive orchards and give them to his courtiers. He will take one-tenth of your grain and of your vineyards and give it to his officers and his courtiers. He will take your male and female slaves, and the best of your cattle and donkeys, and put them to his work. He will take one-tenth of your flocks, and you shall be his slaves. And in that day you will cry out because of your king, whom you have chosen for yourselves; but the Lord will not answer you in that day.”

Samuel is merely communicating the potential problems he sees in other rulers. And he’s right; Israel’s future kings will do all these things. The problem is that even Samuel doesn’t know the terrors that will be unleashed when Israel gets what they’re asking for. The rest of the Old Testament is one horror story after another directly tied to Israel’s decision to adopt human sovereigns.

As is the case with any of us most of the time, Israel doesn’t heed Samuel’s warning and again requests a king. God tells Samuel, “Listen to their voice and set a king over them.” This simple ten-word sentence is both a concession and a judgement. God fully knows that the result of this request will be thousands of years of bloodshed, decadence, idolatry, and mayhem.

So why does God let them do it?

The dangers of human autonomy

When you read the Old Testament from the eighth chapter of 1 Samuel onward in light of God’s decision to allow Israel a king, it’s eye opening. The consequences of this choice are catastrophic and wreak havoc on individuals who were completely removed and innocent of this choice.

It seems throughout the Bible that God is committed to respecting the free-will decisions of people to whom he gave dominion. Even after he allows Israel a king, he doesn’t abandon them. He works with them within their chosen framework. This doesn’t mean that he doesn’t step in occasionally with a heavy hand, but that, by-and-large, he respects the power he entrusted them with—even when it runs contrary to his will. And yes, we still experience the natural—and sometimes divine—repercussions for their (and our own) choices.

God’s intention to have a perfectly aligned creation where humans work harmoniously in a loving submissive posture with him required choice. Although that choice has been abused, God hasn’t revoked it—in the same way that he hasn’t canceled angelic free will despite the great cosmic rebellion. Eventually a final judgment will come due for the decisions made by the universe’s free agents, but it will be because of their freedom and not at the expense of it.

This doesn’t undermine God’s sovereignty—in fact, it accentuates it. God isn’t powerful because he orchestrates everything. He’s powerful because, in spite of our worst decisions, his plans will still come to pass. His genius is seen in his ability to fashion goodness out of disobedience and struggle (Romans 8:28), not in his willingness to engineer trouble in order to do good.

The interconnectedness of God’s creation

Next time we’ll talk about theodicy and the tangled web of human volition. As a teaser, let me say this:

Evangelicalism has accepted a universal belief that everything comes down to our individual relationship with God. We see sin as a disobedient action, but don’t see the universal implications of our individual transgressions. If the garden of Eden shows us anything, I think it’s that our disobedience has an effect on the world that is more troubling than we can even begin to understand.

The chaos theory suggests that the flap of a butterflies wings might create a typhoon two continents away. How much more exponentially damaging might our simple acts of daily rebellion be? I look forward to covering that next time.

The post Our Vulnerable God and the Tragic Risk of Free-Range Humans appeared first on Jayson D. Bradley.

When you share your opinions publicly, you’re going to get some disapproval—and not all of it is going to be reasonable. In response to my post Worshiping A Great Big Vulnerable God, one guy was frustrated that I talked about Adam and Eve’s “choice” instead of using the word “sin.” It kind of made me laugh. In context, I was talking about their disobedience and the unbelievable consequences that resulted from their decision—all things that are true about sin. He was just concerned about using his preferred nomenclature.

The criticism that the church doesn’t talk about “sin” enough is a mainstay in conservative circles. But the main reason I shy away from the term “sin” is because a lot of the true awfulness and savagery of the word has been lost in the way we use it.

Evangelicalism, sin, and consequence

One of my biggest problems with American evangelicalism lies in the way it represents our relationship with God—and with each other. While we all come to Jesus as individuals, our experiences and life are inexplicably tied. Sin isn’t just something that I do that upsets God and affects those in my immediate vicinity, it’s a disease with tendrils that pollute everything.

If I intentionally avoid the word “sin,” it’s not because I’m trying to avoid the concept like conservatives think. It’s because the way its used actually reduces it. Yes, sin is an affront to God, but not just because of his hatred for certain behaviors. Our individual sin echoes through creation in ways that we’re not even aware of, and even if we receive individual forgiveness for sinful acts, the consequences reverberate in profound and unspeakable ways.

Sin is real and we can find forgiveness, but to reduce sin to a simple act that’s between Jesus and me has tragic consequences:

• It diminishes our understanding of sin’s gravity
• It encourages a continual cycle of sin/forgiveness
• It blinds us to the real harm our sin does to the kingdom of God

The cancer in God’s ecosystem

When God created the world, he created an ecosystem—a complex network of interactive elements and organisms that existed in harmony. Humans weren’t distinct and separate members of that ecosystem; they were powerful, sentient cogs within it. As we’ve talked about previously, God’s creation was specifically ordered, and humans were given a single, solitary prohibition—a risk woven into the world.

When Adam and Eve disobeyed God, a cancer was introduced into that ecosystem. This cancer affected everything . . . and what made it more disastrous was that the behavior of Adam and Eve’s race would help spread and solidify its impact. Within one generation of being tossed from Eden, Adam’s son, Cain, kills his brother and introduces the world to murder. Cain’s response to God’s punishment isn’t remorse, it’s fear that he is going to suffer the same fate as his brother. He already knows that this new manifestation of sin is now part of the universal tapestry.

By the six chapter of Genesis, the cancer had metastasized to the point that God was willing to do something incredibly drastic to stop its spread. But even after destroying most of his creation, the disease refuses to relinquish its hold.

God institutes the law, which is basically a bunch of rules intended to stem humanity’s infection. It’s the metaphoric equivalent of a hospital’s rules for keeping an outbreak in check. Not a perfect plan by any means (that’s coming), but it helps to give some definition around things that are contributing to the problem. It’s as if all religious life is centered around management of this dreadful disease—but like chemo, the law is almost as dangerous as what it was combating.

The redemption of all things

Christ’s life, death, and resurrection—as well as Pentecost—was the beginning of everything being made right. It’s not just that we can receive forgiveness for this cancer’s manifestations; it’s that we can begin to be cleansed from the cancer itself. We’re no longer instituting a complex system of behaviors that will combat this illness; we’re allowing it to be rooted out.

In the past, the people who aligned themselves with God fought against other infected parties by relying on an eye-for-an-eye sense of justice. In fact, it almost seems like God used some people (the Israelites) stricken with humanity’s cancer to fight and eradicate other virulent cells. Now that we can be filled with the spirit of God, we can stand in the midst of the infected and offer the world another choice. And even though it looks like the kingdom of God is constantly in danger of being consumed by this violent malignancy, we trusts in God and our new-found purity to be a beacon in the darkness.

I love how Paul puts it:

“For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us. For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the sons of God. For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of him who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.”—Romans 8:18–25

All of creation has been groaning and suffering under the weight of sin, and its disastrous effects. It’s been waiting for the sons of God to be revealed. Why? Spirit-filled, redeemed humanity is the only hope for creation. And even though we wait patiently for the revealing of a new heaven and new earth, we’re spreading Christ’s antibodies throughout this earth and helping God to “reconcile all things to himself.”

The real problem with sin

We need to understand the real nature of sin on God’s ecosystem. Adam and Eve’s sin sent catastrophic shock waves throughout creation because everything is much more profoundly connected than we understand. The introduction of this cancer into the garden didn’t just affect humanity, it poisoned everything. That’s the way sin is.

I think we see this throughout the Old Testament. When God says he will “visit the iniquity of the fathers on the children to the third and fourth generations (Ex. 20:5, 34:7, Num. 14:18, Deut. 5:9),” it’s a promise woven into his ecosystem. It’s as if he’s telling us, “The effects of your cancer will continue to spread throughout your family in ways that you can’t begin to understand. The only real hope you have is to turn to me and my intended order to start making things right.” It’s a curse that’s manifested in creation’s wiring.

Our “sin” isn’t just a problem affecting our relationship with God. It’s a contribution to the world’s brokenness.

Imagine creation as a still pond. Every sin is a stone that’s picked up and thrown into that pond creating ripples across the surface of that still water. What happens to the surface of that pond when all of humanity is throwing in their rocks? It’s chaos. It’s constant disturbance and violence. And it’s impossible to see where one person’s ripples begin and another’s end.

And while I can offer the owner of that pond an apology for the rocks I’ve throw in, I can’t take back the ripples. And that’s my problem with how we address sin in the church. 

Do we take our behavior seriously?

When we simply see sin as something that damages our relationship with God that can be fixed with an apology, and not something that’s greatly contributing to all that’s wrong in the world, we are doing the Gospel (and the world) a disservice. When you’re a Christian with that point of view, your sins aren’t just contributing to the word’s brokenness, they’re inoculating people against Christ.

We might not be perfect, but our continued spiritual formation should be removing the sickness from our system. And we need to start understanding that there are repercussions for our choices. While I don’t subscribe to the “all sins are the same in the eyes of God” point of view, I strongly believe that gossip and murder both contribute to further breakdown in God’s creation beyond the initial infraction. We have no way to really understand the ways our sins spread and continue their damage long after we’ve committed them.

Sin is now so ingrained in the fabric of the world, and my behavior can contribute to sinful systems without my knowledge. If I buy a cheap shirt, am I sinning? No, not necessarily, but there’s a strong chance that my choice is contributing to an institutionalized evil that contributes to the degradation and working conditions of someone in the third world.

While we’re not perfect, those who are filled with the Spirit are to be conformed more and more to the image of Christ (Rom. 8:29). The “kingdom of God” is one where Christ reigns. To be part of that kingdom includes a willful decision to make room for the Spirit to release us more and more from sin’s grasp. We need to take sin more seriously than even my conservative brethren believe. We need to mourn its effects, and we need to understand that it can’t be stopped with overwhelming and contrary sinfulness. We cannot overcome evil with evil.

The only way to stop sin is by submitting ourselves to the spirit and example of Christ. And even though this sometimes seems to make us vulnerable to evil, we still carry a cross and not a sword into the world. But it starts by taking seriously the new nature we have been given (2 Cor. 5:17), and out continues freedom from the poisonous affect of sin (Rom. 6:18).

The “I’m not perfect just forgiven” mindset is a trap that makes sin just about me and my behavior, and diminishes God’s cure for sin.

The post Sin: The Cancer in God’s Ecosystem appeared first on Jayson D. Bradley.

“Do you renounce Satan and all his works?”
“I do renounce them.”
“. . . and all his works?”
“I do renounce them.”

In one of the most profound scenes in cinematic history, Michael Corleone stands in as Godfather for his nephew Micheal Francis Rizzi’s baptism. The priest’s questions are intercut with scenes of the murder of the rival mafia heads. To give him an alibi, Corleone has planned the murders to coincide with the baptism. It’s a quizzical, emotionally wrenching scene that reveals a cultural Catholicism that’s completely divorced from the gospels.

While every mafioso in the movie would fight to defend the church as it represents an important cultural identifier, their lives are completely divorced from the reality the church represents. But there is no struggle to reconcile their lives with their faith—no cognitive dissonance.

The Christian Trump card

American protestants are not removed from this phenomenon. There’s a nationalistic Christian identity that runs through the foundation of the U.S. that looks more like an Ayn-Randian fever dream than the traditional Christianity. If you have any question, you only need watch the American political process.

Donald Trump recently met with hundreds of evangelical leaders on Tuesday, June 23. In the wake of that meeting, James Dobson came out to announce that Trump had recently entered into “a relationship with Christ,” going on to say, “I know the person who led him to Christ.” Within a week, Dobson was soft-pedaling this claim, “Do I know that for sure? No. Do I know the details of that alleged conversion? I can’t say that I do.”

Now, I have no desire to flesh out the ways that Trump appears to be more of a goat than a sheep. The bigger question is, “Why’s it so important to sell him to us as a Christian?” The answer is simple, evangelicals still have the power to turn elections.

Ever since Jerry Falwell Sr. established the Moral Majority in 1979, conservative evangelical Christians became one of the most courted political demographics. The was solidified with the growth of talk radio and The Christian Coalition.

What’s particularly telling is how quickly after the election it’s no longer important to be photographed coming out of a church. It’s even more interesting to note that neither Ronald Reagan or H. W. Bush attended church very often while in office, but the Clintons did regularly—and not only did Jimmy Carter attend every time he could, he also taught Sunday school.

Do we need a Christian president?

We need to be honest. It’s incredibly significant that the powers that be look at American Christians as people who’d rather a candidate identify as one of them than have any understanding of foreign or domestic policy. But you know they’ve done their research, and there are hundreds of political campaign managers helping their candidates learn what to say and how to act in order to make Christians think, “He’s/She’s a Christian just like me!”

In the meantime, evangelical leaders are being courted with state dinners and meet-and-greet events. And even if they’re not being corrupted by political graft and promises, they’re still falling victim to the deadly temptation of personal significance and influence that only powerful people can give them. Meanwhile people are seeing these evangelical leader’s social media posts and thinking, “Hey! I have that guy’s study Bible. If he’s hanging around with Trump, it’s got to be a validation of Trump’s commitment to my/Jesus’s values!”

But everyone seems to forget that, even though Jesus was born into a politically volatile environment, he eschewed political discourse. All of Israel was waiting for their Messiah to kick Rome out of Jerusalem and return it to the Jews. In fact, that’s one of the first things that the disciples asked after the resurrection, “Lord, are you at this time going to restore the kingdom to Israel?” (Acts 1:6)

Jesus’s message was that the Kingdom of God had come, and that borderless kingdom existed everywhere someone’s heart was submitted to him. He wasn’t interested in improving on broken earthly governments. Instead, he was calling people to draw people to his kingdom, to build his church—and that was done through the contrast of the two kingdoms, not by his followers taking control of the kingdoms of man.

Jesus’ tells his people to watch out for those who appear to be sheep but are really be ravenous wolves. This isn’t just false teachers. It’s anyone who would pretend to follow Christ while using Christians to feed their appetites. Instead he reminds us not to look at the appearance or words of these sheep, but to look for their fruit.

As long as Christians are being used as shills to keep politicians in power, we might as well hang it up. We’re serving no Kingdom purpose.

As it is, I don’t feel any obligation to vote someone into office because they tell me they’re a Christian. That doesn’t tell me anything about how they think. Frankly, I’m not sure I want someone with  a Lahaye-style Pre-Trib theological dispensationalism making decisions about the Middle East. It feels like too much U.S. involvement in Israel/Palestine turmoil is already influenced by questionable theology.

I don’t care if Trump’s a Christian or not

Whether Trump legitimately wants to follow Christ or not, has nothing to do with his ability to lead a country. I’d vote for a compassionate, informed, and intelligent atheist, Buddhist, or Muslim before I’d vote for someone who only has their identity as a Christian going for them.

If Christians are going to continue in their entrenchment in Empire politics, we’re going to be responsible for the outcome. We can’t continue to say we renounce Satan and all his works while fighting for political control.

The post As a Christian, I Don’t Need a Christian President appeared first on Jayson D. Bradley.

It’s truly amazing that communication is possible at all. Every one of us is an island in an archipelago—a profoundly complex world separated by an expanse. We’re all trapped within our own minds as we try and make sense of the world around us.

It’s not easy to share our inner world with each other. We have to take all of these complex emotions, mental images, and bits of information and convert them into language. This is no small task. It’s difficult enough to understand the complex noise in our heads, let alone convert it into the limitations of language. But then we must transmit that language to someone else by speaking it or writing it down. The whole time, we assume that the meaning we attach to our words is shared by our listeners.

The knowledge that language can be used to manipulate, mislead, and control adds an extra level of complexity to communication. Every one of us has had experiences where we’ve been burned by taking someone’s speech at face value.

If we truly understood the challenges that are overcome every time we communicate, we’d never stop marveling that it’s possible at all.

Here are 3 things to remember about communication:

1. Communication begins with interpretation

We tend to think that we instantly understand everything we read, hear, and experience—but that’s not true. The process of interpretation happens so quickly that we’re hardly aware that it’s happening. Information is given to us and we filter it. The language used is run against our own private lexicon, and we attach our understanding to the words. We’re simultaneously taking those words and extracting information and meaning from them. If it’s verbal communication, we’re also factoring in body language and tone. These two added components dramatically affect our interpretation.

Real understanding happens to the degree that we’re aware of the interpretation process. Information is given to us like disassembled Ikea furniture—except we don’t have the manual, and we’re not sure what the final product is suppose to look like. We pray that we have all the pieces we need as we try and construct what the designer intended. Our ability to do that is going to be dependent upon many factors: our past experience, our mechanical ability, our willingness to try different configurations, and whether we ask for input.

Too often someone is giving us the raw materials for a desk, and we start building a dresser. The other person has no idea that I’m building the wrong thing with their words. They have no idea what’a going on in my mind. So much of our communication breakdown occurs when interpretation goes wrong, because both parties assume their interpretation is accurate.

The key doesn’t lie in pretending that we’re not interpreting things through our own understanding and history; it lies in becoming aware of our our interpretive tendencies—and making adjustments when necessary.

We’re all conditioned to react to specific words or phrases (triggers). Sometimes the people using these triggers don’t understand what their language may be invoking; they’re simply using the tools they’ve been given. We all need to recognize the prejudice that lies within our own interpretation. The minute that we hear certain words or phrases and assume we can use that information to categorize the opinions or positions of people, we’ve bypassed good communication in a race to the finish line. From here on out, everything that individual says falls within our interpretive matrix—and they’re (and we’re) trapped.

This is why it’s important to communicate clearly and carefully.

2. Language is both an asset and a hurdle

The fact that language even exists is amazing. Our ability to translate thoughts into audible cues with the potential to recreate what we’re thinking in someone else’s mind would seem like science fiction if it wasn’t so commonplace. But since we’re always doing it, we don’t really think anything of it.

Unfortunately, we fail to realize how limiting language can be. Our thinking tends to be abstract, and we take those mercurial thoughts and translate them into language. Our ability to communicate our thoughts accurately has so much to do with our ability to represent those ideas with the proper words. A toddler starts developing more complex thoughts and feelings long before they have the vocabulary to communicate them. It’s no wonder they cry so often. Imagine trying to communicate your feelings with one or two sounds.

The average person uses about 5,000 words and can write about 10,000. An educated person could have a working vocabulary of 80,000+ words. This doesn’t necessarily make them more intelligent, but it does equip them with more tools for communicating their thoughts. Think about all of the emotions you’re capable of feeling in a single day. Now imagine that you could only use the words “mad,” “sad,” or “happy” to communicate them. The person with a smaller vocabulary is at an incredible disadvantage to not only communicate to others what they think, but also to communicate to themselves how they feel.

There is something to be said for developing a robust vocabulary. But we don’t do it to impress others. We do it to improve our ability to communicate nuanced thoughts and emotions, and to better understand the communication of others.

But having a broad vocabulary doesn’t necessarily set us up to win at communication. There’s still the real problem with how we define words. We can talk all day about “love,” but have no idea that we’re talking about two entirely different things. This is why it’s imperative to define the key terms in our discussions. Without settling on a common definition for these ideas and terms, real understanding is hampered.

3. Understanding is active, not passive

When it comes to communication, we’re generally rushing to extract the information we need to act or respond. But to communicate well, we have to put the effort into understanding—and it takes work. Most people don’t ask questions; they assume that they understand. They listen to someone, get a sense of the person is saying, and they’re off. And it’s at that point communication breaks down. When both parties are doing this (which is most of the time), it’s a complete disaster.

When you realize that you’re in a high-stakes conversation, it’s important that you regularly repeat back to the other party what you’re hearing. You aren’t just doing this to let them know you’re really listening (although this is important), you’re doing it because you know how easy it is to hear something different than what’s being said. The moment there’s this kind of disconnect in what’s said and what’s heard, that’s the moment you begin walking down two different paths. All additional discussion added onto that misconception puts you both further away from each other.

Listening is as active a discipline as talking. Reading, just like writing, requires effort. The listener and the reader are decoders of encrypted information and as soon as they get lazy in their job, they begin to fail.

Communication is more than conversation

With the advent of social media, it’s becoming clearer that there’s a big difference between communicating and talking. Language is simply a collection of symbols or sounds with the ability to transmit information. To truly communicate with someone—friend or enemy alike—you need to recognize that language is a tool that both parties are using to share their inner worlds with each other.

Anyone can have a conversation, but communication requires focused, intentional effort.

The post 3 Reminders for Turning Conversation into True Communication appeared first on Jayson D. Bradley.