New approaches

I opened the July issue of Sojourners this evening and came across an excellent column by Cathleen Falsani. She wrote about the recent formation of One Wheaton, which she describes as "an organization dedicated to showing solidarity and love for gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender students" at Falsani's alma mater, a traditional evangelical college. Wheaton College, in other words, is one of the last places one would expect to find such an organization.

On more than a few occasions, I have been reminded by other Christians that we have a responsibility to tell people when they're behaving wrongly. The metaphor I commonly hear is the burning house; perhaps you've heard it, too. It goes something like this: If your neighbor's house is on fire, you're not being very loving if you don't try to wake your neighbor up and let him know that his house is on fire.

At some point, Christians have to figure out that this method of "converting sinners" just ain't working.

In her column, Falsani recounts the story of another Wheaton student who stepped in front of a train due to the conflicting feelings he felt regarding his sexuality and the way he would be received on campus if he came out. Being told his house was on fire didn't help him very much, did it?

If the Christian community continues to vilify the LGBT community, and if the LGBT community continues to fail to respond in the way the Christian community would like, and the Christian community responds by vilifying the LGBT community even more loudly, the game has changed entirely. All of a sudden, the object isn't really to change anything about anyone; it's simply to prove how right you are. A sincere desire to change someone would lead to a completely different approach.

One of the greatest examples I have heard of finding a new approach comes from Southland Christian Church in Lexington. The church has a ministry in which a group of women take food to strip clubs and serve the dancers. No yelling; no picketing; no assurances of coming judgment. Just a home-cooked meal for some women who are often treated as something less than human beings.

For far too long, Christians have chosen an approach that alienates the world around them. An approach that reaffirms a person's status as sub-human. An approach that occasionally pushes someone in front of a train.

Time to stop worrying about being right. Time to start loving people.

This is why I'm encouraged by One Wheaton. I pray others will follow suit.

Imagine it: A group of LGBT supporters springing up on the campus of Liberty University or Regent University or any of the other hotbeds of evangelicalism.

Now, that would be something.

Adventures in Missing the Point

(Over the past couple of months, I have had a couple of opportunities to speak at First Presbyterian Church in Harlan, where my family has been attending since the beginning of the year. Below is the text of my sermon from a couple of weeks ago, based on Acts 1:6-14.

Other scriptures in the lectionary readings for that day included John 17:1-19 , 1 Peter 4:12-14, and 1 Peter 5:6-11.)

A couple of years ago, I attended a rally. Ashley Judd spoke, and I remember her talking about the times when God uses apparent coincidences to call your attention to something. She called those moments “God-winks.”

I think I experienced a few of those as I was preparing for today. First, Jamie spoke a couple of weeks ago – and did a fantastic job – and his sermon went along with what I was already thinking about; then, I read an article on the Internet that further pushed my thinking in this direction; and a few days ago, I listened to a sermon online that touched on the same themes. So I’m thinking this is what I was meant to talk about today.

I would actually like to spend most of my time this morning exploring the passage from Acts that we read a few moments ago.

Our reading from the first chapter of Acts finds Jesus’ disciples doing something they were particularly good at: missing the point. They’re spending some final moments with Jesus, and we can safely assume they sensed something was about to happen. So, their response to that feeling was to ask a question.

“Are you going to free us from Rome now? Is this the time you’ll vanquish our oppressors and take the throne?”

These men who had traveled with Jesus for three years, who should have known him better than anybody, still didn’t get it. They still didn’t understand that he was not that kind of King.

They asked the wrong question.

Jesus had already made his intentions clear. He expressly noted in the prayer he prayed in John 17 that he would no longer be in the world, and that his followers were not of this world. A few hours later, as he stood on trial before Pilate, Jesus said that his kingdom was not of this world, that it was rooted in something deeper than the present reality.

Over and over throughout his ministry, Jesus has reiterated to his followers that he will not be a Lord of war. Repeatedly, he tells them that his way has nothing to do with political power. Yet, in the final moments before his earthly ministry comes to a final end, they ask him again if he is going to exact revenge on Rome.

Jesus doesn’t get frustrated. He doesn’t lecture; he doesn’t criticize. He simply says, “You’re focusing on the wrong thing.” He tells them that the Holy Spirit is coming, and that they will then become his witnesses. When he said they would be his witnesses, I think he was thinking of something bigger than simply affirming what they had seen him do. Perhaps it’s more accurate to say that Jesus intended for his disciples to become witnesses of the Kingdom of God.

Here’s what I mean: I have been a Chicago Cubs fan since I was eight years old. I can tell you about a game I have attended, and you’re not likely to care. Or, I can tell you why I am a Cubs fan. I can tell you about Mark Grace and Ryne Sandberg and Greg Maddux and Harry Caray and “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” and 40,000 fans dancing and singing “Go Cubs Go” at Wrigley Field after a win. Which of those is more likely to appeal to you?

Likewise, Jesus’ followers could bear witness to the fact that they had seen Jesus; that they had walked with him; that they had watched him perform miracles; that they had heard his teaching. Or, they could bear witness to the reality that he introduced – the reality that God has a dream for our world, and that we are invited to join in bringing that dream into reality.

The concept of the Kingdom of God was incredibly subversive and countercultural in the time of the early church. Most Jews adopted one of four responses to the Roman Empire. The Herodians and Sadducees aligned themselves with Rome in hopes of keeping the peace and maybe changing things from within. The Zealots stirred up violent rebellions in hopes of overthrowing the empire. The Pharisees strived for stricter adherence to the law in hopes of appeasing God and ending what they perceived as the nation’s punishment. The Essenes simply withdrew into the desert and lived in solitude.

Into this diverse mix of ideologies stepped Jesus. Rather than endorsing any of the existing approaches to the empire, he taught a brand-new concept: That there was a kingdom larger and broader and much more powerful than the Roman Empire. Rather than being primarily concerned with how to relate to the empire, Jesus taught his followers to strive instead to live a life that was pleasing to a King who was far greater than Caesar. He took away the emperor’s power by virtually ignoring him to pledge allegiance to the ruler of a kingdom that was not of this world.

Despite their misguided question before his ascension, the disciples continued Jesus’ approach. The early church did not focus its energies on trying to free itself of the rule of the Roman Empire, but rather on how to be the body of Christ whether the empire was in power or not. Far more frequent in the epistles are encouragements like the one we read from Peter this morning – reminders that our suffering will not last forever, that God will eventually set the world right. In fact, the epistle writers only make reference to the empire on a very few occasions, and most of those are admonishments to be respectful to those in authority.

I’d love to be able to say that this lesson was learned once and for all, but I can’t. Throughout the centuries, Christians have shown a stubborn tendency to focus on asserting how right they are or flexing their political muscles. We could talk about Constantine, the Crusades, the more violent aspects of the Reformation, or the Salem witch trials, just to name a few examples.

Our approach in the 21^st century might be less bloody, but it’s no less an adventure in missing the point. Turn on Christian radio sometime. You’ll probably find a lot of name-calling and criticism of this group of people or that church’s doctrine. You’ll probably hear a lot of discussions about how Christians should bombard their political leaders with phone calls and e-mails and letters to get them to support certain legislation. What you won’t hear is a lot of discussion about how the body of Christ can work to heal a broken world, about justice and mercy and walking humbly with our God.

One of my favorite musical artists is a guy named Derek Webb. Several years ago, Derek wrote a song called “T-Shirts.” I would like to read you a few portions of the lyrics:

“They’ll know us by the T-shirts that we wear/They’ll know us by the way we point and stare/At anyone whose sin looks worse than ours/Who cannot hide the scars/Of this curse that we all bear”

“They’ll know us by our picket lines and signs/They’ll know us by the pride we hide behind/Like anyone on earth is living right/And isn’t that why Jesus died/And not to make us think we’re right?”

“When love, love, love/Is what we should be known for/Love, love, love/It’s the how and it’s the why/We live and breathe and we die”

It’s natural to want to be validated. If the God we serve is all-powerful, it’s understandable that we would want God to show the world around us that our beliefs are correct. We’re not unlike the Herodians or the Zealots or the Pharisees in Jesus’ day, jockeying to get God to endorse our various positions.

But just as Jesus refused them, he refuses us. Just as he offered them an alternative, so he does for us today. He invites us to deny ourselves, to lay aside our desire to be right, so that we can go in peace to love and to serve the Lord.

I once heard someone say that we are like wine connoisseurs when we debate doctrine or theology. Wine connoisseurs can discuss the merits of various kinds of wine – the bouquet, how this wine has an oaky finish or that wine has notes of coriander and lavender, or whatever. (Is it obvious that this is not my area of expertise?) The problem is, we’re debating the fine points of wine, while there’s a world around us in desperate need of water.

The world is not changed when we prove the validity of our beliefs. Food is not put into hungry bellies when we argue over doctrinal differences. Broken lives aren’t mended when we protest or e-mail our senators. God’s will is not done on earth as it is in heaven when we put this political party or that political party in power.

Those things happen when we live up to our calling as the body of Christ. Let us make that our priority.

Outcry

Perhaps my favorite thing about Facebook is that my friends keep me informed of things I probably wouldn't be aware of otherwise.

Recently, a friend posted a story about two mentally challenged gay men who were forced to leave a public swimming pool in Hazard. When the official who asked them to leave was challenged on the issue, he reportedly responded that he could take this action because "the Bible" gave him the right to do so. (The story can be found here.)

I find this story to be embarrassing, as a follower of Christ and as a resident of eastern Kentucky. On behalf of all those who follow Christ, and on behalf of my eastern Kentucky neighbors, I would like to offer an apology, and to assure those two men and all who are following this story that we don't all share the sentiments of this official.

I can hear many of my evangelical friends getting in a twist already, griping about how messed up our world is when even Christians "support that sinful lifestyle." Here's what I would like to ask you to do: Forget about sin for just a minute. Whether it's a sin or not to be gay is a debate somebody else can have - I'm not interested. And it's beside the point anyway.

The point is this: We don't kick people out of a pool because they're gluttons. We don't make people leave restaurants because they have too much pride - even though the Bible states in no uncertain terms that God hates pride.

So, even if you feel that being gay is a sin, why treat it differently than any other sin?

That's just wrong.

I suppose I'm dreaming, but here's what I'd like to see: I would like to see Christ-followers of all theological and doctrinal stripes stand up and decry this humiliating act of discrimination. I already expect a huge public outcry; but it sure would be nice if that outcry came from the body of Christ.

Anybody care to join me in dreaming that dream?