Obama and me: a common journey
[Official White House Photo: Pete Souza]
Yesterday morning, I tuned in to watch the National Prayer Breakfast online. I managed to catch the end of author Eric Metaxas' keynote, and then the President's address. I've always resonated with President Obama's expressions of his faith, even from when he was a Senator, and before he ran for president--from his keynote speech at the 2004 Democratic National Convention to the passages in Dreams from my Father. Yesterday, he drew upon several verses that form the foundation of my own engagement in politics, advocacy, and public life:
"Love your neighbor as yourself."
"To those whom much is given, much will be required."
"Speak up for those who cannot speak up for themselves, for the rights of all who are destitute."
He continued:
Treating others as you want to be treated. Requiring much from those who have been given so much. Living by the principle that we are our brother’s keeper. Caring for the poor and those in need. These values are old. They can be found in many denominations and many faiths, among many believers and among many non-believers. And they are values that have always made this country great -- when we live up to them; when we don’t just give lip service to them; when we don’t just talk about them one day a year. And they’re the ones that have defined my own faith journey.
They're the ones that have defined my faith journey as well, which I shared when I graduated from Fuller Theological Seminary. I got to be one of the speakers at Commencement, and shared a little bit of my own journey:
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Meanwhile, over at the Sojourners blog, Wes Granberg-Michaelson, former General Secretary of the Reformed Church in America, shares his thoughts in a great response. Notably:
Money controls who gets elected and controls how laws and policies are made, I think, in utterly dangerous ways. More than ever, for those who gathered in prayer Thursday morning, money is power. And it’s the power of money in politics today that must be confronted — by people of faith — as a moral issue.
So I wondered (and prayed), where is the William Wilberforce of today, a leader who will take the message of the Bible to heart, rise up to confront the ways in which money enslaves our modern political life, lead a movement to end it, and then, one day, be celebrated for his or her courage and faithfulness to the gospel at a future prayer breakfast?
Even as we celebrate a common faith and shared values, we need to continue working to see these worked out in the world we inhabit.
Elmo and Love
Last night I finally got around to watching Being Elmo: A Puppeteer's Journey. It came highly recommended by many of my friends, and I wasn't disappointed. I'll admit that I've loved Elmo since I was a kid--at one point in middle school, I may have perfected Elmo's voice ... yeah, it absolutely got me all the girls.
Anyway, the documentary was a fascinating look at the life of Kevin Clash, the guy who made Elmo who he is today, from his humble beginnings in Baltimore to fulfilling his dreams of meeting and working with Jim Henson, bringing a voice and character to a fluffy red puppet who's familiar to us all, and now to his role as an executive producer on Sesame Street.
One of the things that struck me while watching it was the story of how Kevin developed Elmo's character. The first incarnation of Elmo was as a growly, gruff-voiced caveman-like creature who liked to cause mayhem, but it just wasn't working, and so fellow puppeteer Richard Hunt tossed Elmo into Kevin's lap and said, "He's all yours." Every puppet, he'd been told, has to have one thing that makes them, one characteristic that defines them.
Somehow, someway, Kevin discovered Elmo's: love.
Elmo is love personified. He loves everyone. He's all about affection: hugging, kissing, holding hands. He's all about making people feel loved, welcomed, included, appreciated. And that, I'd suggest, is why he's so popular. It's why kids love him; it's why, as Kevin relates, kids in Make-A-Wish-type situations ask for him; it's why he brings comfort to those in distress; it's why he brings joy to those experiencing sorrow.
Love.
Yes, I'm drawing a lesson from a furry red puppet and applying it to faith.
Because God is love. Jesus is love personified. And we're supposed to be the same way--that's what a follower does, right?
So what does it say about how we're living our lives, about how we're presenting Christ, about how we're representing God to a hurting, broken world, that we aren't received the same way, that we aren't in those same places, that we aren't bringing the comfort and welcome and joy of a loving God to those around us?
Faith and technology: who is in control?
Adapted from yesterday's message, "Who is in control?"
Technology allows me to distract myself by Facetiming with myself and taking a picture of it.
The world today is very different from the one that we were in even ten years ago. Teenagers nowadays share their passwords as a show of affection ... yes, really. We're a generation that has seen immense (particularly technological) change--and have adapted to it pretty seamlessly. We're good at that. We own cell phones, computers; we're on social media; we've joined the digital revolution without really giving it a second thought.
Because when something is as ubiquitous as media and technology, we usually don’t even think about it. It’s like oxygen; we don’t tend to think about how we breathe, about the biological or physiological processes that are going on; we just do it. And for many of us—I’d be so bold as to say all of us—this is the same with media and technology.
- When we watch TV, we aren’t necessarily tuned in to what’s happening as we watch this show or that movie.
- We’re a culture where we “like” somebody’s link or picture or comment on Facebook if it takes our fancy.
- We post things online about our lives, and sometimes about other people’s lives, without thinking about the ramifications or the consequences.
- When we see, hear, or read an ad or even the news, we often just receive it.
We don’t tend to actively think about how something impacts us or how we interact with it. And we don’t tend to think about how our faith might impact the role these things play in our lives.
At The District Church, we're going through a series called Mustard Seeds. The background is from Matthew 17:20, where Jesus says, "If you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there,' and it will be so; and nothing will be impossible for you." We want to talk through what it looks like for us to have faith to move mountains (and it's not a lot!) in our everyday lives.
Yesterday, I talked about the impact of faith on technology, and framed it with the question, "Who is in control?" Technology is all around us, enabling us to do more, to see more, to experience more. The world of media and technology that we inhabit is not in essence good or evil. These things can be used for good or for harm.
- We can send emails that build up or we can send emails that gossip and tear down.
- We can be manipulated by the way a news channel spins its reports, or we can seek the truth and point others to it.
- We can allow advertisers to tell us what we’re missing and how their product will make things all better, or we can laugh at the lie that is being told and remember that what we’re all missing, what we all need at root, is a Savior to rescue us from the disease of sin and selfishness.
Who is in control?
Sherry Turkle has this interesting story to tell, and I think it may resonate with many of us:
I check my e-mail first thing in the morning and before going to bed at night. I have come to learn that informing myself about new professional problems and demands is not a good way to start or end my day, but my practice unhappily continues. I admitted my ongoing irritation with myself to a friend, a woman in her seventies who has meditated on a biblical reading every morning since she was in her teens. She confessed that it is ever more difficult to begin her spiritual exercises before she checks her email; the discipline to defer opening her inbox is now part of her devotional gesture. (Alone Together, 154)
My friend John calls this, “the first battle of the day.” And it’s a battle I fight every morning too. Who is in control? Whose voice do I want to hear first thing in the morning and last thing at night?
It sounds really basic, right? I mean, we're really talking about Facebook and the gospel? Email? Twitter? Texting?
Yup.
Because it's in the basics where the rubber hits the road. It's all well and good to say, "Love the Lord your God with all of your heart, mind, soul, and strength," or "Love your neighbor as yourself," but it's in these basics--in the simple things--where that's really worked out. One of the greatest disconnects that people outside the church see, and that people inside the church feel, is the disconnect between Sunday and the rest of the week—that what we hear and say and read and experience on Sundays doesn’t always slide very easily into the molds of Monday through Saturday. Well, it's not just in the big things; actually, it's faith worked out in the small things that in time forms the character that works itself out in the big things as well.
And so it matters what we do in the small things. So what does it look like to live out the gospel in and through your technology-saturated life?
- Maybe it means taking a step back and turning up your sensitivity to how you engage and interact with technology, even just for a week, at first.
- Maybe it means that when you get annoyed with somebody for not being present (because they're checking their phone constantly), you also ask yourself, “Do I do this to other people?”
- Maybe it means building structures or maybe even rules in your life for the ways and the places you utilize technology so that you can be more intentional—both in interpersonal relationships and in your relationship with God.
- Maybe it means that, like Sherry Turkle's friend, you choose not to check your email until after you’ve spent some time with God.
You can—you need to—figure out for yourself what it looks like for you to love God with all your heart, mind, soul, and strength, and to love your neighbor as yourself.
In the beginning, in the Garden of Eden, Adam and Eve were asked by a serpent, “Who is in control?” They answered, “Us,” and ate the forbidden fruit.
Three thousand years ago, in Babylon, three young men named Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego were asked by a king on pain of death, “Who is in control?” They answered, “God,” and were thrown into the blazing furnace--in case you don't know the end of the story, God came through for them.
And two thousand years ago, a man in Palestine named Jesus hung on a cross and was asked, “Who is in control?” He answered, “God. Forever and always, God. Even when it doesn’t look like it, even when you don’t understand it, God.” And this Jesus gave his life to take the sin of the world on himself, so that we might be liberated from the cycle of brokenness and death, to right relationship with God and with others. And in case you don't know the end of the story, three days later, this man Jesus rose from the dead—that’s how you know God was in control. That’s how you know that God is still in control.
Here in 2012, you and I are asked the same question, “Who is in control?”
What’s your answer? And how are you going to back it up?
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You can check out the full sermon online here.
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UPDATE: Thanks to the Washington Post for picking this up in the local faith section.
I’m on Aslan’s side
This Sunday, I'll be preaching from Daniel 3. I'm always challenged by the words of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego in response to Nebuchadnezzar's threat of death by blazing furnace, because they demonstrate the kind of trust and faith I aspire toward:
If our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the furnace of blazing fire and out of your hand, O king, let him deliver us. But if not, be it known to you, O king, that we will not serve your gods and we will not worship the golden statue that you have set up. (vv.17-18)
C.S. Lewis, through the character of Puddleglum in The Silver Chair (book six in the Chronicles of Narnia series), draws this out yet further:
Suppose we have only dreamed or made up, all those things – trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one. And that’s a funny thing, when you come to think of it. We’re just babies making up a game, if you’re right. But four [or more] babies playing a game can make a play-world which licks your real world hollow. That’s why I’m going to stand by the play-world. I’m on Aslan’s side even if there isn’t any Aslan to lead it. I’m going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn’t any Narnia … Not that our lives will be very long, I should think; but that’s a small loss if the world’s as dull a place as you say.
In the beginning … rest
On New Year's Day, I preached at The District Church (and I did the same yesterday at Sojourners chapel) about sabbath and rest. Here are some excerpts:
This message is as much for me and a result of what God’s been doing in me as anyone. For much of 2011, when I saw something that needed doing, I did it; when I saw a need that needed to be met, I met it. There wasn’t a cohesive structure to it, and there wasn’t an intentionality to it. And so it shouldn’t have been a great surprise to me that by last month, having worked two at-least-30-hour-a-week jobs for 10 months and running from one need to the next, from one campaign to the next, from one person to the next, I was absolutely exhausted. I remember thinking that I’d actually never been more physically drained. Spiritually, I was ecstatic because I was in the place God wanted me to be and doing what I knew God had made me to do; but physically and mentally, I was exhausted because I wasn’t practicing sabbath. I wasn’t stopping, I wasn’t resting, I wasn’t recovering, and that led me to do those very things I felt called to do, poorly.
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Can you imagine what it would be like for your work, your activity, your productivity to be your identity, your worth, your value, and for you to know nothing else?
Well, yes, of course we can. It’s not hard. We see it all around us. Maybe we even see it in our own lives. For us here in Washington, DC, in the twenty-first century, this same commandment can be a freedom. Maybe not from a life of actual bricks and chains. But from the bricks and chains of perpetual activity, from feeling as if changing the world depends on us and us alone, from feeling as if you are the only one who cares about this cause, or the only one who can make a difference in this person’s life. It is the freedom of God’s world.
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If we’re to live lives of integrity in a world that tells us all sorts of messages that are contrary to the gospel and the kingdom of God, we need to be immersing ourselves, constantly and consistently, in what God says to us and about us: even before you did anything of value, even before you were ever productive in any sense of the word, even before you were born, I loved you, I accepted you, and I called you my own.
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Jesus, the Lord of the sabbath, said, in John 10:10, “I came that they might have life, and life to the full.” Living life to the full isn’t the same as filling life to the full. A fulfilled life is not the same as a filled life. A fulfilled life is not saying yes to everything. It’s learning what God has called us to, saying yes to that, and saying no to other things. Not because we don’t want to do them—they’re probably great and wonderful and attractive things, otherwise it’d be easy to say no—but because we can trust in what God has called us to, and trust that God has things in hand.
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And in living out the sabbath from one day into the rest of the week, we live out an alternative story for the world to see. It is the gospel story—the good news!—where our worth is not determined by our activity or our productivity, where we are not judged—by others or by ourselves—on the basis of what we do or how well we do it; but where the grace of God comes to us in the person of Jesus Christ and liberates us from being enslaved to the stressed out, high strung, anxious, reactionary, workaholic lives that we see all around us, and maybe even in ourselves.