Recall C.S. Lewis’ quote from The Weight of Glory that we addressed on Sunday:

“If we consider the unblushing promises of reward and the staggering nature of the rewards promised in the Gospels, it would seem that our Lord finds our desire, not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.”

What are the “mudpies” in your life?

St. Augustine, 5th century Bishop, authored a quote which will be central to our discussion this coming Sunday:

“Thou hast made us for Thyself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they find their rest in Thee.”

Have you ever noticed this “restless heart” in your own life?

This Sunday, we continue our study of the Gospel of Mark. Our text this week, Mark 6.17-29, is pretty gnarly (to put it lightly). Check it out, and then this song by Coldplay. Why do you think they reference the events from this Sunday’s text? Here’s lyrics (video below):

I used to rule the world
Seas would rise when I gave the word
Now in the morning I sleep alone
Sweep the streets I used to own

I used to roll the dice
Feel the fear in my enemy’s eyes
Listen as the crowd would sing
“Now the old king is dead! Long live the king!”

One minute I held the key
Next the walls were closed on me
And I discovered that my castles stand
Upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand

I hear Jerusalem bells a ringing
Roman Cavalry choirs are singing
Be my mirror, my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field

For some reason I can’t explain
Once you go there was never
Never an honest word
And that was when I ruled the world

It was the wicked and wild wind
Blew down the doors to let me in
Shattered windows and the sound of drums
People couldn’t believe what I’d become

Revolutionaries wait
For my head on a silver plate
Just a puppet on a lonely string
Oh who would ever want to be king?

I hear Jerusalem bells a ringing
Roman Cavalry choirs are singing
Be my mirror, my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field

For some reason I can’t explain
I know Saint Peter won’t call my name
Never an honest word
But that was when I ruled the world

I hear Jerusalem bells a ringing
Roman Cavalry choirs are singing
Be my mirror, my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field

For some reason I can’t explain
I know Saint Peter won’t call my name
Never an honest word
But that was when I ruled the world

Yesterday we read a parable from Peter Rollins entitled “No Conviction”, from his book The Orthodox Heretic. As we continue to prepare to be together Sunday morning, notice his explanation of writing it:

“This reflection was written after I happened to see a car speed past with a bumper sticker that read, “If Christianity were illegal would there be enough evidence to convict you?” At the time, I didn’t pay this little saying much thought, but over the course of the day it began to take root in my consciousness and play on my mind. So that evening I took some time to imagine such a world and what would happen to me if I lived in it. I was not interested in imagining a world where Christianity as a mere tradition or belief system was illegal but rather in a place where a life that reflected the acts and teachings of Jesus was prohibited.

Yet, in the process of reflecting I began to wonder whether we actually already lived in such a world. Rather that reading, “If Christianity were illegal would there be enough evidence to convict you?” – I wondered whether the bumper stick I had seen that day should have read, Christianity is illegal: is there enough evidence to convict you? For if I were really to take the teachings of Jesus seriously, would I not, sooner or later, find myself being dragged before the authorities? If I were really to live a life that reflected the subversive and radical message of love that gives a voice to the voiceless and a place to those who are displaced, if I were really to stand up against the systemic oppression perpetrated by those in power, then would I not find myself on the wrong side of the lawmakers?

The above story simply exposes the reality of Christ’s subversive teaching by imagining that those who exist in the place of power today are both aware of the fact that they oppose the way of Christ and willing to openly admit it. The story thus has two primary points. First, I used it to express the idea that authentic faith is expressed, not in the mere acceptance of a belief system, but in sacrificial, loving action. Here I reject the inner/outer distinction in which one can food oneself into thinking that private beliefs are somehow more important or reflective of one’s essence than public actions. Second, I wished to draw the reader into the reflection that perhaps this larger-than-life scenario, in its imaginary description of an alternative universe, is actually merely a reflection of the universe that we already inhabit. But creating a fictional world, we thus come face-to-face with our own world.” (7-9)

This Sunday, we continue our journey through the Gospel of Mark, seeing that people of God are called to challenge unjust structures. Notice, again, this parable from Peter Rollins (from his book The Orthodox Heretic and Other Impossible Tales):

“In a world where following Christ is decreed to be a subversive and illegal activity, you have been accused of being a believer, arrested, and dragged before a court.

You have been under clandestine surveillance for some time now, and so the prosecution has been able to build up quite a case against you. They begin the trial by offering the judge dozens of photographs that show you attending church meetings, speaking at religious events, and participating in various prayer and worship services. After this, they present a selection of items that have been confiscated from your home: religious books that you own, worship CDs, and other Christian artifacts. Then they step up the pace by displaying many of the poems, pieces of prose, and journal entries that you had lovingly written concerning your faith. Finally, in closing, the prosecution offers your Bible to the judge. This is a well-worn book with scribbles, notes, drawings, and underlings throughout, evidence, if it were needed, that you had read and re-read this sacred text many times.

Throughout the case you have been sitting silently in fear and trembling. You know deep in your heart that with the large body of evidence that has been amassed by the prosecution you face the possibility of a long imprisonment or even execution. At various times throughout the proceedings you have lost all confidence and have been on the verge of standing up and denying Christ. But while this thought has plagued your mind throughout the trial, you resist the temptation and remain focused.

Once the prosecution has finished presenting their case the judge proceeds to ask if you have anything to add, but you remain silent and resolute, terrified that if you open your mouth, even for a moment, you might deny the charges made against you. Like Christ, you remain silent before your accusers. In response you are led outside to wait as the judge ponders your case.

The hours pass slowly as you sit under guard in the foyer waiting to be summoned back. Eventually a young man in uniform appears and leads you into the courtroom so that you may hear the verdict and receive word of your punishment. Once you have been seated in the dock the judge, a harsh and unyielding man, enters the room, stands before you, looks deep into your eyes and begins to speak,

“Of the charges that have been brought forward I find the accused not guilty.”

“Not guilty?” your heart freezes. Then, in a split second, the fear and terror that had moments before threatened to strip your resolve are swallowed up by confusion and rage.

Despite the surroundings, you stand defiantly before the judge and demand that he give an account concerning why you are innocent of the charges in light of the evidence.

“What evidence?” he replies in shock.

“What about the poems and prose that I wrote?” you reply.

“They simply show that you think of yourself as a poet, nothing more.”

“But what about the services I spoke at, the times I wept in church and the long, sleepless nights of prayer?”

“Evidence that you are a good speaker and actor, nothing more.” replied the judge, “It is obvious that you deluded those around you, and perhaps at times you even deluded yourself, but this foolishness is not enough to convict you in a court of law.”

“But this is madness!” you shout. “It would seem that no evidence would convince you!”

“Not so,” replies the judge as if informing you of a great, long-forgotten secret.

“The court is indifferent toward your Bible reading and church attendance; it has no concern for worship with words and a pen. Continue to develop your theology, and use it to paint pictures of love. We have no interest in such armchair artists who spend their time creating images of a better world. We exist only for those who would lay down that brush, and their life, in a Christ-like endeavor to create a better world. So, until you live as Christ and his followers did, until you challenge this system and become a thorn in our side, until you die to yourself and offer your body to the flames, until then, my friend, you are no enemy of ours.”

Charles Van Engen, in his book God’s Missionary People: Rethinking the Purpose of the Local Church, engages an idea central to our text tomorrow morning. He states that “as local congregations are built up to reach out in mission to the world, they will become in fact what they already are by faith: God’s missionary people.” (17)

Has that been your experience at Good Shepherd?

In other words, do you feel built up so you can reach out?

If not, how could we “rethink the purpose” of our gathering times? Our small group structure? Anything else?

This Sunday, our passage in Mark reveals Jesus sending His disciples out two by two to proclaim the Kingdom. In preparation for our time together, notice some thoughts from Syracuse philosopher John Caputo:

“The church is Plan B. (In deconstruction, everything is Plan B.)… The existence of the church is provisional – like a long-term substitute teacher – praying for the Kingdom, whose coming Jesus announced and which everyone was expecting would come sometime soon. But this coming was deferred, and the church occupies the space of “deferral,” of the distance of “difference,” between two comings. (I just said, in case you missed it, the church is a function of différance!) In the meantime, and it is always the meantime for the church, the church is supposed to do the best it can to bring that Kingdom about in itself, here on earth, in a process of incessant self-renewal or auto-deconstruction, while not setting itself up as a bunch of kings or princes. The church is by definition a call (kletos) for renewal.

That is why the church is “deconstructible,” but the kingdom of God… is not. The church is a provisional construction, and whatever is constructed is deconstructible, while the Kingdom of God is that in virtue of which the church is deconstructible. So, if we ask, “What would Jesus deconstruct?” the answer is first and foremost the church! For the idea behind the church is to give way to the Kingdom, to proclaim and enact and finally disappear into the kingdom that Jesus called for, all the while resisting the temptation of confusing itself with the Kingdom.”

- What Would Jesus Deconstruct?: The Good News of Postmodernism for the Church, 35

Hi friends,

How goes it? I hope and pray this finds you well as the week comes to a close. Three day weekend, anyone!?

This Sunday, we continue our journey through the Gospel of Mark, reading from a passage wherein Jesus states, “Only in his hometown, among his relatives and in his own house is a prophet without honor.” In a sense, those in Nazareth have put Jesus in a box, seeing him only as Mary’s son, or James’ brother, or that carpenter who helped you remodel your kitchen.

As a part of our gathering Sunday morning, I’m wondering if we could share some of the ways people have referred to us that distance us from being an actual person (you know, “So-and-so’s [familial relationship]”, “the [whatever your job is]”, etc). We won’t do this personally, but maybe we could project these quotes on the screen? What do you think? If you’re into it, send me a message at curtis@gspc.org or on Facebook with what you’ve been called that don’t honor you as a child of God.

Okay, again, I hope this finds you well. I look forward to seeing you Sunday!
Curtis

In his book Velvet Elvis, Rob Bell notes an interesting connection with this Sunday’s text:

“The tzitzit (seet-see) first appear in Numbers 15 when God says to Moses, “Throughout the generations to come you are to make tassels on the corners of your garments, with a blue cord on each tassel. You will have these tassels to look at and so you will remember all the commands of the Lord, that you may obey them and not prostitute yourselves by chasing after the lusts of your own hearts and eyes. Then you will remember to obey all my commands.”

God tells his people to attach tassels to the corners of their garments so they will be constantly visually reminded to live as he created them to live.

The word in Hebrew here for “corners” is kanaf.

The word for “tassel” (or “fringe”) is tzitzit.

To this day, many Jews wear a prayer shawl to obey this text. The prayer shawl is also in a lot of interesting places throughout the Bible. One of the most significant is in the prophet Malachi’s prediction about the coming Messiah: “The sun of righteousness will rise with healing in its wings.”

The word Malachi uses for wings is kanaf – the same word in Numbers that refers to the edge of a garment, to which the tassels were attached. So a legend grew that when the Messiah came, there would be special healing powers in his kanaf, in the tassels of his prayer shawl.

Fast-forward to the time of Jesus: A woman has had an illness for twelve years and no one can cure her. She pushes her way through a crowd to get to Jesus, and when she gets close to him, she grabs his cloak. Now remember, Jesus is a Torah-observant Jewish rabbi who keeps the Scripture commandments word for word, including passages like Numbers 15, which means Jesus would have been wearing a prayer shawl. So when the woman grabs the edge of his cloak, she is demonstrating that she believes Jesus is the Messiah and that his tassels have healing powers. She believes that Jesus is who Malachi was talking about.

If you were in a crowd, what would you think about this woman? This woman believes that this man is the Messiah.

She touches his tassels and is healed, just like Malachi said.

But I don’t think the physical healing is Jesus’ point here. I think it is what Jesus says to her as they part ways.

He says to her, “Go in peace.”

The word Jesus would have used for peace is the Hebrew word shalom. Shalom is an important word in the Bible, and it is not completely accurate to translate it simply as “peace”.

For many of us, we understand peace to be the absence of conflict. We talk about peace in the home or in the world or giving peace a chance. But the Hebraic understanding of shalom is far more than just the absence of conflict.

Shalom is the presence of the goodness of God. It’s the presence of wholeness, completeness.

So when Jesus tells the woman to go in peace, he is places the blessing of God on all of her. Not just her physical body. He is blessing her with God’s presence on her entire being. And this is because for Jesus, salvation is holistic in nature. For Jesus, being saved or reconciled to God involves far more than just the saving of your physical body or your soul – it involves all of you.

God’s desire is for us to live in harmony with him – body, soul, spirit, mind, emotions – every inch of our being.”

- Velvet Elvis: Repainting the Christian Faith, 105-107