Authority

"But the gift is not like the trespass. For if the many died by the trespass of the one man, how much more did God's grace and the gift that came by the grace of the one man, Jesus Christ, overflow to the many! Again, the gift of God is not like the result of the one man's sin: The judgment followed one sin and brought condemnation, but the gift followed many trespasses and brought justification. For if, by the trespass of the one man, death reigned through that one man, how much more will those who receive God's abundant provision of grace and of the gift of righteousness reign in life through the one man, Jesus Christ. Consequently, just as the result of one trespass was condemnation for all men, so also the result of one act of righteousness was justification that brings life for all men. For just as through the disobedience of the one man the many were made sinners, so also through the obedience of the one man the many will be made righteous." [Romans 5:15-19]

I was asked once about this passage: "This doesn't seem equitable. How can one good act by one good man remedy the many evil acts by billions of people?" This question gnawed at me. Part of me thought, "It seems like the scales are very much still unbalanced. There is more evil in the world than good. There is more evil in my life than good." Is the work of Christ diminished to some other-worldly, future hope that "it'll all be different in heaven", while in the meantime the world seems to be going to hell, and parts of my life with it?

I revolt at that. Anger at the injustice and inequity in the world tempts me to point a finger at God, and shame at what I've done yet not been held accountable for bids me to run and hide. I feel both at the same time. Despite these conflicting emotions, I nevertheless conclude: heaven later does nothing to fix hell now.

These are the things the Enemy whispers into my ear.

The crux of the dilemma above seems to have something to do with justice. It doesn't seem "fair" or "right" that one man dying on one cross has the capacity to right all of the wrongs committed by all of the men and women who have ever lived. And perhaps it doesn't… at least in our ledgers. But our ledgers are far from balanced… at least in God's bookkeeping.

Our ledgers allow us to easily see the injustices in our world. Women who are battered. Children who are hungry. People who have a target (literally or metaphorically) on their backs because of the DNA they were given at birth. Times and circumstances in which we've been treated unjustly or unfairly… or even hurtfully. And when our ledgers tell us that there are past due accounts like these, we cry out for them to be paid back in justice for the guilt they've incurred.

The problem is that there are flaws in our ability to book keep. For some reason, we are awfully good at keeping someone else's account (like that of the racist, or of the exploiter, or of the abuser), but absolutely terrible at keeping our own.

And I am reminded of a passage from Psalm 130, verses 3 and 4: "If you, O LORD, kept a record of sins, O Lord, who could stand? But with you there is forgiveness; therefore you are feared."

My conscience cries out for justice to be leveraged on me for my own sin every day. I cannot keep track of how many characters I've successfully assassinated in my own mind, how many adulteries I've had in my heart, or how many selfish interests I've protected over the course of my brief time here on this earth. Before I cry out for social justice, perhaps I should cry out for personal mercy:

"O Lord, hear my voice. Let your ears be attentive to my cry for mercy." [Psalm 130:1]

The fact that I am still standing and breathing is a testimony to God's mercy. The fact that the stain of humanity has not been completely and utterly wiped clean from God's good earth is evidence of a merciful God. Take a moment to look at your own ledger. You are forced to conclude that the amount of marks in the red far outnumber the marks in the black. And yet you remain, likely living a fairly blessed life by most of the world's standards. Why?

"The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. He is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance." [2 Peter 3:9]

And then, all of a sudden, we're grateful for the apparently deferred judgment.

And then, we realize that this world can change only as we are changed.

And then, we realize that we are changed because God hasn't deferred our judgment, but has already punished humanity's representative for its sins.

And then, we realize that we are changed beause God is merciful, for He has elected his incarnated Son, Jesus, as humanity's representative.

event planning

One of the things that I am not very good at is event planning. Which is an ok thing to not be good at for most people… mainly people who don't plan events for a living. But it's a problem for youth pastors. Event planning is pretty much the scaffolding around which ministry in a youth setting is done. And I suck at it.

I guess I don't suck at it. But I'm not the best. And it stresses me out. So many details to remember. So many possibilities to forget. So many volunteers to ask to help, to follow up with, to support. So many questions from students. So many messages to plan, ideas to brainstorm, slides to make, multimedia to set up. It makes me tired to just list all of it.

I often wonder when it gets down to crunch time of one of these major events: is this all worth it? Is this what ministry is supposed to be about? It all costs so much… financially, physically, mentally, emotionally, and even spiritually.

I was pondering this tonite, while sitting around a bonfire at our college retreat. It's Saturday night, and I've just gotten over the "hump" of the retreat—I've given my 3^rd of four talks, after leading two worship sets, and tomorrow's talk is a done deal. We've gotten up here safely, the weather has been great, the students seem to be responding, the food's been good, and we haven't had any major tech issues. Looks like it's gonna be a success, which alleviates some anxiety, which gives me space to think.

And I think: could we have got more students to come? How many should we shoot for next year? Was all of this work worth it? Is this going to be significant in the lives of these students?

And as I thought that, a story popped into my head from the John Ortberg series my small group has been listening to and discussing. It's the one where Jesus is telling the parable about the man throwing this huge banquet, inviting everyone who's anyone, only to find that all of his A-list invites make excuses and go back on their RSVPs on the day of the party. They're snubbing the host.

The host responds by having his servants search everywhere—even the slums—to fill up his party. And fill up the party the servant does. He finds plenty of people who "aren't doing anything on Saturday night." And just like that, the disabled and feeble-minded are now walking the same red carpet as the stars would have… if only they had made good on their RSVPs.

God, of course, is the host in the story. The A-listers who go back on their initial acceptance of God's invitation are [most of] his chosen people, the Jews. And the disabled and feeble-minded… well, that's all of the rest of us who, disabled and broken from our own sin, have benefitted from the rescinded RSVPs.

God planned this amazing event… but even an event planned by God himself wasn't "attractive" enough to draw the "big names" in big numbers.

And I got to thinking: maybe "big names in big numbers" shouldn't be something that I worry about. Maybe it shouldn't be one of the things I use to determine how well one of my event-planning endeavors turned out. Maybe my events are a success for the same reason that God's event was a success: because God was there. Maybe my effort should be directed toward getting whoever will accept God's invitation to show up, rather than try to make the event attractive to the big names in big numbers… and to give God praise for filling his event with those who he has chosen.

So, God… thanks.

Joseph, Jesus’ Dad

There's a line in Mercy Me's song "Joseph's Lullaby" that grabbed me tonight. The song, as its title communicates, is written as if Joseph was singing a lullaby to his infant son, Jesus. The scene of the song takes place sometime shortly after Jesus is born—perhaps the very night Mary gave birth. And Joseph sings:

"You have a long road before you—rest your little head."

The long road before you. That part of the line struck me. I feel like that a lot—like the road ahead of me is long. I started to think of the road that is set before me each day:

I am undisciplined. I let my appetite go unchecked too often, let my eyes linger too long, and let my spending run too far ahead of my paycheck. I am quick to judge, and rarely quick to listen. I get angry, and am a master at justifying it, spinning it to serve my own interests. And that's the short list.

These things litter the road that is set before me. I am who I am. This is the road I will travel, and these are the obstacles looming out ahead of me.

And God the Father sees this. Every day He sees this. He sees me walk this road and, as I come upon these obstacles, He sees me falter. In fact, He saw me walk and falter long before I even began to do it with my skin on. He saw that what I was going to do, if He didn't do something about it, was eventually going to lead to my death. My death—me being separated forever from the Life He Has. Me walking a road that leads away from him, toward my self-destruction.

And so he gave his Son a road to travel—an even longer road than mine:

"Walk his road, so that he can walk with Me on mine." That was the road that was set before Jesus: change me.

I think that changing someone—I mean, truly changing another person, permanently and for the better—is the single most difficult thing to do in this world. Think about it. Let's say your job is to spend 8 hours a day, 5 days a week, 49 weeks per year (that's right… you get 3 weeks vacation!) with a gang member who has known the way of violence for as long as he can remember being alive. Your task is to change him into being a non-violent, legitimately-working citizen.

How would you do it? How long would you need? Could you stay with it, walking with him through the ups and downs, through the dangers and snares, all the while remaining an attractive and alternate option to the lifestyle he has grown so accustomed to? Would your mercy know no bounds as he returned to that lifestyle periodically despite showing some growth? Would the life that you produced in him, if you were successful, remain in him even apart from your physical presence? Would you be willing to count the daily cost necessary to change just one person's life?

Jesus was willing. I don't know how he was able, but he was, and he is. And he walks my long road with me even today.