image by Bel Ragay from Unsplash In my Search the Scriptures study on Luke, there was one question in particular that caught my attention. For Luke 17: 20-37, it asked me to examine what were a) the similarities and b) the differences between the Kingdom of heaven, and the second coming of Jesus. I had never thought of these two things in relation to each other before, so it took me a while to consider this. Let's be honest. These are concepts that are familiar to us, but which we seldom see as directly connected to the everyday Christian life--to our life right now. At least, that was how I thought of them. The second coming is a concrete, specific event, a turning point between the season of mercy and the season of judgment (v 26-30) The second coming as Jesus described it was a definitive point in time where God's people would be taken and separated from those who were not. And God's people would not all be in the same place, in a single community or group--out of two doing the same task/in the same place, only one would be taken (v 34-36) Instead, v 31-33 was the reminder of what would matter in that day--whether we had lived our lives according to God's priorities or our own. In contrast, the kingdom of heaven is the abstract, ongoing, intangible life/growth in the souls of believers around the world through the power of the gospel (v 21) As Jesus explained, the kingdom of heaven was not a place, but rather where our hearts were before God. This was in direct contrast to what the Jews had understood (and hoped it to be) at the time. They had envisioned a kingdom of heaven defined by the very concrete boundaries of culture, location, and nation, and which would be established through a tangible event, the rebellion. There was a very specific identity for God's people, an identity based on external factors. Both the kingdom of heaven and the second coming as described by Jesus in this passage emphasized the individual soul's relationship with God as demonstrated through a heart of obedience, rather than externalities. Do I look forward to the second coming with a confidence and hope that rests in the person of Christ as my Saviour? Or do I place my hope in the affiliation, the lifestyle, the church, or the works which I subscribe to? What are we doing to further the kingdom of heaven right now? Rather than seeing it as some comfortably symbolic concept in the distant future which has no direct personal connection to ourselves. In our context, this would be the spreading of the gospel and the ongoing ministry of the church in cultivating those in their congregations, but also the everyday impact of the Word in our lives and how it changes our hearts. We are living out the kingdom of heaven, right now, in our spiritual growth (or the lack thereof) and our obedience each day.
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image by Toa Heftiba from Unsplash A while back, I started an e-devotional series taken from the writings of Oswald Chambers on trust. I was searching for guidance on how to grow in trust, in the midst of much uncertainty. I longed so much to have faith in God's will for me, but it just seemed too abstract. I wanted concrete comfort. Concrete guidance on what action to take. I wanted something I could cling to when I was overwhelmed by anxiety. There were two questions in the reflection section that stuck with me and gave me my first probing glimpse at what really was the problem--something we need to understand before we can try to resolve it. What worries and anxieties do I indulge in that reveal my lack of peace? What societies and systems do we build to minimize our need for peace with God? The meaning of "indulge"--a word we use most commonly today to talk about eating desserts, or lax parents. Basically, to knowingly choose something we know is not good for us. I had never thought of anxieties as something I "indulged" in as I always associated that word with pleasant things. But what it made me realize was that I had a choice. Upon close examination I realized that it was true--before I reached the final stage of feeling overwhelmed, there was that moment in the beginning where I actively chose to pursue this train of thought. Sometimes obsessively. Sometimes unnecessarily. And these choices formed a pattern. There was a repeated, regular pattern of anxiety in my life that reflected an underlying problem, greater than the isolated problems in themselves. A lack of peace, making me feel that a.) every problem was of huge consequence, and b.) it was up to me to resolve them, the situation was in my hands for better or for worse. This was the real problem, the root problem. Without acknowledging this, simply thinking that you can break the pattern by willpower, by forcing yourself "not to think", is a naive solution as most of us might already know. As result--that brings us to the second question. We resort to trying all sorts of things to fix ourselves, to restore that sense of equilibrium. We jump into action, because there's a kind of blind, stupid comfort in being able to DO something, to feel like you're actively solving your problem. We "build societies and systems." We seek communities to surround us with support and affirmation, so we won't feel so hurt when others reject or criticize us. We work to make ourselves feel important, needed, loved, in families or groups of friends. Sometimes in damaging and unhealthy ways. We try to create an identity for ourselves affirmed by others, that we can fall back on regardless of what happens to us. Or we try to make sure the problem doesn't happen again. We improve ourselves. We find ways to work better, faster, to be less forgetful, to be more efficient, to be more attractive, or more compelling. We convince ourselves, like consumers buying into the ads they see on TV, that if only we get the latest vacuum cleaner or a cutting-edge smart fridge, our homes will stay clean and well-run. All we need is a better system, better skills. We try harder. These things, promising a shadow of compensation, are what we throw ourselves into, desperately wanting them to work. Sometimes they work. Sometimes they don't. Sometimes they work the first time but don't the next. The key is that they're not the real answer. True freedom only comes with a broadening of perspective, understanding that a.) God's providence INCLUDES--in His mysterious will!--our problems; there are no accidents! and b.) we can turn to Him for guidance on what action to take, and trust that it will work out according to His plan, "for the good for His people." Learning to trust in God is impossible, as abstract fluff as it sounds, if we don't realize that trust in God first requires peace with God. Much of the times, we struggle to trust Him because we are not living in peace with Him. Whether this means that we need to repent and be saved as unbelievers, or whether this means we need to repent of our idols and lukewarmness/backsliding as Christians, peace with God means submitting our lives to Him. If we don't want to accept any other outcome than the one we want, if we refuse to believe that God is good, and continues to be good, even if He doesn't give us what we want--He "gives and takes away; blessed be the name of the Lord"--then we are still living in rebellion against Him. Maybe we've externally submitted our lives to Him. Call ourselves Christians. Go dutifully to church every Sunday and maybe even try to talk about the Gospel sometimes. But we shy away from accepting that the Bible calls us to make hard choices, and that God demands every area of our lives and hearts. Our lusts. Our free time. The times no one sees us, or we don't have to face any consequences. It's only now and then. Such a small thing, He won't mind. We cannot keep a little pet sin or two under the carpet while proclaiming that God is the ruler of our life. Or perhaps we're not at peace with Him because we're not willing to give Him control over everything--everything, but not our love life. Success. Career. Our heartbreak, or happiness. Our dreams (and this was the hardest one I'd been struggling with.) If we are guilty of one or both of these (as the case probably is) how can we truly trust? We are afraid that God will require what we don't want to let go of. We are fighting desperately for control. We are actually in rebellion, yet keeping it under wraps for now as we wait to see how it happens. We are already suspecting Him of not giving us what we want, already picturing Him as the Bad Guy, already unhappy to accept any other plan rather than our own. How could we trust? Trust comes naturally, sweetly, when we are at peace with God. When we are able to say earnestly that we love Him, and seek to love Him more than any other. When we can say humbly that we know His will is better than ours--no "maybes." image by Ergita Sela from Unsplash Recently I've been reading The Trellis and the Vine, an old classic by Colin Marshall and Tony Payne. It may be old, but for me, reading it for the first time, it was a breath of fresh air in the clarity with which it expressed many of the experiences and observations I had from my personal experience of serving in a church for many years. Many of us start our Christian life with a Biblical, but admittedly vague, desire to "serve in church". Despite the good desires and motivations we have, we tend to oversimplify it into the concrete actions of helping to move chairs, turning up at events, tithing, and volunteering. But to take these actions as the sum-all of our duties, as an end in itself, is inadequate. All too often it fizzles away into burn-out, discouragement, or a dangerous complacency that hides a deep lack of spiritual growth in our part, which the hum of activity and the feel-good satisfaction of being useful lulls us into not recognizing. I've had my own fair share of all these, and yet I never really could articulate why, or what was wrong. It was with great thankfulness that I read the exact same description of what I'd experienced, with an explanation! Feeling like a patient who had finally gotten diagnosed, I pulled out my posted notes (to this day I still can't bring myself to write on books; maybe those awful Hawpar Villa scenes warning about the fate of those who deface books had some subconscious imprint on my pysche) and knew that there would be gems to collect from this book. The book begins with an introduction of its central analogy: the vine--the actual work of the Gospel growing and changing people; and the trellis--the structures and activities that support it--which are present in a church. "We will be arguing that structures don't grow ministry any more than trellises grow vines, and that most churches need to make a conscious shift--away from erecting and maintaining structures, and towards growing people who are disciple-making disciples of Christ." As such, a church's primary focus is always its people. Its ministries should be built around them--to meet their needs and utilize their strengths. This thought, simple and obvious though it may be, should immediately make us re-examine our motivations and reasons for running each of the programs in our church. Are we having them simply because it feels right, because we have a hazy idea that the more "happening" and lively our church bulletin is, the more fruitful and impressive it seems? "The growth of the gospel happens in the lives of people, not in the structures of my church." This sentence stated it very clearly. For me, it was a huge encouragement, because we tend to measure growth and success by concrete, external improvement in our structures--more programs, more people turning up, a big congregation, a church building etc. Coming from a small church that has struggled with ups and downs, fluctuating congregation size, the only constant being the same persistent problems of manpower shortage, it's easy to compare ourselves to where we were five years ago and feel as if we haven't made any "real" progress. Yet that's not true. There is quiet proof all around me of the lives that have been changed, the individuals that have grown spiritually, the people whose hearts have been transformed. Even in myself, having been nurtured and shepherded in this church all these years. And that is the important part, the real progress, the vine work. As such, our attitude to people should be "not as cogs in our wheels, resources for our projects, but as individuals each at their own stage of spiritual growth." The church's role, then, is to be the trellis supporting their spiritual growth, training them to become stronger, more fruitful, to branch out. What does training mean? In contrast to the Bible-college-seminary academic connotations we have of that word, training is something that every Christian needs. Not just the pastor. Not just the elders and deacons and Bible study group teachers and youth leaders. Every Christian needs training; to produce a "quality of character and behaviour based on the sound doctrine of the Scriptures." This is a brief explanation of what Jesus meant when He called us the 'salt of the world,' the 'light.' Salt and light, by their very essence, by their very presence. Who we are, and how that influences how we live our everyday. Not just the few hours we spend in church on Sunday; in contrast, those few hours are supposed to help guide and teach us how to live our lives the rest of the week. This kind of training, though it certainly requires focused study of the Word, is also "inescapably relational." We can take all the Bible study courses and programs, but never apply the head knowledge to our lives, if we don't have it modelled for us, if we don't see and struggle through the messy process of applying it. Just these two foundational concepts already put into motion a whole train of thought on my part. Reexamining how I see my own service in church. My goals for my spiritual life. My purpose for being in church, "participating." The mindset with which I approach ministry, especially to others. When I'm tempted to complain, get discouraged, or get frustrated with others. What really should be happening in me, and to those around me? And how am I contributing consciously to that growth? image by Tom Sodoge from Unsplash "The church might need to relearn what it means to BE church rather than simply to DO church." This quote from the "Pandemic Reflections" editorial by Shiao Choong embodied the mixed feelings I've been having recently in response to the changes that the pandemic has made to our lives. We haven't been able to meet for church, for months now. Online Zoom meetings are the norm, we fumble to mute/unmute ourselves and discuss what's the proper etiquette--to turn on video camera, or not? All of a sudden routines that stood fast for years disappeared and a sense of disorientation took place. Sundays had always been frantically busy for me, with all the things that needed to be done. Suddenly all that was replaced with this unfamiliar lull. What does it mean to be a Christian, to be part of a church, once we take away all the activities we associate (and often, equate) with it? This reminds me of Luke 10: 38-42, where Jesus rebukes Martha for her blindness in pursuing the wrong priorities. Like Martha, we are so often "distracted with much serving," so much so that we even neglect Him, the reason for all our activity in the first place. It is tempting to rely on activity as a concrete way of assuring ourselves that we've done our part, that we're growing spiritually.We have a sense of satisfaction when we see the results of our labour. We have the approval of others who watch us. We feel like we've achieved something. Progress packaged in a nice concrete way; the more activities, the better. In contrast, Christ reminds us that "one thing is needed." Do we as a church, as an individual Christian, only know how to be a Christian in terms of what to do and what to attend? It's much easier to busy ourselves with the concrete actions--nice, tidy little jobs that can be finished and put aside like housework or assignments--instead of dealing with the messier, abstract, and often more uncomfortable nature of spiritual growth/health. Dealing with that habitual sin or trial you're struggling with. Acknowledging and repenting of sins which distance you from God or bad habits which prevent you from growing. Going to God each day for forgiveness and strength. Seeking to live out faith and humility, and love. These are the things that we can neglect without anyone realizing even when we attend church faithfully and serve in multiple ministries, but these are the things which are of utmost importance in Christ's eyes. If we neglect this, not only are we neglecting the "one thing needed," we will also eventually burn out in our serving. It's only natural to feel disoriented with all the changes from this pandemic. But I will take this period as a chance to examine myself for any wrong attitudes towards serving, to remind myself that being a Christian is foremost my individual everyday walk with God, and to seek Christ's presence as the most important thing, as Mary did, and find my refreshing there. In the absence of activity, are we lost? Even when we can't do, can we still be? |
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