The Gospel Or THE GOSPEL?

Around this time of year, when the weather is nice, something happens on the campus where I work. As I leave my office, I can see – and hear – that a few of the street corners are populated by a handful of gentlemen wearing signboards and yelling to people passing by that they will burn in hell if they do not change their ways and accept Jesus as their Lord and Savior.  One day I decided to play dumb (it’s a gift, really) and ask one of the guys what they were up to, and he said, “Son, we’re here to preach the Gospel.”

I have to admit that I have mixed reactions to these guys. One the one hand, who am I to fault  their zeal for the truth, and for the courage to go where people will ignore and possibly be hostile to them?  But at the same time, it occurs to me that they might be going about things the wrong way and in the process, cementing what many already believe: “Christians are a just bunch of rabid, judgmental  nutlogs.”

For much of my Christian life I also believed that the gospel is summed up in John 3:16. It was nothing more than that God loves me and has a wonderful plan for my life if I will turn it over to Him and repent.  But I have come to believe, through reading the four Gospels, that this boiled-down definition of “gospel” might be a little – well – shortchanged.   Incomplete at best.

What I mean is this: largely as a result of the revivalism of the eighteenth century and afterward, “the gospel” has become shorthand for “Repent and believe in Jesus Christ and you will be saved.”  For the sake of preaching a simple message in tent meetings all over the country, it was distilled to that. After all, it's sound marketing strategy to have a slogan, if you will. So the essence of the gospel was reduced to a turn-or-burn proposition. 

Now, is “repent and believe” a true statement, and one that needs to be proclaimed?  Absolutely.  But is that the sum of "the gospel"?  I used to think so.

But it isn't - at least, not as far as the four Gospels seem to indicate. Jesus did preach that people should repent and turn their hearts toward the Father. That was and is the necessary first step. But Jesus spent a lot more time talking about the results of that repentance, namely, living a changed life on an entirely different trajectory. The gospel includes learning why we must forgive others, exercise justice, practice humility, and grow in love for God and people. These things, for Jesus, seem to be as much a part of the gospel as the necessary "fire insurance".  Much more so, if you sum up the time he spent teaching on issues like these.

In Jesus’ words found in Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, the gospel is about the ongoing radical conversion of our lives. It is about the creation of a new and very different community that bears witness to the fact that God came to live among people  - and in doing so, changed the ballgame entirely. Everything is now to be based on an active love for God and neighbor. Kingdom people are to be servants, continually seeking to have their hearts transformed to exhibit increasing Christlikeness, acting out of purity of intention, freedom from anxiety, and the desire to do His will in the world. Above all, we are to revel in our relationship with God our Father as a child to a loving parent. And, we are called to preach and live this gospel - this whole gospel - before others, to compel them to want to join us on the journey.

Let's face it - preaching turn-or-burn would be a lot easier.  But if I am a gospel believer, it has to go well beyond that. Proclaiming the gospel Jesus taught is both the call and the challenge of our lives, because it is inescapably tied to our own growth and conversion.

I can only preach it to others inasmuch as I am willing to be changed myself.

When I say that I want to follow Christ and proclaim His gospel, do I fully understand what I am saying?

I Am One Of Them

There is more than one way to lose track of the calendar. For example, I have one of those date books that functions for me as my memory. So imagine the panic that ensued when one day, I placed it on top of my car, immediately forgot it was there and took off down a NJ highway. It took me a minute to realize why I saw nothing but flying papers in my rearview mirror.

Well, despite the way it might sound, I haven’t lost track of the calendar. I know that Easter is just days away.  But my mind is still on Palm Sunday – specifically, on something that happened during Sunday service.

When it came time for the Gospel reading, we all stood and followed along as the entire passion narrative from Luke was read. Several people played different parts, including us, the congregation as a whole.  The priest read the words of Jesus.  Someone else was the narrator, and someone else played Peter’s part. We in the congregation were the voices of the crowd.

This was a simple moment, but it was one of those powerful times where head knowledge and heart knowledge connected in a new and even shocking way.  I know the passion story about as well as anybody, and I understand that it was my sins among others that were the reason for Jesus coming and hanging on the cross. I know He did it willingly, but I am also aware that I put Him there. At least, I know this in my head.

But what drove it home that morning in a powerful way was to hear the whole congregation yell for Barabbas to be released, and for Jesus to be put to death.  To hear us mock Him mercilessly.  And most especially, to hear my own voice cry out “Crucify Him!”  Me, a friend of Jesus.  “CRUCIFY HIM!”

It’s hard to fully communicate how this hit me. On the surface, I felt a huge disconnect between the words coming out of my mouth and knowing where I now stand with God.  But on a deeper level, it drove home my incredible sinfulness, knowing that before I gave my life to Christ I would clearly have been one of those people screaming for his death. I am, or was, no different than they were.  I would have wanted his head. Maybe for just the entertainment (there’s nothing quite like a good crucifixion), or maybe because I saw Him as a genuine threat to society and wanted Him gone. Regardless, I would have been there, demanding that He be nailed to a tree. “Crucify Him!”

But the next thought I had was “And yet, He did this for me.”

Colossians 1:21-22 reminds us of this: Once you were alienated from God and were enemies in your minds because of your evil behavior. But now he has reconciled you by Christ's physical body through death to present you holy in his sight, without blemish and free from accusation.

I scream for His crucifixion. But Jesus stretches out His hands and says "It doesn't matter. I love you and want you with Me forever. That's why I am here on the cross." 

And, the best is yet to come. Have an amazing Easter.

Final Duck or Close To It

OK – we are coming down the home stretch in lining up all the mental, spiritual and emotional ducks regarding my move to the Catholic Church. (This particular duck on the left looks delicious).  For those of you that have been reading and have hung in with me, I am grateful!  For those of you who are bored beyond tears, well – who can blame you?  Sometimes I am ready to gnaw off a limb myself. Or a wing.  But take heart – other topics are on the way.  Maybe next time we’ll talk about jazz, recipes or the disappointment that was the NY Giants this season.

This is the church history portion, which is a little different from prevous posts. Up untill now, much of this has been very personal and subjective. But church history is more objective.   And granted, this short sketch of the earliest years is overly simplified for the sake of brevity. But it is a rich subject, and if anyone wants to know more, plenty of information is available. This will be a little longer than usual, but hang with me here.

Back in the earliest days of the church as the Gospel was being spread, there was no defined New Testament, no authoritative body of writings. Some of the Gospels were in circulation in the 50s and 60s, as were Paul’s letters and others later on – but nothing was yet recognized as being God-breathed Scripture beyond the Old Testament.  It was all just out there.  Tradition was largely being passed along orally, from apostles to the next church leaders. Paul refers to this when he mentions “tradition” in 2 Thess. 2:15; 3:6 and other places. The Greek word paradosis is understood as not simply referring to the writings but to the wider tradition regarding church practice and body life that the apostles wanted to communicate.

This tradition that was being passed along orally and in writings helped the early church’s liturgy to develop.  Church practices and hierarchy were forming according to the apostles’ teachings.  The church as we understand it was slowly taking shape. Some of these things wound up in what we now know as the New Testament, but not all.

How do we know that all of this apostolic teaching was being passed on faithfully and without addition or subtraction?  First of all, the earliest church fathers were in conversation with the apostles. Ignatius was taught by Peter.  Polycarp was taught by John. And there were others. Linus, who was also part of the next generation, was known to be a companion of Paul.  And so on.

Even more importantly, these early church leaders were incredibly passionate and jealous for the truth, and guarded against ANY change in the apostles teachings. Nothing got past these guys that was not in keeping with what they had received.  A friend of mine referred to them as “truth Nazis”.   If you need any proof of that, remember: these are the leaders who helped to shape and define what we now have as the NT.  They were the ones who fought against the many heresies in the early church related to who Jesus was, the nature of God, and other issues.  It was they who fully articulated the doctrines of the Trinity, the deity of Christ and others, only partially spelled out in Scripture, that we now hold as central to our faith.  These were the people who fought tooth-and-nail for doctrinal purity.

Every time you pick up your NT, recite the early creeds or talk some of the major points of theology, you are recognizing their work and affirming their zeal for the truth.  We are grateful for their dedication and their vigilant defense of the faith.

At the same time, it is in the writings of these very leaders that we also see references to the sacrifice of mass, the real presence Christ in the Eucharist and other things that have come to be known as "Catholic" ideas and practices. While these ideas were not fully articulated yet, they are very much there in the earliest writings. 

Remember, these early church leaders would reject, in a heartbeat, anything that did not totally conform with the truth they had received.  So in other words, these “Catholic” ideas were part of the tradition that had been passed onto them from the apostles.

This is why for me any many others like me, our reversion or conversion to the Catholic Church has its roots in the facts and flow of church history. It is how I and others try to connect with the earliest church and its practices. It helps us to line up with the first generations of believers.  I think if more Protestants understood that, it would help to break down some of the unfortunate misunderstandings that sometimes exist between Protestants and Catholics.

I want to close with three things that have made a big impact on me in this area.  The first comes from Protestant theologian Carl Trueman, in a review of Noll and Nystrom’s  Joint Declaration Of Justification, and he mirrors what other Protestant writers have also concluded:

“…Roman Catholicism is, at least in the west, the default position. Rome has a better claim to historical continuity and institutional unity than any other Protestant denomination…we need good solid reasons for not being Catholic." 

Second, Chuck Redfern is my best friend since college days, and was a committed Christian before we met. He was instrumental in helping me to get established in my faith as a Protestant believer.  He remains a Protestant and is a pastor and writer. He wrote this to me as I was making the transition (slightly edited with his permission):

"I was praying in a Catholic church once (I took the open door and the empty sanctuary to be an invitation), and it struck me: This is 'the Church' meaning, this is the Church that goes back 2,000 years and from which we all sprang….Protestantism was not God's 'Plan A.'  The Reformation was necessary, alas - but that doesn't deny that the Catholic Church is, honestly, the 'mother church', the church in which the others were birthed. " 

Lastly, this one is even more meaningful to me. A brother in Christ and good friend, whose church I was leaving, was bothered by my decision and confessed to not understanding why I would do this.  Yet, as a spiritually mature guy, he decided he would talk with me rather than just stew. So we met for dinner one evening recently, and had a great discussion. I laid out the points I have been making in these blog posts, and how God has been leading me.  In the end, he said (paraphrasing): “This is not something I would do, but it now makes sense to me. I get it, and I wish you God’s best.” We are the brothers we have always been, and that is what is most important to me.  I am grateful for how he approached this, and hope that others would do the same.  I am always willing to talk.

I feel a summary blog coming on before I let this all go, desiring to grab the various strings from these last four posts and combine them into some neat arrangement. But we’ll see.  Or we’ll talk Giants, provided I can keep it from becoming too morose (that would be an act of grace for sure!).  If I do, I will smoke some duck and all are invited.

Ducks Part Three

I don’t know about you, but whenever I do something that makes others shake their heads in disbelief, I have always found it helpful to have someone else to blame.  It’s good to have another person to take the heat – and even better when they are not immediately available to defend themselves.

In this case, I am blaming one of my former professors (he'll never know). While he was technically a professor of New Testament at a Protestant evangelical seminary, he was also beginning to teach a spiritual formation class and was exposing his students to a wide variety of devotional literature most had not heard of before. That’s how I received a copy of my first book by Henri Nouwen, called The Wounded Healer.

The timing was a God-thing.  I had just lost my father, and could identify with being wounded and wanting to use my experience to help others. But the book had a much larger impact on me. It not only introduced me to a great Christian writer who drew from what is known as the “contemplative tradition”, but by extension, opened up a whole new world to me.

In my previous “Ducks” posts, I mentioned that this tradition is partially responsible for leading me back to the Catholic Church.  So what is the contemplative tradition anyway?  It began with some believers of the third century who left society to live in the desert in relative isolation. Their goal was to renounce themselves and follow Jesus more closely, and this movement eventually grew to include thousands of people.   

Not too long afterward, other believers sought this sort of life, but with a greater emphasis on community.  That’s the reason for the growth of monasteries throughout the early years of the church, through the Middle Ages and beyond, where intense private devotion was combined with a communal atmosphere, service and manual labor.

Reams of valuable devotional writing came from people who practiced this way, which is no surprise.  After all, they were pursuing the spiritual life 24/7.  To be sure, some of them carried things too far.  You can find plenty of crazy stories of brothers and sisters who engaged in some pretty odd behavior back then.   But that doesn’t at all negate the rich wisdom that was also a product of monastic life.

In digging more deeply over the years, I have come into familiar and ongoing contact with Benedict of Nursia, Theresa of Avila, St. John of the Cross, Brother Lawrence, Francis De Sales, Thomas Merton and several others.  And I have noticed a pattern:  when I have spent time with these writers and tried to incorporate some of their thoughts and practices into my life, those were times of consistent growth where I saw differences and felt closer to the Lord. When I would disengage from this (which I did, many times), my sense of nearness and dependence on God seemed to wane. That’s probably more of a commentary on my own inconsistancies, but I know that it’s a fact.

The question then comes up: “Why go back to the Catholic Church? Why not practice this way and remain where you are?”  It’s a good question, and I guess the answer is: been there, done that. The result is a sort of disconnect. I found myself worshipping in a certain tradition privately during the week and in a completely different way on Sunday mornings. I needed consistency in my private and public expressions of faith.  What’s more, if I was to going to be able to share my experiences with like-minded folk, it would more likely be in the Catholic Church, where the contemplative tradition was born and has flourished.  While there are certainly exceptions, evangelical Protestants tend not to spend a lot of time with contemplative writing and practice.  I don't mean that as an indictment at all; it's simply not on the radar or part of the culture for a variety of reasons  - one of which is a greater focus on current popular devotional writers.  

Next time I will try to wrap this thread up by writing about how church history has impacted my move. But meanwhile, I am comforted in knowing that this is all Dr. Weigelt’s fault.  'Preciate it, Doc.

Ducks Part 2

I hope you have had as wonderful a break for the holidays as I have had (and am still enjoying).  It’s been a great time to just be with family, get outdoors, catch up on musical interests, and to read and reflect a little.

In my previous post, I outlined some of the motivators for a significant change of path in my spiritual walk. I am going to spend some time dissecting them – again, largely because I am still sorting things out for myself (the ducks in my head are an unruly bunch and don’t line up easily at times), but also in case anyone else cares to listen in.

Two of them are fairly simple and I think I can dispense with them here. One has to do with attending church in one’s own community, or as close as you can get. My church for the past seven years has been right in my own backyard.  After spending the previous ten-or-so years at a church 40 minutes away, attending locally was a very refreshing change.  The Gospel is all about relationships, and you stand the best chance of building and enjoying those relationships when you see other church folk at the post office, the local high school ball games and other places. It’s easier to get together and be a part of one another’s lives.  If I was going to make a change, I wanted to make it while staying in the neighborhood.

The second reason I want to address here is the pull that liturgical worship has been having on me. This is very subjective, of course. It has to do with the way God wired me and has nudged me along the way. Where I once rejected liturgy out-of-hand as vain, meaningless repetition, it has come to mean a great deal to me.  

For one thing, it is beautiful and full of Scriptural truth. But there is something else. I think it has to do with my growing need to be a part of something that is much bigger than me and bigger than any local church – something that reaches over the centuries and connects way back, to the very earliest Christian church.  Something that has been a part of the lives of countless millions of believers over the past 2000 years or so. I have wanted to step into that stream of rich spiritual history and tradition, to belong to it and to identify with it.  In my private devotional life, I have been engaging in worship that puts me in touch with this - but not on Sunday mornings. That was the one missing piece of the puzzle that needed to be addressed.

Psalm 139 tells us that we are fearfully and wonderfully made, or “wonderfully complex” (NLT). We are each wired differently, and one of the lessons in this for me is to be willing to explore how God wired me and to not be afraid to follow that.  I would never try to persuade anyone that my path is the way to go. I only know that it is the way to go for me.

In future posts I will get into the weightier areas of church history and the contemplative tradition. But not tonight.  I’m still on holiday break, after all. I hope you are too.  Merry Christmas and a Happy and Blessed New Year!

Line Up Them Ducks - Part One

 As the saying goes: “There is more than one way to skin a cat. But no matter how you do it, the cat is still ticked off. “

“Getting my ducks is a row” is another expression. It’s more positive. And, no ducks are hurt in the process. The ducks in particular like this, or so I hear.

Tonight, I am not sure what to write or even where to begin. This will probably - hopefully - be the first of a series of blogs. I say “hopefully” because over the past year so much has flowed through my heart and my brain that, even though it has resulted in a positive outcome, I feel the need to put all the loudly-quacking ducks in my head into a row and lay things out in a somewhat orderly way - for others perhaps, but primarily for myself.   Writing, for me, seems to be the surest way to do that, whether journaling, songwriting or blogging (I actually have written a song about this that I will be performing in my acoustic duo in 2013).

So I will start in the moment, and move backwards from there. After nearly 38 years as a committed, seminary-trained Protestant, I am about to begin attending the church of my youth (which I formerly and vehemently rejected), the Catholic Church.

(Note: I avoided casting myself as leaving “Protestant Evangelicalism”, because I am still firmly evangelical.)

Why do this?  That’s what I hope to address in the coming weeks/months.  For sure, I have a lot of company here – folks much like me who have made this very same move. I am also aware that some people who I know and love are a bit confused by my decision. It’s exciting to me, so naturally I want to be able to share it and articulate it well, but not to proselytize, ever.  I have no interest in changing anyone’s mind on the matter – only to aid in understanding.

My decision has to do with several elements that I intend to lay out in greater detail. In no logical order whatsoever, they are:

ü  A deep tug on my heart toward liturgical worship

ü  The flow of church history

ü  The importance of doing church in one’s own community

ü  A love for the contemplative tradition that was born and grew in Catholicism, and the path it offers toward spiritual growth

ü  The knowledge that this is the church from which all others have sprung, (checkered as its history was at times – the church is both divine and human) and the sense of connection to believers on whose shoulders I stand.

It’s been the spiritual, emotional and intellectual equivalent of Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, but I like where it has brought me and am at peace with it, though leaving my current church is not something I do lightly. I have made friendships there that are important to me and that I want to see continue. It is a warm, wonderful church filled with great people and I have become close to many of them.

Yet, I still don’t know where I’ll begin with the next installment. Whichever duck is quacking the loudest, I guess.

Want To Hear A Story?

OK, so here’s the thing:   I have been blessed with many opportunities to preach over the years. I take each one seriously and try to faithfully communicate the truth of Scripture and what God has laid on my heart.  I dig in and do my exegesis.  I then spend time on how I want to express my thoughts.  I used to get nervous about preaching but I rarely get nervous anymore. Excited for sure, but not nervous.

Until…

I was asked to give my testimony to our youth group recently. Initially, when asked, I thought “No problem. I know my own history. Not a big deal.”

But as the day got closer, I began to experience some unexpected anxiety.  It had nothing to do with nerves over speaking in front of a group. It was realizing that I had to make sure that the testimony of a 55-year-old coot would somehow resonate with our teens who were many decades removed from the 1970’s culture in which I embraced my faith.  I couldn’t spin it to make it somehow more relevant, because teens have a pretty well-developed  (I will be polite here) “phoniness”  detector.  And additionally, many of these teens were homeschooled, so we came from radically different worlds.

I could hear the crickets chirping already.  This was not going to be good.

My saving grace came when a friend said “Just be yourself. Tell your story.”  And to the best of my ability, that’s what I did. The reactions and comments afterwards were meaningful and helpful. They told me that my story meant something to them or touched them on some level.   I was reminded of two valuable truths from this experience.

First, we tend to de-value our own stories. Most of us consider ourselves to be regular folks, and therefore assume that our stories are nothing special. But God seems to have so designed things that He will make sure your path crosses with people who need to hear your story – precisely your story – told in the way only you can tell it.  It has meaning, and it needs to be told whenever you have the opportunity. It is a mini-version of the Incarnation that is completely unique to you (we need to explore that concept down the road).  It’s almost a sacrament.  As God has entered your own personal history, He wants to enter others’.  And your testimony may well be His chosen vehicle to make that happen.  Don’t be shy about it. Tell your story, or relevant aspects of it, whenever the opportunity is presented.

And second, our responsibility is ONLY to tell. We are not able to convict or convince. That is the job of the Holy Spirit. When we try to fill the Holy Spirit’s role, we only mess things up. Tell your story, then get out of the way and let God do what God does best (just remain available for Him to use you as He chooses).  He knows what He is up to.  

So - what's your story?