You shall not misuse the name of the Lord your God...
-Deuteronomy 5:11

​Let's do a little light theology today. It's relevant to our world, but also necessary for my emotional sanity. 

We didn't use the phrase "Oh my God" in my household growing up. I'm still not a particular fan of it, especially when used as a filler without thinking. It's not offensive to me, but if it's just placeholder expression when not actually thinking about connection to God, for me that's kind of meh. That said, there have been plenty of legitimate oh my God moments lately, where yes, I've actually seen something that makes me utter an immediate prayer. 

Regardless of all that, what I did hear a lot from my friends and the Christian culture I grew up in was that saying "Oh my God" was what God meant when Moses came down from Mt. Sinai with the stone tablets. You know the one—commandment three, where it most famously reads: you shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain. There were a few other PG-13 phrases invoking God's name that fit into that category too.

Now, Jesus both simplified and encompassed all these commandments when he said that the greatest commandment is to love God with everything you’ve got, and then to love your neighbor like yourself (see Matthew 22). When we do that, it covers everything. This is very true. Yet the commandments given to Moses on Mt. Sinai still have real value for understanding God’s heart, especially if we dig in a little. 

So, back to the task at hand. 
It wasn’t until a Hebrew class in college that I finally started to understand what this whole commandment was getting at and why it’s far more important than simply avoiding a few choice phrases. 

In Hebrew, a name represented one's character (i.e., Proverbs 22:1: A good name is to be chosen rather than great riches). Even the way that Moses names God in Exodus 34 gives us a hint: "The LORD, the LORD, a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in steadfast love…” You see how proclaiming God's name is directly connected to God's very character? 

So then, to take one’s name is to be connected with their story and their character. Much like an ambassador of a country takes the name of their native land and represents its ideals to another land, Christians do the same to the world. So using a name is not about a phrase as much as an embodiment. Therefore, misusing God’s name isn't about words, but about how your life reflects the character that your name upholds. 
Add that to some basic Hebrew language work: nasaʾ (“take”) literally means to carry or to bear. And shav (“vain”) means emptiness or falsehood. 

Literally, this is the command we get: 
Don't carry God's name with a character that doesn't match it.

When we break it down, this commandment is a warning about claiming a faith identity, but misrepresenting God’s character with our lives. 
There's an important reason for this command, and it lines up with Jesus' teaching above. When we claim the name of Jesus in word or identity but do not resemble the clear character of God that Jesus reveals, it inevitably does immense harm to our neighbors, and it makes it infinitely harder for people to encounter the beauty of life in Jesus. Yes, we can genuinely hurt God's reputation. It does lasting damage. Thousands are distancing themselves from Christianity right now because they (rightly) feel that much of it looks like the opposite of what Jesus said and did. 

Lately, I've seen and heard things from prominent leaders and others who explicitly claim to be Christ-followers and thought... "that's totally taking the Lord's name in vain."
But it’s easy to throw stones and bypass where this touches our own internal lives, so let's check ourselves here. 
Every time Christians come across as hateful, uncaring, or arrogant toward our neighbors, we are taking the Lord’s name in vain. 
Every time Christians use the Bible to reinforce our own agenda instead of humbly learning and imitating the priorities of Jesus, we bear the reputation of God falsely. 
Every time Christians act in self-interest while ignoring the fact that many are suffering around us, we are being dishonest about God’s character. 

I know that in my own anger and frustration about others who take God's name in vain, there's always a temptation to lose my own integrity and bear God's character falsely in my own way. The calling is there for all of us to constantly search our own motivations and actions to make sure that we are seeking to consistently embody the character of Jesus in every situation. That means that we emulate a God who is slow to anger, who loves even one's own enemies, and who treats every life as sacred. 

I write this today to invite us to be people of truth. We must continue to call out when those in power use the name of the Lord without integrity (like claiming Bible verses about peace while escalating violence) AND we must keep our own commitment to live faithful actions of love, hospitality, and mercy.

We won't do it perfectly, and that's ok. The point is honoring God through integrity and character.  
If we are intended to be the Body of Christ, then it's of paramount importance that we do not practice that identity with falsehood. What an opportunity—that can we affect the mental image of God that people get when they think about Jesus and his followers—as we walk in love. 
May your life today help people know that God is like Jesus.  

Renew my heart again today, Jesus. 

Peace,
Keith ​

 If anyone, then, knows the good they ought to do and doesn’t do it, it is sin for them.
-James 4:17

(a bit of a detour from my normal lighthearted banter today)

As I get older as a trail runner, I've noticed that in order to be healthy, I need to do more than just run all the time like I've always done. More body care is required for my long term goals, and I need to become stronger in ways that I haven't been. Perhaps you could say that my fitness piece is fine, but there are other areas that have gone largely unaddressed.

So, we have these "resistance bands" at the house. There are a lot of varieties—each a different color.  Some provide light resistance, some provide heavy resistance, and some are in the middle. Different exercises and different bodies require different types of bands for whatever you're dealing with. Also, as the band stretches farther, the resistance becomes more noticeable. 

There are endless ways you can practice resistance. There are dozens of different exercises. Arms, legs, and couches can all be anchors. You can pull back or push forward, and you can use it to heal, to gain strength, or to increase mobility. 
But the reports are consistent, whether it's an elastic band or a weight bar: when there's injury or weakness in the system, resistance is a big way you get stronger. 

But I'm learning something about myself. I'm resistant to resistance, even when I know it's necessary. It's exhausting for me. I'd rather just run more miles and ignore that need because it requires a different kind of effort and it doesn't feel like it's making a difference in the moment. So I'm resistant to resistance because it costs me time, energy, and comfort. It's just not really my thing, you know? I'm a natural runner, not a gym rat.
 
Sometimes, though, there is such a deep injury—such a glaring weakness in the body—that you've got to do the resistance work and get uncomfortable, because you won't be able to be healthy otherwise. 

Humanity seems to be experiencing some deep injury and weakness right now. Resistance work is necessary.
It's time again for us Jesus followers to figure out what is ours to do, and not ignore what's needed just because it may not be the faith expression that comes most naturally to us. It's time for more of us to be unafraid to clearly resist the literal anti-Christ actions that are injuring our sisters and brothers. 

Years ago, I stayed overnight in a two-room-shed-turned-secret-house on the corner of a church property in Arizona. My gracious host was a sixty year-old undocumented immigrant. During that time, I realized that I (and most of us) knew almost nothing of the reality for so many in our country. The time we spent together, the hospitality that he offered me, and the stories my new friend told me helped me understand immigration in a new way. They helped me see a weak part of my discipleship. I really enjoyed loving people and being kind. But I was slow and nervous to explore a love that sometimes looks like real resistance. A love that sometimes could even mean challenging laws and policies that are inhumane or irresponsible. 

There's a nonviolent clergy march happening today in Minneapolis with clergy members from across the country, bearing witness to the constitutional and human rights violations that ICE is bringing into communities right now. This is happening because of a shared conviction that God has a moral center that doesn't include cruelty in our communities. I nearly joined them. I had practical reasons that I ultimately decided against it. But I'll tell you, my own comfort was one of them. This is not the faith expression I'm most comfortable in. But I'm learning that sometimes, resistance is necessary if we want the rest of our faithful living to have integrity. God is drawing me to strengthen those muscles during the time we're in.  

I saw a statement recently where someone shared that they'd become an "accidental activist." They didn't arrive there out of anger, but out of heartbreak. They didn't desire to cause a scene or be rebellious, but the need for resistance became overwhelming when they witnessed preventable harm in the lives of their neighbors.

I feel a lot like that. As a Christian first and as a pastor second, I'm overwhelmed by the treatment of children of God in our country right now. Personally, I know that it's time to practice resistance in more clear ways. I can't simply go about the other elements of my life of faith (prayer, worship, sharing deep community, learning, serving locally) while others are being terrorized. I can't simply say that I feel bad for those folks, and then go back to my previous scheduled faith routine. That doesn't square with the Jesus who spends most of his teaching helping us learn that God's kingdom looks out for the ones who are pushed to the outside. The witness of scripture is that if we want our worship to have integrity, it must be paired with justice. 

I don't believe that everyone needs to use the same resistance band or express faith in the same ways. Personality, gifts, life stage, and local situations will affect us each in different ways, but not as excuses to avoid doing what's right. I've been slowly learning practices of justice and advocacy in ways that sit right with my spirit, but aren't limited by fear. 

But when the dust settles from this sad era which lacks both truth and love, and my grandchildren ask me how I responded to those years of the masked people taking non-English speakers off the street into vans and the president saying that undocumented immigrants are "not humans, they're not humans, they're animals" — I don't want to say, 
"I didn't do much, because it didn't really affect me directly."

These are our kin, and what's happening is wrong. The evangelical agency World Relief just reported that the refugees they helped resettle in Minnesota— families who passed US screenings, arrived lawfully, and applied for green cards— are being detained by ICE this week, with more than 4,000 more terrified refugees at risk. This is all real.  
I believe that our baptism in Christ demands that we consider how to strengthen our damaged country through acts of neighbor-loving resistance. It must be peaceful, it must be led by love. But it must also be active. 

We are not all called to the same thing. But I believe this is one of those times where we are all called to do something, and it must look like love for all of our neighbors. 
Email elected officials. Check in on scared friends and acquaintances. Give to organizations that are supporting legal representation for those whose rights have been stripped. Show up to learn and demonstrate. Pray for those affected by name.
We overcome evil with good, not with good wishes.

Some of you have been practicing nonviolent activism and advocacy on behalf of the poor and marginalized for many years. But for some of us, it might feel like building new muscles, and that can be painful. I'm praying for courage for us, for creativity in knowing what's ours to do, and for a united Church that unequivocally calls out cruel and racist policies for what they are. The world is watching us. Jesus is with us.

Jesus, let our prayers lead our feet to the actions of mercy. 

Peace,
Keith ​

Nations will come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your dawn.
-Isaiah 60:3

Hey friends. Happy New Year! I’m glad to be back to your inbox, and I hope the beautiful/exhausting/overwhelming/sacred holiday season held moments of real value for you. But now Jesus has been born. And once again we have to figure out what on earth we’re going to do with him.

On the church calendar, this past Tuesday was a day called “Epiphany.” It’s always on January 6th, and it is the day that commemorates the Magi coming from the east and recognizing Jesus as king. Magi were scholars who read the stars and advised their foreign kings. They were the first Gentiles (non-Jews) to experience the revelation of God in Jesus, and the first to respond faithfully to it. For most of us, they are our spiritual ancestors: the first outsiders to find the hope that God was bringing into the world through Jesus.

It’s not only about the Magi seeking, though. God was the one who revealed the star, who brought the curiosity, and who led them to Jesus. In many ways, Epiphany is the moment that God says, “This is who I really am, and I am for everyone in the world, not just a select few.”

For the Magi, encountering Jesus the King was the culminating moment of a major journey. It involved asking questions, reflecting, getting out of their comfort zone, and going on a long and unnerving trek across many lands. There was a leaving behind of comfort and autonomy, and entering a land that they were unfamiliar with, to see a child king that would change their very understanding of power and reality. You can bet that if they made a journey like that, they walked away changed forever. In fact, we can see the spiritual double meaning in Matthew 2:12: “They returned to their country by another way.” It wasn’t just that they were warned to avoid Herod. It was that after encountering Jesus, they could never return the same.

I find it amazing that the name of this holiday so deeply embodies our own journey as well. An epiphany, in common language, is a moment when all sorts of clues finally come together and we get an “aha” moment. We realize something, and it usually changes us. And while it often seems like it’s only a moment, it’s actually the culmination of a long, hard-won journey. It requires a peeling back of layers within ourselves, or looking at something in a new light, or asking difficult questions and wrestling with the implications.

You arrive at an epiphany. You release wrong assumptions and you put lots of things together, and you end up in a new place thinking, “Well, that’s what this whole thing has been about all along.”

That’s what it takes in our own lives (again and again) to experience the epiphany of Jesus, too. I’m finding that in the US right now, it’s often a particularly challenging journey—fraught with slow, hard nights and deep wrestling. To seek out Jesus as true king requires a willingness to move into some discomfort in order to leave some things behind, even without all the answers. We walk like the Magi, who left their familiar lands, drawn by God, even though they weren’t sure what they would find.

Pastor and author Brian Zahnd points out that some of the things that Epiphany calls us to leave behind are things that keep us comfortable and close to power. Lies that keep others beneath us. Lies about God and his kingdom that are particularly hard to let go:

“What are these lies? I can’t tell you. You love them too much. You have to see these lies as lies for yourself. But I can tell you what will happen when you see the lies… 
When you see the lies, you’ll no longer be at home in Babylon.”

That’s epiphany. I know I have a long way to go in leaving things behind and discovering the Epiphany of Jesus. But I do know, without a doubt, that I am no longer at home in Babylon. Most days I feel like a stranger in this country I was born in, not understanding how we can treat people with arrogance and hatred and cruelty and then talk like Jesus is on our side. What a lie. I need the humble king to be my light.

Thankfully, even wrong beliefs about God’s very character are things that we can let go of when the Epiphany of Jesus is revealed to us. When we finally realize that Jesus is exactly what God is like, that Jesus has always been what God is like, and that Jesus is what God will always be like—we arrive at a different sort of peace and begin a different sort of journey.

The epiphany of Jesus will always bring us toward genuine worship, deeper faith, more robust hope, and a consistent ethic of love. It’s not about knowledge or certainty. It’s the hope that God has come and God looks like Jesus, and God has come to bring good news to all—now and forever. That realization may indeed be the culmination of a great journey. But it’ll just be the beginning of an even greater one.

Jesus, bring us to new clarity as we follow you.

Peace,
Keith