 "If we are thrown into the blazing furnace, the God we serve is able to deliver us from it, and he will deliver us from Your Majesty’s hand. But even if he does not, we want you to know, Your Majesty, that we will not serve your gods or worship the image of gold you have set up."
-Daniel 3:17-18 So many conversations around faith seem to involve confidence that God will act in our situations in a certain way. But what if a mark of genuine faith is that we don't actually need to know what God will do? Or even more radically, what if it doesn't require God to do anything at all? Stay with me here. This weekend I taught on one of the most inspiring stories in the Old Testament from Daniel 3, and I'm still stuck on it. One phrase continues to profoundly impact me. It's the final statement that the three Hebrew men tell the death-dealing Babylonian king. Even though he's threatening to burn them to death for defying him, they reiterate that they won't bow to his unholy mixture of nationalized religion and power. And they say something along these lines: We certainly believe it's possible that God may deliver us from this. But even if he doesn't, we're still not changing how we live and how we believe. Our story is more beautiful than yours, and it always will be. That's my paraphrase, of course, but I think it's the spirit behind their statement. "Even if he doesn't" is a life-transforming phrase. For me, it paints an understanding of following God as a way of life, not simply a list of beliefs. It suggests that God may or may not work the way we think. But it trusts one thing: regardless of exactly how we see the supernatural playing out, a life lived according to the character of God is worth living, no matter what. I can't help but share again this story from The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis. In the book The Silver Chair, the Green Witch has kidnapped a prince and plans to invade Narnia. A few children and a marsh-wiggle named Puddleglum go down to Underland to free him. But during the encounter, she seeks to enchant them all as well, trying to get them to doubt that Narnia, the sun, and even Aslan really exist. It's at this point that Puddleglum offers the witch a speech that deserves a place among the great monologues of literature: “All you’ve been saying is quite right, I shouldn’t wonder. I’m a chap who always liked to know the worst and then put the best face I can on it. So I won’t deny any of what you said. But there’s one thing more to be said, even so. Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things—trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one. And that’s a funny thing, when you come to think of it. We’re just babies making up a game, if you’re right. But four babies playing a game can make a play-world which licks your real world hollow. That’s why I’m going to stand by the play-world. I’m on Aslan’s side even if there isn’t any Aslan to lead it. I’m going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn’t any Narnia. So, thanking you kindly for our supper, if these two gentlemen and the young lady are ready, we’re leaving your court at once and setting out in the dark to spend our lives looking for Overland." Puddleglum is ready to live like a Narnian, even if Narnia doesn't exist. Woof! There's a lot these days that can cause me to wonder about how God works. I see a lot of pain. And selfishness and rage and greed are on display so prominently that there are pieces of me that are tempted to give up and stop caring. In fact (yes pastors have these thoughts too), sometimes I wonder if this whole Kingdom-of-God that Jesus talks about is even real. But. I cannot shake that this way of life that I've learned from Jesus, who has taught me to forgive, to listen to others, to walk more gently, to hold my money loosely, to release my need to control others, to care about justice--I cannot shake that this world that Jesus painted "could lick the real world hollow," to quote our marsh-wiggle friend. Dare I say, I think I'd want to follow Jesus, even if I somehow learned Jesus wasn't real. Because his kingdom is far more real and true and beautiful than any nation, philosophy, or shiny thing that I've encountered so far. The story of a God who loves is the most beautiful story that's ever been told. The story of a church that cares for one another and goes out and loves the suffering and the excluded is better than a story that judges those exact same people and turns them into enemies. So I'm going to keep living in it. Even if Jesus doesn't show up how I'd like him to, I'm going to keep living in it. Even when God seems silent, I'm going to keep living in it. And even when the stories of selfishness and power and money and despair and rage all look attractive, I'm going to keep refusing to bow to them, with the help of my amazing community. I do believe God will continue to bring supernatural encouragement and salvation. I believe that God will bring good news to the poor and freedom for captives. But even if he doesn't in the way I want to see it, I will keep "living like a Narnian." Because this story is the most beautiful, and this kingdom is the most real. Where else could I go? Jesus, give me a vision of your world that is so compelling it's worth giving all of my life to, regardless of the outcome. Peace, Keith
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 Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.
-Galatians 6:2 Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love. -Ephesians 4:2 The Journal of Experimental Social Psychology from 1971 tells of a test that has been repeatedly done over the decades to study stress. People were asked to do tasks that required concentration (like puzzles) while being blasted with loud sounds at strange intervals. Blood pressure would rise, participants would begin sweating, and their ability to perform these tasks declined. Many of them gave up trying to complete the tasks altogether, saying that they couldn't continue under the conditions. So researchers decided to introduce a new layer to the test. In order to reduce anxiety, the researchers provided a button in the room that the participants could push to make the noises stop if they became too uncomfortable. As expected, the button brought significant results. Participants were able to stay calmer, make fewer mistakes, and become less irritated while completing the test. But here's the wild thing: None of the participants actually pressed the button. It appears that the real difference maker in the distress was not actually stopping the noises, but knowing that the button was there, and they could get some sort of relief from their distress if needed. Participants were able to handle the stress if they knew that there was another option- even when they didn’t use it. It shocked researchers. The presence of the button made all the difference. Community matters--more than we know. Even when we don’t use it. It’s like that when we are going through hard times. The stress of a difficult season or the strain of a major loss feels like too much of a weight to bear. The thick fog of depression can leave someone feeling acutely alone. The overwhelming season of child-raising can bring massive exhaustion. The struggle of work stress can feel hopelessly suffocating. And financial fears and tight budgets can make it almost impossible to concentrate on getting other tasks done. But we have a button. The calling of a Jesus-centered Church is to be a people who bear each other’s burdens. We offer buttons for each other in times of pain. No, we cannot always take away each others' pain, heartache, or suffering. But we can do something. We can sit with a friend. We can buy a cup of coffee. We can help each other with groceries. We can let someone know they’re not alone and that they are loved. Sometimes knowing that the button exists is enough to make a difference. Even if someone doesn’t take us up on it, there is still power in communicating care. There is still impact from knowing that we are not alone. The simple act of communicating options for support in the middle of one's struggle has a proven and profound impact. So friends, don’t sit back and say, “Well, there’s not much I can do, so I’ll just stay silent.” We may not always know how to reach out to each other. But we can still find ways to show up in our bumbling, imperfect humanity. Because when people know that you genuinely care about them, it can change their very outlook on life. This can be hard. In a culture of isolation and individualism, we have normalized a quiet assumption that folks know that we care. It's as if we feel like we may offend someone if we say, "Hey, I care about you, and if you need something, I'm available." Perhaps it's time to be a little more direct about this "love for others" that Jesus told us we'd be known by. Let's use our words to be unambiguous. And lest we feel too much pressure, this goes deeper than our interpersonal support of each other as disciples of Jesus. Within our spirits, we have a button that we hesitate far too long to push--the promise of supernatural presence and peace, accessed through the relational act of prayer. The invitation of Jesus has hovered in our collective imagination for 2,000 years: Come to me, and I will give you rest. Yes, prayer is mysterious and it's not linear and there's no magic formula to "feel God." And yet the presence of God in the midst of overwhelm and chaos is one of the most beautiful things a person can experience in this life, sustaining generations through mistreatment, tragedy, uncertainty, and the exhausting work for justice. And then, when our hearts become settled with the peace of Jesus’ love, we are in a far better position to practice empathy toward each other. Then we can offer that button of compassion and shared care to each other with open hands and humble hearts. Indeed, it will then flow naturally. Maybe today is a good day to ask these questions: -Am I living deeply enough with God to have true empathy for others? -What buttons can I provide for others around me who might be struggling silently? -What would it look like for me to clearly communicate my care and availability to those around me who might need support? God, grow our hearts of compassion so that we may offer your love and support to both neighbor and stranger. Shape us with eyes to see each person, and give us courage to do something. Peace, Keith  For what does it profit a person to gain the whole world yet give up their soul?
—Jesus (Mark 8:36) I’m back to hanging out with Ignatius of Loyola this week. I don’t know the exact reason, but I’ve become more and more interested in the lives and writings of the ancient ones lately. So much today is written for clicks and sales that I think I’ve needed something bigger than the modern American perspective. I don’t mean to sound pretentious—just a little weary of modern voices at the moment. I’ve found that many of the old saints have something to offer that doesn’t feel old at all. Francis of Assisi, Cuthbert, Hildegard of Bingen, Benedict, and Ignatius of Loyola all captivate my mind. They challenged the status quo and called out the life-sucking blandness of acquiring wealth and comfort. They practiced the deep truths of God’s love during massive cultural upheaval. They spoke to their own Christian movements when they had lost the aroma of Christ—and they were willing to be peculiar if that’s what faithfulness required. We need that same countercultural conviction to help us live like Jesus in each generation. I find hope in remembering the Jesus-centered wisdom and practices that keep finding new expressions centuries later. Today holds a simple phrase from St. Ignatius, the man who founded the Society of Jesus (Jesuits) in Spain in the 1500s. He was a rough guy who regularly got into bar fights and wanted to be a mighty soldier until a cannonball blew his leg apart. After that, he had a bunch of botched surgeries to try to look good in tights again (for real), but they left him with a lifelong limp. After reading about the old saints (like Francis!), Jesus led him on a wild journey that ended with him giving away his wealth and laying his armor at the foot of a statue of Mary. His story isn’t an easy one—full of deep internal struggles and long years of feeling disconnected from God. But eventually Ignatius became a humble, compelling spiritual voice. As a result of his struggles, one of his foundational messages to those who followed his movement was to become aware of “disordered affections.” Ignatius realized that for much of his life, his attention and priorities were set on the wrong things. Though they looked admirable at first, they ultimately got in the way of the freedom and joy that came from following Jesus. He called them “affections” because they held deep appeal, but they were “disordered” because they didn’t lead to freedom in God. They had become a greater priority than seeking God’s kingdom. The same is true for us today. Making money, pursuing careers, maintaining political allegiance without discernment, or giving our attention to what's on our phones—these can all get in the way of forming deep relationships and loving the people in front of us. The need for certainty or the desire to keep a perfectly curated life- so many things can become disordered affections if they inhibit our ability to freely and joyfully love God and others. So, like a steering wheel that pulls to the side, we need constant realignment. And like getting full on Halloween candy and having no space in our stomachs for dinner, we need to consider how to reorder our priorities in a way that brings flourishing. Ignatius introduced the Examen, a daily time of prayerful reflection to notice what stirs or resists in our hearts. It’s a space to ask Jesus: What captured my attention today? Did it bring freedom or captivity? Did it move me toward love or selfishness? How can I prioritize what was good and beautiful, and tomorrow reorder what got disordered today? Interestingly, disordered affections aren’t always negative. God created many good things—security, relationships, comfort—that are beautiful when they find their right place in our lives. They become problematic only when our attachment to them moves us away from the freedom of loving God and others. While I enjoy offering new metaphors and stories each week, sometimes the deepest growth comes from simply asking the right old questions. So—what are you most attached to right now? What are the things getting your love and attention (Ignatius called them our “loves”), and are you willing to take an honest look at how they’re ordered? You’re made to be free. You’re made to be loved. You’re made to offer love. Jesus, give us the strength to live in a way that prioritizes what matters most, even when it requires change. Peace, Keith |
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