A challenge by Francis Chan

I would like three pounds of God.

I ran across this poem:

I would like to buy three dollars worth of God, please.
Not enough or explode my soul or disturb my sleep,
But just enough to equal a cup of warm milk, or a snooze in the sunshine.
I don’t want enough of Him to make me love a black man, or pick beets with a migrant worker.
I want ecstasy, not transformation.
I want the warmth of the womb, not a new birth.
I want a pound of the eternal in a paper sack.
I would like to buy three pounds of God, please.
–Wilbur Reese

Wow.  Sure, it's tongue in cheek, but honest.  Almost too honest.

I want enough of God to wash away my sin, but not enough to challenge me into personal sacrifice and suffering. I want the Lord of the Universe to come into my life, but then sit quietly at the table and not speak unless I ask.

We want to give him an hour on Sunday.  But do we want to give him all week?

If the Gospel wasn't all about grace, this would be easy.  You see, if I got what I deserved, I could bargain with God.  "I worked this much and fulfilled my part of the bargain, so you can ask this much of me."  Instead, we face the trauma of grace:  Since he gives freely and without merit, he can ask everything.

Harry

The unforced rhythms of grace!

What was it about Jesus that men were willing to follow him to their deaths?

 

Was he harsh?  Sometimes, yes, particularly to religious hypocrites.

 

Was he honest?  Brutally so.  “You’ve had five husbands…”

 

Did he expect sacrifice?  Risk?  “If anyone would follow me let him take up his cross…”

 

But it was not these apparent hard things that defined him.  We know from John chapter one that Jesus was full of grace and truth.  Listen to these words from The Message , Matthew 11:

 

“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.”

 

I love the phrase, “the unforced rhythms of grace.”

 

Grace is undeserved favor.  I don’t merit it, didn’t earn it, don’t need a qualification for it beyond my own need (believe me, according to this standard, I’m qualified, summa cum laude!).  The ability to accept someone unconditionally (grace) is what gives them the power to change. 

 

Grace isn’t a one time, got-grace-at-the-altar experience.  It is the ongoing characteristic of God that determines his every interaction with his children.  It is present behind every good time.  And every hard trial. 

 

Just because the road has gotten hard doesn’t mean his grace has lapsed.  No, it may be disguised in a cloak of suffering.  We may not see it for what it is on this side of eternity, but I believe God’s character of grace is unchanging.  His actions to us whether roses or trials, reflect his goodness and love towards sinners (us!).

 

Jesus’ invitation in Matthew 11 is open.  Come and rest.  Learn the unforced rhythms of grace.

 

I’m in.

 

Have a great weekend.

 

Harry Lee

What happens when we see God?

I heard Del Tackett (www.deltackett.com) expound Isaiah 6:1-8 and he makes three points in response to my question. I want to expound on them here.

First, let's recap the first few verses from Isaiah 6: "In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up and the train of his robe filled the temple. Above him stood the seraphim. Each had six wings: with two he coered his face, and with two he covered his feet, and with two he flew. And one called to another and said: 'Holy, holy, holy is the lOrd of host; the whole earth is full of his glory!' And the foundations of the thresholds shook at the voice of him who called, and the house was filled with smoke. And I said: 'Woe is me! For I am lost; for I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips; for my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts!' The one of the seraphim flew to me, having in his hand a burning coal that he had taken with tongs from the altar. And he touched my mouth and said: 'Behold, this has touched your lips; your guilt is taken away, and your sin atoned for. And I heard the voice of the Lord saying, 'Whom shall I send and who will go for us?' Then I said, 'Here am I! Send me.' And he said, 'Go'..."

Look at Isaiah's response to seeing the Lord: I am lost! I am a man of unclean lips. This is the first thing that happens when we see God: We are exposed!

When we encounter the perfect, loving Savior, we quickly see how inadequate we are. But don't despair. Our weakness is our qualification for service! Remember, God is not looking for the strong, but for those who know their strength lies only in him. When we see Jesus for who he really is, our anxieties fall away. Our guilt and shame are erased. There is no place for fear!

The second thing that happens is related to the first and is seen in Isaiah's next response: "I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips." Number two: Our culture is exposed.
The third thing that happens is that God uses us to engage our culture. (Whom shall I send? Here am I, send me!). When we see God, He makes us world changers.

I believe our calling is to show Christ to the world as the true treasure that he is.  When they see Jesus in reality, expect a reaction.

The challenge to me is to live every day so that onlookers will see someone enamored with Christ and not with my own pleasure, riches, reputation or career.

Thanks Del, for reminding me what happens when we look at God.

Harry Lee

A Preposterous "Gospel"

Maybe you've seen the ads on TV where a question is asked, "What if roadies ran the world?" or one of the variations on the theme. Well, today, I'm asking, "What if humans invented the gospel?"

What would it look like if I got to make all the choices. Would I dare suggest qualities of a desired Savior in a personal ad?

Wanted: One Savior, attractive, wind-blown hair, funny, personable, willing to forgive my sin, and purchase my entrance into heaven. Not demanding of sacrifice, and certainly not prone to talk about money and generosity, except to bless me and my family. Able to lead on a smooth road towards Glory, not too many bumps, instilling in me the lofty qualities that men admire, but more instantaneous and without all the trials. A Savior who will heal my pains, and help me shed unwanted pounds without dieting. A Savior willing to hand out financial blessings and one who won't keep talking about service of the poor, taking up my cross and persecution.

Hmmm. It looks like a gospel that revolves around me.

But the Gospel is really all about God. Start to finish. He calls, prepares, saves, and leads an undeserving group of followers down a road characterized by things we define as good and things we'd rather avoid: suffering. The Gospel is all about God getting the glory.

So why do we seem so prone to long for a me-centered gospel?

Perhaps because we don't realize that true joy and blessings come from embracing and treasuring Jesus as he really is in incomprehensible awesomeness. Pastor and author, John Piper calls himself a Christian hedonist because he has realized that true joy and satisfaction in life come from a life lived in service for the king. Since he longs for that kind of joy and satisfaction, he gladly gives his life up to make others glad in God, to find their treasure in Jesus, the King of Kings.

This is where I will find true joy.

Oh Lord, help me see the truth of the Gospel without the blurred lenses of my own selfishness.
Harry Lee

Domesticated Jesus

I'm excited about a new project. This week I received a contract offer for a new non-fiction book, "Domesticated Jesus." It will be published by P&R. Here's a sample, the introduction. Here's your chance to give me feedback in an early stage before it comes out in print. Thanks. Here's the intro:

Introduction:
Domesticating the Lord of the Universe

“DJ.” I might as well call him this, because effectively I’ve reduced the creator and master of the universe down into a concept so small I’ve nicknamed him. Domesticated Jesus. It’s a horrible name really, and my use of it hardly reflects his worth. But to say it, to write it here is so shocking that perhaps that’s the point after all. What we’re doing, unconsciously to a large part, is to bring down what is huge, wild and untamable and repackage him so that we can function.
To come to grips with reality will mean I’ve got to change, open my eyes and come to terms not only with his greatness, but also my smallness and that’s the grind. Sin has done this to me, landed me in this spot and so I’m vowing forever to fight this ironic switch, the one that’s been with mankind since a snake convinced my ancestors that they could be like God. That switch, of course, is the essence of sin: anything that makes a big God small and makes my small self big.
And in the process, I’ve domesticated the Almighty.
Tamed him. Advised him.
Put him in a box. Fenced him into a safe pasture.
Expected him to function like a divine vending machine.
I like that because I get to be in control or at least sit on a deluded cushion of mental comfort where I’ve convinced myself that I’m in the driver’s seat. The truth is, every time I come face to face with just a fraction of the reality of who Jesus is, I realize just how horribly weak my version of him has become.
And that sickens me. Shocks me.
And it should.
I’ve started writing this on a memorable day. It’s Easter. A day we celebrate a God who became man, died and beat death at its own game. I love Easter. At least for a day (or a few moments for some of us) the veil seems to lift and we acknowledge with our lips that God himself is with us. Alive. Seeing all. With us. Desiring to interact with us. And not just to hear me speak. Intimacy purchased with blood spilled beneath a Roman cross.
Easter is a fitting day to begin a new project like this one because it carries with it the hope that reality may rise in my heart as certain as the resurrection that we celebrate.
Right now, I’m sitting in an African airport waiting to board my plane. It’s shameful in a way that I’ve trivialized this most precious of Sundays for something as mundane as travel. Is this even more evidence of the pathology within me (and all of the church) where I bring down the big and make large the small?
A few moments ago my wife eyed my brown journal with a look of suspicion. I should tell you that we’re off on a trip to celebrate twenty-five years together. That’s twenty five years with a great deal of “putting-up” on her part. Medical school, surgical residency, giving up life in America because of my missionary dreams. So maybe her suspicion is deserved. This is supposed to be a vacation, not a working retreat.
I faced her. Honesty has worked wonders for our first twenty-five years. “I’m starting a new book.”
She’s heard this line a dozen times from me, each time the truth. “Fiction or non-fiction,” she asked.
“Non-fiction.”
“The close second,” she said, referring to a conversation we had earlier in the day. “Hope,” Pastor Crumley said, “runs a close second to love.” (Remember 1 Corinthians 12? Now remains faith, hope, and love, and the greatest of these is love.) I had told her that “The Close Second” would be a great title for a book on hope.
“Nope,” I said. “Domesticated Jesus.”
She didn’t hesitate. “I don’t like it. It makes Jesus sound effeminate.”
I don’t like it either, and that’s the point.
To even associate the name above all other names with a word like domesticated is offensive to the delicate Christian ear.
If this offends you, good. It should. I hope that my use of this distasteful title will shock me (and you) into a healthy pondering of just what we’re doing in this life we’ve identified (perhaps too generously) as Christian.
So how have I come to associate a word like domestic with Jesus?
I’ll state the obvious. Domestic. Tame. The unruly is gone. Away with unpredictable behavior. Wildness is only used in the past tense here.
The first animals that were domesticated were done so for milk. Mmmm. Keep those cows contained. Train them to stay in line. Hold still…and give me just what I want. Everyday. Twice a day in most cases.
If an animal is domesticated, it is here to serve me. My needs are central. Of course this may not always appear to be the case at first glance. I once heard someone ask what an alien would think after landing on earth for the first time in the center of an American city park. Dog owners leading around their little precious fur-bearing gems and picking up after their every little indiscretion. The alien might ask, “Who has domesticated whom?”
I’m going to ask you a favor. Indulge me while I seek to explore the ways that I have domesticated Christ. Yes, yes, I can hear your protests and believe me, they are my own. Jesus Christ cannot be domesticated!
I understand that. And my point is simple. While Christ cannot be tamed, I have effectively done just that, but only in my head. I domesticate him in the way I think about him, letting him into my life, but only so far until my control is threatened, and in effect, I send him back to his room.
When you domesticate an animal, you place limits on its location. You fence it in so that it can serve you. Have I not done this in my attitudes about Christ? Have I not invited the most holy, powerful, creative entity in the universe into my life and then relegated him into a slot so that he can participate in my life when it is most convenient to me or when I am hungry?
Some of you are offended all ready. It is not my purpose to spit on the image of Christ. My purpose is honorable; it is to exalt him, to find him as the grand treasure that his is and to challenge myself (and you along the way) to see him every day, to a greater extent, in reality.
To do that, I must peel away, layer by layer, the belittling mental images that have clouded my vision like a mature cataract blocking away the brightness of the sun’s rays. I promise to step on my toes first and if I tramp on the feet of God’s family it is with the hope that we may discover and savor the wonder of all that Jesus is.
I am an honest seeker and I invite you to sit with me and humor me as I extend this metaphor. My hope is that you will read these words as they are intended. I am no theologian unless you can stretch your mind to think of a Sunday arm-chair quarterback theologian of sorts.
Oh, I have years of biblical training to be sure, but I’m hardly qualified as a biblical authority. My expertise is in the area of medicine, surgery to be exact, and I’m sure a clinical aroma will seep into these pages before it’s all been said. Perhaps more importantly, I’ve found myself drawn as a storyteller (and I believe God is doing the drawing in this case). So this is the platform in which I intend to explore this subject with you: fellow seeker, pained by my own failure to see Jesus as he really is, clinician familiar with the pathology of human experience, and finally as a storyteller with a pen ready to illustrate our plight.
I write as a believer in Christ. This needs to be understood from the outset. I will borrow heavily from the New Testament, a book that is both authoritative and divine. Perhaps this is the stumbling block for many of you, one that must be overcome if we are to reach the same place together in the end. It is not my intention to validate this starting point. Many others far more qualified than I have written on the historical reliability of the Gospels and the Bible. I refer you to them to address these issues.
If you are not yet a believer in Christ (and here I use the term synonymous with true Christian, one who has placed his or her faith securely in Christ for salvation) then this book is a wonderful place to start as the ultimate question for every person is this: Who is Jesus?
If you’re not a Christian, I applaud you for even picking up a book by this title. Perhaps more likely, a well-meaning Christian friend shoved it into your hands. Consider this a safe place to begin an exploration. Here is your chance to find out what Christians really think without the I-know-all-the-answers-b-s. I’m an “insider” to the Christian movement. I grew up in the church and have spent years as a Christian missionary on foreign soil, so if anyone (outside of a seminary ivory tower) qualifies to offer an authentic opinion as to what we believe, I’m it. Some of what I say will apply mostly to Christians, so for that part, please assume the fly-on-the-wall mental posture and enjoy the fact that I’m trying to stir the pot and make Christians get real about what they believe or at least claim to believe. The world has seen enough phonies. I hope that this book can help you see that some of us are for real.
That said, I want to make something absolutely clear. A true judgment of Christianity should rest solidly on an investigation of Jesus himself, not on what I or any follower of his can say. We’ve certainly screwed up his message enough over the years and have proven that Christians are the biggest stumbling block to many sincere seekers.
If you are a Christian, then this book is also for you. My hope is to rattle the cage of your faith a bit, to challenge you to think critically about how much the Jesus you serve resembles the real deal, the Jesus of the Bible. I wish that you will think of this as a conversation with a friend, a fellow seeker, honest enough to ask tough questions. I am an imperfect fellow, stained from my own experiences, both good and bad. Think of me as a comrade in arms, nestled down with you in the same trenches of life, whispering together about some of the questions that have dogged humans from the beginning.
Here’s my problem. I’m terrified of putting this down on paper.
There. I’ve admitted it. I am painfully aware of my shortcomings, both spiritually and intellectually. How is it that I possess the boldness to proceed into waters that scare me and threaten to derail my own faith?
Because I think we all have a similar, yet unspoken fear. And we need to get it out and talk about it. Christians don’t have to hide and pretend there is no disconnect between our experience and what we see written in the pages of the Bible. We read stories of miracles, see a man who commanded waves and wind (and they obeyed!), took authority over demonic spirits, spoke breath into the dead and we wonder, do I really know Jesus?
If I have to be transparent (and I do, or this project will fail. as the foundation of our relationship is that I’ll be honest with you and you, in turn, need to be honest with yourself), I’ll admit that I’m terrified that if my eyes are opened someday to see everything in the light of truth, that the way I see the Jesus that I claim as Lord is but a dim reflection of reality.
This fear is what drives me onward. I want to know him.
I’m afraid that I can never do justice in describing or explaining the majesty, power and perfection of Jesus. That’s the nature of human discussions, I suppose. No matter how high above my own experience I reach, I’ll never be able to adequately pen the qualities of a perfect God. And so, even my attempts to expose how I have domesticated Jesus will do just that: I’m bound to domesticate him further, to wrap him within pages of description implies that he is small enough to describe. To have humans speak of him, to write of him, implies that we can in some way wrap the human mind around him.
Of course, that’s impossible.
And that is, in part, my point. It’s what I want to challenge myself to see, and you to hear. I want to raise my own awareness of my sinful tendency to make the big small and the small big.
This is the essence of my working definition. I am domesticating Christ any time my behavior reflects my belief in a saving Christ who is too small to handle my day-to-day problems of worry or anxiety. I am domesticating him anytime I wallow in guilt because, in essence, the power of the cross has been diminished in my thoughts. It has become insufficient to soothe my conscience.
Domesticating Jesus is so much more than just not recognizing his infinite power and falling on our faces in awe. He obviously doesn’t reveal himself in his glory, at least not in his full glory or I promise, I’d never get out of a facedown posture (of course, I wouldn’t survive a millisecond of his revealed glory, so even that statement is ludicrous). But these essays are about how I domesticate him everyday in so many ways, in the little things like doubt, anxiety or fear about the future.
From the start, I’ll share my bias. Not one of us on this side of Heaven will ever really understand Christ in all his glory. But every one of us can make an effort to remove a few of the filters that have dimmed the true light and replaced it with something else altogether.
Bias number two. I don’t have all the answers. If I accomplish my goal, you’ll be asking more questions at the end of our time together than before. Questions, I believe, are the essence of living faith, an irony that has seemingly passed right over a large number of us as Christians. Don’t think. Just believe.
Hooey. I could use cruder terminology here, but here at the beginning of our time together, I don’t want to risk turning you away.
I seek freshness. Honesty. Transparency.
Maybe if I use this approach, we can link hands so to speak, and make a baby step or two along a path towards a true Christianity. A Christian faith one notch purer to the one we started with.
So pull up a chair, fellow traveler. Let’s sit together to reason about a horrible thing that I’ve done.
I’ve domesticated the Lord of the universe.

Coffee is good for you!

OK, some of you would expect something very spiritual out of me this weekend. After all, Easter weekend is the pinnacle of our faith. And by posting this now, I am in no way making light of the awesomeness of the Easter holiday.

But, I've just found out some great news about my favorite morning beverage....coffee.

You might think that a missionary might be the most tolerant, able-to-drink-any-swill type of person. But Kenya changed coffee drinking for me. And here is my confession. I've returned from Africa as a coffee-snob. Sadly true. Kenya coffee beans are some of the best in the world, and when I came back here to the good old USA, I just couldn't get enthused about the old name brand coffee here.

Here's the great news. http://men.webmd.com/features/coffee-new-health-food?page=3

Coffee is good for you. Less chance of parkinsons, diabetes type II, cirrhosis. And it enhances athletic performance.

So in your face, coffee-maligners! I knew Coffee had to have an up side. Now, I've got a little medical proof.

So does that justify my addiction?

OK, I'm off my soapbox now. I need to go back to revising my next novel, "The Six Liter Club." (More on that later!)

Harry