The State Book of Tennessee

     In the time of those kings, the God of heaven will set up a kingdom that will never be destroyed, nor will it be left to another people. It will crush all those kingdoms and bring them to an end, but it will itself endure forever.

-Daniel 2:44 (NIV)

I grew  up in Tennessee, where the state flower is the iris, the state tree is the tulip poplar, and the state bird is the mockingbird. (I knew those from memory.) The good people of Tennessee also have a state insect (lightning bug), a state reptile (the eastern box turtle), a state wild animal (the raccoon), and two state fish (the largemouth bass and the channel cat). There are, amazingly, nine state songs. (Yes, Tennessee Waltz and  Rocky Top are two of them.) There’s even a state rifle, as of two months ago — the Barrett M82/M107. (a 50-cal. semiautomatic just like Davey Crockett used to use, I guess) 

     Tennessee does not, however, have a state book, as the governor, Bill Haslam, just killed a bill that would have given the Bible that designation. His rationale: “this bill trivializes the Bible, which I believe is a sacred text.” He later wrote, “Our founders recognized that when the church and state were combined, it was the church that suffered in the long run.”

     A century ago another Tennesseean, David Lipscomb, came to a similar conclusion during the Civil War:

Finally the years of sectional strife, war, bloodshed, destruction and desolation swept over our land, and the spectacle was presented, of disciples of the Prince of Peace, with murderous weapons seeking the lives of their fellowmen. Brethren for whom Christ died…were found imbruing their hands in the blood of their own brethren in Christ, making their sisters widows and their sisters' children orphans. It took but little thought to see that this course is abhorrent to the principles of the religion of the Savior, who died that even his enemies might live. He had plainly declared that his children could not fight with carnal weapons even for the establishment of his own Kingdom. Much less could they slay and destroy one another in the contentions and strivings of the kingdoms of this world. It took but little thought to see that Christians cannot fight, cannot slay one another or their fellowmen, at the behest of any earthly ruler, or to establish or maintain any human government. But if he cannot fight himself, can he vote to make another fight? 

     

     Haslam, as a political leader who doesn’t want the Bible trivialized, and Lipscomb, as a church leader who doesn’t want Christians to lose their identity for the sake of the state, are singing the same tune.

     It’s nothing new for political leaders to try to use the Bible in their platforms. Co-opt the Bible, and you might gain a lot of voters for whom the Bible has great meaning. Lawmakers in Tennessee explained that they intended their bill to “recognize the Bible's role as a record of family history” and honor “the importance of Bible publishers in Nashville.” But once the Bible gets too tightly tangled in the machinery of civil government, it’s hard to untangle it. It can be (and has been) pointed like a gun at whatever elements of citizenry are deemed to be enemies. It can be (and has been) used to justify horrendous abuses and injustices. When the state becomes too identified with Scripture, it tends to go deaf to the ways in which the Scripture speaks in judgment of its sins.

     And when the church becomes too cozy with the state, then the church has become the oppressors.  That’s just history. When we get too comfortable with the trappings of civil power, we forget that we’re supposed to identify with the One who came with love and grace, especially for the poor and marginalized. We give up our identity as citizens of the Kingdom of God in order to hold and exercise civil power in defense of our narrow interests and agendas.

     If you could take a survey of deputies turning fire hoses on demonstrating blacks in the 60’s, or Gestapo rounding up Jews in Nazi Germany, or Calvinists persecuting Anabaptists in Geneva, you’d find they have one thing in common. They would say they were Christians.

    I see these things happening in Tennessee, though, from a distance, for the simple reason that for the last couple of decades I’ve been a citizen of Illinois. I’m interested, to a degree. I have family there, and I visit often, and still feel some sense of connection to the Volunteer State. But that’s not who I am now. 

     And that, I think, is how Christians ought to view the noise and bustle of civil government, whether local, state, national, or international. We have connections to it. It affects the way we live day-to-day. But we should see it from a distance, because that’s not who we are. We’re not, primarily, citizens of our own towns or states or countries. We belong to the kingdom of heaven, and we’re still looking for the day when  Jesus comes and his kingdom comes in power and his will is done, finally and completely, on earth as it is in heaven. That’s the hope we have, and the reason we live.

      Daniel looked forward to the day when God’s rule would topple every civil government on earth. Jesus preached that he was bringing that same kingdom was near. Paul wrote that those who trust in Jesus are citizens of that kingdom, and the hope we wait for isn’t anything that a civil government can provide.

     Maybe believers shouldn't vote, or serve in civil government: maybe they should. But never with the intent of folding up the Kingdom of God into the boundaries and self-concern of a particular country, or political party, or interest group. No human legislature ever adequately represented the will of God. No party platform ever satisfactorily contained the gospel. 

     Remember that in this election season. 

Stay Out There

Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already arrived at my goal,  but I press on to take hold  of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind  and straining toward what is ahead, I press on  toward the goal to win the prize  for which God has called  me heavenward in Christ Jesus.

-Philippians 3:12-14 (NIV)

Ernie Els is a pretty good golfer. 

     I say that because of what I’m about to say about him. Honestly, he’s no slouch. He has 19 career wins on the PGA Tour. He has 28 wins on the European Tour (good for seventh all-time). He’s won the US Open twice, the British Open twice, finished second at the Masters twice, and third at the PGA Championship twice. If those stats don’t mean much to you, then just take it from me: There are very few golfers in the world who have accomplished anything like what Ernie Els has accomplished.

     Ernie Els is a very good golfer. And that’s what makes what happened to him on his first hole of the Masters this week so shocking. On the par-4 first at Augusta National, Els shot a 9. A 9. Five over par.

     You’d think maybe he hit his drive wide, or went into some water, or visited a deep bunker. You’d be wrong. Els hit a good drive. His second shot wasn’t great, but he only left the ball just short of the green. With his third shot, he chipped to within 3 feet of the hole. He was putting for an easy par. And that’s when the wheels came off.

      A three-foot putt — well, even I can make one of those. Most of the time, even. Els missed. And then again. And then again. He missed 5 times, in fact. A professional golfer who has played the game at a championship level for more than two decades, and he six-putted from three feet. For all of Els’ professional accomplishments, he now owns a record he doesn’t want: a 9 is the highest score ever carded on Augusta National number one at The Masters. 

     "I don't know how I stayed out there," he said later.

     I think I know how. I mean, I haven’t played professional sports, but I’ve been acquainted with a fair number of people who “stayed out there” after devastating failures. Professional failures, lost marriages, financial setbacks, broken relationships, failures of character: sometimes there’s no way to downplay or sidestep your mistakes. They’re public, they’re undeniable, and there is no doubt who is to blame. They rest heavy on you, and everyone who knows you see them writ large. If you’ve been there, or loved someone who was there, you know what I mean. 

     None of us, like Paul said, have arrived yet. None of us have “tak[en] hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of [us].” We’re heading for something, we know that, but we’re not there yet. And there are times when, all of us, we look like nothing short of spectacular failures. And you can let those gigantic failures define you, sink you, destroy you. Or you can stay out there — keep swinging, keep putting, weather the storm, finish the course.

     And, to do that, you’re going to have to have a selective memory.

     Paul says that he forgot what was in his past. He says he put his failures out of his mind. And, you know, Paul had some pretty significant failures in his past. He had made the lives of believers miserable, in fact, so much so that when he met Jesus and became a Christian, a lot of other believers didn’t trust him. Which goes to show that there will be people in your world who’ll be slow to let you forget your failures. And sometimes that’s understandable, and even appropriate. Sometimes our failures hurt people, and they need time to heal. But it doesn’t mean you have to define yourself by them.

     Paul was capable of remembering his failures well when it suited his purpose. When he said he forgot what was behind, he didn’t mean literally, of course. What he meant is that he no longer let those failures define his identity. His sins were real, but they were about who he had been. Jesus had taken hold of him, and now he had a new identity. And so he pressed on toward the future the Lord had given him.

     That’s what we need to understand when our failures threaten to get the better of us: Jesus has taken hold of us and given us a new future. So he invites us to forget what’s behind and sprint with him toward what’s ahead. It’s not about making up for our failures, balancing some cosmic scales with our good deeds until we hit some sort of equilibrium. The new future we have is in Christ, and we have it because he sacrificed himself to in some way take away the power of our failures. Though it sounds too good to be true, it’s as real as his cross and his empty tomb. And to live with the weight of our failures is foolish, and even worse it’s faithless.

     A few years after he wrote about forgetting, pressing on, and straining toward the promises Jesus had given him, near the end of his life, Paul wrote, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day.” That’s our hope, too, and it’s all the reason we need to forget the epic failures that we all look back on with shame. Put them out of your mind, trusting that Christ has taken away their power. Strain toward what’s ahead, lean into the future that God has given you in Jesus. Press on with your eyes set firmly on the goal at the end of the race. 

     That’s how you stay out there. That’s how a person who believes in Jesus copes when they six-putt. 

     Keep the faith. Ernie Els won’t win The Masters this year. But because of Jesus, our victory is sure.        

Cashing Your Check

[The kingdom of heaven] will be like a man going on a journey,  who called his servants and entrusted his wealth to them. To one he gave five bags of gold, to another two bags, and to another one bag,  each according to his ability.  Then he went on his journey. The man who had received five bags of gold went at once and put his money to work and gained five bags more. So also, the one with two bags of gold gained two more. But the man who had received one bag went off, dug a hole in the ground and hid his master’s money.

-Matthew 25:14-18 (NIV)

Sean Weatherspoon has changed jobs — and cities — a couple of times in the last few years. He’s moved from Atlanta to Phoenix and now back to Atlanta. And sometimes when you move, it’s hard to keep track of things. 

     Like, for example, a paycheck from 2015.

     Sean, who plays linebacker in the NFL, was packing after being traded by the Arizona Cardinals back to the Atlanta Falcons when his girlfriend came across the the check: one week’s check for around $138,000. He apparently hadn’t even missed it.

     Now, I have to admit to misplacing a check once or twice. But I knew pretty quickly that it was gone. And there was never one worth $138,000.

     I think Sean might want to look into direct deposit.

     Apparently Sean isn’t the only pro athlete to run into this problem, either. Former Cleveland Indians slugger Manny Ramirez once had the team contact them because their books were off by a million dollars or two: the value of a drawerful of paychecks Ramirez had apparently neglected to cash.

     Jesus told a story to explain what it’s like to live under the reign of God, a story about a wealthy man who called the household staff together and gave them some cash to use to do some business on his behalf while he was away on a trip. He was the kind of guy, apparently, who expected his people to produce some results with what he’d given them, so when he returned he asked them to open the books. Two of his agents had doubled their master’s money, but it’s the third that Jesus is particularly interested in. This guy, concerned about how tough the boss could be when he didn’t get the results he wanted, pulled a Weatherspoon. He didn’t lose what he had been given, but he didn’t use it either.

     In case the point of the story isn’t clear, it’s this: people who want to live under the rule of God need to use what he’s given them to do his business. 

     We can easily forget this, living as we do with a form of Christianity that more often than not seems to stress what we shouldn’t do. But life with Jesus was never supposed to be about hunkering down and holding on, digging in to our trench works and keeping our heads down while the battle rages around us. Personal salvation and piety has never been the goal for which Jesus came. 

     The marching orders sound more like this: “Proclaim this message: ‘The kingdom of heaven has come near.’ Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse those who have leprosy, drive out demons.” A heavy responsibility it is to do kingdom business, to preach the message of the kingdom of God coming near while showing exactly what that means, and what difference it makes. If it were entirely up to us, in fact, we’d think it was beyond us. And we’d be right. But it’s not — not entirely up to us, that is. “Freely you have received,” Jesus says. “Freely give.”

     And so what we’re supposed to do is take what the Lord has given us, go out into the world with it, and use it to “heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse those who have leprosy, and drive out demons.” We’ve been give much, but not just for ourselves and those we love.  The Lord has given to us freely so that we can give freely to the world around us. So that they might see what life in the Kingdom of God looks like.

     So we mustn’t Weatherspoon it. When we fill our prayers with orders for the blessings we want God to bestow on us and on our loved ones, without any thought as to how he might want us to use the blessings we already have, we’re Weatherspooning it. When we’re too caught up in the urgency of day-to-day life  to notice the ways we might put what he’s blessed us with to work for him in the world, we’re Weatherspooning it. When we’re callous to the ways that sin, poverty, injustice, disease and death have defaced God’s creation, and callous to the ways in which we can put things right, we’re Weatherspooning it. When we’re so afraid of failure that we don’t even try, so intimidated by how bad things are that we don’t even try to do good any longer, we’re stuffing God’s blessings in a drawer. 

     Time for us to turn those drawers upside down and see what resources we’ve been hiding. Some free time, maybe, now that the kids are grown. Some discretionary income. Maybe you’re good at prayer, or have a lot of musical ability, or can drive a truck. Maybe you’re handy around the house, or exceptionally compassionate, or love children, or are a good listener. These are your bags of gold, your talents, and they’ve been given to you by the Lord so that you can invest them in his kingdom.

     I don’t know what Sean Weatherspoon wants out of life, but I know this: in the drawer, that paycheck wasn’t going to help him get it. You know what your Lord wants. You know what he wants to happen in your world, in the lives of people around you. And between you and your church, he’s given you what you need to get busy with his business.  Freely you have received. Freely give.

     What have you left in the drawer?

Justice

…[Y]our iniquities have separated you from your God…

your sins have hidden his face from you, so that he will not hear. 

For your hands are stained with blood, your fingers with guilt. 

Your lips have spoken falsely, and your tongue mutters wicked things. 

No one calls for justice; no one pleads a case with integrity…

The way of peace they do not know;  there is no justice in their paths.

They have turned them into crooked roads; no one who walks along them will know peace. 

So justice is far from us, and righteousness does not reach us.

We look for light, but all is darkness; for brightness, but we walk in deep shadows. ” 

-Isaiah 59:2-4, 8-9 (NIV)

When James Meyers rented a videotape in 2001, I doubt he ever imagined that it would spend a couple of days in the news cycle in 2016. Amazingly, though, that’s exactly what happened.

     Late in 2001, Meyers rented a VHS tape of the Tom Green “classic,” Freddy Got Fingered. The movie is, by all accounts, quite forgettable. And James, apparently, forgot. Forgot to return it, that is. 

     Cut to March 22, 2016. Meyers is driving his daughter to school, when he’s pulled over for a traffic violation. When the officers ran his license and registration, they discovered that he had an active warrant out for his arrest. They allowed him to drop his daughter off at school before driving to the police station to turn himself in. James was booked on one count of failure to return rented property. He’ll go to court in April to answer the charge, and is facing a $200 fine. Pretty steep for a Tom Green movie. 

     Comments on some of the websites where the story has been posted question why the police wasted their time running down an inconsequential crime like James'. (The officers in question stopped him for an unrelated offense, and were simply doing their jobs in acting on the warrant.) Some have used the story as a forum for commenting on perceived injustices in society: how the wealthy get away with much more serious crimes than this, for instance. Still others say that justice was done: Meyers committed a crime by not returning the video, in effect stealing it, and a court date and possible fine are the correct punishment. 

      Most of the comments, in some way, reflect a concern that justice needs to be done: At least, some specific version of it. James Meyers needs to pay for his crime. The justice system needs to concern itself with much more pressing problem. The holes in the system by which people get away with horrific offenses need to be closed.

     We think of justice in almost exclusively legal terms. In our way of thinking, justice is about the guilty being punished. Justice is when the courts assign the blame for a murder or a rape or a libelous article or a negligent action to the correct person, and then exact the proper retribution. Justice, in our thinking, is regulated by a criminal code.

     Scripture has a somewhat different view of justice, though, and maybe it’s one we should pay more attention to. In the Bible, justice isn’t only about guilt being assigned and punished. In fact, Scripture seems to think that if there is guilt to be assigned, justice has not been done. Injustice in the biblical world occurred when someone did wrong to another. When the poor were taken advantage of, when a widow was cheated out of her property, when a murder or sexual assault occurred, the Bible called that injustice. 

     Justice in the Bible is closely tied to the idea of peace. And not just absence of conflict: peace in the Bible includes security, prosperity, faithfulness, and fair treatment. So if there isn’t justice, says Isaiah, then no one knows the way of peace. When justice is far away, there is only “darkness.”

     But Isaiah points to One who will come to bring “peace” and “justice.” And when Jesus came, he proclaimed that God’s kingdom had come, too, and that folks who hunger and thirst for justice in the world we live in will be filled. He claimed that he brought good news to the poor and freedom for the prisoners. He fulfilled the prophetic promises of a Spirit-empowered Servant who would proclaim justice to the countries of the world — and not just proclaim it, but also bring it about.

     Ironically, Jesus died as a victim of injustice, but he was vindicated in his resurrection. Into this world of injustice and corruption he brought justice, through his own suffering. And that Spirit he received, the one that brought him from the tomb and vindicated him, he pours out that same Spirit on his followers. That Spirit helps us to live lives characterized by love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. In other words, the Spirit helps us to be people of justice. People who walk the way of peace, and lead others on it.

     The church hasn’t always seen that, and we certainly haven’t always lived it out. But justice is in our DNA. It’s the atmosphere of the Kingdom that we serve and look forward to. We live in it and breathe it in and breathe it out because of Jesus.

     So among people who are hurting, marginalized, sick, weak, and oppressed, may we be known for justice. Not so much by crying in the streets, or litigation, but by loving people, being faithful to them, and  bearing the suffering of a broken world the way that Jesus did, knowing that God is big enough to vindicate us, and them along with us.

     Jesus proclaimed a kingdom characterized by justice and peace. And his church should do our dead-level best to show our world what that looks like. May that responsibility teach us how to live.

Sing

     Do not get drunk on wine, which leads to debauchery. Instead, be filled with the Spirit, speaking to one another with psalms, hymns, and songs from the Spirit. Sing and make music from your heart to the Lord… 

-Ephesians 5:19-20 (NiV)

So I’ve been singing songs in church all my life. 

     I have a huge repertoire of hymns, gospel songs, devotional songs, spirituals, and contemporary Christian music in my head. (If I had more musical ability, I could vocalize it more accurately, but that’s another story.) I know Charles Wesley and Fannie J. Crosby and Chris Tomlin and Thomas Dorsey (and I know he’s a different person from Tommy Dorsey, the musician more people know).

     I say all that so maybe you’ll hear me when I say this: singing songs in church is weird. It is. It’s weird.

     If you don’t believe me, bring someone to church who’s never been. And when the music starts, tell that person to sing along. Nine times out of town, that person will look at you like you’ve just suggested that he or she strip naked and juggle kittens while standing on a pew. Five times out of ten, he or she might be more willing to do just that, in fact.

     Quick, name another setting where you get together with a lot of people and sing. The National Anthem at a ball game doesn’t count — you aren’t there for that. (Though, listen to the National Anthem sung at a Harding University basketball game…) You can’t, can you?

     Singing in church is weird because, in the world we inhabit, when you want music you download it. Or you stream it. Or you turn on a radio (if you’re some kind of Luddite). Music, for us, is a product. We’re music consumers, and those who produce it are trained and wardrobed and auto-tuned and mixed. They’re professionals, and they’re part of an industry. And our involvement in the process is to buy it and listen to it. Music is made by other people for us to pass the time when we’re driving or working out or relaxing. And live music: well, that’s a concert, where we listen while the professionals play.

     And that explains as well as anything why church leaders and musicians from many different traditions and denominations have noted over the last two decades that the church has forgotten how to sing.

     In a lot of places, the church is more likely today to reflect our cultural assumption that music is a commodity, a product to be consumed. Worship services have in many places taken on the feel of concerts, at least until the sermon starts. The professionals, the musicians, play or sing on stage at the front of the room. Lighting sets a mood. And the job of the assembled church is to serve as audience. “Sing along if you want,” someone up front might suggest into a mic. But it isn’t strictly necessary that anyone take him up on it. The amplified voices and instruments of the worship leaders usually drown out the church anyway. And so the church doesn’t sing. “Aren’t the songs beautiful, aren’t the musicians talented?”

     Am I overstating the case? Maybe, but not by much. 

     The Bible says sing. Not listen, not hum along, not sway in place with your hands raised. It doesn’t say have an emotional response to the ambience set by the lights and music. It says sing. It says be filled by the Spirit, and by the Word of Christ, and express what’s filling you with singing. Doesn’t matter if you can carry a tune in a bucket. Doesn’t matter if you know the difference between a G string and, well, a g-string. Doesn’t matter if the singing sounds good, or impresses visitors, or gives me goose bumps. Sing, for heavens’ sake. Sing, church.

     When the church sings, we speak the gospel to each other. When I hear someone who’s lost a spouse or child sing, You give and take away…my heart will choose to say, “Lord, blessed be your name,” I’ve heard a sermon. When I hear a man who struggles with chronic illness and depression sing Just as I Am, I’ve heard a sermon. When I hear the words of former slaver John Newton’s song Amazing Grace sung, I’m drawn into his experience of the gospel. He has something to say to me, two centuries later. When I sing It Is Well With My Soul, Horatio Spafford is there with me singing the lyrics that he wrote on a transatlantic voyage, near the place where his daughters had died a few days before. When the church sings we speak the gospel to each other, across rooms and across centuries. 

     And of course when the church sings, we speak to the Lord. We express to him what’s in our heart. The psalmist knew that there are some days so full of joy or pain that the only way to express what you’re feeling to God is to sing. Sitting quietly, reflecting on even a beautifully-sung and played ballad won’t do it. Even standing with arms and faces upraised doesn’t quite cover it. When we’re filled with the Spirit, the only thing that will do is that we lift our voices to God.

     Worship music has become a sticky issue in most churches because it’s become about little more than personal preference. Singing in church was never supposed to be about that. It’s about proclaiming the gospel to each other, and expressing gratitude, repentance, and obedience to God. Singing in church is weird, but it’s supposed to be, the way anything that challenges our world’s focus on self will seem weird.     

     So sing in church. Don’t just listen, or meditate, or hum along. Open your mouth and sing. Sing from your heart. And if a song doesn’t quite capture what’s in your heart, sing it anyway, enthusiastically and from your heart, because maybe it was there and you just didn’t know it. Or maybe someone close to you needs to hear exactly those words from your mouth.     

     Sing. Church isn’t supposed to be just an opportunity to hear some great music about Jesus and walk away feeling better. It’s a time to speak to one another and to God.