Author: Jon Gauger

So I had a conversation today with a new friend from East Africa.  Happened to be Somalian.  As is my habit, I immediately asked him (nicely, mind you) if he was a follower of Mohammed.  When he answered yes, I smiled back saying (boldly, mind you) “Well I am a follower of Jesus.”

Very predictably, the conversation turned quickly to the person of Jesus.  He affirmed what every other Muslim I've talked to about Christ affirms—that he was a notable prophet. My friend went to great lengths to be polite—but even greater lengths to assure me that Islam and Christianity BOTH share a respect for Jesus.

Because our time was short—and Muslims have no problem being up front about their faith—I quickly assured my new friend that Jesus was MORE than a prophet.  I quoted Christ's own words, “I and my Father are one.”  And… “He who has seen me has seen the Father.”

Naturally, there was no agreement with my biblical claims.  But the conversation reminded me again how quickly we come to the “sticking point” for so many conversations related to faith.  People from most any stripe of belief are happy to talk about “God.”  They are more than comfortable discussing “beliefs.”  They are not the least bit threatened should you claim to be a “person of faith.”   Even talking about Jesus is acceptable—as far as it goes.

Yet take one teeny weeny step toward declaring that Jesus is God and BOOM!  Your ideological match has just ignited the kerosene of another's convictions.   Jesus is always the issue.
 

While I believe strongly we need to build bridges in friendly conversation with Muslims—and other friends, I have zero appetite for conversations that subject Jesus to a role any less than Almighty God.     

Please understand, I'm not advocating belligerence or harshness.   But there's a line in the sand over which we must be ever be vigilant.  And when someone—anyone–suggests that Jesus is less than God, it's time to lovingly and respectfully—but unapologetically–state the truth:   Jesus….is….God.

Have you ever had a natural gas leak in your home or office?

Gas leaks can be deadly, you know.  They are invisible, they are poisonous, and left untreated, they can kill with deadly force.

It's the same with church cliques. They are invisible, they are poisonous, and left untreated, they can kill with deadly force. The problem is, lots of people claim they can identify a clique at their church…but almost NOBODY would ever admit to being a part of one.

So let me offer this three-part exam to help you assess yourself.

Number 1: If you have ever secretly regretted someone else being a part of a church project or ministry that you're working on, you might be part of a clique.

Number 2: If you honestly (but quietly) resent it when new people come join your circle of friends at church, you might well be a part of a clique.

Number 3: If you cannot recall inviting someone newer to your church over for dinner…or to a social function of any kind…you might just  be part of a clique.

Cliques, by the way, are rarely the product of intentional design.  They are, rather, the byproduct of an unchallenged—even sanctified—selfishness.  Nor are they new. 

Church cliques go all the way back to the first church.  Paul took a look around and observed rather bluntly that “Some were of Apollos.  Some were of Cephas.  Some were of Paul.”  But Paul made it quite clear that such cliques were unacceptable.

So how could we possibly be so unaware of them creeping into our churches?  And how could we possibly allow them to flourish…through our own participation?

Any time… any thought… any word or any action excludes any one…it's a clique.  Meaning a clique could be made up of just two.    So let me ask you—honestly.  Are you part of a clique?  Or are you moving away from a clique?    Only one of those two statements can be true about you.

There will be no cliques in heaven.

There ought not to be cliques on earth.

At first, it struck me as blasphemous—then incredulous.

A satirical newspaper, known as the Onion, ran a recent headline as follows: “Christ Reluctantly Enters Area Man’s Heart.” The article went on to profile a fictional mortgage broker—Derek—who supposedly invited Christ to be his Savior. Derek is not a particularly nice man. Not the kind of man that you and I would necessarily choose to have a relationship with.

The article quotes Christ as saying, “When a believer reaches out to me with faith in their hearts, I kind of have to reach back, even if it’s Derek.”

Now please understand—I get the fact that this article is not only erroneous—it is blasphemous. Jesus has never known a hint of reluctance toward the worst of us. By contrast, the Bible sets the record straight assuring us in II Peter 3:9 that God is “patient toward you, not wishing for any to perish but for all to come to repentance.”

But here’s what blows me away—the real “headline.” The Onion is a printed newspaper, distributed in Milwaukee, Chicago, Denver, Indianapolis, Omaha, Sana Fe, Ann Arbor, Columbus and Providence. The paper has a circulation of more than 200,000. It is entirely secular—and features articles often laced with profanity.

But here on the front page was a powerful (though satirical) illustration of the saving grace of God. The piece goes on to tell us Jesus—quote–“allowed His divine love to wash over” this guy.

As for his part, the fictional Derek is quoted as saying this was “only the start of a long intimate journey with the Lord by His side.”

A satirical newspaper in a post Christian culture has gotten it almost entirely right. On the front page is a somewhat blasphemous, incredulous article that tells the outrageous truth: Whosoever will…may come. Now THAT's awesome. That's Jesus!

Houston, we have a problem: adults are not memorizing the Bible.

Not like we should, anyway.

I don't know about you but I struggle in committing Scripture to memory.

When I was a kid, it was much easier to memorize the Bible.  Awana was a great experience.

But time is not kind to our brains.

Or is it that we adults have allowed too much data clutter on our hard drives?

Either way, we don't memorize the Bible—at least not much.

I've taken survey after informal survey and the results rarely vary.  “When I was younger I used to memorize…but not so much anymore.”

But how have we dismissed Scripture memory?  On what basis have we jettisoned all sense of accountability–all legitimate guilt?  Last time I checked, there wasn't even a hint of age restrictions in the admonition, “Your word have I hidden in my heart that I might not sin against you.” And how could the Psalmist claim, “I meditate on your law day and night” unless he had memorized a good portion of it?

Folks, this is not an incidental problem, a minor issue. It's huge.  I think it strikes at the core of why the Church is so much like the world.  It's part of the reason we divorce so much… part of the reason we're able to look at on line porno with virtual impunity.   We have not embedded sufficient quantities of Scripture to point our moral compass toward true North.

You know what my conclusion is?

We don't memorize because we don't want to memorize.

Okay, so memorizing for adults is hard.  So what!  Too bad!

Were you and I called to a life of ease?   Is personal comfort our measuring stick?

The truth is, it IS harder.  But it's NOT impossible.  My own struggle—and the struggles of countless others—proves it CAN be done.  It just takes a little more time and a lot more effort.

Shouldn't “denying ourselves and taking up our cross daily” possibly include doing the hard work of Bible memorization?

It's time to stop making excuses.

It's time to start memorizing the Word.

Amid the many small town fall festivals of Illinois, Stillman Valley Days must rank among the finest.  There’s the usual stuff: craft shows, carnival rides and overpriced funnel cakes.  For fans of fireworks, Stillman Valley Days is probably one of the season’s last and best displays in the whole state—which is why we try never to miss.

But because Stillman Valley is definitely in farm country, there’s always a display of small gasoline powered implements.  These antique machines are said to have performed important functions on farms of the last century.  Indeed, some of them are more than a hundred years old.

But because I’m not a farmer—and certainly no mechanic—I lack the imagination required to figure out what many of these contraptions actually did.  I saw Flywheels without pulleys….crankshafts with nothing to crank.  One machine, hiccupping white smoke, had a lever that went up and down endlessly.  Watching the three dozen machines that made up this display, I couldn’t help but observe the folks in charge: a cluster of old men, seated in lawn chairs.   Keepers of the past.

In the gentle racket of missed cylinders, combustion chambers backfiring and the chatter of a small town extravaganza, my mind wandered.  It occurred to me that this sorority of rusted relics was a metaphor for the senior citizens in so many of our churches.

Sometimes by choice—but I suspect more often by default—our seniors are left with little role other than Keepers of the past… Relics of the rested and rusting.

Surely this is inconsistent with biblical mandates that show seniors in mentoring relationships, offering wisdom, guiding the younger.   Surely we have, in many cases, bought into the world’s concept of merely tolerating our older members, rather than celebrating their years of experience.

In a day when churches are increasingly hiring outside consultants…you have to wonder how much wisdom is sitting there rusting away…unknown…untapped…unused.

That’s ungood.

 

 

 

As society judges people, Orville was one of the most un-cool guys I’ve ever met.   Most of his teeth were missing. And the few that remained poked up at odd angles in a mouth that was often caked with dried saliva.  A sizeable paunch rendered his physique something other than cool.  His few strands of hair were as wiry as they were wild—definitely not cool.   Truthfully, there was little about Orville’s appearance that suggested he was anything other than a country bumpkin.

Orville was a farmer all his life and I didn’t know much about the man—apart from his appearance—until I observed the 175^th anniversary of the church he attended all his life.  Amid the many tributes that were made, Orville’s name came up several times.

I listened as an older man stood up and recounted the story of his coming to Christ.  It was Orville who had first invited him to a men’s Bible study.  It was Orville who followed up when the man failed to show at the men’s’ group. It was Orville, who helped this frightened new believer work through his first time praying out loud in a group. “You just follow me,” said Orville, who prayed simply and gently and continued to work with his friend.

There were other tributes to Orville. And it all got me to thinking.  Maybe we Christians have been swept up in the world’s notion of coolness.  Of being “really in.”

But as I read the Bible, the one “in” that Jesus is most preoccupied with: being “in” the Lamb’s Book of Life. Helping others get their name in!  And I’m guessing by that standard, Orville’s life must might put mine to shame.

When my wife and I were married, it was Orville who volunteered to clean up the reception.  Cups and plates and napkins…crumbs and spills.  Orville made sure it was all cared for…so we could drive off to our honey moon.  And he did it all with a near toothless smile—and not a single ounce of self-congratulation.

He’s been dead a good fifteen years now.  Yet Orville’s name and reputation and investment in the kingdom of God lives on—as the names of the righteous—always do.

Know any people who are completely uncool?

Is it just me…or is the evangelical subculture on a trajectory toward the outer edge of Christian conduct and lifestyle?  I say yes, it is.

Perhaps it's a reaction to the 60s and 70s when many Christians almost defined themselves by the cultural things they DIDN'T do.  Today's generation appears bent on ramming right up against the outer edges of acceptability.  Statistics show that in general, they drink more, watch more R-rated films, use cruder language, and are much more comfortable than previous generations playing violent or sexually explicit video games.

Now clearly it was a non-biblical world view to define yourself by the stuff you DIDN'T do. No question.  But there's hardly a biblical trophy set aside for most-worldly-cultural absorption.

Conveniently stashed away by many in today's generation—either by ignorance or choice—are biblical commands to be holy—that is set apart.  And if that “set apartness”–that essential call to holiness–does not influence our choices in entertainment or leisure, or speech, then exactly what is it for?  A reminder to show up for Sunday School (providing you're not too tired from the over-night Halo party)?

But if we watch the same sexually explicit films as our unsaved friends, play the same violent video games, use essentially the same salty language, and hoist a sudsy mug with the same frequency as our unsaved friends, exactly how set apart can we claim to be?

To those who disagree, let me ask this simple question: If your Monday through Saturday is loaded with entertainment choices and language choices and leisure choices that are identical to the world, doesn't it seem like you have watered down most any hope of a lifestyle contrast?   Exactly what are you left with—the fact that you go to church on Sunday?

 

I saw a great headline the other day in “The Onion,” a spoof newspaper.  Went like this: “Nation just wants to be safe, happy, rich comfortable, entertained at all times—also healthy,   fulfilled, successful and loved.”

The article went on to quote a supposed Maryland resident, Lena McCarthy who said, “It’s not that complicated.  At the end of the day, all I want from America is a good job, a nice house, romantic fulfillment, beautiful sunny weather during the day, star lit skies at night, low gas prices, independence from foreign oil, free food, free healthcare, free media, everything free.”

At first I laughed.  But the more I thought about it, the more I thought about it.   This is exactly how most Americans feel, deep inside (or maybe not so deep).  We want it all, and we feel entitled to it all, and we want that “all” all the time.   Now that's bad enough for the public at large.  But when Christians grasp at the same things for the same reasons, we have a serious problem on our hands.   And increasingly, that's the case.

Look around and you'll observe that many Christians are as hot and heavy in pursuit of the good life as we are the God life.  The truth is, we've all been sucked in to a lesser or greater extent. I wish I could tell you honestly that I myself haven't wished for the good life.

But such a longing is in direct conflict with the Bible. Scripture calls us to be salt and light in our culture—not consumers of that culture.

Why this doesn't bother us…OUGHT to bother us.

I think we need a daily reminder—I'm serious—that we do not belong here.  Maybe it's a card we stick on the refrigerator.  Maybe it's a graphic we put on our smartphone—or wall paper for our computer.  Whatever you choose, the message ought to be this:  We're here for a season—not for the long haul.  So our ambitions, our affections ought to be—as Paul said, “on things above, not on earthly things.”

So this week, we had the distinct pleasure of taking our two grandchildren to the zoo.  They'd been waiting all summer for us to join them and having crammed the car full of strollers, kids and a picnic lunch, we finally arrived.

Almost immediately, I was struck by a rather odd impression: Where are all the animals?

Whether for reasons of political correctness, budget cuts, or a trendy understanding of proper zoo etiquette, the place has become much more about habitats and environmental education than about the animals themselves.

Understand that this zoo is Chicago's premiere animal attraction.  Yet they didn't even have one single elephant.  The monkey house—once loaded with primates—is an animal ghost town.

It is as if the zoo is now satisfied to live off the glory—and reputation—of past years, but lacks a real commitment to what is supposed to be their true priority and passion.    The zoo has become something less than a zoo.

In a strange way, our trip to the zoo reminds me of many evangelical churches today.   We celebrate the fact of the Great Commission.  We love to talk about “outreach” and strategize about ways we can be more “missional.”

But so many of our churches have so few honest conversions, we are rather like the zoo: living off the glory of what might have been our past.  And, to mix metaphors here, a lot of our mega churches have seen most of their growth from what my pastor calls “sheep stealing” rather than growth by conversion.  It's the flock that's been found shifting around to other pastures.

Sadly, many of us lack a real commitment to what is supposed to be our true priority and passion.    The church has become something less than a church.

It's time to re-commit ourselves, our resources and our churches to what Jesus has defined as our true priority and passion: making disciples.  And making disciples always begins with lost people.

 

Why are so many Christians living such shallow lives?

In my opinion, one of the biggest reasons is we have sold them eternal fire insurance rather than the real deal.

Let me explain.

For decades now, many—quote unquote–successful evangelical voices  have sold Christianity on a felt-needs basis.  And what need is greater than the need to escape  Hell? 

Who DOESN'T want to avoid the lake of fire, burning with sulphur?  So for generations now, we have sold what I call “eternal fire insurance.”

Plus, Christians often focus exclusively on the promise of Heaven and the guarantees of personal peace and happiness.

But this over simplified sales pitch bypasses the real call of Christ.  Jesus said “Take up your cross daily and follow me.”  That doesn't sound too much like the salvation invitation given by many evangelicals.   Philippians 1:29 “For it has been granted to you on behalf of Christ not only to believe in Him, but also to suffer for Him.”

We  OUGHT to expect trials and persecution and pain and loss—and all of this just for acknowledging our stand with Christ.

Our well-intentioned but theologically stunted sales commitment to eternal fire insurance brings with it the unintentional side effect of minimizing Christ's suffering—and ours.

Let's remember–Jesus did not experience a whip without sting, or a cross without nails.  Apparently, the cross has so long been a mere wall decoration in churches, or jewelry on our necklaces, we have sanitized from it all traces of sputum, blood, and shredded human tissue.

The words of Dietrich Bonheoffer come to mind:  "When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die."

It's time to stop selling eternal fire insurance.  It's time we called people to follow Christ in His fullness–wherever that takes us.