What is the Bible (Part 1 of the new Rob Bell Series)

Part 1. Someone Wrote Something

 

I’ve had a number of conversations recently that somehow led to the Bible. I say somehow because these weren’t conversations with particularly religious friends, and yet what they talked about was their interest in the Bible. 

For some, they readily acknowledge that this particular library of books (Yes, it’s a library. More on that later…) has deeply shaped western civilization in countless ways and yet they haven’t the foggiest notion what it’s actually about other than vague references to David killing Goliath (Although in the book of 2 Samuel it’s written that a man named Elhanan killed Goliath) or ominous warnings about the end of the world (Like in the recent movie This Is The End where Jay Baruchel keeps reading passages from the book of Revelation to Seth Rogen and Jonah Hill and James Franco-as if that’s the book to help you understand why the sinkhole in your front yard just swallowed up Rihanna…) or stories about Jesus doing things like turning water into wine (Really? That’s his first miracle? He makes it possible for people to keep drinking for days on end? Is this why Jesus was accused of being a drunk?)

For others, they’ve heard someone quote the Bible and something about what the person said made them think there’s no way that it actually says that. And yet they don’t have some better or more informed way to counter the explanation they heard other than you can’t be serious, that’s crazy.

And then for others, the Bible caught them off guard. They had an experience, they tasted something, they felt something, they endured something-and they discovered in the Bible language for what they’d experienced. They were wronged by someone and in moments of honesty realized that they wanted that person to die in a violent and gruesome fashion-only to discover these exact impulses described in vivid detail in the Psalms. How is it that someone writing thousands of years ago in a different place in a different language in a different culture could describe with such startling detail exactly what I’m feeling here and now in the modern world? How could something so many have discarded as irrelevant be at times so shockingly relevant?

Good questions.

Questions I’ll get to.

I’ll start with how the bible came to be The Bible,then I’ll write about floodsandfishand towersandchild sacrifice-all in order to explore what’s going on just below the surface of the stories in the Bible.

Then I’ll address some of the ways many people were taught to think and talk about the Bible-

as God’s word, The Good Book, the living word, principles for living, The Word, the absolute standard, THE INERRANT TRUTH ABOUT WHICH THERE CAN BE NO COMPROMISE, God’s view on things, the ultimate owners manual, and so on

-and why those ways of thinking and talking about the Bible aren’t working like they used to for lots and lots and lots of people.

All of which will lead me to articulate a way of understanding the Bible in which your mind and your heart are both fully engaged as you see it and read it for what it is-a funky, ancient, poetic, revolting, provocative, mysterious, revelatory, scandalous and inspired collection of books called The Bible that tell a story, a story I want you to hear.   

First, then, a bit about how we got the Bible.

Someone wrote something down. 

Obvious, but true. And an important starting point. 

The Bible did not drop out of the sky, it was written by people.

Again, obvious, but it helps ground us in how to begin thinking about what the Bible is. Many of the stories in the Bible began as oral traditions, handed down from generation to generation until someone collected them, edited them, and actually wrote them down, sometimes hundreds of years later. That’s years and years of people sitting around fires and walking along hot dusty roads and gathering together to hear and discuss and debate and wrestle with these stories.

The people who wrote these books had lots of material to choose from. There were lots of stories floating around, lots of accounts being handed down, lots of material to include. Or not include. 

(There’s a line in the Old Testament book of 1 Kings 11 where the author writes 

As for the other events of Solomon’s reign-all he did and the wisdom he displayed-are they not written in the book of the annals of Solomon?

Well, yes, I guess they are…it’s just that we have no idea what the author is referring to. Interesting the assumption on the author’s part that not only do we know this, but that we have access to these annals. Which we don’t. 

We see something similar in the gospel of John where it’s written 

Jesus performed many other signs in the presence of disciples, which are not recorded in this book

and then the book ends with this line:

Jesus did many other things as well. If every one of them were written down, I suppose that even the whole world would not have room for the books that would be written.

It’s as if the writer, just to wrap things up, adds Oh yeah, I left a ton of stuff out.)

The authors of the books of the Bible, then, weren’t just writing, they were selecting and editing and making a multitude of decisions about what material and content furthered their purposes in writing and what didn’t.

These writers had agendas.

Luke: I too decided to write an orderly account for you…The Book of Esther: This is what happened…John: These are written that you may believe…

There were points they wanted to make, things they wanted their readers to see, insights they wanted to share. These writers, it’s important to point out, were real people living in real places at real times. And their purposes and intents and agendas were shaped by their times and places and contexts and economies and politics and religion and technology and countless other factors.

What does it tell us about the world Abraham lived in that when he’s told to offer his son as a sacrifice he sets out to do it as if it’s a natural thing for a god to ask…?

The David and Goliath story starts with technology-the Philistines had a new kind of metal, the Israelites didn’t. The story is undergirded by the primal fear that comes when your neighbor has weapons that you don’t have-like spears. Or guns. Or bombs.

Why does the Apostle Peter use the phrase there is no other name under heaven…? Where did he get this phrase and what images from military propaganda would it have brought to mind for his listeners?

Real people,writing in real places, at real times,with agendas,choosing to include some material,choosing to leave out other material,all because they had stories to tell.

That said, two thoughts to wrap this introduction section up:

First, for some the Bible is just a collection of old books. Books written by people, and nothing more. For others, the Bible is a collection of books, but it’s also more than just a collection of books. They’re books, but they’re more than just books.

We’ll get to words like inspiration and revelation and God-breathed later (which I’m a believer in-but I’m getting ahead of myself), but for now it’s important to begin by stating the obvious: The Bible is first, before anything else, a library of books written by humans.

I say this because there is a stilted literalism that many have encountered in regards to the Bible that makes great claims about its divinity and inspiration and perfection but then doesn’t know what to do with its humanity.

Why do the four resurrection accounts in the gospels differ on basic details?

Why aren’t there any clear denunciations of polygamy? Or slavery? 

Why does Paul say in the New Testament that it’s him speaking, not the Lord…?

When people charge in with great insistence that this is God’s word all the while neglecting the very real humanity of these books, they can inadvertently rob these writings of their sacred power. 

All because of starting in the wrong place.

You start with the human. You ask those questions, you enter there, you direct your energies to understanding why these people wrote these books.

Because whatever divine you find in it, you find that divine through the human, not around it.

(I should play my hand here just a bit on where I want to take you: If you let go of the divine nature of the Bible on the front end and immerse yourself in the humanity of it, you find the divine in unexpected ways, ways that can actually transform your heart. Which is the point, right?)

Second, a bit about questions.

Often, especially when people come to a particular strange or gruesome or inexplicable passage, they’ll ask 

Why did God say this?

The problem with this question is that it can leave you tied up in all kinds of knots. (Really? God told them to kill all the women and children? God did? And we’re supposed to accept that, well, that’s just how God is?) 

That sort of thing.

The better question is: Why did people find it important to tell this story?

Followed byWhat was it that moved them to record these words?

Followed byWhat was happening in the world at that time?

And thenWhat does this passage/story/poem/verse/book tell us about how people understood who they were and who God is at that time?

And thenWhat’s the story that’s unfolding here and why did these people think it was the story worth telling?

Let’s take one of those stories-the one about a flood-and ask these sorts of questions.

Next - What is the Bible? Part 2: Flood.

R Bell. (2013, November 5). What is the Bible? Part 1. Someone Wrote Something. Retrieved from http://robbellcom.tumblr.com/post/66107373947/what-is-the-bible

Why I Can't Hold On To Power

As we sat on the bench, I could tell by the look in his eyes that something was happening. His mind was being awakened.

His eyes were opening.

His heart was receiving something.

He took the paper that held the list of all his current misconceptions of God, I handed him the lighter, and we watched the paper burn.

They were misconceptions not because they were wrong, but because they weren't his. Someone in his past had shared with him their idea of forgiveness, and he carried it with him for all these years.

It was time to let it go. Time to watch the ashes blow away in the breeze. Time to believe in a God who forgave already, and wasn't waiting for a magic word or request.

We got on our knees right there in the gravel, and I read the prayer that so many alcoholics before us had read. He repeated after me: "God, I humbly offer myself to you . . . "

Something happened. Something moved, a power unexplainable but real.

As I was taking him home, he told me, "Something happened tonight that I can't explain. I don't what you did to me, but I feel like I surrendered my terms. For real. I don't even know how to describe it."

I listened to him try to describe the indescribable. Smiling like a child eager to see what's going to happen next, I told him, "You better hang on to what you've got. Anything's better than the way you were."

All of this happened on a day when he was supposed to isolate in his hotel room and torture himself over the death of his son - one year ago exactly on the count of suicide. Yet, he went to bed last night with a new thought process, a new outlook on life, a new something to hope for, a new consciousness.

Just a few hours before I sat on the bench with him last night, I was trying to run the show at work. I was so off balance and irritated that I couldn't help but walk around in silent scorn, cursing the ground I walked on. My little plans were getting threatened. Unexpected problems kept coming. People weren't doing what I wanted them to do. It was one of those days where I was happy just to get out of there without having to make any amends.

From that, to getting on my knees with another human being, and offering ourselves to God. 

Is it really willpower that gets us anywhere in this life? Is it really the hard work, determination, and self strength that gets us out of binds and into the sacred spaces of life?

Was it really what I said to my friend that made him feel like "something came over me, like a ten ton pile of bricks was lifted off my chest?"

I don't think so. I'm just a conduit, a vessel of spiritual electricity. If I choose to let it run through me, it leaves me fast enough to not get mixed in with the pitiful self-will that runs through my veins and looks for every chance it can get to get its own way.

But, what a beautiful thing it can be to let the power of God run right on through, like a surge of energy that can be transferred to anyone who will have it - anyone willing to receive it.

The only power I have is the power given to me, and if I give it away it's being used correctly. If I hold onto it, it becomes distorted, disillusioned, and deceiving. It gets tainted and shaped and mutated into this monster that wants to rule the people around me.

Feeder Road

I woke up to the sound of tapping. But the surface to which the hand was knocking didn't sound like a door.

The tapping got louder. I started coming to my senses.

As my eyes opened, I realized this wasn't the sound of a gentle knock on a bedroom door - but the sound of a frantic tap on a window

Of my car.

A little girl - probably nine or ten - stood peering through the window as I lay like a baby curled up in the backseat of the car. As I looked past her, I saw the freeway and cars passing by at seventy miles an hour. I was on the feeder road and the car was parked.

I only thought I was waking up in my bed at home, until this little angel tapped on the window to wake me up and I realized I must have blacked out the night before in my car in the middle of the feeder road.

Beside the little girl was an older girl, her sister I think. Stepping out of the car, reeking of alcohol and filth, I looked at them through my blurry eyes, not knowing immediately where I was or what was happening. I said thanks as I tried to gather my thoughts and get my bearings straight. They walked back to their car and I to mine, trying to trace back how I got to my current situation.

The car must have been parked all night right there on the feeder road. Lights off. Sitting there in the dark. It must have been an unwelcome surprise for any drivers taking the feeder, for they wouldn't have had much warning.

I could've been hit. I could've hurt someone. I could've gone to jail. I could've had my car towed.

But, none of this stuff happened. I was spared by a little girl tapping on the window to wake me up.

I wish I could remember all the instances in my life where people have stepped in - some I've known and some I haven't - and woke me up.

Although I woke up and drove away that day, it would take years before I would start waking up for real. That was but an instant in which the God I believe in stepped in, noticed me, and spared me from more danger than I was already creating.

This God steps into the margins of life - the cracked and broken places of despair, exile, and oppression. It's not a sprint either. The God I believe in doesn't do magic shows, where in one instant something's there and in the next it's not. This God hangs around, calling, tugging, wooing, pulling, and loving harder and more faithful than any human can.

This God doesn't expect anything in return except that we humans know love and grace - the kind that wakes us up from blackouts on a cold, dead, feeder road. This God is moving along the alleyways, the dark corners, the hopeless areas, looking for someone else to wake up from their slumber.

Revolution? Yes, Revolution

When you sang the words "King of Kings, and Lord of Lords" this year, did it feel like you were declaring your allegiance to an ongoing Revolution?  Have we lost sight of what Christmas is about? A story of a God who tells an oppressed minority ethnic group "I'm with you, and I'm on your side. Things will not be like this forever. Caesar will not reign forever. Herod will not last as king." Where do you pledge your allegiance? Who is your king? Who is your lord?

Why I Couldn't Click the Checkout Button

As I sat down in my recliner last night, I began browsing the internet for gifts that I would buy last second for my family members.

I started by asking each person what their favorite thing to do was, or where their favorite place to go was.

Then, I started thinking more about that question, and thought it wasn't enough. So, I asked them to tell me which of those awakened them most to the presence of God.

Then, I made a list for each person.

Then, I Googled.

And lists and lists and lists of products filled the screen. My brain swirled with indecisiveness as I wondered what the perfect item would be for that specific person. Then, I realized that shipping was so expensive, so I decided to go the emailed gift card route.

Then, I realized I didn't have the emails for all of my recipients, and that threw a wrench into my gift-giving. And then I regretted not starting on this about three months ago when I wasn't so damn busy.

Then, I started thinking about money, and how so many of my friends don't even have a few bucks for gas. How can I even be thinking about clicking this checkout button while my friends sit here with nothing to live off of?

Then I started feeling guilty . . . the exact opposite of what I'm supposed to be feeling this time of year.

And so I sit here, in a quiet living room, clock ticking, heater running, wondering how I let the whisper of the empire get into my ears long enough to convince me this is okay.

Previous years I'd created the time to create gifts, and now I'm aimlessly pulling up lists of items that'll fill the void I have of not creating the time to create things that will last. I feel like a Christmas failure, like it was the best chance of the year to put my mind to something creative and inspiring, only to find that the time ran out. What are they gonna think of me? What if they give me something, but I don't give them anything? What if they realize I wasn't really thinking of them, but thinking rather of trying to ease the guilt of not . . . giving . . . something?

I have been giving. I've been giving constantly. Yet, there's this subliminal message around Christmas time that says, "If you don't give presents, then you're not giving. This is where the rubber meets the road. Forget all the stuff and time and money you've given throughout the year because this is where it truly matters. If you don't give now, you haven't given ever."

I know what I need to give, but I've been trying to fight it off. It's a gift that exposes the real me, the authentic me, the raw me. And, I'm afraid of giving it. I'm afraid of people knowing who I really am, what I've really done, what I really think. I've been trying to escape the inner voice that keeps telling me to give myself away while everyone sits around the Christmas tree. That's a scary thing, and it makes Amazon and Google look really, really, appetizing. 

So, this whole gift-giving, shopping, Googling, buy-as-much-as-you-can season isn't really about not having enough time to buy presents. It's about giving that one thing that I try to avoid giving every year to the people closest to me - the real me that no one knows about. And, in order to get the real me, you have to get my real story.

I was powerless, full of shame, full of the unquenchable desire to escape a miserable life, and the bottom came. A dark, dismal, depressing life that was hopeless. Then, when I had no strength left to keep fighting, I was rescued by a God who demanded nothing but wanted more than anything to know me, to love me, and to be with me. And, it's that story I'll put under the tree this year.

Why A Parent's Love for Their Children May Not Capture the Essence of God's Love For Us

When I was a kid, I would sometimes retreat to the shed in the backyard to hide from my parents. Really, it was a ploy to get them to feel sorry for me. I wanted their attention, and it was usually because I had done something wrong and had to have some way of having the last word.

It was my way of righting my wrong. There may have been a spanking or discipline, but that didn't satisfy me. What I really wanted was my parents to realize they were wrong (for doing the right thing) and come out to the shed to baby me and tell me that I was a good boy.

Hiding and running away and shame. 

Then there's my friend. As a kid, his dad would force him to watch as he shot heroin into his bloodstream. As a teenager, his dad would steal money from him to buy cocaine. As quickly as he could, he distanced himself from his father but learned the hard way that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

Hiding and running away and shame.

Then there's my other friend - who never met his biological parents. He grew up in the foster system, only to find out that at age 18 he would be on his own with no parents to watch him graduate high school or get married or get his first job or buy his own car. To this day, he's afraid to get close to anyone because they might abandon him. Just like his parents did.

Hiding and running away and shame.

And then we have a man and a woman in a garden. They do something that's against the rules. And what do they do? They hide and run away and are full of shame. 

For thousands of years, stories have been written about a God who disciplines like a father and scorns his children for doing the wrong thing. Could that whole concept be a looking glass into the writers' views of their own fathers?

Many times I hear people say how God loves us like a mother or a father loves their children. But, what about the friends of ours whose parents were never there, whose fathers forced them to watch as they got high on heroin, whose mothers drove them to their death in a lake?

What about Abraham trying to kill his own son? What about Lot sleeping with his daughters? What about Noah cursing his son?

Projecting our views of loving parents onto God works really well . . . if our parents loved us really well. I wouldn't have enough time in the world, enough money to pay, enough love to give, to pay back the debt I owe my parents for the love they've showed me. And, I don't believe they'd ever want me to even feel I have to pay them back for anything.

But even with my parents doing an amazing job at raising me well, loving me well, and showing me grace without borders, there were some pretty tense moments. Yelling. Spanking. Discipline. Times when patience just . . . ran . . . out. It was in those moments that they became human and flawed and just like me. 

Throughout the scriptures we find time and time again a God who's different from all the other gods. This God's love just doesn't run out. This God isn't done. This God is dead set on redeeming everyone and everything, for all time. This God is restoring everyone and everything back to how they were created to live.

So, when we read the scriptures, we're reading into real authors who had real lives and real parents.  

And then, on the other hand, we see a picture painted of a God who is not a parent. This God doesn't make the mistakes of a parent, doesn't run out of patience like a parent, and doesn't give up like some parents.

This God's love is infinitely greater than any love we've ever known, and in order to tap into this love, we must be willing to lay aside our preconceived notions of what God's love looks like. Empty ourselves of our experiences, our biases, and our culture, and dare to dive into a divine love that just doesn't run out. 

Why I Believe God Cares More About How We Believe Rather than What We Believe

As I was getting my hair cut the other day by my friend, she asked me what I was doing afterwards.

I told her I was going to pick up my homeless friend to have dinner.

When she heard this, she immediately asked if there was anything she could do to help, and I said, "Yeah, he's asking for a pair of size eleven shoes and a haircut."

She went to her purse, pulled out forty dollars, and told me to bring him in and she would cut his hair for free.

"Don't tell him who gave the money. It's not good for karma," she said.

I looked her in the eyes and could tell that she was genuinely concerned for my friend, and I told her that I would spend her money well.

As I walked away, I felt the presence of God. I felt as if I had just conspired with my barber to create good in the world, like we were on the same page and knew that the best thing to do in that moment was to care for someone who has nothing.

There was this force, this power, this spirit, that moved in each of us to respond to a need and to take what we believed and put it into action and to work together.

There was this sense of simplicity in doing the right thing. While we spoke a different language in terms of how we view God and how we connect, there was a common ground which pulled us forward in unison. Just below the surface of language and belief and karma and God and why we do what we do is this force that moves and tugs and pulls and calls our hearts and hands into action.

The words we use and the beliefs we form are a response to this pull, this tug on our hearts to act - to make a difference in the world.

Since we can't put into words and detailed description what this force is, we develop systems of belief and languages that attempt to make sense of it - karma, God, the holy spirit, Allah.

We want so badly to stay in touch with this power and to know it and to feel it and to understand it, and so we do things and say things and think things that seem to draw us nearer and deeper into it.

The way I grow deeper into my connection with it is through following the narrative of thousands of generations before me of a God who loves to redeem and to restore. In the scriptures, I find threaded throughout the story of a God who continuously calls people to set aside their agendas to live simple and honest lives - to care for the needy around them and to quit trying to earn this God's love.

And then this God takes the form of a human and moves into real culture, real time and space, and becomes that which no other god has ever accomplished - a living sacrifice, an atonement for the people. A god who becomes exactly what all the other gods demand. A god who sacrifices himself for humanity while all the other gods demand the constant cycle of sacrifice and offering from humanity.

The God I believe in and find threaded throughout the scriptures isn't concerned about what people believe as much as how people believe. Constantly, this God is looking at the heart, the motives, and not so much the outer results - because after all, out of the heart the mouth speaketh.

 . . . and the hands doeth . . . and the legs runneth . . . and the eyes looketh . . .

I believe in a God who doesn't want blind faith, but a faith that works through our hands, our feet, our words, our wallets, and our stuff.

It's not so much what we believe, but how we translate our beliefs into actions that can change the world, one pair of size eleven shoes at a time.

Why Phil Robertson Getting Fired is a Win Win

I couldn't help but notice the conversations building around the firing of Phil Robertson, and thought the debates surrounding it were very interesting.

As a disclaimer, I will say that I didn't watch the interview and I don't watch Duck Dynasty. So, I have nothing to contribute about the dialogue that was presented during the interview.

However, this issue has welled up a massive flow of conversation all over social media, and I'd like to contribute something.

First of all, I'd like to say that what happened with Phil Robertson had little to do with the Constitution. So, if you're one who holds the Constitution in one hand and the Bible in another, you may have felt a tension inside of you when you heard about this story. You may have asked questions like, "Doesn't he have freedom of speech? Wasn't A&E discriminatory in their actions? Isn't there protection for stuff like this?"

In my opinion, the Constitution is a double-edged sword. While it was created to protect citizens and property owners from the iron grip of tyrannical governments, it gives free reign for business/property owners to run their businesses the way they'd like them to be run. Private owners can hire and fire at will, and there's nothing stopping them.

In this case, we'll never know if A&E was discriminatory in their actions because discrimination is a condition of the heart. The law has no ability to look into the heart. It can only take evidence and make a verdict.

On the other hand, we'll never know if Phil Robertson was discriminatory in his worldview. We believe what we believe until it changes, and there's so many factors that create our worldview: religious upbringing, experience, culture, etc.

The thing I found most interesting was, this story was the complete opposite of the Chic-Fi-Le story. In that case, the property owner was making a claim of his worldview, and there was an uproar from people who disagreed with it. At the same time, people who supported his view flocked to Chic-Fi-Le to buy chicken sandwiches.

In the story with Phil Robertson, the employee made a claim of his worldview, there was an uproar about it, and he got fired. There was an uproar from people who disagreed with A&E's actions, while the people who disagreed with Robertson's statements took their stand.

The same group of people who supported the president of Chic-Fi-Le's statements - the business owner - was probably the same group of people who supported Robertson's statements - the employee. You could say the first was a victory and the second was a defeat.

So . . . what does this tell us?

Both people made their worldviews public, but got different reactions. The president of Chic-Fi-Le was free to do whatever he wished, despite public opinion. Phil Robertson lost his job in lieu of his employers' opinions and the opinions of the public.

Now, to my point.

If you are a strong Constitutionalist, you should be really happy about what happened with Phil Robertson. It was a tangible expression of the Constitution working and allowing business to run free from government tyranny.

If you are a strong Conservative Christian, you should be really happy. You're man Phil stated his truth on a national scope and didn't dance around it.

If you completely disagreed with what Phil Robertson said, you should be really happy. The executives of A&E stood firmly by what they believed in.

This isn't a story about the fiery debate of homosexuality and gay marriage as much as it is about the tendency (judging by the conversations surrounding) for human beings to pick sides. One side thinks they're right, and the other side thinks they're right.

One of the most uniquely human things we have is the ability to believe whatever we want. The greatest obstacle I've found in my own life is being okay with that.

So, the hard question to ask is: Why was I offended by what Phil Robertson said? or Why was I offended by what A&E did? When we find the answer for that, we find the truth.

Lights

As I sat across the table from him, I could tell he was in deep thought about what we were reading.

He was internalizing the sentences, thinking back and reflecting on what the author was saying, and seeing the similarities in his own life.

I could see the lights coming on.

I could tell he was starting to see the grave nature of his illness as he read and considered the possibility of the truth written before him.

He's been sleeping on the bench in front of an office building for the last three nights, out in the windy cold. No food, no blankets, no money. Just him and God, vulnerable, but with a tiny flame lit in his heart - a determination to get better in spite of the circumstances.

When I met him three months ago, death was in his eyes. Dark and full of anger and cynicism, he talked as if the world owed him something. His ego was the size of Texas and he lived in the delusion that his life was the only normal one around.

But, here we sat, three months later, reading the words on the pages of the Doctor's Opinion.

My friend has successfully lost everything, and I believe he's finally come to the conclusion that the only solution he has is taking the steps of recovery. He realizes that he's gonna die if he doesn't.

The crazy part is that I get to see him rise from the dead, and get to share the information and the experience I have with alcoholism, and how I stood in his shoes and found a solution - one that works.

It's an amazing thing to watch as someone realizes their own hopeless position, but to know inside that death and misery are not the final answers. Yes, our minds and spirits may have to die, but there is resurrection if we choose to go to any length to let God raise us from the dead.

The writer is writing. The author isn't finished.

Normally, it would seem wrong to take someone to dinner and then drop them back off on the porch where they plan on staying the night. But, I know that God's not through with him. God's been writing this story for a very . . . long . . . time. I'm just a dude who showed up one night. I had no idea I would still even be in the picture. I had no idea that this dude who had rage in his eyes and meth in his bloodstream would one day be asking me to take him through the steps.

I need to keep my eyes, ears, mind, and heart focused on the Writer. As long as I do that, I'll keep my hands out of the direction of the story. I'll stay out of the way, and let the events unfold the way they're supposed to.

As for me, I really needed to work with somebody. It's been too long. I haven't had the chance to see that light come on in someone's eyes for awhile now, and it's so refreshing and energizing to witness.

What God's done for me is this: taken the thing that was once the source of my misery, and transformed it into something that brings life and purpose and healing.

And I believe he's doing the same for my friend.

Showdown

So, if we were to look at each day as a chapter in an unfolding story, how would we define the

characters . . . the conflicts . . . the plot . . . the heros . . . the villains?

What happened yesterday?

Was it random? Was it connected to something today?

Who are we in this unfolding, mind-blowing (and sometimes mind-numbing), narrative?

As I've been working with my friend for the past couple of months to help him get to where he wants to be, I've switched from storyline to random and back to storyline several times.

This happens for one reason: I designate myself as the hero, the main character, and the writer all-in-one.

In other words, I want my cake and I want to eat it too.

Then, there are days that I can just sit and melt into the story as a support character. I don't have to be the hero, the villain, or the writer. I can just be a supporting character whose only goal is to be of maximum support for the main character.

My friend doesn't want what I think is best for him, that's a given. So, I can do several things.

Kill myself out of the story. Keep trying to designate where the plot should turn next, even though it's not compatible with the rest of the characters, or . . .

Rely on the writer's genius and creativity.

As a believer in a God whose constantly writing new stories and making editing moves on old ones, I can rest in the knowledge of the writer's creativity if I choose to.

What does that look like?

Conflict happens in every story. It's got to. That's how characters grow, and that's also how characters die. And, I haven't died yet.

When the two cowboys face each other in the empty street and everyone's hiding inside where it is safe, and the two guns are drawn . . . one makes it and the other doesn't. One character exits the story. That's how stories work.

But, there's always a story that leads up to the moment of the drawn guns. There's an unresolved rivalry, or romantic jealousy, or someone's brother was killed thirteen years ago . . . and it's time to get revenge.

In my experience with the narratives of life, I've been both the character who survived and also the character who exited early.

In the story I'm currently in with my friend whose trying to get off the streets, I'm about ready to go all out, guns blazing, and have a showdown. That's the feeling I get when I think I'm writing the story.

The natural human tendency is to be the main character, the hero, the prince, the cowboy who rides off with the beautiful town whore whose been betrayed, ridiculed, and toyed with all her life. Even though she's a mess, the cowboy thinks she's worth it. They ride off in the sunset to start over.

Yet, throughout the scriptures we find a God who is constantly pulling the characters to be people who are supporting roles, out of the spotlights and into the hearts of fellow human beings. The real conflicts we see when reading the scriptures are within the characters. They're not randomly dropped down from the sky.

And every once in awhile, we read about a character in the Bible who - while everything that could go wrong does - recognizes this God as the writer and hero of the story.

When we take a look at the stories we're involved in, do we designate ourselves as the writers? What about the main characters? What about the hero? What about the villain?

I'm becoming more and more convinced that when I let the writer decide where the plot should twist and turn, I become more than happy with my role as a supporting character. My eyes soon open to the fact that the main character is the writer, and that I don't have to beat my head against the wall trying to determine what all the other supporting characters should or shouldn't do. 

As I share today with this friend of mine, and before I even start rehearsing my lines, before I start entering into dialogue and action, I want to remember who the main character is and who I am.

I am stepping into a story that was already unfolding way before I arrived on the scene, and this story will keep on going long after I die of the gunshot wound during the showdown.

Coffee and Biscuits

Sitting across the table from my friend, I gave him two options: go to treatment or sleep on the streets tonight.

Knowing that the glass wall from Waffle House was the only barrier between us and the elements, my heart was torn.

Words kept crossing my mind as I listened and watched his eyes and analyzed the situation

enabling . . . cold . . . sleep . . . Jesus . . . insanity . . . decisions . . . compassion . . . boundaries

There was a third option, but I wasn't willing to verbalize it.

Why?

Because by allowing this option I would have had to face my own fears. And I didn't want that.

The third option was purchasing another one night stay at the motel, which I and others had done repeatedly throughout the last month.

If I do this, then I'm putting my financial situation in jeopardy. But, what about the basic human need for shelter? What about the basic human need for warmth? What about looking past the insanity and the addiction, and seeing the simplicity of keeping someone warm for one . . . more . . . night?

The problem I faced last night is one I'm assuming many deal with, especially this time of year when if you look just beneath the surface of the "spirit" of the holidays, which commercials and advertisements capture with bells and jingles and joy and peace, you find narratives that aren't so peaceful and joyful and spirit-filled.

Beneath the mainstream narrative of the bells and whistles of Christmas are real, troubling, and chaotic subplots. They're happening all around us. If we allow ourselves to look, we may compromise our own feelings of Christmas.

And so it was, last night, over coffee and biscuits.

And so it is with my landlord, who after sixteen years of handing out money to her daughter, bailing her out, bending over backwards, is finally done. Finished. She's had enough. She'll spend this Christmas wondering how all these years she couldn't see the writing on the wall.

The problem with my decision last night is, I could have but I didn't. I had the ability to provide shelter, and I didn't. Take away my agenda of seeing my friend get well, take away my agenda of helping my friend get sober, and I'm left with a friend who needs a warm place to lay his head.

I didn't simplify it to that. I held on to my agendas and fears. Am I beating myself up or losing sleep about it? No, I slept great last night. But, when I asked myself the question twenty minutes ago in my meditation, "Was I selfish yesterday?" I had to answer yes because of the decision I made to not purchase a motel room when I had the ability to do so.

So, here's my conclusion: If I have the ability and the means to help someone with their basic needs for survival, and I choose not to out of fear, it's not a wrong decision but a selfish decision. If I say yes out of fear then it's also a selfish decision. So, the problem is not whether my decisions are right or wrong.

The question is, Am I helping others based on selfishness or compassion?

I've given up on the idea that if you purchase x amount of hotel rooms for y amount of nights, and the person doesn't do z, then you're enabling them. The principle of enabling has been an easy way to throw a blanket solution on an infinite amount of diverse stories, lives, and faces. It's been a way to make it easier to turn our backs on people who just don't get it. It keeps us from having to step all the way in to the suffering of our fellows, in order to avoid getting burned ourselves.

Enabling isn't about other people. It's about us. Am I helping this person out of fear and selfishness, or am I helping this person out of my love for God? You can't generalize the principle of enabling. It can only be individualized.

So, today, whether my friend wants to adhere to my agendas or not, I'm gonna simplify it down to praying for God to remove any fear and selfishness before I interact with him. If I have the ability and the means, I will share what I have even if it means taking off the "recovery hat" and putting on the "basic human need for survival hat."

 

The God of the Subplot

On Friday nights, my usual routine has been to look up all the newly released movies and go see the one with the highest ratings.

There's nothing better right now than going to get lost in a story that's not my own, and drifting away in a dark movie theater, captured by a plot that someone else created.

I knew going in that with movies like The Hobbit and The Hunger Games coming out, the one I was going to see wouldn't have a crowd. It turned out I was the only one, until a man and woman walked in as the movie was starting.

It had been a very long day. Work was crazy, I was dealing with an outstanding internet bill, and trying my best to stay sane after moving one of my friends in after he got evicted from his apartment. I needed this movie. I needed the peace and quiet, the storyline, something to think about other than my own chaotic life.

And as the movie started, the giggling couple walked in.

We weren't all the way through the previews before I started hearing a soft moan that went something like, "mmm . . . mmm . . . mmm . . . " Every few minutes the mmm-ing would repeat itself. It made it really hard to focus on the storyline happening on the screen.

I kept secretly looking back to see what the deal was, but it was too dark to see anything. I was torn between two storylines now - the giggling, mmm-ing woman, and the woman who'd lost her son through a forced adoption by the nuns she lived with in a convent.

I have to say I kind of enjoyed what was going on behind me more than what was going on in front of me. The story going on behind me was in real time and space. I saw a shiny high-heeled shoe pounce up on the back of a chair to my left, and it sent my mind reeling into possible narratives.

Though I don't know exactly what the couple behind me was doing, I had enough evidence to form an opinion. And, my opinion was that it was nice to see two human beings being bold enough to pleasure each other in a movie theater. I think I did that once when I was in high school. 

By this time, the story on the screen was so distorted and lost that I completely turned my attention to the story behind me. What are they doing? Who are the characters? Why would they choose the movie theater of all places?

Sometimes, when I go looking for one story, I find another one. It's almost as if I was led or pulled to to the main event, only to find that the main event wasn't really the main event at all. The main event was a story I wasn't expecting.

Have you ever experienced this?

Where you go to see an old friend, or have this huge trip planned, or have this great occasion, only to find that there was an unexpected subplot that you would have never expected?

The table's set, the reservations are made, the gas tank's full, and then . . . bam!

The story you had planned for weeks all of a sudden takes a complete detour, one that you weren't expecting. One that wasn't anywhere on your radar. And then as you sink into this unexpected story you find something that you would have never expected to find on the original path you were going.

Like, the homeless man shows up while the kids are packed in the car at the gas station or the phone call comes just as people start arriving for dinner or your other friend shows up to the coffee shop unannounced to tell you something she's been trying to get off her chest for years.

My experience with God is like this. What I think is the big picture is actually the small picture. Why? Because everyone can see what I see. Everyone can see what's in the spotlight. It's the stuff lingering just underneath the surface that no one can script that paints the big picture. It's hidden away, waiting for some unsuspecting character to walk up and open the door, or get the flat tire, or take out the trash . . . only to find . . .

The God I believe in works on the fringes, behind the curtain, and out of the spotlight. This God loves inviting people away from the spotlight and into the subplots, the narratives that not everyone knows about.

Help Rebuild

Haggai 1:1-13

The Church is in need of people to rebuild it. It's been hijacked by impostors, and needs anyone who is willing, to help restore it to the way it was intended to be - the light of the world.

Who's eligible:
Anyone who is willing to give thanklessly.
Anyone who is willing to rebuild something that someone else will take credit for. 
Anyone who is willing to rebuild while listening to someone lecture them about how they need to change their life.
Anyone who is willing to rebuild even though they aren't considered chosen. 
Anyone who is willing to pour their heart and soul into something that will be hijacked by someone else. 
Anyone who is willing to love their enemies, even when they call you the real enemy. 
Anyone who is willing to look past name calling and stereotypes in order to take something broken and make it into something beautiful.

If you think you have what it takes, drive over to the church nearest you on Sunday with the question, "What can I do to help restore this place?"

Peace

So, we're in the second week of Advent, and peace is the theme.

Most of the time, when I think about peace, I think about the peace I get from God. God brings me peace.

As I helped move my friend in late last night, and stare at all his stuff sprawled out on the living room floor, I don't feel at peace.

As I think about my other friend who I've been buying motel rooms for so that he can get one . . . more . . . night at the inn, I don't feel at peace.

As I think about my friend's mom whose just discovering that her heart's not the way it should be . . . I don't feel at peace.

I've been walking through the book of Amos, where the thread that binds the whole book together is God's care for the poor and oppressed, and Amos's warnings to the Israelites about what his God would do if they continued to build up themselves while the people around them suffered as a direct result.

The audience Amos was speaking to thought they were at peace, but really they were about to get pounded by the nations around them who'd been ravaged by Israel for years.

Sometimes, peace has nothing to do with what I receive from God, and has everything to do with what God wants to give to others through me. Is it possible that I can be un-peaceful inside the inner recesses of my soul, while at the same time being a vessel of peace to those around me?

Have you ever had to ask yourself, "When do I draw the line with so-and-so?"
"When is he gonna learn?" "I don't know how much more I can handle of this before I go crazy!"

For the Israelites, bringing peace to the poor would have meant tearing down the luxurious mansions, shrines, and temples they'd built through their own pyramid schemes with the poor. They were the modern day payday loansharks, except they did it in the name of a god who demanded offerings and sacrifices.

For the Israelites to be peace to the world around them, they would've had to torn apart everything they'd worked for to build their versions of comfort. They would've had to sacrifice their own versions of peace in order to bring peace to the world around them.

Peace isn't always this gift that we expect to enter into our hearts and minds come Christmas time. Sometimes, it's what we bring to the world while our own broken hearts scream and neurotic minds race.

 

Royal Shrines

Amos 7:10-17

Amaziah, priest at the shrine of Bethel, sent a message to Jeroboam, king of Israel.

What kind of priest reports to the king?

One who is close to the king. One who shares the same interests as the king.

What does Amaziah report?

Amos is plotting to get rid of you; and he's doing it as an insider, working from within Israel. His talk will destroy the country. He's got to be silenced. 

And then there are these two phrases that follow a little further in the passage:

king's chapel and royal shrine

Evidently, royalty is in bed with religion. Hmmm. Have you ever heard of priests lobbying for a president? Have you ever heard of religion mixing with politics? Have you ever heard of a group of religious zealots getting paid off by politicians?

It's in this context that the author writes about Amos's prophecy to Israel. Amos is merely reading the writing on the wall. The king's in bed with the priest, and all of Israel is about to go into exile because of it.

Not only are the government forces taking advantage of its people and the surrounding nations, but the religious leaders are just as involved and are sharing the same corrupt interests.

What happens when religious leaders and kings start joining forces?

Sacred places become wrapped in luxury. The poor get forgotten. The rich get richer. The poor get poorer. The places that were intended to provide platforms for humility and sacrifice, become full of arrogance and power. 

And just what is Amos saying about the king and the high priest?

Jeroboam will be killed. Amaziah's wife will become a prostitute. Amaziah's sons and daughters will be killed. Amaziah will die in a far off land. Israel will become captive to the same countries it has been pillaging for generations. 

For Amos, the writing on the wall is clear: when the kings and priests start scheming, and strategizing, and lobbying, and building shrines, and getting powerful together, and ignoring the poor, and turning sacred places of worship into luxurious clubs of inclusiveness, people get pissed. 

It's only a matter of time before the people who are getting fed up start to revolt. And what then? They conquer. They take prisoners. They take wives and turn them into prostitutes. They kill families. They take sons and daughters. And all of these are the products of war.

The writer is letting the audience know that there is a God who doesn't want these things. This God wants people to stop worrying about luxury, and power, and royalty, and sacrifice, and offerings.

Because, when religious leaders get wrapped up in politics and royal shrines and luxury, the poor and helpless and widows and orphans and homeless and the oppressed get ignored by the people who have the ability to influence the world in a uniquely powerful way.

Justice into Poison

Amos 6:1-14

In this passage, the author uses the phrase "Woe to you!" repeatedly. This is a phrase that was commonly used to warn the audience.

Kind of like a tornado siren, or a breaking news flash, or one of those long annoying beeps you might hear in the middle of your favorite show.

Who is the warning directed to?

The people in Israel who think they live on easy street. Those who live in luxury and expect everyone else to serve them. Those who live only for today, indifferent to the fate of others. The playboys and playgirls who think life is a party held just for them. Those addicted to feeling good. Those obsessed with looking good. Those who've made shambles of justice. Those who've made a bloated corpse of righteousness. Those who've beat up on the weak. 

The Samarians aren't the only ones who are guilty of the above. The author tells them to look around at their neighbors who were once living in the same luxury.

Where are they now? Do you still think you're any different than them? You're rushing headlong into disaster!

There's a force mounting just outside the borders of Jerusalem. It's a force of all the nations that are sick and tired of being manipulated, pillaged, and extorted by the city of Jerusalem.

The nation that was set apart, called to be a city on a hill, has now turned into an oppressive, dominant, and greedy power that is taking advantage of the poor and weak every chance it gets.

When this happens, other nations get pissed.

Not only that, but the religious elite in Jerusalem think this is all God's plan. There's this underlying belief that the gods have blessed them with this luxury - the mansions, the fine delicacies, the musical talent, the power.

But, the author thinks differently. The author is letting the audience know that the God he/she believes in doesn't turn it's back on the weak, the poor, the oppressed, and the neglected. This God doesn't turn a blind eye to corruption and injustice.

And this brings us back to the question: Is wealth and easy living always a blessing from the gods?

In this case, no.

Why?

Turning back a few chapters, it's not what the Israelites have attained, but how they've attained it.

The author is pounding the fact that Israel sits on a pedestal that was constructed on the backs of the weak and the poor. The rise of the rich is directly related to the downfall of the poor.

There's this phrase that I've held onto for a few years now. It says, "With a higher standard of living comes a higher standard of giving." I don't know where I heard it from, but I've held on to it tightly.

The leaders of Israel are growing in power, prestige, and wealth, but aren't using their resources as they once did. They aren't sharing as they once did. They aren't noticing the weak as they once did. They aren't remembering where they came from.

This God doesn't care about what we have.
He cares about how we get it and how we give it away. 

I Hate Your Religious Meetings

Amos 5:18-27

(Amos as the voice of God)
I can't stand your religious meetings
I'm fed up with your religious conferences and conventions
I want nothing to do with your religion projects
I want nothing to do with your pretentious slogans and goals
I'm sick of your fund-raising schemes
I'm sick of your public relations and image making
I've had all I can stand of your noisy ego-music
When was the last time you sang to me?

Any of us who have participated in any of these things should be questioning what is being written right now. If we read this as God's timeless truth to us, then we should really be wondering.  The first question we should ask is, "Why would God say something like this," followed with the question, "What are the implications for me and for us?"

As we've read through the book of Amos, we've learned a few things about the Israelites and worship.

First: The Israelites have become a dominant nation, stripping the resources of surrounding nations in order to make itself huge.

Second: Worship has become an outflow of injustice.

A few words on the stripping of resources - The author has written that all the countries surrounding Israel, who've been taken advantage of for generations, are ready to retaliate. They realize what's been happening and are tired of having their toes stepped on.

And, a few words on unjust worship. When you build temples and sing songs and play music that's claiming a devotion to God, while their are people starving and dying outside, something seems off base.

Have you ever walked or driven through an impoverished neighborhood, and then come across a massive church building that looked like it took millions of dollars to build but was run down?

Have you ever driven past a homeless person on the way to a worship service, so pumped up about worship that you didn't even notice him/her?

Have you ever said no to helping someone out financially because you knew the building campaign needed the money more?

It's in this context that the author is telling the Israelites, "God hates your shows, your religious festivals, and your ego music."

The author is pulling back the veil even more of a different kind of God. This God desires justice over sacrifice and righteousness over religious festivals. This God wants nothing to do with sacrifices and offerings and music and ceremonies and conferences if . . . there are people starving and hurting and thirsty and oppressed sitting right outside the building.

In the opening line of the passage, the author gives us a hint that there's this underlying conception streaming its way through Israel that "God's gonna save us from our enemies."

What the Israelites don't see though, is they are their own enemies. They are the ones who've extorted the poor. They're the ones who've been turning their noses. They're the ones who've been building their mansions on the backs of the helpless.

This God wants something different than all of the other known gods want. This God wants: oceans of justice and rivers of fairness. In other words, if worship and song and prayer and offerings are not this joyful outpouring of justice and fairness, then the author is saying that this God doesn't want to be a part.

What a concept.

Now on to the implications for us.

It's the Christmas season. Tomorrow's Sunday, which means millions of Americans will be stepping foot inside of a space where worship happens.

Can we honestly look back over this week, and say that our worship tomorrow is a result of the work we did towards justice and fairness throughout the week? Can we say that helped the poor? Can we say that when the opportunities arose, we did what we could to promote justice?

It may not be far-fetched to say that if we did, worship will be a time of celebration - a time of recognizing God's blessings and a time to reflect on the week and recharge and re-strategize for the next.

Or, worship will be another rote, monotonous task of bringing our peace offerings, our voices, and our wallets to the God who doesn't want them.

Where do we stand today?

Virgin

Amos 5:1-17

Woe to you who turn justice to vinegar and stomp righteousness into the mud
You run roughshod over the poor and take the bread right out of their mouths
You bully right-living people
You take bribes right and left 
You kick the poor when they're down
You claim God as your best friend, yet travel to Bethel and Gilgal to worship gods that don't do anything for you

This is the context in which we find the author's message to Israel.

Courts designed for justice have been turned into bribe halls. Who's being affected by all of this? The poor.

Judges and government officials are getting bribed to let oppressors off the hook, and using the bribe money to build mansions and luxurious vineyards.

The whole system is corrupt, and this is what the author opens the passage up with: Virgin Israel has fallen flat on her face. She'll never stand up again. She's been left where she's fallen. No one offers to help her up.

In other words, Israel's been raped and left for dead by its crooked leaders.

Underneath it all is this propensity to keep sacrificing to the gods, to keep going down the vicious cycle of trying to appease and ignore the guilt and go to any length to make the gods happy.

And so, what does the author give the audience as a solution? Seek God and live.

Because, there's this other God who doesn't demand more sacrifice, and more money, and more crops, and more offerings, and more altars, and more shrines.

The Israelites can't see the cycle they're in, to the point that they're like a virgin who's been raped and left for dead with no one to help her up.

Isn't this how it is when we can't focus on anything but trying to earn right standing with the gods?

The more we seek to get God to like us, the more we live for ourselves. What starts as an act of worship becomes an addiction to self. Since we're so afraid of whatever we think might happen to us because of how our lives are turning out, our goals in life become doing whatever we can to fix ourselves and to figure out how to receive the blessings we need from the gods who control the sun, the water, the harvest, the economy, the justice system, fertility, and war.

It becomes so much about us and our standing with the gods that the once-spiritual-journey turns into a competition for blessing. Our resources that one were shared with the poor are now used to appease the gods.

But, once again, the author has a message to share about a different God - one that says, "Seek me and live."

Have you ever lost your keys?

When you went looking for them, did you have your hands full or did you have to put down your cup of coffee and your bags?

It's nearly impossible to search all those nooks and crannies with hands full of stuff.

Essentially, the author is telling the audience about a God who doesn't want people to come to him with their hands full. Take a load off. I don't need your sacrifices. I don't need your stuff. I want you.

As long as God is something to be appeased, we'll always have our hands full, going to any length to make sure we have right standing. In the process, our lives become tunnel visioned and every moment of life is burdened with the question, "What do I have to do today to make God happy?"

Justice becomes injustice. Worship becomes guilt. Compassion becomes corruption, and the cycle never ends until our hands are empty and it's just us, alone, authentic, and seeking the God who wants to see us thrive in freedom, compassion, and justice.

Interaction

Amos 4:6-13

 So, throughout history, men have attributed certain actions to God.

Amos (speaking as the voice of God): I brought hunger to every city and famine to every town.
                                                             I kept the rain from falling when you needed it the most.
                                                             I struck your farms and vineyards with blight and mildew.
                                                             I sent plagues on you.
                                                             I killed your young men in war.
                                                             I destroyed some of your cities.
                                                             Prepare to meet your God as he comes in judgment.

It's no different today. Anytime someone speaks about God, giving a characteristic of how God is, they are attributing something to the divine. Anytime someone says that God does something, they are attributing action to the divine.

But, how do they know?

When we read a book or listen to a lecture, we are reading into and listening into an author or speaker's conception of something. We are opening our minds to somebody else's perception of the world around them, seeing if we can gain anything from what they have to say.

And in this culture, it was common for an author to tell God stories in first person - to take on the voice of God to make it more realistic for the audience. Why? Because when they were first told, it wasn't written.

If your only media outlet is telling and dramatizing stories, then it makes sense to make it seem as real as possible by playing the part of the divine, or, role playing.

So, things like famine, hunger, war, killing young men in battle, destroying cities, and judgment, are things that are not only common to the particular culture, but very much attributed to the gods.

But, to be a really good storyteller and to make the Jerusalem Times Best Seller List, you have to have a story worth listening to. And this is where the author of Amos jumps to the top. If all the gods of the time are attributed with acts of war, judgment, killing, famine, and hunger, then what makes this author's depiction of the gods different?

We find the answer in the last line of each stanza of this passage:

But you didn't return to me. But you didn't return to me. But you didn't return to me. But you didn't return to me. But you didn't return to me.

For the first time in history, there is a God who's not just a czar of the heavens, raining on one field and drying up another. There is a God who's about interacting with humanity. There's a God who's concerned about relationship, and wants humans to stop worrying so much about appeasing, and fearing, and sacrificing. This God wants humans to return to himself - to reunite, come back, sit and chat, and fellowship.

This God wants to build a friendship, and with friendship comes compromise and dependence and trust and communication.