the Pharisees vs. the Gospel

In the not-quite-nine years of this blog’s existence, I have published 249 posts and currently have a backlog of 99 drafts. So if you’re reading this, this post managed to become the 250th post instead of the 100th unfinished draft. Random fact of the day.

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One of my very first weeks at the Anglican church, a line from Father Joe’s sermon stuck with me: “In my previous tradition, the Baptist church, what we seemed to care about most was how to be really good at arguing.”

I’ve never been Baptist, but I’ve been in a fair number of churches where the primary value was definitely arguing. The “best” Christians were always in a defensive stance, holding onto the Bible as both sword and shield, as if our purpose was to guard God Himself from the people and ideas “out there.” I learned all the tactics and talking points, and I learned the Bible really well so I could make even better moves than most. When I was in it, it was fun, like playing a sport with my “team,” and all the camaraderie and belonging that entails—even though in reality, we were little more than gossips and keyboard warriors, too cowardly to have meaningful discussions with real people about real things that didn’t fit neatly into our categories.

If I had stopped there with my study of the Bible instead of digging deeper, if my life had stagnated instead of winding through periods of intense pain and change, if God had not proved far more faithful to me than I was to Him, I’d probably still be having fun playing for that team in our imaginary game—while blind to the real war trying to rip God’s Creation apart.

This is the war Jesus came to fight, not as a great arguer or even a great warrior, but as a human baby, a growing boy, a man of sorrows and a suffering servant. He expanded the boundaries of God’s holy kingdom by feasting with the poorest sinners. He rebuked those who weaponized the Scriptures by being the Word of God in the flesh. He seized authority over all Creation by bowing His neck to His accusers, He ascended to the throne of heaven by being crowned with thorns and raised up on an execution tree, and He shattered the power of death by committing His spirit into the hands of God.

And He left us with one job: to take the good news of His kingdom to every corner of the earth, welcoming people from every tribe and tongue and nation to the glorious banquet halls of His communion table, where there is no space for the greed and self-importance of the flesh. This vocation is the continuation of Christ’s mission to sew the world back together, to undo the power structures and value judgments and myriad abuses of a post-Edenic humanity through the abundant hospitality of the Holy Spirit. To usher in the New Creation.

The real war is not the old game of “my church vs. the outside world.” It’s not Christians-who-are-right-about-everything vs. Christians-who-are-wrong. It’s not cultural ideas vs. God, who needs His army of Bible-wielders to shield Him; it’s not conservatives vs. progressives; it’s not men vs. women or white vs. black or rich vs. poor.

In this country, like ancient Israel before us, it’s a lot more like the Pharisees vs. the Gospel of Jesus Christ (see Luke chapter 15).

We can all stand on the defensive around an invisible idol, protecting our small god and his many demands and limitations from anyone’s questioning, or we can lay down our weapons and come together to the table of the bounty of the King of Kings. He is delighted for anyone to repent and return to His open arms—the question is, will we, too, be delighted when even sinners are welcomed to eat at this table? Or, like the embittered older son who did everything “right,” will we resent our Father’s goodness toward the prodigals, and reveal ourselves to be a long way off from the true heart of God?

Jesus said of the Pharisees in His day,

“The scribes and the Pharisees sit on Moses’ seat, so do and observe whatever they tell you, but not the works they do. For they preach, but do not practice. They tie up heavy burdens, hard to bear, and lay them on people’s shoulders, but they themselves are not willing to move them with their finger.”

Matthew 23:2-4

This was the reality of being on that argumentative “team.” I could tell you all the right things to do and think and believe, and back them up with Bible verses—but never lift a finger to love you through your real-life pain, proving my knowledge to be meaningless.

I’ve grown weary of spending my life on the defensive for a God who does not need my defending. Let me spend it instead throwing open the doors of His love, mercy, and grace for every hungry soul I can find, whether they fall in line with my particular statement of beliefs or not.

together church

In his first letter to the Corinthians, St. Paul makes a statement that I’ve always thought somewhat extraordinary: “Imitate me, just as I also imitate Christ.” It makes Paul sound either really arrogant or really spiritual. After all, Christ is the perfect Son of God. Who does Paul think he is?

But these last six months have given me a greater appreciation for imitation as a spiritual practice.

In the nondenominational evangelical tradition I am most familiar with, there’s a lot of telling people what they should do to be like Christ. Pray more, read your Bible a lot, love others, go to church, repent often, worship authentically. Those who are enduring trauma, loss, grief, addiction, illness, and other kinds of suffering are often met with “Biblical counsel” that sounds a lot like Job’s unhelpful friends: Have more faith! Confess more sins! Read more Scripture! Claim more promises!

There’s a lot of “Do as I say.” But Paul said, “Do as I do.”

In my migration from that tradition to High Church liturgy for the first time, this is where I notice the starkest contrast.

The Anglican liturgy is built on worship, prayer, and Scripture, and is entirely oriented toward the culminating event of partaking in the Eucharist together. We sing praises together; we stand and hear the Scriptures together; we kneel and confess our sins together; we sit and receive the Word together; we break bread together; we celebrate and rejoice in the God of our salvation together. Some of my favorite moments in each communion service are when we all rise from our knees to hear the priest recite the “Comfortable Words” (which are Matthew 11:28, John 3:16, 1 Timothy 1:15, and 1 John 2:1) and when we all shout “Thanks be to God! Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!” together after the closing hymn.

These centuries-old liturgical practices, rooted in Scripture and bathed in a long history of the prayers of the saints, provide a framework for us to actually do what we say, not merely say what to do. Strip them away, and it makes sense that in my previous tradition, so much time on Sunday mornings is devoted to hearing from a man rather than meeting with God.

I don’t think everyone needs to become Anglican or return to High Church liturgy, even though I love it and wish I could share my love for it with everyone. But I do think all churches would benefit from giving people a model to imitate, not just sermons to hear.

For example, I do not remember a single time in my 30+ years of churchgoing that we were prompted in church to confess our sins (outside of an altar call, of course). I do remember hearing plenty of sermons about how confession should be part of my prayer life. But most people learn far quicker by doing something than by being told what to do—especially if they get to practice it together, week after week.

What if we modeled confession by actively including confessional prayer? What if we modeled unity by reciting the Apostles’ Creed together? What if we modeled the importance of prayer by weaving it into every portion of the service, instead of just the beginning and the end? What if we modeled spiritual quiet time by inserting periods of silent contemplation? What if we modeled the authority of Scripture by speaking it directly to the powers of sin and death that threaten us, rather than just telling our suffering people to read more of it and move on?

I keep thinking of that old cliche, “A picture is worth a thousand words.” A model is a picture. As any parent who’s paying attention knows, children do what they see us doing, not what they hear us saying—and it’s no different with the children of God.

I know that liturgy and practice and doing-together is no cure-all. No tradition is immune from legalism or moralism. Plenty of people have made an exodus from liturgical traditions into nondenominational ones the very same way I’ve left nondenominational evangelicalism for liturgy—and we are all just searching for the freedom of Christ, with His easy yoke of grace and mercy.

Personally, my life in evangelical traditions was marked by an individualistic pressure to do it all, and do it alone. Everything came down to my faith, my sinner’s prayer, my fruitbearing, my testimony, my prayer life, my quiet time, my sin, my gifts, my service. Every sermon could be distilled down to applications for me, what I needed to do to be a better person, wife, mother, disciple, church member, or what have you. It even shaped how I studied and read the Bible, looking primarily for practical principles that were peppered with a lot of the word “should,” and leaving very little room for the kind of slow, agenda-free meditation that actually lets the Scriptures do the work.

We still have sermons in the Anglican church, and I love them. But more importantly, we have an hour and a half composed of marinating in Scripture readings, Scriptural prayers, Scripture-inspired hymns, and the Scriptural sacrament of communion. Together.

The burden is much lighter together.

I am not the Body of Christ, and neither are you. Only we, together, can be the Body—only we, together, can be what He intended His disciples to be. And it has to mean something more than being in the same place at the same time one morning a week, because we can do that with anyone.

It has to mean more than a set of worship songs and a great sermon, because we can get that on YouTube.

It has to mean more than a creed and a set of moral expectations we all adhere to, because we can get that in any religion.

What is “more”? It’s the kingdom of heaven. It’s new creation. It’s Isaiah 11 modeled in real life. It’s the living proof that Jesus really did conquer sin and death and the powers of evil that would leave us otherwise lost in our natural human state of greed, hatred, self-preservation, and lust for power.

“The wolf will live with the lamb.” The rich will sit at the table with the poor. The women will be on equal footing with men. The children will be as valuable as the adults. The outcast will be welcomed in. The powerful will kneel down to serve the powerless.

There really is no passable counterfeit for this. We’re either living it or we’re not.

In the Anglican liturgy, I get to live it: There is no difference between how I participate as a woman and how everyone else does. The same is true for my children, and for anyone else who walks through the door, no matter who they are or where they come from. No one preaches from several steps higher than the congregation or performs worship from a stage. There’s no distancing or dividing over differences on secondary issues. I felt more like family on my first Sunday there than I had in 6 years of attending my previous church every week.

That’s “more.” That’s everything.

Thanks be to God. Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia!

biblical vocabulary: unity

It’s been a little while since our last installment in the Biblical Vocabulary series, but there has been a word on my mind recently that I think deserves a closer look, especially because it’s so easily misunderstood. The word is unity.

The concept of unity (or the lack thereof) seems to have crept into conversations across a broad range of topics in recent years. We are confronted with division and conflict on every side, and in spite of the fact that so many voices in the public square are denouncing that divisiveness, the splits and chasms only seem to broaden. It matters now more than ever that the Church understands unity - what it is, what it isn’t, and why we so desperately need it.

So, what is unity? How does the Bible define it?

What is unity?

Our dictionary defines unity as “the state of being one; oneness.” I think that’s a good starting point, even though it sounds rather elementary; unity is one of those words that’s pretty easy to throw around without remembering its most basic meaning. The prefix “uni-” means “one” - not “same,” not “compromise,” not “fairness,” not “equality.” One.

That’s the word and meaning Jesus used when He prayed, the night before His death, that His followers and all those who would believe in Him be “perfected in unity.”

“I do not ask on behalf of these alone, but for those also who believe in Me through their word; that they may all be one; even as You, Father, are in Me and I in You, that they also may be in Us, so that the world may believe that You sent Me. The glory which You have given Me I have given to them, that they may be one, just as We are one; I in them and You in Me, that they may be perfected in unity, so that the world may know that You sent Me, and loved them, even as You have loved Me.”

John 17:20-23

Unity, by Jesus’ description, is the ultimate evangelistic tool the Church possesses. It is the ultimate representation of who God is and what He has done for humanity. It was Christ’s unity with the Father that made Him willing to come to earth as the salvation for humanity, whatever the cost. It is the Church’s unity with God and one another that makes us the guiding light toward Jesus in a dismal, dog-eat-dog world.

But we can’t fulfill that mission if we’re striving after a mistaken understanding of unity.

Jesus was one with the Father without being the same as the Father. He desires us to be one with Him, even though we can’t possibly be equal to Him. He asks us to be one with each other even though we all come from different backgrounds, have different opportunities, and experience different wounds. He envisions unity, oneness, among all of His children - even when some of them have absolutely nothing in common beyond Jesus Christ Himself.

Sometimes, we think we’re fighting for unity when we are really fighting for sameness. Or we think we’re fighting for unity when we are really fighting for fairness. Or equality. Or compromise. We often mistake for unity a room in which everyone acquiesces to the status quo, everyone looks and acts and speaks the same, and no one rocks the boat with a hard question, rebuke, or dissent.

But the real power of real unity is only found in oneness, which defies all our natural prerequisites for camaraderie, community, and teamwork to bring together the unlikeliest of human beings and unite them in Christ, the cornerstone.

Unity is a value statement.

True, Biblical unity is reflected best in Christ’s oneness with the Father. Father and Son had very different roles in the mission to redeem fallen humanity; One remained on the throne, holding the universe in His hands, while the other cast off His holy power and royal rights to become a sacrificial Lamb. To accomplish the greatest rescue of all time, these two Persons of the Godhead became unequal. The demands on one of them became unfair. Their actions and experiences became completely different and separate.

Yet they were still One, because they both gave equal, all-important weight to the ultimate goal: the salvation of the world.

In the Church, we frequently get unity backward. We rally together as groups of people who look and act and think the same, but divide based on how we understand and interpret truth. (If you don’t believe me, consider the sheer number of different denominations that exist, and what “kind” of people stereotypically attend each church in your area.) Biblical unity is the opposite: It’s very different people with very different experiences and perspectives coming together to stand on the same truth and pursue the same goal.

The kind of unity that points the whole world to Jesus can’t be accomplished when we select our churches based on whether they serve our similar demographic or cater to our exact interests, or when churches silence the legitimate questions, ideas, changes, and concerns of individuals in an effort to prevent “division.” We all need to keep our eyes on the big picture, and examine the value statements we are making at individual, local, and denominational levels. Do we balance the weights of different issues in a way that’s consistent with the priorities of God’s Word, our foundation - or are we clinging too hard to certain preferences and petty differences?

Is abiding in life with Christ and the sharing of His abundant love with our brothers and neighbors the foremost concern on our hearts?

If we can all become one behind that cause - even if some of us like to sing hymns and some of us like to worship in dance, or if some of us are decades younger in age and experience than the congregation around us, or if some of us are Calvinists and some of us aren’t - then our testimony to the world will be impossible to snuff out.

There is a reason Paul uses the metaphor of a body to describe the Church. Just as a physical body needs all its different parts in order to stay healthy and accomplish its created purpose, the Church body needs a diversity of people that work together in unity toward its common health and common goals.

For even as the body is one and yet has many members, and all the members of the body, though they are many, are one body, so also is Christ. For by one Spirit we were all baptized into one body, whether Jews or Greeks, whether slaves or free, and we were all made to drink of one Spirit.

1 Corinthians 12:12-13

The issues we unite behind are a clear and direct statement to the world about what we believe and value. If we can only unite around our demographics or around secondary theological issues, they’ll notice that in the big picture, we are just as divided as they are. But if we can become one, despite all of our differences, around the ultimate truth of who God is and what He has done? Then, as Jesus said, the world will know exactly who He is, and how He loves.

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