Category: Church Life

Daniel and the lions’ den is a great story, but what if we miss the most important part?

One of the most well-known stories in the Bible is that of Daniel and the Lions’ Den. Everyone seems to know about this guy who was thrown into the midst of hungry lions and walked out alive the next day.

But it’s not just a story of surprising survival. It’s David vs. Goliath, the little guy vs. the machine. Daniel challenges an unjust law and continues to pray to YHWH instead of the king. Against the power of jealous rivals and the entire legal weight of an empire, it’s Daniel who comes out on top.

It’s a favorite story of many, eminently suited for sticking in our brains. It subverts our expectations, shows the triumph of the faithful over the scheming, and speaks to the power of God in this world.

It’s amazing. Everybody loves it.

And I, being the contrarian that I am, can’t help but wonder if the story would be so well-known if a trickle of blood and some scraps of cloth had come out of the den instead of a walking, talking, breathing Daniel?

We love happy endings. Like Daniel’s story, we love those that lead to success and prosperity. But we quickly forget that without valleys, mountains are meaningless.

We wouldn’t remember Daniel if he’d died in that lion’s den, but we wouldn’t remember him if he’d never gone in. The trial, the deep fear, the injustice, to say nothing of the toothy terror, gives the ending its enduring impact.

It is funny that while we love Daniel’s story for the triumphal ending that’s only possible because of the troubles that came before, we lament our trials when we’re going through them. We conclude that God must have abandoned us, that we’ll never make it through, and that such difficulties should never have come to us.

But what if, like Daniel, the trials are just the prelude to a glorious finale?

What we lack in our lives is what we have for Daniel’s life: perspective. We can see the end. We know it turns out ok. We know the lions don’t eat him.

But we don’t know that for ourselves, so we get disheartened. We compare our journey with Daniel’s destination and conclude that God must have abandoned us.

But we forget that Daniel didn’t know the end of his story, just like we don’t see the end of ours. What’s encouraging to me isn’t that Daniel survived but that he prayed even though he might not. Daniel’s faith was not in his survival of the lions’ den but in the God who would be with him in it. His faith led him to faithfulness, regardless of the consequences. It didn’t stop the moment the king signed the decree, and it didn’t stop the moment he was flung off the edge into the dangerous darkness below.

Where does your faith stop? When you lose your job? When your kid gets sick? When your spouse cheats? When your friends let you down?

Faith that stops isn’t true faith. True faith perseveres through trials and endures loss and hardship because true faith is not grounded in pleasant circumstances but in something that transcends circumstances. True faith is in Someone, the Transcendent One.

It’s placed in God, not in ourselves or our circumstances.

Daniel didn’t know if he would survive, but his faith didn’t fail because God always survives. Daniel could, and eventually did, die, but God is eternal.

And God is good. Daniel knew what his fellow Hebrews, Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah, knew before entering the fiery furnace: God could save them, but He didn’t have to. Their survival, comfort, and circumstances were incidental to their faith, not integral to it.

The world desperately needs people who will live with such faith today. There are plenty of examples of faith that stops. Who, in our world today, will have faith that works, that goes, that does, that won’t stop?

Daniel gives us a great story and an example of true faith, but his story ultimately points to another: Jesus. Like Daniel, Jesus was unjustly condemned to death. Like Daniel, Jesus was thrown into a pit, and an official signet sealed the entrance. Like Daniel, Jesus walked back into the light of day and life.

But Jesus is better than Daniel because His story isn’t just a good example: He offers us the same life, the same resurrection that He has. The end of the story for everyone who places their faith in Him is the same end His story has: eternal life.

That’s how we can continue through trials, pain, and devastation: through faith, we can know the end of our story. Christians need to have no fear of death because that’s our moment of victory. The one thing the world fears most is what brings us to the One we love the most.

So, we can live joyfully in faith, fearlessly, in hope. The trials now are merely preparation for a glorious conclusion.

Christ-follower: keep going. Don’t stop.

The story’s just getting good.

Understanding the relationship between earthly citizenship and Kingdom citizenship is vital for followers of Jesus in our increasingly divided times. Daniel shows us the way.

One of my favorite songs is by Gable Price & Friends and Kristine DiMarco: “You Are My Country.” 

https://www.youtube-nocookie.com/embed/B7WQJT2Twkc?rel=0&autoplay=0&showinfo=0&enablejsapi=0

This song speaks to the tension perpetually faced by God’s people, wherever or whenever they live: how can we be good citizens of an earthly kingdom while simultaneously being citizens of Christ’s Kingdom? If you have yet to hear the song, give it a listen. Many will disagree with one aspect or another of the worldview expressed, but that doesn’t diminish the value of listening to it. Indeed, it may be the entire point. 

For many Christians living in America, it is tempting to adopt a “God is on my side” approach to faith, synthesizing the Good News & Jesus with the platform of the political party to which they’ve allied themselves. This syncretism leads to Republicans shoehorning Jesus into a flag-waving, gun-toting, greed-celebrating caricature. And it leads to Democrats reimagining Jesus as a limp-wristed, LGBTQIA+-affirming, virtue-signaling wokester. 

The trouble is Jesus doesn’t fit neatly into our boxes. The deeper we dive into His life and teaching, we increasingly realize that while He sometimes agrees with our side, He also frequently challenges it. 

Which is why You Are My Country is so good. It asks several questions that should force all of us to wrestle with our syncretistic tendencies: 

Can we tell God from a man-made king?

 Can we tell love from a promise ring?

 Can we tell the Kingdom from the kingdom where we lay our head down at night?

And then the punchline: 

You are my country

What resonates throughout the song is that the “you” being addressed is ambiguous. It could refer to the listener. If so, the artists intend to communicate their allegiance to their fellow humans. Or, “you” could be to the duet partner, expressing devotion and relationship between two particular humans. 

It’s not until the song’s last two lines that the referent is made clear, but not in a way that negates the earlier interpretations. Instead, it serves to highlight the following: 

You are the king

We give you back the crown

King Jesus is the You, but King Jesus is the one who tells us that “whatever you do for the least of these,” you do for Him. King Jesus is the one who commands us to “love one another” as He has loved us.”

It is easy to forget that our allegiance to Jesus must inform our engagement with those around us. This fact is always true, but especially in politically charged times. 

We need songs like You Are My Country that challenge us, but there are also biblical examples that we should heed. The Book of Daniel is an excellent source for examples of navigating culturally fraught times. One of the best encouragements for faithfulness in that biblical book isn’t found in what is written but rather in what isn’t. 

First, we must remember that the biblical books didn’t initially have the chapter and verse divisions our modern Bibles do. Instead, the narrative was uninterrupted and meant to be taken together. 

In chapter 4, Daniel is serving under King Nebuchadnezzar. Then, after what seems to be a chapter break, we are told that the king Daniel serves is named King Belshazzar in chapter 5. Natural enough for a new chapter to introduce a new character. 

The trouble is that the chapter break disguises the surprising shift between rulers. Reading the texts together, however, we can see that the narrative change is designed not to record a transition from one king to another but to highlight the difference between the two kings. King Nebuchadnezzar acknowledged the sovereignty of YHWH, the Most High God. King Belshazzar did not. 

That’s the narrative point, but the extra-biblical, historical details are fascinating and showcase the admirable nature of Daniel’s faith in his time of sojourn. Far from it being a clean transition between two kings, what happened was that Daniel continued to be in a position to influence not two but rather six administrations, spanning two internal coups and one external conquest. 

How was he able to remain faithful through all of that upheaval? I think that it’s because while Daniel served each of those administrations, he offered his ultimate allegiance to no one but God. His refusal to get caught up in the political infighting and take sides in the culture wars of his day meant that he could remain faithful to God and thus be capable of serving multiple rulers, families, and nations. 

And Daniel didn’t know Jesus. He didn’t have the Holy Spirit ever-present in his life. 

How much more should Jesus-followers be able to distinguish “the Kingdom from the kingdom where we lay our heads down?”

How much more should those indwelled by the Holy Spirit of God ask, “is there really a winner, if we both have broken bones?” 

We can be good citizens of the United States of America, Australia, and China, but only if we are, first and ultimately, good citizens of Christ’s Kingdom. We cannot conflate those two citizenships or treat them as separate. 

We should begin pledging allegiance to Jesus, above all.

If we need words, Price and Friends have a suggestion: 

I pledge allegiance to the presence no matter what it costs

The only war I’m begging for was finished on the cross…

…The scars in his hands, the stripes in his back, I’ll say now I’ve seen

You are my (country).

What are we to make of the relationship between God’s sovereignty and humanity’s responsibility? The answer is “Yes.

One of my favorite movie scenes ever comes near the end of The Fellowship of the Ring, the first of the Lord of the Rings film trilogy. In it, Frodo, the Ringbearer, has just decided to leave the Fellowship and strike out for Mordor to destroy the One Ring before it can destroy anyone else. You see him jumping into a canoe and paddling away from shore. His loyal friend, Samwise Gamgee, comes running out onto the beach and into the water, chasing after and shouting at Frodo. Frodo turns and says, “Go back, Sam. I’m going to Mordor alone.”

Sam’s reply is classic: “Of course you are. And I’m coming with you!”

The tension and emotion of the scene are sweetened by the humor, but it’s more than a simple, lighthearted statement. As Frodo and Sam walk through horrible trials to the bittersweet victory, we realize that these two characters function inseparably in the story. Without Frodo, Sam would be a timid gardener. Without Sam, Frodo would have never succeeded in his quest. Neither is diminished by the other’s presence in the story; instead, they become more than they could have been on their own.

It feels like heresy to type this, but I think something similar can be said about how God and humanity are entwined in the most remarkable story of all: reality.

It feels like heresy because, from one point of view, it is. To say that the Creator God of the universe is equal to something He created is wrong.

But that’s not what I intend by the analogy. Instead, I want to highlight that God, as He is carrying out His will in this world, invites us to be active, effective participants alongside Him.

Here’s what I mean, in a nutshell:

God is in charge, and so are we.

This is the fundamental tension at the heart of both the biblical record and human history. God is sovereign; His reign is eternal and all-encompassing, but He also delegates dominion, authority, and, yes, even sovereignty to humanity. Disagreement about how God’s sovereignty and humanity’s sovereignty stand with one another has consumed much of history’s philosophical and religious conversation.

And while I don’t think I’ll be the one to settle the debate, it has been interesting to me to see how much this subject appears in the Book of Daniel. The church I serve is walking through this book on Sunday mornings right now, and it seems like every chapter, every week, the question of the relationship between God’s sovereignty and humanity’s sovereignty is coming up.

This past week, we were looking at Daniel Chapter 4, where Nebuchadnezzar dreams about a tree getting cut down, and, spoiler alert, Daniel tells him the dream is about the king himself losing his mind. The reason for the lapse of sanity is that God is judging Nebuchadnezzar for failing to “acknowledge that the Most High is ruler over human kingdoms, and He gives them to anyone He wants.”

Nebuchadnezzar was impressed with himself and thought that his power over his kingdom, and all that had been accomplished as a result, was due to his inherent ability and worth. He needs to be reminded that God is in charge.

But that is not the only point that God makes in Chapter 4. He also tells the king (and us, the readers) that we are in charge, too. We have a choice in what we do with the life God has given us. Nebuchadnezzar is urged to “separate yourself from your sins by doing what is right, and from your injustices by showing mercy to the needy.”

In other words, God says, “don’t just use your life, your sovereignty to puff your self-image up; use it to bless others.”

God has given us life, and He is in charge, but that doesn’t mean we are automata with no free will. We are creations, but we are creations with choices to make. God urges us to make choices that will benefit those around us, not merely ourselves, but He doesn’t force those choices on us.

He creates a wide, wonderful world and gives it to us to take care of.

He promises justice and urges us to work towards it.

He desires salvation for all and calls us to proclaim it.

Daniel 4 obviously includes that while He won’t force the choice on us, He will hold us accountable for our selection. But accountability does not negate sovereignty: it highlights it. You don’t provide accountability for a robot that malfunctions; you reprogram or scrap it, but you don’t punish it. God’s punishment of Nebuchadnezzar’s pride illustrates that he could choose, though he initially chose wrongly.

God doesn’t exercise His sovereignty like a manufacturer overseeing a robotic assembly line; He exercises His authority like a High King over other kings. He lets us rule our kingdoms, be they as small as our person or as large as a nation. He allows us to make decisions to build or tear our kingdoms down. He allows us to bless one another, and He allows us to hurt one another.

Much of what we lament in this world is a direct result of the sovereignty God has delegated to humanity: we have freedom and use it to harm others. God could solve those problems instantly by taking away our choice and forcing us to comply with His will, but He doesn’t. He lets us live with the consequences of our and others’ choices.

This truth gives an incredible weight to our lives and what we do with them. If God exercised His rule over us by forcing us to comply, we could blame Him for any problems we might see. But because He has delegated choice, we have only ourselves to blame. He will hold us accountable but gives us the opportunity to hold ourselves accountable first. He wants us to use our freedom not for self-aggrandizement but for the good of our fellow image-bearers. But the choice is still ours.

God is in charge, and so are we. He has given us this life of freedom, this life of choice.

The question is, what are we going to do with it?

The offensive truth hidden inside the Good News and what we should do about it

Jesus came so you could die.

Note that I didn’t say, “Jesus came so HE could die.” That statement is good news, and it’s a foundational element of the gospel, but I meant what I said:

Jesus came so YOU could die.

And that’s also part of the good news.

If you’re anything like me, you read that, and you have some immediate objections:

“Wait…isn’t dying bad?”

“What about John 10:10 (‘I have come so that they may have life and have it in abundance.’)?”

“How is me dying any part of the ‘good news’?”

But, get past the initial shock reaction, and you can see that it is indeed good news.

After all, Jesus also said these words:

“Calling the crowd along with his disciples, he said to them, “If anyone wants to follow after me, let him deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me. For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life because of me and the gospel will save it.’”

According to Jesus, you can die now and live forever, or you can live for now and die forever. It’s death either way.

Most of the time, the choice to die now is not literal, instead referring to the intentional death of the ego, and a commitment to live under Jesus’ direction. It’s an inward death and an outward life. But sometimes, it is actual, physical death that’s on the table.

Daniel Chapter 3 records a story about some men who faced just such a stark choice. Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah (their birth names, not the slave names their captors gave them) are commanded to fall down and worship an image of King Nebuchadnezzar.

The consequences for not obeying?

“Whoever does not fall down and worship will immediately be thrown into a furnace of blazing fire.”

The response of the three Hebrew men (as reported by some jealous tattletales)?

“There are some Jews you have appointed to manage the province of Babylon: Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. These men have ignored you, the king; they do not serve your gods or worship the gold statue you have set up.”

The king’s response to their response?

“in a furious rage Nebuchadnezzar gave orders to bring in Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. So these men were brought before the king. Nebuchadnezzar asked them, “Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, is it true that you don’t serve my gods or worship the gold statue I have set up? Now if you’re ready, when you hear the sound of the horn, flute, zither, lyre, harp, drum, and every kind of music, fall down and worship the statue I made. But if you don’t worship it, you will immediately be thrown into a furnace of blazing fire—and who is the god who can rescue you from my power?”

Their response to his response to their response?

“Nebuchadnezzar, we don’t need to give you an answer to this question. If the God we serve exists, then he can rescue us from the furnace of blazing fire, and he can rescue us from the power of you, the king. But even if he does not rescue us, we want you as king to know that we will not serve your gods or worship the gold statue you set up.”

That’s a bold choice. It’s a choice to die.

But, before we look at how it turned out, consider a scenario in which they chose differently:

“Ok, king. We’ll bow. Play the music and watch us genuflect and grovel. We’re Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, your humble servants.”

It looks like self-preservation but would, in fact, be choosing death as well. In fact, it’d be choosing death by suicide. Instead of burning in a furnace, they’d bleed out because such a choice would end up requiring a myriad of cuts. They’d have to cut out their heart-language, cut off their relationship to their people, sever their ties to their past, excise their ideals, and chop off the lifeline between them and their God.

A furnace is quick; death by the thousand cuts of self-preservation is slow. But it’s death either way.

Spoiler alert: they didn’t die either way that day. Instead, the God who was able to save them actually saved them:

And these three men, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego fell, bound, into the furnace of blazing fire. Then King Nebuchadnezzar jumped up in alarm. He said to his advisers, “Didn’t we throw three men, bound, into the fire?”

“Yes, of course, Your Majesty,” they replied to the king.

He exclaimed, “Look! I see four men, not tied, walking around in the fire unharmed; and the fourth looks like a son of the gods.”

Nebuchadnezzar then approached the door of the furnace of blazing fire and called, “Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, you servants of the Most High God—come out!” So Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego came out of the fire. When the satraps, prefects, governors, and the king’s advisers gathered around, they saw that the fire had no effect on the bodies of these men: not a hair of their heads was singed, their robes were unaffected, and there was no smell of fire on them. Nebuchadnezzar exclaimed, “Praise to the God of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego! He sent his angel and rescued his servants who trusted in him. They violated the king’s command and risked their lives rather than serve or worship any god except their own God. Therefore I issue a decree that anyone of any people, nation, or language who says anything offensive against the God of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego will be torn limb from limb and his house made a garbage dump. For there is no other god who is able to deliver like this.”

Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah chose to die, but Jesus gave them life. I could be wrong, but I think the “fourth man” in the fire was Jesus, incarnate, re-injected into the time stream to prove that “those who lose their life” for the Kingdom of God will be saved.

Oh, and deliver His three countrymen.

If He did that, then, is He less capable today? I don’t think so. The world doesn’t need any more grovelers and craven self-preservers, but it is in desperate need of some courageous die-rs, self-deny-ers, and Jesus-followers. Jesus can save the latter, but He can’t do anything for the former.

What will you choose? Remember, it’s death either way, but one death leads to life everlasting, and the other does not.  

Choose wisely.

Encouragement from Daniel 1 on how to be faithful

“We live in (insert superlative here) times.” 

So says every person who has ever lived. Due to our common temptation towards chronological snobbery, we all tend to think that our times are the worst, the best, or the most boringest ever in the history of ever. 

The challenge is not in correctly describing our times; it is in living faithfully in them. 

That’s where Christ-followers need to be history students, to consider the examples of others who have lived through their superlative times with grace and fidelity, and to emulate them. We need to put aside our cultural pride and consider how someone lived out their faith, in their time, in situations that bear little resemblance to ours. In doing so, we will be able to glean timeless and challenging principles that can be applied not just in our lives but be passed on to those who will have to deal with their times which will be different from ours. 

The disciplines required for such study, consideration, and living will do far more to change us for the better than any amount of current events handwringing or trumpet-blowing ever could. And the results will be far more beneficial for our children and grandchildren. 

With thoughts like these in mind, I began studying the Book of Daniel in preparation for preaching through it in a series called “Between Two Worlds.” And, right off the bat, in Chapter 1, I was struck by the example of Daniel and his friends, Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah. 

These young men experienced tragedy and oppression after growing up as royal household members. They had seen their city besieged and conquered, been carried off into exile, and were being forced to prepare for life as hostages. And, if that wasn’t enough, they are then hand-picked for the “honor” of getting to serve the king responsible for all of the above. 

Their example would be instructive by itself, regardless of their response. But to see their faithfulness play out through the book’s first chapter, and beyond, makes it a must-read for all who live in “insert superlative here” times. 

What I saw as the secret of their success in being faithful is simple. It can be distilled to two points in three words: 

1. Remember
2. Keep going 

Please don’t take my word for it: I’d encourage you to read Daniel Chapter 1 and see for yourself. But here’s how I see these play out in the introduction to Daniel, Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah’s story. 

First, the role the remembering played in their faithfulness is crucial. Indeed, throughout the history of humanity, the importance of memory for perseverance and success is difficult to overstate. Cut someone off from their past, and you have hamstrung their future. Conversely, remembrance of things past (sorry, Proust) can enliven and insure that same future. 

Specifically, there are four things that Daniel and his friends remember: 

1. They remember who they are (members of the royal household of Israel, God’s chosen people, and servants of YHWH, the one, true God)
2. They remember where they are going (back to the promised land in seventy years, cf. Jeremiah 25) 
3. They remember where they are (powerless, in the kingdom of their oppressors)
4. They remember who is in charge (not Nebuchadnezzar, but YHWH, God Himself) 

Armed with their memories, they could keep going in the face of whatever came their way. That perseverance also had four components: 

1. They walked with humility
2. They went with one another
3. They had the courage to compromise
4. They plodded in hope

Now, with those principles in hand, let’s apply them to our own lives: 

We need to remember who we are. Every human being on planet Earth is made in God’s image and worthy of love, dignity, and freedom. Because of sin, every person is also broken beyond belief, and love, dignity, and freedom are in constant short supply. 

But that’s not the end of our story because of Jesus. Mary’s baby boy was the walking, talking, living, healing, teaching, showing proof of humanity’s value to their Father. And Jesus’ death and resurrection paved the way for restoring individual souls and the social fabric. It changes your understanding of who you are, loved by the Creator of the Universe, deemed worthy of His death by Jesus Himself, and considered a fit dwelling place for the Holy Spirit. 

We need to remember where we are going. An essential element of the Good News is that Jesus is coming back one day to fix everything broken. As His followers, we get to experience some of the fruit of that restoration now. We are privileged to see relationships restored, peace peeking out amid chaos, and humility winning the day. But the full experience of the Kingdom promises is yet to come. 

Some people think that the purpose of Christianity is to get to Heaven when they die. Nope. That’s not where we are going; that’s merely a stop along the way. When I take my family on a road trip to some vacation destination, I’d be disappointed if they treated the freeway rest stop like it was the point of the trip. 

That’s why the biblical descriptions of the New Heavens and New Earth are so important. They point us to the fact that Heaven, as it stands now, is a wonderful place to arrive, but it’s temporary. Heaven will get re-made the same way the Earth will get re-made. That’s because the goal, the destination, is the family of God dwelling with God in a restored Creation. The goal is Eden but with more people and no deceitful snakes. 

We need to remember where we are at. And we’re not there yet. We are here, in the muck and mire of this sinful world. Yes, it’s broken, but that doesn’t mean we despair. Nor should we be sitting silent and twiddling our thumbs. Nor should we whistle a merry tune and pretend everything is fine here in River City. Instead, we are called to be ambassadors of the coming Kingdom, recognizing the problems and being forthright with the solution. 

If you are “bought by the blood,” you haven’t just entered a “heaven when you die” arrangement. Every Jesus-follower is called daily to be how every image-bearer they come across receives the love, dignity, and understanding God says they deserve. Every day is Christmas, and you get to bring joy and the Good News to everyone you meet. There’s a reason Jesus taught His disciples to pray, “Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven,” and it is because we needed our eyes to be opened to the fact that there is work to be done to make it so. 

We need to remember who is in charge. Just because we have an essential role right where we are doesn’t mean we should carry ourselves with pride, convinced that we are God’s gift to humanity. Jesus already filled that role. The postman doesn’t boast about all the checks, love letters, and presents he delivers as if he was the source of them: all he does is get them to their intended recipient from the one who sent them. That’s us, and that’s God. We are not in charge; He is. 

We also need to remember that the current human and spiritual power structures are not in charge; God is. It is tempting to cower before those who currently have power, to cringe and give in to their demands. It’s also tempting to bow to society’s idols along with everyone else, to worship what makes us comfortable, distracted, or famous. But we can’t because we know the truth: God is still on His throne, and Jesus is still coming back. 

To keep going, we need to walk with humility. Daniel and his friends persevered not because they were convinced they were all that and a bag of chips but because they knew God was. They had an attitude of humility that showed up constantly in their interactions with their captors, one another, and God. 

We need the same humility. We need to recognize that we are not where we are because we were the best and brightest, but purely by the grace of God. We must approach those around us without demands or judgment from on high. As D.L. Moody once said about Christians, “We’re just one beggar telling another beggar where to get bread.” As we live out the Good News, we do so best when we are humble. After all, Jesus showed us that was the way. 

To keep going, we need to go with one another. A key result of walking with humility is that other people might finally be able to stand being around us. I jest slightly, but we are foolish if we think we can sustain ourselves along the Christian journey without friends walking alongside us. As the proverbial saying goes, “If you want to go fast, go alone; if you want to go far, go together.” 

One of the primary reasons for the decline of Christianity in many Western cultures is that we tried to make it a solo project. It’s not. We are brought into a family when we are saved. It’s less “Jesus is my homeboy” and more “Welcome into our crazy home.” We need to build relationships with fellow Christ-followers, be a part of a church family, and value one another more than we love our private preferences. 

To keep going, we need to have the courage to compromise. At first glance, that statement looks like heresy, mainly because we live in a day when everyone who disagrees with anyone is the hero. Conversely, anyone who advocates for conversation and understanding other perspectives is the enemy. But community can’t be formed by everyone rushing for the edges; community is formed by meeting in the middle. It’s called “common ground” for a reason. 

Sure, there are elements we absolutely cannot compromise on, but there are fewer than we think. To persevere, we must set aside the continual and exhausting demand to be right all the time. We need to be willing to seek understanding and even live with disagreement. The danger with courageous compromise, of coming to the middle, is that we’ll take shots from both sides. But that shouldn’t bother us: after all, our King was crucified by Romans (read: Democrats) who did so with the support of the Jews (read: Republicans). As Christ’s followers, we should not be known as “Right” or “Left”: we should be known as “His.”

To keep going, we need to plod in hope. And that following is a marathon, not a sprint. I love the word “plod” because it captures the slow, deliberate pace that allows for a lifelong journey. But it doesn’t mean we do so with our eyes downcast and a frown. We need to plod, but not like Eeyore, moping our way into the kingdom of God. No, we ought to be plodding in hope! Our eyes have been opened to the wonder of Creation; God’s power and presence have filled our hearts; our futures are secure forevermore! We have redeemed lives and a holy purpose, and Jesus is returning! 

We can be faithful in our time between two worlds. We can remember, and we can keep going. 

What is the purpose of power, how should it be used, and what does that mean for followers of Jesus?

Depending on how you look at it, every human relationship is shaped by the answer to one question: who or what has ultimate power?

At the individual level, do I work 80 hours a week to make more money, or do I work 40 hours a week to spend more time at home?

At the family level, do we spend our Sundays driving to and from various kids’ competitions or do we gather with our church family and rest?

At the community level, do we invest more resources in raising teacher salaries or in attracting new businesses?

At the national level, do we care more about economic growth or about mitigating climate change?

And beyond. At every level, these are not dichotomies, there’s not a single right answer, but the answers we give will ultimately come down to what we value most or what is most important to us.

Or, in other words, what or who has the ultimate power?

Power in Daniel 2

That’s the question that is roiling throughout Daniel Chapter 2. Nebuchadnezzar is king, but he hasn’t been there long. His advisors are a hodge-podge of court magicians, wise men, and counselors; some new, and some inherited from the prior regime. The king is concerned with solidifying his power. His advisors are concerned with maintaining their own.

And, in the middle of this tense political situation, the king has a dream. Dreams in Babylon were thought to be messages from the gods, and Nebuchadnezzar is disturbed by what he sees. He thinks that the dream has implications for his rule, for his power. But, as concerned as he is about the contents, he is also mindful of the potential use of such a situation.

The court advisors were the ones traditionally thought to be able to speak for the gods, particularly in the interpretation of dreams, those messages from the gods. So, Nebuchadnezzar calls his advisors in and demands that they give him the interpretation.

But the power play is that he also demands that they tell him the dream. That way, he says, he can trust their interpretation. They insist that he has asked for the impossible, that only the gods can do that. The trouble is, they’ve been claiming to speak for the gods all along. The king’s power is apparently greater than the power his advisors claim.

He proves it by condemning all the advisors to death. Talk about solidifying your power: just kill everyone who opposes you.

But what Nebuchadnezzar doesn’t figure is that there are several advisors in his administration who are servants of YHWH, worshippers of the God of Israel: Daniel, Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah. These faithful men pray, and God gives them the answer the king demanded.

The revelation he passes on to Nebuchadnezzar is probably not what the king wants to hear: your kingdom will come to an end, the kingdom that follows it will come to an end, and the kingdoms that follow it will come to an end. In fact, the only power that doesn’t end will be the Kingdom of God, the reign of God’s King, a Kingdom and reign which will destroy all others and never be succeeded.

And Nebuchadnezzar praises Daniel and gives him gifts! Why?

Because when Daniel shares the dream and its interpretation with the king, he does so with respect. He doesn’t play power games, he doesn’t claim power for himself, and he acknowledges that there is no wisdom or power apart from the true God, YHWH. Daniel was certainly motivated in part by the fact that his head was on the chopping block as well, but the only thing he asked the king for was that his fellow advisors receive mercy and not be destroyed.

Daniel essentially opts out of the power games the Nebuchadnezzar and his advisors were playing, opting instead to give credit where credit is due and graciously point those around him to a greater truth, the highest power, and use whatever position was granted him for the good of those around him.

The Babylonian king (and most other kings) and the Babylonian political functionaries (and most other political functionaries) were claiming power for themselves, in hopes that they could control the people around them. Daniel willingly gives power away, choosing to humble himself, and reacting with compassion for others.

The power of compulsion that the world seeks pales when compared to the power of compassion that Daniel demonstrates.

Power in Jesus’ Life

In Daniel’s example, we have echoes of another prophet, a wandering wise man who also knew the power of compassion. But this man, unlike Daniel, had more than just borrowed power: he had all the power. He said this, in Matthew 28: “All authority has been given to me, in heaven and on earth.”

It’s Jesus. He didn’t just speak for God; He was God. But how did he express his power?

Matthew 9: “When he saw the crowds, he felt compassion for them, because they were distressed and dejected, like sheep without a shepherd.”

Jesus, with all the power, and all the authority in heaven and on earth, didn’t look at humanity as objects to be controlled; he saw us as people to be loved. He felt compassion for them. Elsewhere, we’re told that he “didn’t come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” And: “Greater love has no man than this, but that he lay down his life for his friends.”

That’s what truly ultimate power looks like: loving self-sacrifice.

Jesus’ People and Power

This makes the two paths Jesus’ followers tend to take regarding power even more mystifying. Instead of following the example of Daniel, or of the Lord we claim to submit to as King, we are prone to two temptations. They look like opposites, and may be that, but they are equally wrong, even sinful.

1.     We embrace worldly power and ignore Jesus’ solutions to this world’s problems

2.     We ignore worldly problems and embrace a Jesus who offers no worldly power

You can recognize those who take the former path by their close identity with their chosen political party, their manipulative maneuvering, and their yelling. The second group is also easily identified: they wave gospel tracts in the faces of the starving, create churches that function like secret compounds, and twiddle their thumbs while they wait to die and go to heaven or be raptured and let Jesus do all the work.

At various times in my journey with Jesus, I’ve been in both camps. I’ve railed against those who disagree with me, and I’ve abandoned the public square. I’ve thrown stones and built walls.

But, thankfully, God is merciful, and Jesus shows us how to perfectly walk the path that Daniel also trod.

That way is to embrace Jesus’ model and teaching AND meet worldly problems with the power of compassion.

In order for that to happen, we will need to opt out of some things and opt in to some different things.

We need to opt-out of using power as means of control and opt-in to using power to express compassion

Jesus tells us that the two most important commands are to “Love God” and “love people.” When we join the world and its systems in viewing power as a means of control, we inevitably reduce other people, both those “with” us and those “against” us, to pawns that we can move around our social chessboard for our own purposes.

That’s not the way of Jesus. He told us to “do unto others as we would have them do unto us.” Instead of control, we need to see power as an instrument of compassion. Power is not a lever with which we move people according to our whims; it’s a gift from God that we steward to serve those who bear His image.

We need to opt-out of cultural Christianity and opt-in to following the example of Jesus

In the last 100 years, the Good News of the Kingdom has too often been reduced to a good news of “pray this prayer for personal salvation which you’ll receive at the end of a life that you can live however you want.” This “gospel” has produced a version of Christianity that allows many in the Western world to claim they are Christian, without that claim costing them anything because it is culturally acceptable.

First, I am doubtful that such a gospel bears any biblical hope of saving anyone. Second, it eradicates any concern for anyone other than us. That’s not how Jesus spent His life, that’s not the example He gave us. It is not a “gospel of works” to say that people who claim Jesus as Lord should devote themselves to doing what He did: that’s the literal definition of “disciple”, “follower”, and “Christian”.

Conclusion

This world has problems and is in desperate need of power to solve them. The trouble is that worldly power and worldly solutions only seem to make things worse. Instead of continually beating our heads against that futility, or instead of running away to hide in our “holy huddles”, the world needs Jesus’ people to love them enough to use His power for their good.  

a reflective paraphrase of the biblical report on the most important moment in history

The story of everything you’ve ever seen, everyone you’ve ever heard about, and every place you’ve ever been begins the same way:

“In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness covered the surface of the watery depths, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the surface of the waters.” (Genesis 1:1-2, CSB)

But you’ve read those words. You’ve heard them countless times. Allow me to paraphrase them for you. But you’re going to have to focus. Stop thinking about everything else for a moment.

Focus.

Quit looking around and incessantly do-ing.

Focus.

Give this five minutes of your time.

Focus.

Right when nothing was suddenly displaced by everything: God.

When out of nowhere, everywhere was surprisingly there: God.

Where the train of time first began bouncing down its bumpy tracks, and the inexorable line began adding before to its after: God.

Elohim, the Hebrew Scriptures call Him. Elohim, a plural name, working in such singular unity that His actions are singular verbs. The point of everything, the star of the show, the Alpha before the beginning, and, spoiler alert, the Omega going beyond the ending, is introduced but without any real introduction. As we read, we are like concertgoers who’ve been given tickets to a show for an artist we know nothing about. We sit in darkness, complete and total stillness. No hearts beating, no lungs breathing, no clocks ticking, no amplifiers humming, no LEDs glowing.

We sit.

We wait.

We wonder.

We expect a spotlight, a screen to blaze a hype video, an emcee to tell us something, anything.

Instead, and without warning, a symphonic crescendo blasts into our senses. Quasars and quantum foam, spinning galaxies and silver stars, imperceptibly tiny atoms and imperceptibly massive angels come whirling up and around and through, crashing into our still senseless senses. We don’t know what they are, just that they are and are way beyond our control.

In the middle of it all, we gasp at the sucking vacuum spaces interdwelling in the great everything surrounding us, crushing us beneath the tremendous multitude of its mysteries and matter. A voice like many waters speaks, and suddenly we sense a vast water that ripples and roars beneath and around and over us. There is no light, no up, no sense of order. All is chaos and violence and darkness.

But we are not overwhelmed. We are not crushed. We are not perishing. For in the midst of all the furious futility, we know, though we do not know how, that hope is hovering just above and slightly beyond the chaos, far enough not to be caught up in it but close enough to engage and intervene. That floating presence gives us peace, its unseen light points us toward love, its sovereign position promises us salvation.

And that’s enough for us to take our eyes off the crazy chaos and fix them on the Creator who reigns. Enough for us to respond to Him in worship. Even if this is where the story ended, it would be enough to draw our hearts to Him in praise. But this isn’t where the story ends…it’s just where it begins

A perfect description of the kind of church we should avoid creating

Trevin Wax’s recent post for The Gospel Coalition reflecting on, of all things, Barnes & Noble’s turnaround, is well worth your time. This paragraph especially struck me:

“Surveying the cultural trends, we might be tempted to put our faith in something else, to focus our attention not on the Word and the sacraments but on extraneous things—our coffee, our music, or our programming. Over time, pastors in the fields of labor lose any sense of being a leader in worship and become managers of religious dispensaries, as if they oversee a supermarket of spiritual goods and services.” (emphasis mine)

There seems to be a growing awareness among the saints that the shock and awe days of spectacle, consumerism, and competition must end (and end soon) if the Church is to continue with any effectiveness in the West. The glitz and glammer distracted us for a while, but the last few years should have convinced us again that, as Wax writes,

Come what may, there’s no substitute for love. Loving God. Loving to worship God. Loving to worship God with his people. Loving to hear God’s Word and to feast on his goodness at the table.

Check out the rest of the article here: https://www.thegospelcoalition.org/blogs/trevin-wax/lesson-church-barnes-noble-turnaround/

History, holiness, humility, and fellowship

A first-century believer who suddenly dropped into a modern church wouldn’t know what was happening. That’s my conclusion after fifteen years in ministry and reading a lot of church history.

One of the most obvious points of confusion for that first-century Christ-follower would be the contrast between the modern church’s approach to fellowship and what she was used to.

We don’t; they did.

This side-lining of a vital mark of the New Testament church only makes sense. Our cultural milieu places excessive emphasis on expressing oneself, being oneself, and promoting oneself. It only makes sense, then, that fellowship (dependent as it is on denying oneself) has fallen out of favor.

Is there any hope of regaining fellowship as a celebrated and integral part of church life? If so, we must figure out how to overcome the overwhelming cultural influences of the day. Here are three suggestions for rediscovering fellowship.

Gaining the proper historical perspective

My mom gave my wife and me a cutting from my grandmother’s plant. She might have gotten hers from a plant that her grandmother had. Now, I can go to the local garden center and buy a new plant anytime. They’re cheap, usually healthy, and I can buy another one when I inevitably kill it. But it doesn’t mean anything. A plant with a family heritage behind it is much better, even if it’s visually the same. The history makes it so much better. I look at the plant differently.

We need more history to have true fellowship. We tend to settle for garden center fellowship. Cheap, fast, and disposable. We are glad to have fellowship with someone until they make us mad. Then, instead of pursuing conversation and reconciliation, we dump them and move on. It’s a perspective problem. The kind of perspective that fellowship grows best in isn’t what that so and so said last week, what he did last year, what she posted last month. You’ll never have fellowship if past offenses, anger, and accusations define your relationships. That’s too short-sighted.

Fellowship requires more than a superficial connection to those around us. It requires a relationship deepened by both joys and sorrows, brokenness and healing, apology and forgiveness. It takes leaning in, speaking up, and listening well. The cultural obsession with immediately canceling those we disagree with is killing our fellowship.

We also need to recognize that true fellowship is based on the history of Jesus Christ, God’s Son, coming to earth, being a man, walking, talking, and eating with us. Dying, bleeding, buried. Raised, exalted, and glorious. Fellowship with other people is grounded in the fact that God sought fellowship with you at the expense of His Son. With the proper perspective, fellowship stops being about you and what you want and how you were wronged and becomes a desire for God’s glory and unity between brothers and sisters in Christ. Joy is impossible for Christians if they are out of fellowship with God or a fellow believer. Jesus came to earth to restore that path to joy.

Emphasizing holiness

Holiness isn’t popular right now. Many people see any pursuit of an increasingly sanctified life as spiritual oneupmanship. The worst thing you can do in today’s society is strive to be more like Jesus because that means you think you’re better than everyone else.

“Blessed are you who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for you will be satisfied?”

“No,” our culture says, “Cursed are you who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for you surely hate everyone.”

The demonization of desiring Christ to be formed in one’s life and the normalization of self-indulgent apathy are celebrated in certain circles as opening doors to fellowship. Nothing could be further from the truth. Contrary to most people’s expectations, deemphasizing holiness is not the path to fellowship. Instead, fellowship is only possible by strongly emphasizing it! There has to be a standard; there must be expectations for fellowship to work. Everyone in church life talks about fellowship, but we have to understand that our words don’t mean a thing if our experience contradicts them.

Words aren’t the basis; lived truth is. Salvation is not dependent on your works, and scripture’s clear that that’s not the case. But works reveal salvation, and fellowship depends on them. If you are continually and unrepentantly walking in darkness yet still profess faith, you’re a liar and aren’t in fellowship with God or anyone else. If you occasionally fall into sin, repent, and seek restoration with God and others, you’re practicing the truth.

Holiness matters because a life that is in fellowship with God will be in fellowship with others. It is natural. If we are in good relational standing with the Creator, we will line up with His creatures, particularly His image-bearers. There is a one-to-one correlation between your relationship with God and your relationship with others. If you are walking in the light of God’s holiness, you have fellowship with others.

Ultimately, though, all of our efforts at holiness will fall short. And that’s good news! Because self-sufficiency does not lead to fellowship with God or our brothers and sisters. Scripture calls us to a godly struggle for holiness while revealing that we will never be good enough. At that point, we must recognize that Jesus’ blood is the only avenue to fellowship with God and others. Left to our own devices, we won’t make it. But God makes a way through his grace. That’s hard for us to accept. We all want the boast of self-sufficiency. We all want to be masters of our own fate, captains of our ships. But we can’t. We need Jesus. We need Him for salvation, and we need Him for fellowship. That’s why this last point is so important.

Recovering humility

Pride makes us want to pretend we are sinless. Pride kills fellowship. To pretend that we don’t have sin needing repentance effectively declares that Jesus died for nothing. That’s a lie. Humility is the antidote for our pride, the potion for restored fellowship.

Recognizing that the world is not waiting breathlessly for my next social media update is a good step toward humility. Putting my desires aside for a brother or sister’s needs is another. Confessing sin to one another is progress. Gathering with the saints, even when I don’t want to, greeting someone even when I’m uncomfortable, loving people who don’t look like me…these are all steps to humility.

Fellowship is ultimately just mutually acted out humility. We must be humble if the modern church will demonstrate appealing fellowship to the world. This demonstration requires individual humility, where no one believer thinks more highly of himself than he ought, but it also means corporate humility. Whites and blacks, old immigrants and new immigrants, Calvinists and Arminians: none are better than others. But fellowship will remain ignored and disposable until we all recognize it and live it.

We need to change if we truly want to see New Testament fellowship restored. It will take humility; it will take pursuing holiness; it will take committing to building history.

And it will be worth it.

A parable of the Kingdom

One day, two boys were told by their father to dig a new well for the family. He wasn’t just giving them busy work: the old well had good, sweet water, but the family’s needs were increasing, and he worried it wouldn’t be enough. He had already picked a spot, and now he showed the boys and gave them instructions. He said that it should be deep enough not to see the bottom, no matter how clear the water. They would dig while he worked in the barn or out in the fields, and when he returned, he would check their work and the water level. He informed them that he expected them to work hard until they had completed the task.

So, reluctant and grumbling, they trudged out to the site their father had selected for the new well as he headed to the barn. It had been a hot, dry summer; the parched soil was hard, and the sun was relentless as they took up their shovels. At first, they could barely scratch the surface, no matter how hard they stomped or pushed. But, mindful of their father’s promise to check their progress, they kept digging.

It had been after lunch when they started, so they only had a partial day to dig. Thus, when their father came to inspect their work before going inside, they had a hole that barely reached the shortest boy’s knees when he stood in it. And there was no sign of water.

The next day, the father woke the boys up and set them to their task again. And again, the soil was hard and the sun hot. They dug and dug and dug, and the hole gradually grew deeper. A brief lunch break, and they were back at it. When their father came in from the fields, the tallest boy could rest his arms at ground level when standing in the hole. But there was still no sign of water, and the soil was as hard as ever.

That night, though exhausted, the boys discussed the task ahead of them the coming day. They despaired of ever getting the well deep enough to strike water. The oldest boy had an idea: what if, instead of digging all the next day, they dug until their father was out of sight and then hauled water from the old well to fill the new well? His younger brother agreed, and they went to sleep, excited that the next day could be their last one digging.

When they woke, they feigned discouragement as they walked outside with their father and began digging. But they were secretly excited because their father had packed a lunch and planned to be gone all day, visiting the neighboring farm to help with the hay harvest. As soon as they were sure he couldn’t see them, they rushed to the barn, grabbed two buckets, and began transferring water from the old well to the new well. It took them all day, but the water was rippling just a few inches below the surface when their father returned. The father was pleased with the apparent quality of their work and congratulated them.

In the coming days, the family drew water from both the old and new wells. Of course, water continually refilled the old well, but not the new one, and because the water was also seeping through the bottom, it was soon empty. The father put two and two together and scolded the boys. He told them they wouldn’t get lunch the next day as they would be digging from sunup to sundown.

The next day, they walked to the new well at sunrise, dreading the day of toil ahead. But they were pleasantly surprised: the soil that had been so hard they could barely scratch it was now soft and easy to dig. And because of that, they made much quicker progress. Soon the well was so deep that the sun couldn’t reach the bottom, and the cool shade and wet walls made it almost pleasant. It still took all day, but as the sun was going down and they heard their father’s greeting as he came from the barn, water began to rush up from the ground beneath them. They laughed as they climbed up a rope toward dinner and bed.

The following day, the entire family walked outside as soon as it was light to check on the well. The water had filled the well and overflowed in a little stream running towards the pasture where they kept their animals. The water was already clear and even tasted better than the old well. They all laughed and rejoiced and decided to take the day off and picnic in the shade beside their new well.