A Family (not) Divided: A Communion Meditation

“A house divided against itself cannot stand.”  This sentence, which is part of today’s gospel reading, is so deeply linked in the American imagination with Abraham Lincoln and the U.S. Civil War that reading it in context this week, especially across various translations, kind of caught me off guard.  A house.  A family.  If a family is divided against itself, it will not survive.

This really resonated with my experience now as a father of five growing children.  I see how they bond with my wife and I, and with each other.  I see how their selfishness, brokenness, and the injuries and insecurities rooted in their individual pasts start fights between them.  And part of our job as parents is to help them, as we put it, make the conflicts “smaller, not bigger.”

When I think about what “a family divided against itself” might look like, I extrapolate from these children, whom we know so well, but who are also deep mysteries, both to us and to themselves.  The thought of them developing deep, long-lasting divisions and animosities against each other is a chilling, frightening thought.

These children, whom we love so deeply, whom we long to see blossom, thrive, and become all God created them to be: it would break my heart to see them become enemies against each other.  But in a broken, messed-up world, with broken, flawed parents, in spite of our best efforts, I know it is still possible.

One of the things Danielle and I do to try to build the children with ourselves into a family is to eat together, every chance we get.  Most mornings I’m off to work before the rest of the family is up, and I’m rarely home for lunch.  But everyone who is home is generally expected to show up at the table if a meal is being eaten.  

I’m sure that this will become a greater challenge as the children grow older and gain more independence.  But we still hope to instill in them the importance, the vitality, of sitting down at the table together and sharing a meal.  We hope that this shared time together is one of the ways our children are brought closer together to each other, and closer to us as their parents.

Perhaps something like this is behind Christ’s invitation to all of us to come to this table.  Especially in this particular congregation, there is a wide spectrum of viewpoints: theological, social, political, etc.  One of the practices that I believe does pull us together is this table. It directs our attention together not just to an abstract set of principles, a shared bloodline, or chanting some magical ancient formula, but to a Person.  We are called here to focus on The Person of Christ, by whom all things (and people) were created, and through whom is the only redemption and connection with life eternal.  Through the sacrifice of His body and blood, we have become His body, and we share these elements to remember that sacrifice.

For this is what the Lord himself said, and I pass it on to you just as I received it. On the night when he was betrayed, the Lord Jesus took a loaf of bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, "This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me." In the same way, he took the cup of wine after supper, saying, "This cup is the new covenant between God and you, sealed by the shedding of my blood. Do this in remembrance of me as often as you drink it." For every time you eat this bread and drink this cup, you are announcing the Lord's death until Jesus comes again.

Offering Meditation:

As a family of seven, we hold all things in common.  We have a decision-making structure in mind where, as the children mature, we intend to pay attention to their ideas and growing opinions, including how we use our money.  But ultimately Danielle and I make decisions about how we as a family spend our money, and we are thus the ones held responsible for those decisions.

I see a similar, though of course not identical, structure in our congregation.  As believers mature, their voices are raised in discussions about all matters in the life of the congregation.  As those voices are recognized for their maturity, they are elected to places where they help make decisions for this part of the family of Christ.  And of course they are the ones held responsible for those decisions.

That is an oversimplified picture of the people we are voting for after the worship service, the ones who make decisions on the money put in these plates, that goes into the budget also voted on.  May God be glorified by these gifts, and by the decisions and actions of this congregation, and the leaders of this family.

No Partying in Hell

Hell is permanent separation from any and every comfort we have ever known. Every means we have ever accessed that would remove, soften, or alleviate pain and suffering will be removed from us. Every expression, whether human or divine, that would console us in our agony or desperation will disappear beyond all hope of ever returning. Even our ability to be numbed to continual torture, our ability to internally distance ourselves from endless pain by those internal mechanisms we call "scarring," will vanish. 

All of these coping and comforting mechanisms are gifts of God. When we have chosen separation from the God of all comfort, we have chosen separation from His gifts of comfort as well. 

All this is why I shake my head in sadness at statements like "We're gonna party in Hell!"  It reminds me that what such a person sees as good things represented by the word "party" are really comforts and gifts from God (however inappropriately used they may be).  They seem to see Hell as being the place where rebels are sent, not alone, but with the sum total of the lives they know, as-is.  Under this picture, they would have access to the same things there that they enjoy here. But the reality is that they won't even have those things. They don't understand who God is, the nature of His gifts, or how those good gifts can be misused in a way that separates us from their Giver. 

Finding Hope

Getting out of bed each morning is a choice.  We must decide to put one foot in front of another, to engage in life.  Such a decision needs a foundation.  Why do we choose to step out, to move into the world and make a contribution?  Part of that foundation is inertia, the power of habit.  We may be motivated by the expectations of others around us, or by rewards we hope to receive for our work.

But ultimately, when other reasons fail, when our lives "bottom out," we look for a reason to hope.  When the relationships and mechanisms we had come to rely on finally fall away, when rewards seem less and less likely, what is left?  What reason do we have to go on, to hope that anything positive or true could rise out of the rubble we see?

We need hope.  We don’t need wishful thinking, an empty, floating desire with no basis for confidence that it will actually come to pass.  We don’t need a naive optimism with no rational footing or foundation.  That kind of "hope" is ultimately empty, and certain to disappoint; the only question is how soon the disappointment will come.

None of us can precisely predict every event that will happen.  In a broken, fallen, unpredictable world, how can one hope?  Where can we find a sure basis for hope?

In the salvation story of Scripture we find the answer.  Hope that will not fail must rely on, and point to, something beyond this beautiful, yet flawed and finite, creation. Such a hope must be impervious to our greatest efforts, more perfect than our foulest evil.  The only source of a truly reliable hope is God Himself.

Through the sacrifice of Jesus Christ, we are offered the opportunity to acknowledge God as Master and Lord, but not with a groveling that leads to despair and anxiety.  Instead, we are offered the promise of God’s Kingdom, in eternity beyond our deaths, to be sure, but also today, here and now.  The Holy Spirit of God Himself comes to live within us, to be the beginning of the proof of the reality of this hope.  The faithfulness of our infinitely powerful God, the sacrifice of Christ, and the presence of the Holy Spirit mean when we lean into His promise of salvation, the Hope that this brings is a hope that cannot fail.

Such a hope becomes the ever-refreshing reason we can lift our eyes, and lift our foot, to take another step forward. Hope based on the promises of God is a resource for the will, strengthening our ability to choose right instead of wrong.  Because it is built on the eternal promises of a faithful, loving God instead of something flimsy and contingent, our hope is not strained or broken by the circumstances of a fallen world. 

As we search for fulfillment and meaning, there are many places we can look and experience the frustration of a failing hope.  But when we let our vision be shaped by the reality of God’s love, and the hope that is undergirded by His promises, we discover a hope that does not fail, but instead a hope that finds.  The hope Christ gives is a finding hope.

Whoever Shows Up

After I graduated from college, I moved into a small apartment within walking distance from campus.  Over the next ten years or so, I continued to make friends with new students, then bid them farewell as they graduated and moved on.  I had those friends over for countless meals, cookies, card games, and deep spiritual discussions.  I was there as they explored their own humanity, dealt with victories and disappointments, and struggled with the big questions (Does God exist?  What is He like?  What career path should I pursue? etc.).

I made a lot of mistakes in those friendships.  I was sometimes heavy-handed, overstating this or that argument.  I had my own emotional weaknesses and struggles, which made it easier for me to cling a little too close, or misread important situations.  But gradually I came to a principle that seemed to work for a healthy way to approach those friendships.

Love is striving to understand what someone really needs, then doing whatever is appropriate for you to do to help that other person's needs to be fulfilled.  It doesn't always mean helping them get what they want.  It doesn't always mean that you'll be the one to actually "do" anything at all.  It won't mean that you understand all of what they need (only God knows that).  What is appropriate for you to do will vary, as well, depending on what your role is in the life of the other person.  

This principle is, for me, flexible enough that I can usually find a way to apply it to anyone I meet.  If I have a brief interaction with someone, say, a checkout person at the grocery store, I only have a tiny window to see into their life, and guess at what their needs are.  I have been given virtually no permission or privilege to speak with any boldness into their life, even if I knew some of their needs.  And my opportunity for face-to-face interaction ends after just a few minutes.  But the command to Love Your Neighbor should push me to try, even in this brief, impersonal interaction, to help this person.

Conversely, my opportunity, privilege, and responsibility increase enormously when you consider the children my wife and I have been given.  We see them all the time, we know tons about them, and bear a huge responsibility for their guidance and development.  Our ongoing burden and privilege is to keep learning about them, keep connecting with them, keep guiding them through their life's journey.  It includes handing out both benefits and discipline.

So this principle guides what I believe we are called to do.  But who do we do it to?  Everyone we meet--whoever shows up.  So when we go to the store, fellow shoppers and cashiers become our neighbors.  When we adopted our children, they became, very profoundly, our neighbors.  

I'm not very good at actually practicing this, by the way.  But it stands as a living principle in my life, pulling me forward, then running behind and kicking me in the butt to push me as well.  Learn the needs, then help to meet them, for whoever shows up.  Love your neighbor.

Getting Started

I have fretted and worried over what to write in this blog for the past month or two.  Burdened with a clear sense of the mistakes I made in my last blog, and painted into a corner by a sense of perfectionism, I have been frozen, finding it impossible to write anything.  So this is my attempt to just get things started.

The View From Here

I have spent my life, as far back as I can remember, trying to take seriously the pursuit and obedience of God.  In the different phases and periods of my life, that has taken different forms, which sometimes stood in contrast to how I attempted the same overall drive in a different part of my life.  But the idea that God is real, and that we, His creatures, should find ways to somehow take Him seriously, has been a fairly constant motivation over the course of my life.

I don't know exactly what form this will take, but I want to use this blog to share with you some parts of my experience of this pursuit.  In the past I have written communion meditations, daily devotions, pop songs, choral church music, and primarily (though mainly privately) journal entries.  I have also taken pictures, performed music, and on rare occasions spoken in public.  All of these, and perhaps more, are possibilities for what this blog may contain.

What I don't want to do is for this to just be a self-gratifying experiment in spilling myself on the digital page.  I really do hope to bless you, for God to bless you, my reader, through these words, music, and images, that ultimately He would be glorified in the process.  I would appreciate your prayers as I attempt to do this, for both your and His benefit.

Welcome

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Thanks again.