Hebrews 11:1

By Luke Barnhart for Relevant Magazine

“I wonder why we listen to poets, when nobody gives a f—?”

I don’t think I can write the word that finishes the phrase in question. I was driving home from Nashville and listening to one of my favorite traveling albums. The stereo was loud and I sang along to the music of Wilco when it came to the line in question. I’m not sure why I paused, but I’m glad I did, because it ignited a winding train of thought, one idea leading to the next, like the interstate that would inevitably lead me home.

I must admit I love this line of the song: such a poignant, weighty question. So what if he had to use an “extra special” word to drive the point home? That is what makes it all the more emphatic and well … poetic. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not a huge fan of swearing. But there are times and places where a well placed word just seems to fit for some reason. Regardless, something inside of me made me hesitate at the prospect of singing this one word, alone, in my car, along with my deafening stereo. What was it?

As a young boy growing up in a Christian family—living in a small rural Christian community no less—you learn a few things about what it means to be a Christian. Of course there is the part about following Christ and trying to make your life resemble His in some way, but even more so, being a Christian means you go to church on Sunday and you don’t do one or any combination of the following: smoke, drink, swear, or get close to having premarital sex (holding hands is permissible).

I’m thankful for the way I was raised. It kept me out of trouble and saved me from tallying a list of regrets in my adolescent years that would be difficult to overcome later in life. Nowadays, I believe myself to be beyond such trivial matters as petty legalism and the childish beliefs of my past. But as I sat and questioned my inability to sing a single word along with the music, I wondered if I had really overcome my small-minded legalistic view of what it means to be a follower of Christ. Was it my conscience speaking, or like Pavlov’s dogs, was I simply responding instinctively to a familiar stimulus?

The questions that began to eat away at me as I maneuvered through the flatlands of southern Illinois gradually broadened in scope, like the colorful orange and red horizon over the miles of farmland spread out before me. The music continued to play but my mind was elsewhere. Why is it that the issues I learned as a child, which were indeed very black and white—even separated the sinners from the saints—had now somehow become so thoroughly gray in my young adulthood? Why can’t I swear alone in my car if I want to? I’m old enough—can’t I have a drink every now and then? Even sex becomes a different kind of issue on a college campus.

As all of these questions rattled around in my head, I instinctively returned to another staple of my junior high youth group days: What Would Jesus Do? I’ve later come to realize that although the WWJD movement was essentially a fad and a commercially profitable one at that, the question, although leaving a slightly bitter aftertaste in the wake of its popularity, is still most useful and important at times. In fact it may be the most important question of all. I considered Jesus sitting in the passenger seat of my car, bobbing his head to the music along with me. Imagine my shock when he suddenly appeared there, acting as if nothing strange had just happened. Imagine when I finally managed to lift my jaw from the floor—me—the first person to speak with Jesus face to face in 2,000 years! Then I work up the courage to speak, and the first words out of my mouth are… “Is it ok for me to cuss in the car by myself when I’m singing along with the music?” How ridiculous would I sound? I actually played it out in my head. I ask the question. He replies by asking what a cuss word is or simply by saying, “Seriously?! That’s the first question I get?”

My mental dramatization only served to further convince me of the absurdity of my quandary. Why do we get so worked up over things that don’t seem to matter in the end? And if they really don’t matter, why don’t I just drink and swear like a sailor, engaging in all sorts of promiscuous, morally gray activity? An answer came to me in the form of an idea that had been welling up in me for quite some time without my notice: the graceful Christian.

Although the idea wasn’t fully formed, it had come to me in a sermon a few weeks back. Of course it wasn’t a new idea—they never are. But it struck me immediately as profound and critical. When I use the term “graceful Christian” I am speaking of grace in both the ballerina and the religious sense. In fact, I believe the ballerina grace may be achievable only by way of divine grace.

The graceful Christian exists, to borrow a concept from Gerald May, amidst grace as the very context within which we live our lives. It means God’s grace, the only thing guaranteeing us even our next breath, spurring us on to live in a manner worthy of the grace we have been freely offered, even immersed in. I could swear if I wanted to, and maybe not even feel morally astray, but what would I accomplish? What would I be telling other people about myself? That I had no better words to use? I could drink to elevation, but I’d surely wind up doing or saying something I’d regret. How graceful would that be?

The point is not to live rightly by some detailed code of conduct—far from it. What I am speaking of is graceful life—the free will of humankind drenched to the bone in God’s abundant grace. Some people say there’s no freedom in religion. Jesus said there’s no freedom in enslavement to our own selfish desires. Time after time we find ourselves returning to the prison cells where we no longer belong. Confinement and legalism can be comforting, but only for a while. Sooner or later we realize we are no more capable of earning our salvation than a smelly old sock is of walking to the washer and cleaning itself. Grace beckons each of us; true joy and freedom are its constant companions, inviting us to live as we were meant to live; inviting us to live as we desire to live. This is the invitation to the life of a graceful Christian, and we’d be foolish not to accept.

By Hannah Proudler for Relevant Magazine

I grew up in a Christian bubble. As the daughter of conservative-schooled seminary graduates, I experienced Christian summer camps, hand-made coolots, traditional hymns and at least 18 summers of one-piece swimsuits.

I could not imagine a world where notes could be written on notepads printed without a bible verse, or where a refrigerator magnet did not say “Bless this Home.” Christian stores, Christian school, Christian bracelets, Christian music, Christian books; everything in my world was “Christian.”

At the age of 18, I took my dad’s adage of “when you’re in my house, you play by my rules,” to the next level, and decided to experience the life that everyone around me seemed to be experiencing. Starting fresh in my own place, I started giving in to temptations that my only weapon over was so-called wisdom suggesting “the Bible says not to do that.” For me, God’s word was a rule book, and as far as I was concerned, I had already played by the rules and I still felt empty.

I began accepting invitations to stay after hours at the restaurant where I worked to drink. I wanted my identity to be in a society of acceptance, and I certainly wasn’t finding acceptance in Christianity. Instead I only found a set of rules, a formula telling me what not to do.

I didn’t know what to say the first time someone offered me drugs, so I said yes. I was not equipped for things like that, because in my world, in my bubble, only “bad” people did that. We weren’t “those” kind of people.

Well, what are “those” kind of people? It turns out I am one. Bitter from life in a church where nothing seemed realistic, I took cover in things that seemed logical to me. It did not seem logical that “we,” the fundamentalist Christians, could be so passionately pro-life but simultaneously so anti-life! We marginalize the “outsiders” of the faith. We don’t associate with anyone who would bring us down. Life sometimes doesn’t look so pretty, and to truly show someone what God’s love looks like, I believe, we have to be willing to reach them there. But I hadn’t been taught that.

What I had been taught were twisted half-truths. I remember specifically being told as a child to not be “unequally yoked.” What was at the heart of that was nothing more than racism blanketed by twisting God’s word. I was taught that this equated with not mixing race when you date or marry. What kind of wisdom is that to impart on a child? I felt so betrayed with so-called truths such as these.

As a child, hearing the popular phrase “God helps those who help themselves” became something to aspire to. It was the old pull yourself up by your bootstraps mentality that became something to strive for, a way to make it on your own-except for the fact that God helps those who cannot help themselves! It was more twisted truth leaving me reeling.

Unfortunately, I learned otherwise the hard way. After an “escape attempt” under the guise of a marriage that quickly failed, I realized that I had no coping skills to deal with the things life kept throwing at me. Despite every attempt to pull myself up, I kept failing miserably. The standards I grew up under were crumbling around me, and I found myself feeling as if I had no boundaries, no limits to the things I would seek comfort in.

After being honest with myself and with God I realized that I could no longer try to be the general manager of the universe. I had embraced everything, and lost myself under it all. At that point, I reached out for the first time, and felt grace, a grace that embraced me, this covert girl meeting darkness, often during the light of day. God instead shown his radiant light into my darkness and I learned for the first time that I have value being created in Christ’s image, and that my identity was not based on any group I associated with, what city I lived in or persona I adopted.

I felt recognized for the first time, and it felt great being so honest. My unstable nature suddenly became one of assurance as I realized that God allowed me this path so that I could see what true salvation looked like. It wasn’t anything I could obtain. It was only something He could give.

What that meant for me is that I no longer had to push the envelope to see if God would still accept me. Each time I ask God to meet me where I’m at, He says, “I have.” I hear God say to me “Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly” (Matt. 11:28, The Message).

And that is life outside a Christian bubble. Perhaps we need our bubble burst. I don’t recall stories of Jesus only ministering to the church. In fact, I recall more rebuking of formulaic theology than rebuking the lifestyles of those in need. We all need to be reminded of what it is about Jesus that is so radical. He offers grace. He offers love to those who will seek Him with reckless abandon—and reckless is something I have covered.

Radically, I don’t feel abandoned anymore.

By Winn Collier

A while back, we got a new bedtime books at our house, 1,000 Things to Know About Animals. Giraffes and monkeys and cute little webbed feet penguins, our sons enjoy them all. However, the boys prefer the frightening creatures. Crocodiles with powerful jaws. Vampire bats with eerie eyes. Copperheads. Tarantulas. The more poisonous, the more hideous, the better.

The pictures and the fascination with all things gory prompted Seth, three at the time, to pose a troublesome question. “Why did God make scary stuff?” A conversation on the origin of evil…with a preschooler.

Growing older, however, doesn’t silence the question. A bridge collapses inMinnesota. A crisis escalates in Darfur. A region in the Middle East seems (again) like it might spiral into chaos. God, why all the “scary stuff”?

Scripture provides some clarity. God did not intend or create evil. A mutinous angel rebelled, choosing humanity and the earth as the fulcrum of his insurgency. Forced into the fray, we routinely choose the mutiny, against God. We often invite evil.

The result, however, was that evil did not remain merely in the isolated sphere of individual choices (either of angels or humans). Like a dirty needle pumping heroine into the bloodstream, this rebellion straight-lined evil into the created order. Our planet is now riddled with the foul stench. Disease. Greed. Ruin. Can anyone truthfully look at the human race and the mess we’ve made of our planet and believe our problem is merely cosmetic?

Evil is certainly not all we see in our world. Grace and beauty and kindness abound. However, everywhere we look, we see evil’s imprint. Loneliness. Deception. Abandoned children. Shattered marriages. Hungry nations. How can our sickness be healed? How can evil’s dark stain be removed?

Strangely, the Apostle Peter offers hope via a blistering, apocalyptic picture. The heavens will vaporize with an ear-splitting roar. Falling to the earth, fire will scorch the sky. The earth’s raw chemical elements will liquefy like wax dripping from a candle. “God is going to destroy everything like this…” says Peter.(II Peter 3:11)

But destruction is not the point. With God, destruction never holds center stage. God always moves toward redemption. The devastation will work to clear the brush, to remove all the malignant infection evil has cultivated. Destruction will offer a severe mercy. With power and fire and swift, final authority, God will reach into the bowels of the earth and wrench evil’s grip free, once and for all.

This cataclysmic work is not a final destruction, the earth done and finished. Far from it. The destruction breeds new life. It will be a (do we even have language for such a thing?) creative destruction. From the devastation, God will create again, refashioning the earth once considered ruined into the kind of world He wanted in the beginning. We will enjoy the wonder of “a new heaven and a new earth.”(II Peter 3:13)

On this new earth, there will be no disease, no sorrow. No one hungry. No one lonely. The lion will lay down with the lamb. Not a single hint of “scary stuff.”

By Brandon Andress for Relevant Magazine

How can Jesus, in one breath, say that a characteristic of his discipleship is that of peacemaker (Matthew 5:9), but then in another breath say that, “[he] did not come to bring peace, but a sword”?

This seeming contradiction has caused great confusion. This scripture has been used and abused by Christian religious zealots and fanatics as evidence that Jesus condones violence. I’ve often wondered if it’s possible that this line has been misunderstood and taken out of context when measured against the language of the old testament prophets in their understanding that God is working for shalom (oneness and wholeness).

Jesus had every opportunity to wield the sword, but never did. It’s odd. Why did Jesus tell his followers to “never resist an evil person,” and further, to “love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you”? Who would he use the sword on? Who would his disciples use the sword on? The answer is no one, except Peter, once.

After Judas kissed Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane the guards stepped forward to arrest Jesus and Peter cut the guard’s ear off by sword. Jesus said, “put your sword back in its place.” and, “do you not think that I cannot call on my Father, and he will at once put at my disposal more than twelve legions of angels?” Jesus made a military statement to describe how he could respond then says, “but how then would the Scriptures be fulfilled that say it must not happen this way?” The way of Jesus was not the way of the sword it was the way of the towel (of self-sacrificial love). Always loving, always pouring himself out, always giving self-sacrificially and without responding the way the Kingdom of the world responds.

Early in Jesus’ ministry he had the opportunity to use the power of the sword. Jesus said that he was going to do it God’s way. Not by force, not by violence, but by the cross. The one act that stops the vicious cycle of violence and is validated by the resurrection (not death and violence winning, but by life through sacrificial love). Love always wins and triumphs over evil, but not with the sword. And the way of the sword was not the way of Jesus.

If a sword is what Jesus came to bring but we do not have any evidence that Jesus ever used a sword violently, then it is possible that it may be symbolic. Scripture describes God having a double-edged sword for a tongue (Revelation 1:17), his words being even sharper than a double edged sword (Hebrews 4:12), and his words being the sword of the Spirit (Ephesians 6:17). If we are consistent, you get this idea that a sword, symbolically, refers to truth, the word of God.

Jesus came to bring truth. The word of God is sharp, it divides, even to the point of dividing people who are close to each other. Why? Because the truth is not accepted or pursued by everyone and many stand against the truth. By Jesus just “being” he created conflict because he is truth. The paradox as we know is that the truth of God brings peace (shalom) to those who seek reconciliation through Christ. Peace is founded on the truth of God revealed in Christ. Jesus did not come to bring peace, came to bring the truth of God and through that comes peace.

“But somehow, somewhere alone the way, faith stopped being used to bring us together and faith started being used to drive us apart. Faith got hijacked, partly because of the so-called leaders of the Christian Right, all too eager to exploit what divides us.”

Barack Obama in Relevant Magazine

What got my attention was that the Jesus I read about was a wild, free spirit who went to parties and refused to be religious. He broke rules, touched people He wasn’t supposed to, hung out with thieves and whores. I wondered if that was really true; I always thought that Jesus was the stained-glass wimp in church windows. It is possible God is passionate and involved? Is it possible that God isn’t about doctrines and regulations, but that Jesus lived a life like mine, only a few thousand years earlier?It honestly seems ridiculously impossible.

By Rich Diamond in Wrestling With God

I can feel my life, like a tide running in and out past and around my legs as I’m standing in ocean water up to my waist. It doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, just back and forth. But I can also feel, if I watch and pay attention, that there are tides. They move. If I just play and drift along, I’ll wake up miles way from where I started. If I stand out here long enough without remembering where I am, I’ll be swept out too far. I’ll have missed it, whatever it is. So I tread water and keep my head high enough to breathe. We’ll see. Maybe I’ll pick my feet up, see if there’s something worth swimming toward for a little while and see where the tide takes me.

By Rich Diamond in “Wrestling With God”