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Muttering

The religious leaders we see in Scripture are always forcing Jesus to defend himself and his mission. Jesus is welcoming the outcasts and eating with sinners. He’s associating with and accepting these people who just don’t measure up. Jesus is continually embracing these misfits, giving to them, serving them, teaching them, fellowshipping with them. And the established religion of the community couldn’t handle it. One of the main political and religious charges against Jesus that led to his execution was the fact that he “welcomes sinners and eats with them.” Luke 15 is just one of many places in the Gospels where we find that when Jesus associated with the marginalized, “the Pharisees and the teachers of the Law muttered.”

They muttered.

They mutter and grumble and complain among themselves. They do it behind Jesus’ back. They gripe under their breath. Because a religious person would never say these kinds of things out loud:

“Those people don’t speak English.”
“Those kind of people won’t give.”
“Their kids are not well-behaved.”
“Have you seen what they wear?”
“They’ll mess things up.”
“They’re on welfare.”
“He just got out of prison.”
“She has AIDS.”
“He cusses.”
“She smokes.”
“We have to protect our kids.”
“We have to be careful.”
“They should probably go somewhere else.”

Church people don’t talk like that out loud, right? A religious person would never say stuff like that in public. Not from the pulpit, not in a Bible class, not in an elders meeting.

No. Religious people mutter these kinds of things under their breath. Among themselves. In private.

If we’re following our Savior — and we are! — we have to recognize that Jesus came with everything he had to seek and to save the lost. And the lost responded to Jesus, not because he catered to them or compromised his message, but because he cared for them. He loved them. He understood their needs and helped them while the religious leaders criticized them and kept their distance.

Jesus strongly rebukes that attitude. His every word, his every deed rebukes that self-centered mindset. Jesus invested his time and energy in sinners. He associated freely with them. He ate with them. He became personally and intimately involved in their messy lives and desperate struggles. Jesus pursued sinners with such enthusiasm and commitment that the religious community questioned his character and his motives. But he kept seeking and saving the lost. With everything he had. And then he died for them.

We don’t ever dare make fun of, poke fun at, or look down on any person made in the image of our God.

Ever.

We don’t mutter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’ve been to a couple of Rangers playoff games at the Ballpark in Arlington, one in ’96 and another in ’99. I was there when they clinched the division title in ’99. I’ve been to important division games in September. I’ve been in the stands for weekend games against the Yankees when the Rangers were rallying to take a lead in the 8th inning and winning it in the 9th. And I’ve thought many times that there’s no way the Ballpark could ever be louder or as exciting as this.

Until Napoli’s two-run double with the bases loaded in the 8th inning against the Cardinals Monday night in Game Five of the World Series. I’ve never been a part of anything quite so loud and exciting at the Ballpark. It was improbable. It was emotional. Magical.

From Roger Staubach’s ceremonial first pitch to Feliz’s last, it was a nail-biter. Nerve-wracking. Gut-wrenching. It seemed that St. Louis had runners at second and third in every inning. Every pitch was do or die. Every Cardinal at-bat went full count. And Texas couldn’t do anything right. Murphy and Moreland were booting balls, C. J. couldn’t find the plate, and nobody could get on base. That 2-1 deficit seemed like 10-1. Or 100-1. It was awful.

Which made it so much better once Napoli finally came through with his double and then chased Berkman to first base an inning later to end it.

We hugged and high fived everybody in the home run porch. We took pictures. We cringed when Darren Oliver came in and exhaled in relief when he left. We chanted Napoli’s name and laughed at the Ron Washington videos. We ran into Russ Garrison and his family. And we ate for the cycle. It was an awesome night! Thank you to Brian Gray for scoring the ticket. And for being the most superstitious baseball fan I’ve ever known.

 

Game Six tonight. In the cold and the rain in St. Louis. Colby Lewis has the stuff on the road to give the Rangers their first ever World Series title in their 51-year history. Start the DVRs.

Go Rangers.

Allan

Napoli Ever After

Nap-o-li!
Nap-o-li!
Nap-o-li!

The Rangers’ battery came up huge tonight to tie the World Series at two games each and turn this thing into a best two-out-of-three. Dutch Holland pitched 8-1/3 innings of two-hit shutout ball while his backstop, Mike Napoli went deep with the “Jimmy Jack” that put it away for good. Kinsler and Elvis continue to make great plays in the infield. And Beltre’s making impossible plays at third base look so routine that I’m afraid we’re missing what he really means defensively in these tight games.

Thanks to my good friend Brian Gray, I will be in attendance tomorrow night when C. J. Wilson faces Chris Carpenter in Game Five.

I’ve never been to a World Series game before. I’ve been to playoff games in Arlington in ’96 and ’99. I’ve had John Wetteland pour champagne down my shirt after a division clinching win on a Sunday afternoon. But I’ve never been to a World Series game in my life.

Thank you, Brian.

Here’s hoping Ceej has learned how to breathe through his eyelids. And will somebody please point out that the rose goes in front.

Peace,

Allan

It’s Already Decided

These first two games of the World Series are what October baseball is all about. The stakes are eternally high. The games are immeasurably close. The margin for error is razor thin. The drama of each game and the series itself builds with every half inning. We hold our breath with every pitch. Our heart rates increase and decrease every time bat strikes ball. Every pitching change, every managerial decision, every bunt, bobble, and base-on-balls is monumental. Both of these first two games have packed more drama than a month of soap opera Fridays. More tension. More uncertainty. More surprises. More oh-my-word-can-you-believe-that-just-happened thrill!

The outcome remains completely in doubt until the very last out of the very last inning.

We don’t know until that final K or that last base hit who’s going to win. Who will prevail? Will it be the loveable hunch-playing Wash, running in place in the Rangers dugout, or the calculating TLR with ice in his veins and evil in his cold stare? Will it be the All-American boy next door Michael Young and the redeemed Josh Hamilton or the all-powerful Pujols and the grizzled former Astro? We don’t know. We don’t know. Can a “catching” error really decide this thing? Yeah, maybe. Could the MVP really be a guy off the Cards’ bench? Perhaps. But we won’t know until the very bitter end.

That’s what we love about October baseball.

Aren’t we glad our eternal destinies don’t hang in the balance like the outcome of a World Series?

Aren’t we glad that we already know who wins between good and evil in this world? Aren’t we glad that God through Christ Jesus, our crucified and risen Lord, has already defeated forever the forces of sin and death and Satan and everything else that would ever separate us from him? Aren’t we glad that we already know the final score? Our destiny is already delivered. The outcome is certain. Holy Scripture and God’s great acts in history and our Father’s faithful promises for the future show us clearly that God wins. And it’s a rout! It’s a blowout! Not even close! One-hundred-gazillion to nothing! Satan doesn’t even get out of the starting blocks. Evil doesn’t even get a swing. Death never gets a runner in scoring position. God wins! Put it in six-inch headlines: GOD WINS!!!

So relax. Take a deep breath. Calm down. Smile a little.

You’re on the winning team, right?

There’s plenty to worry about with this World Series. But as far as our eternal salvation is concerned, it’s already game over.

Peace,

Allan

A Preacher’s Prayer of Thanksgiving

I thank Christ Jesus our Lord, who has given me strength, that he considered me faithful, appointing me to his service. The grace of our Lord was poured out on me abundantly, along with the faith and love that are in Christ Jesus.

Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners — of whom I am the worst. But for that very reason I was shown mercy so that in me, the worst of sinners, Christ Jesus might display his unlimited patience as an example for those who would believe on him and receive eternal life.

Now to the King eternal, immortal, invisible, the only God, be honor and glory for ever and ever.

Amen.

Take Courage! It is I!

I’m teaching some of the broad themes of the Gospel of Mark in our Wednesday night class. You can find our outlines and articles and, eventually, the audio from the classes by jumping to the Central Church of Christ website here. Tonight we’re focusing on the great contrast between fear and faith.

(It’s appropriate to be considering this together on the same night the Rangers open the World Series. Rangers fans know all too well the mighty struggle between fear and faith, between despair and belief.)

Everybody in Mark is afraid. Everybody. Jesus calms the storm, delivers his apostles from the sea, and he turns to them and asks, “Why are you so afraid?” Jesus delivers the demon-possessed man from the devils that have enslaved him and the townspeople react in fear. The bleeding woman trembles in fear. Jesus tells Jairus not to be afraid. The apostles are terrified when Jesus walks on the water. They’re afraid to ask the Lord what he means when he predicts his death. Those following Jesus “on the way” are said to be afraid. The religious leaders in Mark are afraid: they fear Jesus, they fear the people, and they’re afraid of the crowds.

Everybody’s afraid in Mark. They’re terrified by Jesus’ power over nature, by his power over hell; they’re frightened by the images of persecution and suffering and death he predicts; they’re scared by what it means to follow him. And Mark does not want us to miss this. In fact, this fear factor as a theme is so important to Mark it’s the very last thought, the last word literally, in his Gospel. In Chapter 16 the angel at the empty tomb commands the women, “Go, tell his disciples and Peter.” But “they were afraid.”

If fear is the opposite of faith — and I’m convinced it is — fear paralyzes us while faith liberates us. Fear looks at me and the world while faith sees me and God. And Jesus longs for us to have faith. His desire is to drive away our fears. So he comes to us. He reveals himself to us. He shows us who he is and what he’s all about.

He comes to us, walking on the uncertain waters of the storms all around us. He comes as the One who is sovereign over those waters that threaten to do us in. He controls them. He does what only God, the divine Creator of heaven and earth can do. He walks on the water to us and says, “Take Courage! It is I! Don’t be afraid.”

To all the people in Mark who are afraid, the message from our Lord is the same: Don’t be. He tells the disciples to have faith. He informs the woman that her faith has healed her. He tells Jairus to believe. He teaches them (us) in patience and love. He leads them (us) by his perfect example. And he rescues them (us) and delivers them (us) again and again and again.

~~~~~~~~~~~

I feel a million miles away from my Rangers. Saturday’s pennant clincher was thrilling, but there was no mad late-night dash to Academy to celebrate with the throngs and purchase the official T-shirt like last year. I had called the Academy Saturday afternoon just to see if they might, by some chance, have the shirts stashed away in boxes, ready to be unveiled and made available as soon as Feliz recorded the last out. Alas, the poor young man on the other end of the line had no idea what I was talking about.

Oi.

The shirts just made it to Academy up here yesterday. Whitney and I quietly and anticlimactically got our shirts after school. We’re wearing them today. But I haven’t seen them on anybody else.

The Amarillo Globe-News only had two stories about the Rangers in their whole newspaper today: an AP wire story about C. J.’s freeze chamber (boring) and a local column about long-suffering Rangers fans (already lived it).

Oi, vey.

For big regular season games and every single postseason game, I have my text conversations with my die-hard Rangers friends. From Fort Worth and Amarillo to Arkansas and East Texas, we watch the games “together” and make “interesting comments” (as George Costanza says) and wise cracks about team strategy, booth announcing, and critical plays. Not tonight, though. It’s a church night. It’s also an elders meeting night. And I’ve left my DVR in North Richland Hills. If I’m lucky, I’ll get home in time to catch the last inning or two.

Hopefully, Chris Carpenter will be long gone by then. And Alexi will be dealing with a lead.

Let’s Go Rangers! (clap, clap, clap, clap, clap)
Let’s Go Rangers! (clap, clap, clap, clap, clap)

Allan

Audience of One?

We must get out of our minds the warped idea that our corporate worship assemblies are human performances for our Creator. We must rid our brains of the distorted notion that our Father sits back on Sunday mornings to soak up our praise as we sing and pray, that he just watches and smiles as we commune around his table. We should work to remove from our vocabulary the damaging phrase “audience of one.”

Ever since the emergence of sin and death stained our God’s perfect creation, he has sought to redeem that creation by dwelling with them, by being fully present with them. The Hebrew Scriptures tell us the Father dwelt in the temple in Israel. John says the Son dwelt with us in the flesh. Paul says the Spirit dwells inside redeemed saints. And we know from Revelation that the mission of the Triune God is to live with his people, for his people to be in his holy presence, for ever and ever.

This is what happens when we assemble.

As children of God and followers of Jesus, our Christian gatherings take place in the presence of the Father, in the name of the Son, and by the power of the Holy Spirit. When we come together we draw near to God, we enjoy his presence with us. The writer of Hebrews says our assemblies are done in the presence of God. It’s God with us. Us with God. A mutual, communal event. Our assemblies are sacramental events, sacramental encounters with the true and living God.

Our God is active during our worship. He is working. Working. Working. He is placing his holy Word exactly where it needs to go; convicting, challenging, encouraging, motivating, comforting. He is giving us the hearts and the breath to sing songs of praise to him and edification to one another. He is inspiring us with the right sentences and paragraphs. He is changing us in the meal. He is shaping us through prayer. His Spirit groans with us. His Son intercedes for us. He is mediating his grace in the water and the bread and the wine. He makes our meager and shallow offerings worthy of his eternal glory. He is present in every handshake and hug. God is moving and doing. He is removing scales from our eyes in worship. He is revealing himself to us in brand new ways. He is reminding us of his wondrous love and matchless grace. He serves us and eats with us at the table. He molds us and forms us more and more into the perfect image of his Son.

Our Father is no audience during our worship. He is the instigator, the inviter, the host, the blesser, the giver, the sustainer, and the finisher.

There is no audience in worship. There is holy community and redemption. There is salvation work. There is God with us. But no audience.

Peace,

Allan

P.S. This is my first P.S. in almost five years of regular blogging: YOU are definitely not the audience in worship, either. I know you already know that. But it probably still needs to be said.

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