Matthew's Musings

Are you familiar with the economic principle “the tragedy of the commons”? It basically says that most of us are pretty good at taking care of our own houses, but if there is a courtyard in the middle of the neighborhood, even though it belongs to all of us, none of us will take care of it like we take care of our own home. Economists use this term to describe vandalism and run-down parts of town.

Another way of putting it is that “no drop of rain believes it is to blame for the flood.”

When we are just one part of a larger system, it is easy for us to lower our personal standards or avoid personal responsibility. After all, somebody else, somewhere has just as much call to help as I have.

Christians understand that what helps one of us helps all of us, and what hurts any of us grieves all of us. “Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep” (Romans 12:15).

Rather than viewing the common areas in our lives as a place for other people to take care of, we see them as our own personal ground to serve. I love how Paul refers to his friend Epaphroditus: his “brother and fellow worker and fellow soldier.” (Philippians 2:25) He sees him as his partner in the faith. They are in it together. In Ephesians he says that the Gentile Christians “are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God.” (Ephesians 2:19)

Christianity speaks against the tragedy of the commons. It speaks against isolation and a John Wayne “I’ll do it myself” sort of attitude. It calls us towards fellowship, partnering with each other in living kingdom life.

In 1930, Elias Garcia Martinez, a professor at the School of Art in Zaragoza, spent his holidays painting a fresco for the church in north-eastern Spain. His portrait of Jesus was typical of the style common in the day. He called his work “Ecce Homo” from the Latin translation of John 19:5, “Behold the man!”

His portrait was unremarkable. It only became famous in August of 2012 when Cecilia Gimenez painted over the fresco in an attempt to restore the art. Most people consider it to be a total failure. A BBC Europe journalist wrote that her “restoration” looked more like “a crayon sketch of a very hairy monkey in an ill-fitting tunic” than the savior of the world. So bad was the painting that it has even been nick-named “Ecce Mono” – a Latin/Spanish combination that means “Behold the Monkey!”

I’m not writing to criticize Gimenez and her desire to restore a fading old work of art. If I had tried to restore the piece, it wouldn’t have fared any better. (Well, maybe I would have been smart enough not to try, but that’s a different post!)

The botched restoration attempt makes a pretty good parable for the image that most modern readers have of Jesus.

Most people in America recognize Jesus by name. They are familiar with the idea that he is the “founder” of Christianity. To most, he’s a good teacher, a religious guru, and a wise man. But the image that most people have of Jesus is as far removed from the beautiful reality as the restoration is from the original.

We miss the compassion that was extended to the most marginalized of society. We miss the indignation aimed at those who abused their spiritual authority. We miss the audacity that caused crowds to call for his death and his coronation nearly simultaneously.

It is our goal as we begin this study to act like Secret Service agents-in-training. When cadets enter training to prepare for work in the anti-counterfeiting division, rather than focusing on all of the myriad ways of making funny money, their trainers immerse them in the original, the real deal. They study genuine currency. The more familiar that they become with the real thing, the more quickly anything phony pops out as a fraud.

The same thing happens when we learn about Jesus. The more clearly we study the original Jesus, the historical man of Galilee, the more real he becomes, and the easier it is for us to discard any fake images of the man.

Holidays can be a real pain.

It takes so long to get back into the rhythm of things. There are bags to be unpacked and laundry to be cleaned. We have catching up to do at work and at home. We’re tired after expending more time and energy than we normally do. Not to mention the fact that healthy eating and exercise habits tend to go out the window!

Holidays can be a real pain, but they’re totally worth it.

Interrupting the mundane rhythm of everyday life reminds us of the important things we tend to neglect—not things, but people. Relationships. Family. Feelings.

It is interesting that God ordained a weekly Sabbath for his people. Surely that must have been inconvenient! Everybody had to gather twice as much the night before. You couldn’t take a trip that day. Your fire better have been kindled in advance. No late-night runs to Wal-Mart for the Jews!

Nobody was exempt, either. The rich couldn’t enjoy the benefit of Sabbath on the backs of the poor or the foreign. The poor had equal preference with the rich. Everybody was to participate in this weekly ritual. Six days of work, one day of rest. It wasn’t so much a cycle, but an ellipse of work interrupted by something different. Not a vacation, but a time of reflection.

God knew we humans settle into routines. Mindless repetitions that become tiresome ruts. So he provided an interruption. For the Jews it was Sabbath and the high feast days. They may come in different forms for us today, but the principle of taking some time to break the routines and appreciate the things that matter most is a gift from God. They might be difficult, but imagine life without them.

The divide.

Lots of folks are writing about it. It’s the imaginary barrier between sacred and secular, the common practice of compartmentalizing our faith, our work, our family, and our friends. Each part of life goes in its own little box. And ne’er the twain shall meet…

The divide is one reason why our churches struggle. If what happens on Sunday has nothing to do with Monday, people are going to go looking for something that does. If Thursday is off-limits on Sunday, what do we have that’s actually helpful to do in our time together?

The sacred-secular divide.

When I first heard that term, I started thinking Leviticus—the book where Bible reading plans go to die.

Leviticus is chock full of holiness codes. Don’t mix the holy and the unholy. Don’t let the common defile the uncommon. Don’t let the secular contaminate the sacred. I started to wonder if all the talk of the sacred-secular divide was in direct contradiction with the message of a book like Leviticus.

A light-bulb went off for me when I was reading in my New Testament.

Peter tells us that we are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a priestly kingdom (1 Peter 2:9). John said in his Revelation that through the blood of Jesus we all have been made into priests and kings (Revelation 5:10).

As priests, we are sanctifiers. We are people who are in the holy-making business. We bring what once was secular to the God who can make it holy. That’s what I had been missing!

Even if Leviticus was all we had, the goal of Leviticus was to bring all things into holiness. The goal was to make all things holy. Check out Leviticus 11:44, 19:2, and 20:7. They all say the same thing: be holy like God.

When Jesus got in trouble for eating with tax collectors and sinners and whatever other seedy characters you could find, it was because people didn’t understand this: the purpose of the sacred is not barricade itself in and protect itself from the influence of the secular. The saints aren’t meant to pat each other on the back for not being like those sinners over there.  The purpose of the holy is to bring the common to God and spread that holiness.

So when you and I look at the things around us that get labeled as “secular” – our jobs, our hobbies, our friends, our dentist – as priests in the Kingdom of Jesus, we have one driving question:  how do we treat this as holy?

That’s how we knock down that divide and give meaning to all 168 hours of a week. That’s how the power of Sunday comes to Monday.

How can you tell if the Titans win a game?

It’s pretty simple. There’s a giant scoreboard at the stadium. (Actually, there’s something like 4 of them!) If the number on the “Titans” row is bigger than the number on the other row at the end of the game, the Titans won.

How can you tell if a church is “winning”? Don’t let the term “winning” throw you off. How can you tell if a church is successful at doing what God wants it to do? How can you tell if a church is faithful and healthy? How can you tell if a church is being as effective as she can possibly be?

There’s not an obvious scoreboard, is there? In fact, the game isn’t over until He returns. So the outcome of a particular congregation is always up in the air. But some of the signs people use a lot give us a false indication about the score. Attendance numbers do mean something—but just having a lot of people in a building isn’t a sign of success. Seems that I remember someone doing pretty well with just twelve. Contribution numbers mean something. But money in the account is a better measure for a mortgage company than for a hospital for the sick. The numbers on the back wall can’t tell us whether or not we are doing what God wants us to do.

The mission of the church, by Jesus’ own instruction, is to make disciples. That’s more than just bringing people to Christ. A board with a count of baptisms might tell us something, but even that would miss part of the picture. Our mission is not just to bring people to Christ; our mission is to help people become like Christ.

“Number of People in Whom Christ is Formed More Fully this week” is probably a little long for that wooden board in the back of the auditorium. And it’d probably be hard to figure out how to put a number on it, anyway. But if we are making steps towards forming Christ in ourselves and in those we love—we are winning at what really matters.

Redemptive is an adjective that describes actions designed to save someone from evil, error, and harm. It’s a good word.

When know a guy who went to jail because of his drug habit, you can look at him and say, “It’s a shame that you messed up so bad.” You would be telling the truth, but you wouldn’t be redemptive.

When you know of a girl who got pregnant in high school, you could call it illegitimate and refuse to help out at her shower. You’d be making a valid point. You’d be clear that you’re against sexual promiscuity. You wouldn’t be redemptive.

You can forward every email about all the broken promises of politicians, the scandals of D.C., and the failures of government. You can tell people that you voted the other way. You can say, “I told you so!” to all of your friends who voted wrong. And you might be right, but you wouldn’t be redemptive.

Scripture says that “God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world.” (John 3:17). He didn’t have to condemn us; we already were condemned. He could have, though. And he would have been right. But God is not just interested in being right—he is interested in redeeming. That’s why the verse continues, “…but in order that the world might be saved through him.”

Redeeming mankind is the theme of the Bible. From our fall in the Garden to our celebration in New Jerusalem, God has been acting to redeem us. God redeemed Joseph from the pit and the prison. He redeemed Jonah from the fish. He redeemed Israel from Egypt and Judah from Babylon. When Jesus came, he came to set us free forever (John 8:35-38).

So here’s the question: are your actions redemptive? Do you use your influence to make a difference to those around you? As followers of the Redeemer we ought to be righteous and redemptive. We are people who help show what it looks like when the Kingdom of God reigns.

Smart people can learn from almost anything.

Some of life’s best lessons don’t come from professors in classrooms or stacks of textbooks. They tend to happen when we pay attention to life and look for connections to the truths we know.

Dan Wieden, co-founder of a prominent ad agency, was struggling to come up with a tagline for a series of commercials his company had produced for an athletic apparel company. The night before this slogan was due, his mind wandered to Gary Gilmore—a murderer who had been executed in 1977.

Gilmore was dragged before the firing squad in Utah. Before he was covered with a dark hood, the chaplain asked if he had any last words. He paused and said, “Let’s do it.”

Wieden thought about the crazy courage of a statement like that—and from it was born one of the most famous sports mantras: Nike’s Just Do It. Needless to say, the ad campaign was a success.

I don’t often find myself looking at murderers for inspiration when I prepare sermons…but if I pay just a bit more attention to the world around me, there’s no telling what I’ll learn.

(H/T to Imagine: How Creativity Works by Jonah Lehrer).