Lent 2012

Lent 2012 hasn’t even started yet, and it’s already giving me trouble.

I’ve been struggling for weeks with the question of what to give up for Lent this year, and haven’t really gotten anywhere.

• Facebook? I did that last year.
• Swearing? The year before that.
• Secular music? The year before that.
• Coffee? Not while life requires that I get up at 5:45 a.m. Besides, my office is getting snazzy new java machines this week, so I’m pretty sure I’d cave in by Thursday morning.
• Beer? But it makes me so smart and attractive.
• Snacking? Refraining from all non-meal food consumption might be possible, but it wouldn’t be pretty. And I don’t think I could do it without ‘disfiguring my face,’ like we’re called to do in Matthew 6:16-18 (NIV): “When you fast, do not look somber as the hypocrites do, for they disfigure their faces to show others they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that it will not be obvious to others that you are fasting, but only to your Father, who is unseen; and your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.”
• Lunch? Last year a friend gave up the meal of lunch for all of Lent, noting that Muslims regularly kick our sacrificial butts by fasting from all food during daylight hours during the entire month of Ramadan. Admirable, A.R., as always. But regarding R.P., see Snacking, above.

So as I wrestled with this question of what to give up, it occurred to me that I could take something on instead. But what?

Maybe I should read all four books of the Gospel before the end of Lent, I suggested. Not bad, but when will I find the time? Neglecting my family, work and ministry responsibilities for Bible study doesn’t seem very Lenten to me. And if I just shoehorn it in around all of the things I’m already doing, will it be quality time with God anyway? Or will I just be mechanically moving my eyes over the words to legalistically fill some arbitrary, self-imposed quota?

Today, it occurred to me that maybe I’m ready for a different kind of Lent this year.

Maybe being the music co-director and webservant at my church, belonging to two small groups (although I don’t currently have time to attend either of them), reading a daily-ish devotional book with my wife, participating in a confirmation class, serving as the music director for an upcoming retreat weekend and writing a weekly-ish blog, while working 80% of a full-time job and being the family’s primary housekeeper guy for the other 20%, and being the husband of a wonderful and busy wife and father to two wonderful and busy children, adds up to enough of a sacrifice.

Maybe God doesn’t want my Lent to be about gestures of devotion. Maybe He doesn’t need me to try to do more good things or fewer bad things. Maybe He wants to use the next 40 days to help me to be more like He created me to be. And my well-intended efforts to do what I think He wants me to do might actually get in the way of that.

Great. So what does that look like?

A little reflection and prayer reminded me that my biggest vice isn’t beer, coffee or fatty snacks. It’s self-reliance. I’m addicted to the ridiculous notion that I know what’s good for me, and that achieving and attaining it is up to me. And even though I know it’s an addiction, and even though it’s preventing God from remaking significant areas of my heart and life, I won’t/can’t let go of it.

Whenever I begin to try, I hear the Devil’s Advocate whisper ‘The Devil you know is better than the Devil you don’t know.’ Then, for good measure, he changes gears: ‘Turning the general landscape of your life over to God is a good idea, but surely He wants you to take care of the details, right?’

Good point, Mr. D.A. But the God I know is infinitely better than the Devil I know, so I choose to choose God.  And while we’re quoting ‘devil’ sayings, the Devil’s in the details. Or, at least, in the fixation on managing the details.

Take that!

(Notice how Satan used Scripture to tempt Jesus in the Wilderness, but he uses corny clichés with me. Maybe he tempts each of us with the language in which we’re most fluent.)

I think God wants me to drop all the potentially empty gestures and suspend my lifetime subscription to Do It Yourself Weekly for the next 40 days and sign up for the Let Go and Let God Illustrated no-obligation trial period.

Maybe He’ll even help me make it last beyond Easter Sunday.

You’ve read it here first, folks: I’ve decided to give up self-reliance for Lent. Now all I need to do is come up with a nine-point plan for how I’m going to put that into action.

Sigh.

This is gonna be harder than I thought.

Peace be with you.

Photo Sources:

• http://www.cumberlandchurch.org/2011/04/15/the-weekly-04-15-2011/
• http://baderbrewing.com/store/home.php?printable=Y&cat=394
• http://www.headfirstlabs.com/books/hrajax/chapter03/coffee/coffee.html
• http://felixker.com/so-random/the-most-dangerous-potato-chips-to-eat/
• http://www.copyblogger.com/facebook-features-2011/
• http://lotr.wikia.com/wiki/Mouth_of_Sauron

Listen & Learn, Part 3: Isaiah the Waiter

I’m not talking about the black guy from The Love Boat here (that was Isaac the Bartender [Ted Lange], by the way), but I am talking about love.

Specifically, I’m talking about the Book of Isaiah and its famous passage about waiting.

On February 5, the Old Testament reading in liturgical churches around the world was one of my absolute favorite passages in all of Scripture: Isaiah 40: 21-31. In the New King James Version, the last verse goes like this:

But those who wait on the Lord
Shall renew their strength;
They shall mount up with wings like eagles,
They shall run and not be weary,
They shall walk and not faint.

In addition to the encouraging words this verse holds for everyone, God has used this touched my soul directly with it a number of times, for a number of reasons I might blog about someday. For reasons that don’t entirely make sense temporally, the reading gives me Goosebumps and quickens my breathing.

It makes me feel like God has come near.

So when I learned that this Isaiah passage was the reading for that Sunday, I excitedly chose Everlasting God as one of our worship songs for that service. And as I went over it, I regretted that I’d overlooked it last Advent. That ‘Strength will rise as we wait upon the Lord’ line dovetails very nicely with the anticipatory season of Advent, and I’d never picked up on it in the past.

Oh well, I said. There’s always next year.

Then, in his sermon (All Aboard in 2012) from that week, Pastor Stephen Hambidge pointed out the other definition of the word ‘wait.’ When you go out to eat, the guy who brings you your food is a waiter – the gal is a waitress. For the sake of gender neutrality we often use the term server.

In this context, to wait is to serve.

So maybe, Stephen pointed out, Isaiah 40:31 isn’t just about people who hope in the Lord (as the New International Version translates it), but moreso about people who serve Him while we hope in Him.

To be clear, I think both of these meanings of the word ‘wait’ apply here, in the same way that Jesus was God and man at the same time.

Stephen’s astute observation serves, probably unintentionally, as a bit of a rebuke for me, because I’ve often been tempted to hide behind Acts 6:2: ‘So the Twelve gathered all the disciples together and said, “It would not be right for us to neglect the ministry of the word of God in order to wait on tables.’

I’ve often felt like a Word minister, you see, and I’ve seen this as permission to leave the get-your-hands-dirty stuff to others while I write and sing and update the church website. But I don’t think it’s a coincidence that God put the word ‘wait’ in two of my favorite passages, and waited patiently for me to have ears to hear, and finally connected the dots in this way for me last week.

OK, Jesus. I get it now. Sorry it took me so long.

Good evening. My name is Baldy, and I’ll be your waiter.

Peace be with you.

Photo Source: http://manhattaninfidel.com/2011/05/17/tragedy-on-high-seas-love-boat-sinks/

Listen & Learn Part 2, Barbie

Last time, we talked about Saint Barnabas. Now let’s jumble the letters a bit, and talk about Sinner Barabbas.

Scheming, evil, opportunistic, war-mongering terrorist Barabbas.

He's played a lot of roles over the years, but Stacey Keach for me will always be the face of Barabbas.

The guy so nasty they hired the universally unlikable actor Stacy Keach (TV’s tough-as-nails private eye Mike Hammer, Cheech & Chong’s nemesis Sergeant Stedenko) to play him in the 1977 miniseries Jesus of Nazareth.

I thought I knew everything I needed to know about Jesus Barabbas (yup, his first name was Jesus according to some versions of the texts) from the dozens of times I’d read and heard the story of Jesus of Nazareth’s crucifixion.

But once again, I was wrong.

Last year, during his What Happens When Grace Happens series, Oak Hills Church pastor/author Max Lucado spends  good deal of time talking about Barabbas. The following is a paraphrase from Lucado’s sermon – not nearly as good as what Miracle Max wrote, but this is a summary of his ideas, from my heart.

Barabbas did some terrible things. He’s guilty. What’s worse, he got caught and found himself waiting in a jail cell for his sentence to be carried out.

A death sentence.

And the method of execution to be used on him was not your run-of-the-mill beheading, throat-slitting or poisoning, but crucifixion – A slow, torturous form of termination designed to ridicule and humiliate the victim.

Barabbas knew full well what the punishment would be for his crimes if he got caught. He simply didn’t think he’d get caught – and if he did, he was willing to pay that price for the cause of throwing off the Roman yoke from his people.

In theory, at least…

It seemed like a good idea at the time, but a few days – or even a few hours – in jail has a way of changing your perspective on things.

So there he is, sitting in his cell, bored out of his wits and scared out of his skin – nothing to keep him company but his anxiety – waiting with both dread and anticipation for the sound of the key in the lock. ‘Why don’t they come get me already? Let’s get this overwith,’ Barabbas mutters. But the wait continues.

Finally, he’s startled out of his solitude by the sound of the door opening. He bolts upright, not sure whether to fight, run or soil his loincloth. The guard says something, but he’s too overcome by adrenaline to hear him properly. He asks the guard to say it again.

‘You’re free to go, Barabbas. You’re not being crucified today. Jesus is,’ the guard mutters – perhaps just as astonished as Barabbas. ‘Even Pilate couldn’t find a reason to have him put to death. He’s innocent, but he’s going to die anyway. You could say Jesus is taking your place on the cross.’

What happened to Barabbas has also happened to us. We’re sinners, and the wage of sin is death. But rather than punishing us, God punished Himself. Our debt He pays, and our death He dies, that we might live. (Respectfully borrowed from the Vineyard song Amazing Love, and lovingly tweaked for plurality.)

What happens to Barabbas after he’s released? We don’t know. Quite appropriately, the Gospels focus on Jesus after that, not Barabbas.

Maybe he’s the leopard who doesn’t change his spots. He might have walked out of the cell with a ‘So long, suckers!’ attitude, and gone on to fan the flames of the anti-Roman movement that got Jerusalem destroyed and Judea dismantled as a political entity a few decades later.

Or perhaps he received a new heart that day, and lived the rest of his life in gratitude to the innocent King who took his punishment for him, striving to be like the one who died for him.

What kind of Barabbas are you going to be?

Peace be with you.

Photo source: http://imageshack.us/photo/my-images/86/pdvd082lz7.jpg/

Listen & Learn, Part 1: Barney

I wonder if I’ll ever get to the point where I’ll stop learning new lessons from the Bible.

Probably not. At least I hope not.

The kooky thing I’ve just noticed is that these little epiphanies almost never come to me when I actively seek them out. It’s only when I’m listening, rather than deliberately searching, that they’re revealed to me.

Maybe that’s because, in my clumsy and immature approach to seeking, I act like it’s all up to me, while listening puts God in the driver’s seat. Not that I’m anti-seek, or that I’m going to stop seeking – it’s pretty clear that I need to work on my seeknique. But in the meantime, I’ll continue to be wowed by what God chooses to reveal to me in spite of the incompetence of my efforts.

Anyhoo, three new truths were revealed to me in recent weeks, and I thought I’d share them. None of them are ‘Baldyisms’ that I can lay claim to having arrived at myself while studying the Bible directly – they all came from sermons I listened to – but since few people listen to as many sermons as I do, I thought I’d share them.

This was going to be one post, but it got a little lengthy (ya don’t say, Baldy!), so I’ve decided to split it into a three-part series.

Today, let’s talk about Barnabas…

Mars Hill Bible Church youth pastor Steve Argue gave a sermon on January 22 called Antioch Churching, Christians and Flash Mobs (check it out on iTunes if you’re interested). It contained a lot of ‘Mars Hill! Rah-rah-rah!’ stuff I didn’t really connect with, but there were some nifty bits – he talks about the word ‘church’ as a verb, for one thing. (Interestingly, Google Translate says chercher in French means to seek. Hmm….)

But my favorite part of the Flash Mobs sermon came when Steve pointed out the pivotal nature of a guy by the name of Barnabas.

Not because he founded the Cypriot Church, or because he and the Apostle Paul worked in tandem for many years throughout their mobile ministry, or because he was a heckuvan apostle in his own right. Not to downplay any of that, but what interested Steve the most about Barnabas is twofold:

1. Barnabas is the guy who vouched for a Pharisee-turned-überChristian named Saul of Tarsus after the latter’s Road to Damascus (Acts 9) experience.
2. Paul and Barnabas worked together for many years, but their partnership finally busted up when Barnabas wanted to bring a young apostle named John Mark along on an upcoming journey. Paul ‘…did not think it wise to take him, because he had deserted them in Pamphylia and had not continued with them in the work.  They had such a sharp disagreement that they parted company.’ – Acts 9:38.

I guess Barnabas felt pretty strongly about John Mark and his worth. It must have been a pretty big issue, considering what Paul and Barney had been through together.

If not for Barnabas, would the rest of the early church ever have given Paul the time of day? Then, years later, if he’d given in to Paul and also given John Mark the cold shoulder, what would have become of him?

Paul wrote most of the letters in the New Testament; John Mark is believed to have written the Gospel of Mark – and some scholars theorize that this work was the first Gospel written, and it was even used as a reference for the gospels of Matthew and Luke.

Therefore, how much of the New Testament do we owe to the willingness of St. Barnabas to stand up for – and to – his friends, on God’s behalf?

I don’t know about you, but I want to be like Barnabas.

Peace be with you.

 

Photo Sources:

• http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barnabas
• http://www.giantbomb.com/barney-rubble/94-7506/

Adoption Option

‘But when the fullness of the time was come, God sent forth his Son, made of a woman, made under the law, To redeem them that were under the law, that we might receive the adoption of sons.’ – Galatians 4:4-5

That verse is one of a few that have always given me a bit of heartburn.

Not because it uses the S-word (sons), but because it uses the A-word.

Adoption.

God made me, and He made me in His image. If I have a Father, He’s it. Why on Earth (or Heaven) would he have to adopt me?!?

Not that there’s anything wrong with adoption. I’m a big fan of this practice – having had no first-hand experience with it I can’t say much about what it’s like from the inside, but for my money, adoptive parents are just as good as biological parents.

Maybe better.

After all, they get to choose their children – we biological mums and dads are stuck with whatever little monster we get. (The fact that the little Frankenpetkau is half-me and half-her can be a small consolation, since we don’t get any input on which half!)

As Texas megapreacher/author Max Lucado said in a sermon last year, there are surprise pregnancies (and unwanted ones), but no surprise adoptions (and certainly no unwanted ones).

So in short, adoption good.

A few months ago, I made a new friend who’s a foster dad. He and his wife have happily fallen into the occupational hazard of adopting a couple of their former fosters, and he shared some interesting insights on adoption.

Most notably, he pointed out that Jesus was adopted.

Scripture speaks quite often of the Saviour coming from the House of David, but as far as my friend and I can tell, he gets that from Joseph’s side of the family, not Mary’s.

Matthew 1:1-2: ‘This is the genealogy of Jesus the Messiah the son of David, the son of Abraham: Abraham was the father of Isaac, Isaac the father of Jacob, Jacob the father of Judah and his brothers…’
(… Begat begat begat …)
Matthew 1:16: ’… and Jacob the father of Joseph, the husband of Mary, of whom was born Jesus, who is called Christ.’ 

Joseph was not in the room at the time of Jesus’ conception, so he’s the Saviour’s adoptive dad! (Kinda puts the term ‘Son of Man’ in a different light, doesn’t it?) But regardless of this reality, the Bible continues to speak of Jesus as a descendant of David. That’s a pretty strong endorsement of adoption, in my book (and God’s Book, too)!

If it’s good enough for Jesus, it should be good enough for us, too, right?

Sure, it’s good enough. No problem there. But that doesn’t address the original question: why is it necessary for God to adopt me, when I’m already His son?

If we’re adopted by God once we choose Him, are we orphans before we choose Him? I don’t like the sound of that, and it also doesn’t seem accurate.

‘Orphan’ doesn’t seem to apply when our Parent is alive. I always thought of the relationship between God and His unbelieving children more like estrangement than disownment.

But is that how God sees it? Or is our disobedience and sinfulness such an affront to Him that it’s tantamout to us disowning our Father? (Yes, I’m suggesting that we do the disowning in this exercise in speculation.)

That theory might be worth meditating on, but I’m not convinced it’s completely accurate.

For one thing, other spots in the Bible don’t point directly to full-fledged disownment and adoption, do they?

When the Prodigal Son returns home, the father doesn’t have to formally adopt his wayward offspring, he just gives him a hug, a ring and a robe and bada-bing, the boy is restored to his dad’s house.

But the biblical adoption references are too many to ignore. In addition to the Galatians verse I mentioned earlier, there are other passages that directly and indirectly support the idea that God adopts us when we turn to Him.

What gives?

An answer was revealed to me this week in a story from another Max Lucado sermon podcast from last year.

In Max’s story, a boy makes a toy sailboat, then loses it, then finds it in a pawnshop and buys it back.
‘Now you’re mine twice,’ the boy says to the boat on the way home. ‘First, I made you, and then I bought you.’ 

Just like the sailboat, Max says, we Born Again-ers are God’s Children Twice.

Seems a bit over the top, doesn’t it? Surely one parental relationship would do it. Reinstatement would suffice.

For us.

But apparently not for God.

Maybe that’s because in Christ, each of us is a new creation with a new heart and a new name.

‘Behold, I am doing a new thing.’ – Isaiah 43:19a (ESV)

That newness demands a new commitment, not the mere repair or resumption of an old one.

And in the same way that the New Testament is the fulfilment of the Old, not the abolition of it (see Matthew 5:17), I think our adoption in no way discards the fact we’re God’s natural children, it confirms it. Reaffirms it. Animates it. Puts flesh on its bones. Turns it from 2-D to 3-D and from black-and-white to Technicolor(TM) – that one was for you, RJ.

And, you know, I’m not sure that saying we’re God’s Children, Twice (GC2) does justice to this new reality. Maybe it’s more like we’re God’s Children, Squared. (GC²)

The concept might be a little out there, but I think it might also be right in here. Think on that, brothers² and sisters^2.

Peace be with you.

Photo Source: http://www.ratemyink.com/?action=ssp&pid=28220

 

Stinkbomb

Earlier today, I posted a stinkbomb of a Tweet.

I don’t remember the exact phrasing, and I’ve since deleted it from both Facebook and Twitter I can’t look it up. But it went something like this:

‘I just bought 50 ‘Choruses & Hymns’ on iTunes, and it only contains 12 stinkbombs. That means I got 26 good songs for free!’

Believe it or not, I meant this to be an endorsement, and I meant no real disparagement to the dozen or so ‘stinkbombs.’

But with the 20/20 goggles of Hindsight, I realized how ugly my words were about 30 minutes ago and deleted them and issued a quickie apology on these two social network sites. But it occurs to me that this action isn’t quite sufficient. Hence this post.

You see, I’m generally not much for hymns. I love modern worship music, but hymns are for old people, and for much of my youth I found their clumsy, archaic language and far-too-frequent chord changes (said I) to be a hindrance, not a help, in my efforts to connect with God.

But in the last few months, my icy heart has begun to melt on this point. At the Fall Cursillo in Qu’appelle, Saskatchewan, we sang quite a number of hymns and they really spoke to me, musically and spiritually. I realized that I’d been throwing the baby out with the bathwater.

And with an opportunity in front of me to lead the music team at the spring Calgary Cursillo, I seized the chance to familiarize and immerse myself in hymnal worship music.

So I sought out a few songs I knew on iTunes and came across this album. It features a number of Christian rock artists who regularly find their way into my playlists – Robin Mark and Stuart Townend, to name a couple – so I thought I’d pick up all 50 tracks, for the price of a dozen iTunes songs individually. 

But I did so with some trepidation.

I was afraid of disliking most of the songs – the word ‘hymn’ is in the album title, after all. But to my surprise, most of them are fantastic additions to my iTunes library. A few are take-em-or-leave-ems and, yes, there are some that are not my cup of tea. About a dozen. Overall, a great find. Track by track, percentage-wise, it ranks up there for me with any Chris Tomlin, Downhere or Barlowgirl album I have.

I highly recommend this album. It’s a bargain.

I like it so much that I wanted to share this find with all of my fellow hymnists – people who look down our noses at hymns and those ‘chorusy,’ NedFlandersian modern worship songs from the ’70s and early ’80s.

I had a feeling I wasn’t the only one throwing the baby out with the bathwater.  And I wanted to employ my trademark Petkauian wit as I did so. And, reluctantly, I have to admit that I’m a little like that kid with a moped – the infamous pedal bike with a motor, or motorbike with pedals that’s fun to ride, unless your friends are watching.

I wanted to proclaim that I’m a hymnist no more, but I was afraid that other hymnists wouldn’t like me no more.

With a few hours’ perspective, I realized how ridiculous this was, and how insulting my stinkbomb Tweet was to people who love hymns – and to Jesus – and that I need to confess it and own up to my immaturity.

Chances are, nobody’s judging me for liking some hymns, and if they are, that’s their problem, not mine.

All things considered, I’d rather be Ned Flanders than Homer Simpson.

‘Whoever is ashamed of me and my words, the Son of Man will be ashamed of them when he comes in his glory and in the glory of the Father and of the holy angels.’ – Luke 9:26 (NIV)

I’m sorry, Jesus.

I’m sorry, friends.

Toodly-doo.

Peace be with you.

Photo Sources:

• http://www.thecoolist.com/1978-mean-spirit-custom-moped/
• http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ned_Flanders
• My iTunes Library

Secret

In the secret, in the quiet place
In the stillness You are there
In the secret, in the quiet hour I wait only for You,
Because I want to know You more

We sang those lyrics, from the Andy Park song In the Secret, this morning in church, and I couldn’t help but notice what the words don’t say.

They don’t use the word only, as if God is only in the stillness and in the secret, quiet places. That’s a good thing, of course, because it’s not true.

The reality is God is with us all of the time, wherever we go – and He speaks to us all of the time, regardless of what’s going on in our temporal lives.

I don’t think this is news to any of us, but I think some of us do tend to live as if it’s not true. We come to church for an hour or two once a week to spend time with God, and that’s good. But we act as if it’s our only chance each week to do that – except other ‘secret, still, quiet’ places, like maybe in a Bible study or while we’re saying our morning prayers. And that’s a shame.

As a result, we’re not looking for God when we’re away from the ‘holy’ places and times – when we meet people who don’t know God, and don’t even want to, when we’re confronted by conflict, by awkward situations and by temptations: we act as if we’re all alone, right when we need Him the most.

Right when He wants to help us the most.

It doesn’t have to be this way, folks.

God set aside the Sabbath for rest – not to be the one day in seven that we spend with Him; that’s supposed to be a 24-7 reality. God didn’t divide secular and sacred; we humans did that all on our own.

And with God’s help, we can each choose to let God dismantle those walls in our hearts and set things His way again. (Since we put the walls up on our own, I suppose it’s possible for us to tear them down on our own steam, but why would we want to??)

What if church and prayer and study are not supposed to be the activities we engage in to fill up our ‘God Cup’ once a week; what if they’re supposed to the activities we engage in so we can learn how to be with God all week long, so the cup is always filled to overflowing? Would that change how we approach prayer, study and worship?

‘Overflowing,’ Baldy? What are we supposed to do with the excess?

Share it, of course.

Share Him.

Sound scary? You bet it is. But don’t worry; God will help you through it all. Because, remember, the reason you’ll have all this excess to share is because you’ll have let God knock down those walls, so you can hear Him whenever He speaks to you. You can trust that this God won’t leave you hanging out to dry.

There are 168 hours in a week, and He wants to spend all of them with you.

In the public, in the noisy place
In the chaos, He is there
In the public, in the crowded hour He waits, only for you
Because He wants you to know Him more…

Peace be with you.

Photo Source: http://www.austinchronicle.com/blogs/chrontourage/2011-12-01/secret-show-next-thursday-at-momos/