The Seven Deadly Sins and Prayer
It is easy to imagine that when we pray, we turn away from those dark parts of our self that are sinful and marked by evil. John of the Cross's masterpiece, The Dark Night of the Soul, attacks that naiveté, and begins by working through each of the seven deadly sins in turn, describing how each of them enters with us into our devotional lives. Pride, Greed and their ilk actively keep us from prayer, but they also deeply affect the ways that we enter into and experience prayer.For instance, spiritual gluttony affects our prayers by encouraging within us the desire to greedily costume the joys of prayers for our own sake, to enter into the spiritual disciplines without moderation. We consume the "sweet" experience of God's presence, and can so crave that experience that we lose the importance of prayer that exists even when that experience eludes us. John writes,
"So much are they given to this that they think when they derive no spiritual sweetness, they have done nothing, so meanly do they think of God...But these persons will feel and taste God, as if he were palpable and accessible to them, not only in communion but in all other acts of devotion...This effort after sweetness destroys true devotion and spirituality, which consists in perseverance in prayer with patience and humility, mistrusting self, solely to please God."
And so the early chapters of the book go, working through each of the capitol sins in turn, showing how they become barriers to the practice of prayer, in turn working against our faith in its value and distorting our experience of prayer.Through this, John drives towards a very theocentric idea of prayer—prayer is a place of God's action, not something that we can simply manipulate and force into giving us the experience we desire. He calls us to be humble and perseverant in prayer, in faith that because of God's grace, prayer is valuable even when it feels empty and useless.This is helpful to me.
John of the Cross and my Reintroduction to Prayer
I have lately realized my deep need to learn how to pray again. It snuck up on me. I didn't feel spiritually anemic, and feel as though I have been growing in virtue and in my appreciation for God's will and grace. I even feel like a full participant in worship.The only problem is that I really haven't been praying very much.At least, not by myself. I've still been praying with my family, with people from the church, with my small group, etc, but my own time of private devotion has become sparse. Even as I've increased my habit of taking in the word, and meditating on it (even prayerfully), I have felt my capacity for simple prayer to be diminished. Even after a moment or two or prayer, I have found my mind sliding to the next task to be done, or to some easily accessible distraction—the phone, social media, and the general internet are ready culprits. It has just become too easy not to pray, not to immerse myself in the presence of God.I found a similar note in Eugene Peterson's memoir The Pastor, in which he speaks about the difficulty he had growing in prayer, even as he was neck deep in ministry and the Word. Peterson mentions finding help along the way in two spanish mystics, Theresa of Avila and John of the Cross. Thanks for the tip, Eugene!I've known about the two for a while. We used to take youth group kids to a monastery outside Little Rock, and it happened to be of the Discalced variety of Carmelites that descend from the movement born by Theresa and John. And while I've never really gotten into Theresa's writing (perhaps it is just not time for that yet), John's image of the Dark Night has been in the back of my head for a long time, and his book buried on my shelf.Every once in a while, I find that a renowned book by one of the spiritual masters just won't work for me. I remember, for instance, my first time trying to read Bonhoeffer's Life Together. It just didn't work for me—I had a hard time getting through even the first couple of chapters without glazing over. After a couple of years, I picked it back up, and it was totally different. It just absolutely spoke to me, blowing my mind and pulling me deeply into conversation with Bonhoeffer's important ideas of community. The book was of course the same, but whatever had happened in between those readings had changed me, preparing me to receive what was there. The book would become critical to my thinking, but the first time through, I just wasn't ready for it.The Dark Night of the Soul is working on me like that right now. Just like I had to be prepared to learn from Bonhoeffer on community, I think I needed a period of latency before I could really absorb the teachings of John of the Cross on prayer. I've tried a couple of times before—six and perhaps ten or twelve years ago. Then, I couldn't really get into the book. It seemed foreign and stiff. Now, it seems vivid and crucial to where I am spiritually. I'm finding it to be just the conversation partner I needed to rediscover prayer.
Kingdom Come: A Sermon about Matthew's Genealogy
He was the "Son of God", the "bringer of Good News", the Lord, the Savior, the one who would restore order and justice to the earth—at least that was Rome's official story about Caesar. History also seems to look favorably on the Pax Romana, and in many ways, that version of reality isn't that far off. The Roman Empire brought relative peace, wealth, and stability to many in the mediterranean world.However, there was another side to life in Caesar's world. Beneath the heel of the empire were whole peoples, exploited for the empire's sake, hopeless to fight back against the efficient military machine of Rome's storied army. In Palestine, a particularly dark cloud hung over the recipients of Caesar's "good news". The Jewish people living in Judea and Galilee lived in a world in which power was king—and they had none of it. They had always been a proud people, and once a powerful nation, but now lived under another flag. Over and over again they rose up to resist the Empire, trying to beat the empire at its own game by asserting their own power—and they failed miserably. Rome brutally asserted its power over what was, to them, a strategic territory filled with a stubborn, irritating, and irrational people. Religious leaders based in the temple used divine distinction to stoke the fires of resentment that justified bouts of armed revolution. Many a would-be leader rose to fame by resisting the Romans, claiming divine consent for their revolutionary attempts to throw the pagans out. Certainly not everyone joined in the violence, but everyone felt the force of Rome's response to it. To some it was an empire of peace, but to others, it was an empire of violence.Also, while it was an empire of wealth, it was also an empire of poverty, built on the backs of slaves and enslaved nations. Wealth drifted upward, and the few who controlled land or other means increased their assets while the poor became poorer with each generation. Some of the most recent historical work is trying to move beyond simple binary descriptions as elite/nonelite or haves/have-nots, but even still, the best estimate show that between 75-97 percent of the population in the roman world lived in poverty, if that is defined by living at or near subsistence level.Beyond that violence and turbulence, the economic conditions were tough as well. Under the empire and its elite accomplices, a small minority controlled land, food, and wealth. Although historians are working to get beyond simple distinctions like elite/poor, the best estimates now are that somewhere between 75% to 97% of the population across the empire lived in poverty—meaning at or below subsistence levels, with very few resources. Palestine, having been rocked by violence and dependent on agriculture, was worse off than most areas. For many of the Jews of Palestine, life under the Roman empire was anything but a life of wealth—it was a life of poverty.As far as stability goes, Rome knew that it needed local leaders who sought to keep the people in check, and found more than enough who were willing to become accomplices to the empire's power in exchange for a few of the empire's coins. These imperial elite played a dangerous game, negotiating the terms of the relationship between the people and the empire. When the people were pushed too far, revolution erupted. When the empire's power was too openly challenged, the military convincingly crushed the opposition. The imperial elites danced between these two, trying to keep both parties reasonably content in the effort to maintain their own power, and often failing. Thus the people of Judea and Galilee faced a cycle of would-be revolution, followed by crackdowns, growing dissatisfaction, and new uprisings.Caesar promised a world of peace, wealth, and stability. For many of the people living in Jerusalem, Judea, and Galilee in the first century, the reality was a life of violence, poverty, and turbulence. Is it any wonder that many of the people were anxious for a change? Caesar's world was a world where power stood in the place of justice, where influence held more sway than righteousness, and where rich and the poor were nearly destined to become richer and poorer. Depending on who you were, you either hoped it would go on forever, or hoped and prayed that God would intervene, and remake the world into something else.The book of Matthew grows out of the latter perspective, and is thoroughly subversive to the empire. It begins with the assumption that this is not Caesar's world. It is God's world, and God has been active in it a lot longer than Caesar could imagine. The book's opening line, "The book of the generations of Jesus Christ" calls us back to Genesis, to the story of God creating the world and of God's relationships and promises to the patriarchs. It points toward the language Genesis uses to introduce its own narrative ("The book of the generations of the heavens and the earth" Gen 2:4), and to move to new phases of the story. (5:1, 10:1, etc.). Matthew uses it here to let the reader know that he is about to tell about a new phase in that same story. He does all this because he wants us to know, from the very beginning, that this is not a narrative set in Caesar's world—it is God's world, and Caesar is just living in it. Beyond that, the genealogy is a substitute for a formula such as "in the days of Caesar Augustus...", and gives the story of Jesus it's primary context, which is not in the history of the Roman empire, but in the narrative of God's covenant people. He is the son of Abraham and the son of David, being born in this moment of the story of God's people.Matthew marks the significance of the moment by structuring his genealogical list into three periods. There is the period from Abraham to David, one from David to the Exile, and from the exile to the moment of Jesus. Abraham, David, the Exile, represent critical moments in the story, and by noting the time, Matthew is underlining the importance of Jesus. Matthew 1:17 points out the symmetry of this for the reader, "Thus there were fourteen generations in all from Abraham to David, fourteen from David to the exile to Babylon, and fourteen from the exile to the Christ." The only problem is, Matthew's math is wrong. 
Most of the time, we don't notice stuff like this because we read the Bible too quickly, but if you count up the named generations Matthew lists, the numbers should be fourteen, fourteen, and thirteen. Now, to be clear, I don't think that's a mistake—ancient authors loved to play with numbers in settings like this, and I feel certain that Matthew is doing this on purpose, somewhat playfully. I think he is setting us up to look at the story and ask, "Who comes after Jesus?" It's a great way to open his book, because the rest of the gospel really teases out this question, as Jesus recruits disciples, teaches them about a new way of life, and then eventually charges them to do the exact same thing, replicating their experience of discipleship throughout the world. The genealogy is therefore connected with the rest of Matthew's story, right up to the end, where Jesus gives the great commission, "Therefore, go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you." Matthew's gospel, from the genealogy to the commission, points to the question, "Who comes after Jesus?" and, I think, to an answer.The answer is "us." We are the descendants of Jesus. Ultimately, Jesus's work is producing a sustained community that lives consciously under the reign of God—a community of which we are now a part. In our living as disciples of Jesus we find ourselves in Jesus's story, and the mission of his life become our mission. We continue his story. We are the fourteenth generation.Abraham Lincoln once said, "Some folks worry about who their ancestors were. I am more concerned with who my descendants will be." Matthew's story shares that concern, and even the genealogy, which seems to look back, looks forward to the fulfillment of Jesus's mission. As we take our part in that mission, may we look forward to its fulfillment as well, and trust that to that end we will be used by God, for God's own glory. Amen.
They Came From
A day of long meetings,hours gazing into computer screens,competitive offices and tense meetings,projects with deadlines, orquotas needing to be filled.They came from soccer practice,from the field and its gloryor the parking lot,where the August sun drains the life out ofmoms in minivans.She came from a lonely home,from an easy chair that sitsin front of a droning television,next to an end table with an empty coffee cup,and a phone that never rings.They came from homework,chapters underlined and blanks filled in,some of them right, some of them wrong,some left undone,waiting to be turned in for approval.He came from the worst fight,(or at least it feels that way),that he's ever had with his wife.Tomorrow's might be worse,might be the one that ends it all.And here they all are, together.Though they are alsoin those places, still.
The Story (As Told by Steven, at This Moment, in This Place)
I've been thinking a good bit lately about the nature of scripture, and particularly the grand narrative of the biblical text. There are a lot of synopses of the story, but I've been tinkering with my own, a task that might not be a bad idea for most believers to work on every now and then. Recognizing that such a synopsis necessarily leaves things out and focuses on some elements at the expense of others, I'd love a little feedback on where I'm at with this version. I mean "Version" pretty intentionally, recognizing that it reads a little differently than it would have a year ago, or likely will a year from now. What's here is a reflection of the story I see myself in right now. What do you see as missing or distorted here?
The world and humanity were created by God, but became estranged from God because of human sin, and thus the world became broken. As a result, God set about revealing Himself to Abraham and his descendants, forming them into a people whose destiny was the blessing of the world—God would reconcile himself to humanity through Israel, and thereby heal what was broken.Although it appeared God’s plan would at times be thwarted by Israel’s unfaithfulness and resulting exile, God continued to pursue his plan through Israel, and eventually was victorious in creating the possibility of true reconciliation in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. After his resurrection, God began using Jesus’s followers to proclaim the message of his reign, and to exemplify that reign within a new form of human community which we know as church. The church carries out that mission today, while trusting the promise that at some point God will assert his ruling authority over the whole earth, and thus bring the world back into its proper state. At that time there will be a resurrection of those faithful to Jesus, what was broken will be made right, and God's reign will be fully realized.
I'd love to hear your feedback on this!
Using Questions to Teach
Discussing Discussions
Increasingly, adult education in churches has depended upon discussion formats and less on lecture formats. An increasing number of students expect there to be some level of discussion, whether that takes place in smaller discussion groups or with a larger class as a whole. This shift has some very positive qualities to it, as it enables perspectives to be heard that otherwise would not, asks students to contribute from their own experiences, and think on an application level. It also can help produce a warm, casual, and comfortable environment.The shift has negatives as well, though, which often go unnoticed in the rush to adopt the new style of teaching. It’s easy to imagine that because of the time used by discussion, then the teacher needs less time to prepare for the class. As a result, sometimes discussion times are used as a crutch to cover over poor class preparation. This robs the class! It’s important to make sure that we are using discussion as a tool for the right reason. As a teacher, I have to ask, am I doing this just to take some of the pressure off of myself, or because it’s what everybody expects, or is it the best way to accomplish the goals of the class? Starting off with the right reasons for using discussion as a mode of teaching goes a long way towards making sure I’m using it the right way, because done properly, managing and encouraging effective discussions is a lot of work! It takes thinking ahead, using the right balance of active energy and passive receptivity to elicit the right responses, and using the right kinds of questions.
Good Questions
But what are the right kinds of questions? It takes some skill and practice to realize what will work and what won’t when preparing to lead discussions, and even master teachers sometimes ask a dud. Here are some things to keep in mind as you develop the skill of leading discussions and grow into a master teacher! What’s the purpose of this question? Is it to discover new perspectives or to just get everybody talking? Am I trying to get people to provide information or express feelings? Think through what you want to accomplish with each question you ask. How does it fit into the overall plan for your class? Does it contribute to what you are wanting to accomplish, or does it just fill space?How many different answers to this question are possible? A question that has only one right answer is a dead end discussion. Most people won’t even give that answer, because they sense the dead air that’s going to follow it. A good discussion question has not only the possibility, but the probability of many different answers.Who can reasonably respond to this question? In a related sense, there are some questions that only invite certain members of the class to respond. Does the question require extensive pre-knowledge to answer, or a certain type of job or life experience? This isn’t a deal-killer for a discussion question, but it can help you think through what is likely to happen and what is not likely to result from a particular discussion question.What can I follow the discussion with in order to enrich the discussion and validate it? This is both a question of preparation and one that is ongoing in the mind of the teacher in the middle of the discussion. This does not only mean validating the responses given, but demonstrating that the whole discussion moves the class closer to a desired goal.How does the Word respond to the discussion? In completing the process, what are some ways that scripture might respond to the discussion, or add to it?
Preaching on Power
I am super-stoked about preaching this weekend. It's about power, which underlies so much of the world, but of which we speak so inadequately about. Here is some of the design work that goes with the sermon.
Sometimes the sermon comes easier than others. This week's had to go through a lot of wrestling, but in the end, after a lot of listening and struggle, I'm extremely excited to share it with the church.
"They sow the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind."
Naming the Elephant: Worldview as Concept by James Sire
Lately I've been writing and thinking about how reading the Bible works as a formative practice, and it's led me to think about the concept of worldview. I found James Sire's Naming the Elephant helpful in thinking about the concept, both as an abstraction and in terms of the worldviews I see at work in our community. Personally, Sire's book helped me come towards a better articulation of my own worldview.Sire has been interested in worldview studies for a while. I know his book The Universe Next Door was used at Harding while I was there, and having gone through several editions, it's probably been as influential in the way evangelicals think about worldview as anything else, particularly in how we see the differences between ourselves and other faith traditions. As you would imagine, that has some intense missiological implications, and thus Sire has probably been read mostly in that context.This shorter book is particularly interested in teasing out the worldview concept itself, and Sire is candid about places where he felt his earlier definitions and examples have perhaps fallen short. Here, he surveys of perspectives on the worldview concept from philosophical, theological, and sociological sources to give a better articulation to what he means by this root concept. Ultimately, he comes the following well-thought definition:
A worldview is a commitment, a fundamental orientation of the heart, that can be expressed as a story or in a set of presuppositions (assumptions which may be true, partially true or entirely false) which we hold (consciously or subconsciously, consistently or inconsistently) about the basic constitution of reality, and that provides the foundation on which we live and move and have our being.
Most of the book, which is a quick read at 160 short pages, is the work of setting up this definition and giving it substantial nuance. He teases it out against the backdrop of worldview thinkers over the past two centuries—this is not a casual definition. Sire's work on critically thinking through the implications of his definition is evident throughout the book, and the little book is quite worthwhile for that reason. The descriptions of Sire's wrangling with the philosophical decision between the priority of ontology over epistemology is interesting, as is his writing about his growing recognition of the importance of story as a vehicle for worldview.Less satisfactory are the questions Sire offers as a mechanism for teasing out particular worldviews. He sticks to his guns with the following seven questions, although through the text he expands the questions as including more than they seem to on the surface.
1. What is the prime reality—the really real.2. What is the nature of external reality, that is, the world around us?3. What is a human being?4. What happens to a person at death?5. Why is it possible to know anything at all?6. How do we know what is right and wrong?7. What is the meaning of human history?
Sire has used these same questions for years, and in Naming the Elephant he interacts with questions posed by different authors and compares them to his own. There are a couple of places where I still think better questions exist.
For instance, Sire discusses a set of questions posed by Walsh and Middleton,"Who are we? Where are we? What's wrong?" and "What's the solution?". Sire wishes to subsume the first (Who are we?) within question 3 above, which seems fair, as does his inclusion of "Where are we"? within number 2 above. However, he also wishes to include the last two (What's wrong? and What's the solution?) within questions 6 and 7 above, and it really seems to me that as a set they function importantly enough to merit their own place in worldview analysis.Another criticism of the book might be that Sire's assumptions about the Christian worldview seem to me to bypass critical theological issues. Of course, that's not a fair criticism, since Sire isn't really doing formal theology here, but implicitly doing practical theology, and his assumptions probably do reflect a good bit of ground level theological thinking in the sort of folk Christianity that exists in America. Beyond that, Sire recognizes that when he talks about a "Christian worldview" he is really thinking about his own worldview, which he perceives to be Christian. By and large I think he's correct, and articulates the main parts of what might be fairly called Christian worldviews accurately.This is a fantastic little book. Sire is, for the most part, fair and measured in his analysis, and recognizes his own commitments as they come up within his argument. Ultimately I think Sire moves the concept of worldview forward in helpful ways, and provides a good resource for anyone wanting to understand themselves, or the world around them, with greater clarity.
Egypt in Hosea
One of the interesting features of Hosea is the role(s) that Egypt plays in the text. The word "Egypt" shows up 13 times in Hosea (2.02 occurrences per 1000 words). That's the highest concentration of occurrences of any book in the whole Bible outside of Exodus (3.45/1000 words), unless we divide Isaiah into the customary first and second parts. In that case, although my old version of accordance won't tell me, I imagine First Isaiah's concentration would be higher—31 of Isaiah's 34 references to Egypt are in chapters 1-39. The similarity is no surprise, of course, because the historical situation of Isaiah 1-39 is contemporary to Hosea.Hosea is steeped in the exodus tradition, so that he sees the departure from Egypt and the time in the wilderness as formative for Israel's special relationship with God. But Hosea is also writing during a time when Egypt is appealing as an ally against the Assyrians. So he writes about Israel being called out of Egypt (Hosea 11:1) by YHWH, and also about their "return" to Egypt. Egypt is a world power that offers an alternative security to that offered by YHWH, and Hosea sees reliance on any such power as a road to ruin—indeed, a return to slavery. That means that Hosea is able to play off the exodus tradition, suggesting that Israel's flirtation with other powers will reverse the situation of the Exodus. This is just another layer of the whole reversal position of Hosea—their current actions threaten a reversal of the entire covenant, though the Lord will eventually again reverse this judgment and restore them again. Hosea thus imagines a new exodus, this time from Egypt and Assyria (Hosea 11:11).This is an interesting take on a theme present within many of the biblical narratives—Israel's morbid obsession with forms of power that threaten and oppress them. (Egypt, Assyria, monarchy) Even post-exodus, Egypt has a strange allure. What once enslaved Israel calls her back, promising her relief from her current troubles.This is, of course, a recurring theme not just with Israel, but humanity. Alcoholics, the greedy, the gluttonous, addicts of all flavors and the rest of us all have our Egypts, and when we find ourselves under pressure, they can sing a sweet, sweet song. Ultimately it is a song of death.
Hosea—A Bibliography for Study and Preaching
While I've been preparing for the Hosea series of sermons (and blog posts!) I have had the wonderful chance to work through a few books, and I thought I should share a few I've found helpful. Looking for a commentary on any given text can be tough, because there is simply so much material available. I haven't read all of the following cover to cover, but have used each at some point in my preparations on Hosea over the course of the last few months.
The commentary by Andrew Dearman (2010) is perhaps the most well rounded and up to date volume that I worked with as I prepared to preach from the book. Dearman takes form critical matters seriously without swimming in them too much, and the same is generally true for his treatment of ancient Israelite religious matters. This commentary has a great balance, and doesn't feel too heavy for the average user, but is also well-informed and dialogues with other treatments of the book well. There is also a kindle version available, which is the only of the commentaries listed here for which that is true. The kindle version doesn't include (at this point) page numbers, which is a bit annoying, particularly if you want to cite the book. Nonetheless, I think this is a great buy, and if I was starting over I think I'd pick this up first.
Gale Yee's commentary on Hosea in the twelfth volume of the New Interpreter's Bible (1996) challenged me in some very helpful ways. While being extremely readable, Yee's commentary provoked me to thinking through something of a feminist perspective of Hosea, particularly helping me see a new perspective on some of the rhetoric about Yahweh as husband. While I don't know that the commentary would be sufficient by itself, it would make a fantastic second voice for a full conversation about Hosea. This volume includes commentary on each of the Minor prophets, as well as Daniel, from good solid scholars, and at $40 on amazon might be the best deal dollar for dollar, particularly in you're going to work on the other minor prophets as well. As a side note, I think this whole set of commentaries has really been done well. The lineup of contributors is impressive, and the format is excellent. 
Douglas Stuart's commentary on Hosea (1987) is in a volume that also includes commentary on Joel, Amos, Obadiah, and Jonah. Hosea gets the lion's share of the substantial book, though, and Stuart is very thorough in his treatment of Hosea. Writing from a very fixed perspective, Stuart heavily emphasizes that Hosea is a reformer, seeking to call the people back to the covenant made years ago as represented by the book of Deuteronomy. I appreciate Stuart's perspective, but at several points felt as though he was a bit overconfident in his argumentation of the point—perhaps even condescending, although he certainly isn't the only scholar to be guilty of such. On balance, I think the commentary is a nice contribution, and I found it helpful, although a little annoying. That in itself is not a serious criticism, because if you aren't willing to learn from annoying sources occasionally, you just aren't going to learn.
The mammoth commentary on Hosea by Anderson and Freedman (1980) in the Anchor Bible Series could be quite helpful to some, but this is a heavy (literally and metaphorically) book with a good bit of technical discussion in it. I think the authors offer some great analysis and fresh insight, but this book is just simply going to be too much for most readers of the text. If I was doing a paper on a specific text, I'd definitely check it, and on particularly difficult passages for preaching there is some very helpful work here. However, at 600 plus pages, I simply can't imagine reading through this whole work. If you can, more power to you.
I only briefly looked at James Limburg's commentary on Hosea (1988) in the Interpretation series. While I typically have enjoyed commentaries in that series, and have written elsewhere of my appreciation of Limburg's work on Ecclesiastes, I was really quite disappointed with this volume. It was too stiff, and I just didn't get the same vibe of creativity here as I did with his ecclesiastes work. Alas.