I Hope All Is Well

by Jody Long
In his book, The Hopeful Heart, John Claypool quotes Father William Inge’s definition of hope: “Hope sees that which is possible, but is not yet.” This is where we begin our Advent journey this Sunday. We begin with hope, the “Cinderella sister” of 1 Corinthians 13 according to Bishop William Frey. We spend a lot of time focusing on faith and love because they seem, at first glance, more tangible to us. We even have specific Christian holy days for both: for faith, Easter, and for love, the feast of St. Valentine (despite its American trappings!). However, there are not many days set aside for hope.

That’s why celebrating every Sunday of Advent is important. As we anticipate the coming – the advent – of the Christ Child, we are compelled to move through the web of feelings of the holiday season: hope, love, joy, and peace. Before we get to the others, though, we celebrate hope. For many of us hope is hard to come by, especially this year. Family tragedies, family struggles, job and employment issues, national and global concerns dominate our daily lives.

Who has time to “see what is possible, but is not yet”? We all do. The coming Christ Child certainly could have found a better place to make his entrance than in the poverty of a young couple, so poor that a barn would serve as a delivery room. He easily could have found a better time frame for his coming than the cruel, premodern time of the Roman Empire. He certainly could have found a “more deserving” couple – at least in the world’s eyes – than Mary and Joseph and chosen a comfortable life. But he didn’t.

In fact, his coming into that place, time, and family illustrates the beauty of hope. If hope really is seeing what is possible but is not yet, then Jesus could not have chosen a better entrance. For much of the world then – and now – finds itself in the situation of Mary and Joseph: poor, outcast, and oppressed. The Christ child came to bring hope to the multitudes then and now that long for deliverance from circumstances of their own making and those beyond their control.

A practice I began long ago was to close most correspondence with the phrase, “I hope all is well.” It is not a throwaway line. It is my sincere hope that the great vision of what could be but is not yet grounds and sustains friend and foe alike. It is in the midst of the “everyday-ness” of life that we need this vision of possibility to make through the Advent season and every day of our lives. As we begin Advent, I hope all is well with you, now and in the days until we celebrate together the coming of the Harbinger of Hope in our lives.

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Aren't We All One?

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
In a recent Baptists Today article, I read about a nineteenth century Baptist congregation that censored a slave for dancing. The slave was a "member" of the church, though as human chattel, it was his job to sit in the slave balcony, keep his mouth shut, be subservient as the Bible required (Eph. 6:5; Col. 3:22), and count on his heavenly reward to someday make everything right.

But one Saturday night, this slave did too much drinking and too much dancing and was sanctioned by "his" church. Of course, the real irony was that the local brethren were incensed over the slave’s alleged misconduct while remaining oblivious to their own far greater evil of owning slaves.

Looking back, we wonder how good, well-meaning, God-fearing people could think owning slaves was consistent with following Jesus. They did so by cherry picking Bible passages that seemed to countenance slavery while ignoring other passages that cried out for the liberation of all people in the name of God! (Luke 4:18; Gal. 3:28; Philemon, etc.). And they read their Bibles the way they did because their economic interests, social conventions, and racial prejudice led them to do it.

Recently, the Georgia Baptist Convention (GBC) voted to exclude the First Baptist Church of Decatur for having a woman as pastor, my colleague and sister in Christ, the Rev. Julie Pennington-Russell. Julie’s a gifted preacher and pastor and I doubt the GBC action will hurt her or her church, but it will certainly hurt the witness of Baptist Christians in the eyes of an unchurched world. And maybe in 25 years, or 50, or 100, the GBC action will seem as reprehensible to all Baptists as it does to me.

On the "women’s issue," or any other, I try to read the Bible in the light of Jesus, the One who told Mary to stay put, studying with the men folk, when her big sister, Martha, ordered her back to the kitchen (Luke 10:38-42); the One who commissioned a woman, Mary Magdalene, as the first Evangelist of his Easter triumph (John 20:17-18); the One who unleashed a Spirit-breathed movement where the promise "your sons and your daughters will prophesy!" was sounded with joy and passion (Acts 2:17).

Yes, there are passages in the Bible can be read as demeaning to women, as there are passages that can be (and were!) read as condoning slavery. But I choose to read such passages as speaking to a particular place and time while the universal word of the Gospel, the really Good News, the Jesus-emblazoned truth that should guide our reading of the Bible and the living of our lives is this: "In Christ, there is no longer Jew or Gentile, slave or free, male and female; for you all are one in Christ Jesus!" (Gal. 3:28).

It took the church nineteen centuries to understand that passage applied to slavery. Maybe in the 21st century, all of God’s far flung will finally see it applies to women too.

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Praying the Psalms

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
Along with most Americans, I am still reeling from the Fort Hood shootings. That thirteen brave soldiers, pledged to defend my life and liberty, were struck down by a madman on our native soil, breaks my heart and turns my stomach. That the gunman was a psychiatrist pledged to help soldiers manage combat stress adds to the perversity of the carnage. That he was a Muslim who allegedly cried "Allahu Akbar" (Arabic for "God is great") as his rampage began makes my blood boil.

I know I’m not supposed to feel that way. I am a preacher and a follower of Jesus. We’re supposed to be in the forgiveness and reconciliation business, as was our Master. Pray for your enemies. Turn the other cheek. It rains on the just and the unjust. You know the drill.

But right now, I’m not feeling like much of a Christian. In fact, I’m getting reacquainted with parts of my inner life I mostly keep out of view, even from myself. Like the lust for revenge, a lingering suspicion of Muslims since 9/11, and the justified outrage at a demented individual that so easily putrefies into a simmering hatred toward a people.

Fortunately, there are better people than I offering sane and sound counsel: “Don’t rush to judgment. Get the facts straight. And remember that the deranged killer, Nidal Malik Hasan, is no more representative of Muslims than the Oklahoma City bomber, Timothy McVeigh, was representative of Christians.” Those observation are all true. What bothers me is how powerless they are to quell the rage simmering within.

So right now, I’m praying the Psalms. I’m discharging my anger on the heavens. I’m railing at God so I don’t unload my anger on others in destructive ways. There’s a reason most of the Psalms are laments, after all. There’s a lot to lament in the world. And the Psalms are a gracious God’s invitation to rail and weep through a long, dark night in the hope a new day will dawn (Psalm 30:5).

There is a little Muslim boy in my city who went to bed last night ashamed and afraid. He is ashamed of what a madman did in Texas that besmirched the name of his family’s faith. He is afraid the kids at school will make even more fun of him than before. He wonders if he is still welcome in this great land called America he loves with all his heart.

I’ve never met this little boy, but as I was praying the Psalms last night, Jesus told me about him. And Jesus said this boy is my neighbor and that I am called to love and befriend him, and others like him, who are innocent and yet so afraid. Because that’s who Christians are. And with Jesus’ help, that’s what Christians do.

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Wonder Bread

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
The wonder of God's provision of manna in the wilderness did not quiet Israel's fears. She continued to be afraid God would leave her in the lurch, somewhere well short of the Promised Land (Exodus 16:19-21).

We read the story and wonder, "How could this be? After God marvelously delivered the Hebrews from Egypt, culminating in the crossing of the sea, how could they doubt their Lord?" And yet throughout Israel's wilderness wanderings, her anxieties, complaining, and desperation continued to mount.

Maybe the problem was Israel was only given manna one day at a time. These days, we call that living "hand to mouth." It is not generally regarded as a desirable way to live. Maybe if God could have cut Israel some slack and allowed just a little something for a rainy day, she might have lightened up.

Then again, maybe not. Turn over to Mark chapter 8. Jesus and his disciples get in a boat to retreat from the crowds. They need some down time after a busy but fruitful couple of weeks. Among other things, Jesus has fed 5,000 hungry folk in chapter 6 and 4,000 more in chapter 8. But despite such outpourings of plenty, the disciples are still worried when they discover they have but one loaf of bread between them (8:14, 17).

Jesus looks at them, at us, his face etched in astonishment: "When I broke the five loaves for the five thousand, how many baskets full of broken pieces did you collect?"

The disciples look at him dully and answer, "Twelve."

"And when I broke the seven loaves for the four thousand, how many baskets full of broken pieces did you collect?"

Again they count up in their heads and answer, "Seven."

Jesus shakes his head in wonderment and asks, "Do you not yet understand?"

No, Lord, we don't. We're trying but we don't understand, at least not for long. Our fears are large and our faith is fleeting. Even in the face of your abundant mercies, we worry and whimper and plead. It must be hard to love us sometimes. Forgive us all the ways we test your patience and break your heart.

Just don't give up on us. Maybe someday, we will understand. Maybe someday you can count on us as we can count on you. In the meantime, give us this day our daily bread. And take our worries, when that is all we have to offer, and keep turning them into faith. Amen.

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