Life Ends; Love Doesn't

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
In Mitch Albom’s, The Five People You Meet in Heaven, the lead character, Eddie, meets up with his wife, Marguerite, who was snatched away from him much too young. Marguerite seeks to comfort Eddie by saying, “There was a reason to it all.”

Eddie lashes out at her suggestion. As far as he is concerned, there is no justifiable reason for his crushing loss.

Taking Eddie’s hands in her, Marguerite says, “Love lost is still love, Eddie. It takes a different form, that’s all. You can’t see their smile or bring them food or tousle their hair or move them around a dance floor. But when those senses weaken, another heightens. Memory. Memory becomes your partner. You nurture it. You hold it. You dance with it."

“Life has to end,” she concludes. “Love doesn’t.”

Yes, memory is a precious gift. Memory allows us to hallow and treasure the people now gone, whose loving touch is forever imprinted on our souls. But memory, like a surgeon’s scalpel, cuts even as it heals. The deeper the love, the deeper the ache--the agony, the emptiness--of the loss.

Monday is Memorial Day. It’s a day for remembering those men and women who made the ultimate sacrifice in the service of our country. A time of solemn remembrance and thoughtful gratitude is the minimum due from every American. But for those who lost a son or daughter, husband or wife, or other loved one or treasured friend on the field of battle, this loss is personal and profound. And for all such heartsick mourners, memory is not enough. They need something more. They need hope. They need to know this wrong will be righted and their numbing pain vanquished when they see their loved one again.

On Sunday of this Memorial Day weekend, Christians celebrate Ascension Sunday, the day Jesus returned home in triumph for his own heavenly reunion (Luke 24:50-5). But Jesus’ victory was not his alone. His victory was for all those who trust in him with earnest love and longing. The New Testament proclaims that in his resurrection and ascension, Jesus “took captivity captive” (Eph. 4:8-10), “disarmed the rulers and authorities” (Col. 2:15), and “abolished death and brought life and immortality to light through the gospel” (2 Tim. 1:10). Now he reigns at the right hand of God where he holds in trust all those who revel in his glory and dance in his grace. And no one--not even Death--can snatch them from his hand! (John 10:28).

Yes, memory is a wonderful thing but if memory is all we’ve got, death wins. We need more than memory; we need hope. We need more than Memorial Day; we need Ascension Sunday. We need more than a “reason” to make the hurt go away; we need a holy, healing presence and the promise of seeing loved ones lost again. We need more than sentiment; we need Jesus.

Faith robs memory of its awful finality and cracks it open like an empty tomb.

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Baptism Wading

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
Somewhere, years ago, I read a sermon by Fred Craddock about the “other side of the pulpit.” The sermon was about all the discarded bulletins, paper cups, lost reading glasses, and other stuff that collects on the shelves inside a pulpit, a sign, Craddock suggested, of the ordinariness of much holy work.

Well, someday I may write a sermon about the other side of the baptistry. There is no more awesome or thrilling moment than standing with a new believer in the welcoming waters of God’s goodness and grace. Indeed, one reason I could never stop being a Baptist is knowing how profoundly moving and transforming a believer’s baptism by immersion can be.

But the mechanics of baptism are another story. There is a large pool that must be filled with lots of water heated just so, by an aging, cantankerous heater in the church basement. There are the minister’s waders, bought at the Bass Pro Shop no less, that lack a certain liturgical class. There are candidates, fearful of water, who resist the downward dip and come up spitting and gasping for air. There are wringing wet robes and towels that must be quickly laundered lest mold ruin the symbolism of a perfectly white gown. Quite apart from arcane theological debates, it’s not hard to understand why tenderly dabbing a wet sign of the cross on a baby’s forehead passes for baptism in so many churches: It’s so much easier!

When I was a boy, a friend taught me how to snag a bass and land it in a boat, but nobody ever taught me how to baptize. It’s one of the many things they don’t teach you in seminary. Perhaps for lack of training, but for no lack of trying, I’ve never learned how to baptize someone without getting wet. Usually it’s just my left arm that gets wet, the arm that supports the candidate while lowering him or her into the water. But sometimes I have to stoop low enough while baptizing someone that water pours into the top of my waders. Then considerably more of me gets wet than just my arm.

I used to resist this unintended dousing and resolved to “do better” next time but with the years, I have come to glory in the getting wet that goes with baptizing another. It is a revisitation of my own baptism, that time long ago and far away when the welcoming love of God embraced and blessed every part of me and washed my sins away. Now when I preach following a baptism, and feel the cool wetness of my left arm or the clinging coldness of a damp trouser leg, I am aglow with gratitude and joy. Because the wetness is a holy reminder that no matter how big and grown up I get, I am still God’s child. And my loving, gracious Heavenly Father yet has a hold on me.

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The Swine Line

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
When I was a child, my mother didn’t teach me to live in mortal fear of airborne diseases that might do me harm. Instead, she taught me to wash my hands after going to the potty and before meals. She taught me to cover my mouth when I sneezed. She taught me to eat right and get a good night’s sleep, then throw myself into the joys and challenges of the day without fear or foreboding: "Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might!" (Ecc. 9:10).

When I was a child, my mother didn’t teach me to be afraid of strangers. She taught me to be cautious about people I didn’t know who approached me with unusual requests and certainly not to get in a car with someone I didn’t know. But she also taught me the world is full of fascinating people, most of whom are a delight: "Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some have entertained angels unawares" (Heb. 13:2).

When I was a child, my mother didn’t teach me to shrink from people who showed up at the door trying to peddle strange religious ideas. Instead, she taught me to greet them with both Christian civility and candor, with an open Bible in hand, ever ready to "give a reason for the hope that is within you" (1 Peter 3:15).

When I was a child, my mother didn’t teach me to fret unduly about financial pressures. Instead, she taught me to put my extra money in a piggy bank, to give ten cents of every dollar to Jesus and the church, and to trust God to "supply all your needs according to his riches in Christ Jesus" (Phil. 4:19).

In short, my mother taught me I was not alone in the world. Yes, there would come a time when she could no longer guide and protect me, but my life was in stronger, more able hands than hers. Yes, there were real perils and threats to be faced, but such challenges could be met in the confidence there was nothing Jesus and I couldn’t handle together: "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me!" (Phil 4:13).

From the recent swine flu hysteria to the next alarmist news buzz of the week, I grow weary of people--even the well-intentioned--trying to scare me into buying their product, join their movement, or share their jaded view of the world. Instead of cowering in fear, my mama taught me to trust and live Jesus’ promise: "In the world you will have trouble, but be of good cheer. I have overcome the world!" (John 13:33).

Children don’t need to grow up scared to death. They need to grow up with the faith to live their dreams. My mama taught me that. And so on this Mother’s Day in the year of our Lord 2009, I "rise up and called her blessed" (Prov. 31:28).

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Talking Points for a Difficult Issue

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
Recently, both Miss California and mega-church pastor Rick Warren, got slammed for speaking to the issue of gay rights. While each pleased some and infuriated others, both got beaten up pretty badly in this very public and often nasty debate.

Perhaps I feel more sympathy than most for these public figures because I have never said or written anything on the subject of homosexuality without unintentionally hurting or angering people I love. Still, the question of how our church and culture should respond to the issue of gay rights is not going away. Is it possible for Christians to enter into a constructive conversation on such a contentious matter? Toward that end, let me suggest some "talking points."

First, gay people are not first and foremost an "issue." They are people. And as people, they are beloved of God (John 3:16; 1 John 4:8). Even those who regard certain people as their "enemy" are called by Christ to love them (Matthew 5:44-45).

Second, gay people are part of just about everybody’s family or extended family and just about everybody’s church. Before making strident statements about this issue from either side of the divide, please remember you are talking about someone’s son or daughter, sister or brother, or perhaps your own friend or neighbor.

Third, for serious Christians, the Bible must be part of our moral discernment process. Two common extremes must be avoided: (1) the Bible is irrelevant to this debate because it was "wrong" about slavery, women’s rights, or whatever, or, (2) the Bible condemns homosexuals, end of discussion. Instead of ignoring the Bible on the one hand, or cherry-picking passages to condemn homosexuals on the other, the Bible should be read holistically on this and every issue. It should be read in the Spirit of Christ (John 14:25-26; 16:12-15) and in dialogue with other believers (2 Peter 1:20; Matthew 18:20). In all such readings, a key question for me is "What reading of the Bible is closest to Christ’s own heart as revealed in the Sermon on the Mount?" (Matthew chs. 5-7).

Fourth, the question "What Did Jesus Do?"--not just "What Would Jesus Do?"--can be answered only by a careful reading of the New Testament in general and the Gospels in particular. What did Jesus teach about God’s intention for sexuality? (Mark 10:6-9; Matthew 19:10-12). If we believe Jesus is the fullest revelation of God’s truth, then how does his teaching on sexuality shape our thinking? And when Jesus encountered those who clearly fell outside the norm of God’s intention--such as the woman at the well (John 4:16-18) or the woman caught in adultery (John 8:10-11)--how might Jesus’ response to them shape our response to others in our own place and time?

I certainly don’t expect the "talking points" I’ve proposed to bring complete agreement about the difficult moral and theological questions of our day. Our differing experiences, assumptions, and interpretations of both the Bible and life make that impossible. But surely the church can and should be a community of serious moral inquiry where kind, thoughtful conversation replaces the angry tirades so common in our culture.

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Because of Easter

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
Sunday is the third Sunday of Easter. Yep, Easter is not just a Sunday; Easter is a season. It is a season of worship and great joy as the church proclaims and ponders it’s confession, “The Lord is risen! The Lord is risen indeed!”

But Easter is not primarily about liturgy; Easter is about the difference Jesus makes in our daily lives. So here are three pages from a pastor’s notebook, three quick sketches of the difference Jesus makes because of Easter.

Page One: John spent Easter Sunday morning at the Medical Center with a beloved aunt. During a visit to Macon, she fell and was seriously injured. Now she lay dying as John and other family members stood vigil by the bedside. Shortly before noon, she slipped into the nearer presence of God.

Bereaved and broken-hearted, John felt drawn to the top of Poplar, even though the worship service would be nearly over by the time he arrived. He came in just as the choir burst into a glorious rendition of “The Hallelujah Chorus.” Ironically, John’s aunt always wanted the “Hallelujah Chorus” sung at her funeral. Turned out the risen Lord arranged it for her heavenly homecoming instead. John’s broken heart was strengthened... because of Easter.

Page Two: This time I am the one visiting at the Medical Center, standing by the bedside of a beloved member of our church. This brother and friend has just undergone diagnostic tests for a serious heart condition. He is still groggy, just emerging from anesthesia. Despite the worry and concern he must surely feel for himself, the first thing he asks me is, “How’s Dixie?”

Very shortly, I am at Dixie’s bedside. She has just come through a demanding back operation. A full recovery may take as long as a year. She also is just returning to consciousness. Before I can even inquire about her condition, she looks up with a worried expression and asks, “How’s Jerry?”

Where else might two people related by faith, not blood, show such concern for one another while facing their own hour of need? Only in that family called the church, a family that exists solely... because of Easter.

Page Three: A young boy decides to follow Jesus in baptism and discipleship. Learning of this, his grandfather, a preacher, says, “So I hear you’ve made a decision to join the church.”

“Paw Paws,” this newly minted Baptist answers, “that’s preacher talk and I’ve already talked to Dr. Bob about that.” Grandaddy chuckles at the spunk of his beloved grandson, now his brother in the faith. Such is the wonder of a new believer already becoming bolder and stronger... because of Easter.

Yes, Easter is more than a season. Easter is about life. Easter is the difference Jesus makes between despair and hope, isolation and community, new beginnings and the deadest of ends.

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Come Let Us Worship

by Olu Menjay
Much has been written charging that short-term missions are, if not a waste, at least a poor use of time and money. For the host of one such mission to Liberia, they are nothing of the sort.

From where I sit, directing a boarding school in Liberia, such trips are neither a waste nor a new example of colonialism or paternalism. They are a matter of genuine partnership in the gospel.

I invited a former teacher of mine from Mercer University to visit our school and to discuss ways we could collaborate in service to God and humanity. Richard Wilson accepted my invitation and visited Liberia for the first time in 2007 to learn about our school and lead daily devotionals.

He returned to Ricks Institute in 2008. At our dining table a casual conversation arose about his church coming to re-tile our school auditorium. Our vinyl tiles had suffered the toll of many years of use as well as 15 years of civil war. Random shooting of guns on the roof and the smashing of windows had allowed rain water to enter the auditorium, destroying the tiles. The tiles needed to be replaced.

Some may argue that precious resources should not be used for short-term mission projects to replace mere tiles. If funds were again available, they should be given directly to the school for educational purposes. In normal human reasoning, it may seem nonsense to purchase tiles for an area of more than 5500 square feet and ship them all from the US to Liberia, not to mention all of the necessary tools and adhesives for installation. In normal economic terms, it made no sense to have five persons travel from that congregation in Georgia to Ricks Institute to lay vinyl tiles. Surely the nearly $25,000 could have been spent more efficiently, right?

It is within the “nonsense” of such service that God’s transforming grace is often manifested (1 Cor 1:24-25). Most practically, the auditorium is the most useful space on our campus. More intangibly, the project connected peoples from two economic extremes and involved them in embodying the scriptures by becoming partners on the way to a mutually transformative experience.

There were at least two outcomes to our particular short-term mission project. One, the project was a collaboration that was free from any form of domination. Everyone had input in the conversation. All worked together to re-tile the floor. There was a genuine spirit of sharing ideas and serving together, born of us not being expert tile layers, but all equally novices. Serving together is not necessarily about how much one knows, how much education one has, or the credentials one brings to the service. It is about willingness to work together with love on whatever is required.

Two, amidst the respectful collaboration on this project, more that 600 persons of our community and the small group from the United States experienced the process of transformation. Lessons from this exchange can be made applicable to the lives of each of our community members, many of whom have experienced the ugly face of a civil war that has left many hopeless.

With America’s new economic reality, a reality of scarcity the rest of the world knows intimately, trips like these will likely be casualties of budget cuts. I hope they do not vanish totally. For without them we lose the benefits of genuine collaboration and promising transformation among world citizens situated in the extremes of human affluence and poverty.

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Olu Menjay is Principal at the Ricks Institute in Liberia. This article was originally published on Duke Divinity School’s Faith and Leadership blog on April 1, 2009.

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The Decisive Clue

by Bob Setzer, Jr.
Straight from the ecclesiastical "Believe It or Not!" department comes the following headline: "Episcopal Priest Defrocked for Wanting to Remain a Muslim."

According to a news story released by the Seattle Times, Episcopal priest Ann Holmes Redding professed her faith in Allah, reciting the ancient Islamic creed, "There is no god but God and Muhammad is the Prophet of God." One would presume at that point, Ms. Redding might realize it was time to start looking for a job. She, however, saw no contradiction between being a devout, practicing Muslim and a devout, practicing Christian.

At one level, such twisted logic would hardly seem to warrant what Jane Austin called the "compliment of rational opposition." However, in our live-and-let-live culture, many will leap to Ms. Redding's defense, celebrating her openness and sensitivity while denouncing the Episcopal church for revoking her priestly office. I by contrast am thankful to live in a nation where one is free to believe and practice as one chooses; and I am thankful for a church that recognizes the confession "Jesus is Lord" is the irreducible minimum of Christian faith and practice.

The problem here isn't that Ms. Redding wants to be sensitive and open. There was no one more sensitive and open to others, especially those different from himself, than Jesus. The problem is putting Christianity and Islam into a blender and coming out with a spiritual stew does violence to both religions. While I am no expert on Islam, I do know the core confession of the Christian faith is that Jesus is God's truly divine, truly human one-of-a-kind Son. Thus, for Christians, Jesus is the decisive clue to Ultimate Reality. For Muslim, Muhammad is. This is a fork in a road that leads to two very different understandings and experiences of God.

Bottom line, it all comes down to Easter: if Jesus is just another prophet on the order of Muhammad, who died and lives on merely as a memory or spiritual influence, then one can make of Christianity whatever one will. But if Jesus was truly raised, leaving his empty tomb behind like the spent cocoon of a newborn butterfly, then he is Lord of a new creation, a new kingdom, a new world. Sin and death are put on notice; the dawn of God's new day has broken.

Such a robust Easter faith need not and must not degenerate into Christian arrogance and elitism, as if Christians alone were persons of worth and value. To the extent the Rev. Reddings' spiritual journey is fueled by such a concern, I am somewhat sympathetic. But I am confident Jesus' true Easter triumph is a much more powerful incentive for loving my neighbor, and yes, even my enemies, than any sentimental religious or philosophic appeal.

At the end of the day, Christians must love and respect their Muslim neighbors not because, religiously speaking, these two faiths are more-or-less the same, but because their Easter Lord told them that in his Name and for his sake, they could do no less.

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