Musings — Yancey on the US (3 of 3)

(Conclusion)

Toward Greater Faith in Things That Last, and Toward More Long-Lasting Understanding . . .

The New Testament seems to introduce a major shift:  God is now working not primarily through nations, but through an invisible kingdom that transcends nations.  Jesus stressed the kingdom of heaven as the central focus of God’s activity on earth, a kingdom that permeates society so as to gradually affect the whole, like salt sprinkled on meat. . . .

Projecting myself back into Jesus’ time, I have difficulty imagining Him pondering whether Tiberius, Octavius, or Julius Caesar was “God’s man” for the empire. What took place in Rome was on another plane entirely from the kingdom of God. . . .

It appears the church and politics may be heading in different directions.  The more I understand Jesus’ message of the kingdom of God, the less alarmed I feel over that trend.  Our real challenge, the focus of our energy, should not be to Christianize the United States (always a losing battle) but rather to strive to be Christ’s church in an increasingly hostile world. . . .

As America slides, I will work and pray for the kingdom of God to advance.  If the gates of hell cannot prevail against the church, the contemporary political scene hardly offers much threat.

- Philip Yancey, Finding God in Unexpected Places (1995), pp. 99-101

Again, I am concerned by the country’s denial of God, to whatever extent that has occurred.  When foes of God appear, I am sincerely offended.  But I am exceedingly more concerned by individuals’ denials.  The reign of God exists in the human heart, not in political hallows or in the institutions of religion.  The reign of God, unlike any denomination or nation, is forever.

Now, “to be Christ’s church in an increasingly hostile world”!

Musings on Yancey, the US, and Muslims (2)

(Continued)

Toward Greater Faith in Things That Last, and Toward More Far-Reaching Understanding . . .

I have for many years wondered about the Muslim use of the word “infidel.”  It has seemed to me that Muslims call this word into service ineptly, because one can only be a perpetrator of infidelity if he has ever asserted loyalty in the first place.  Since I have never asserted loyalty to the Muslim concept of God or to their religious system, I surely can not be aptly labeled an infidel.

Further reflection, though, causes me to wonder about the de-merging of what are often called the world’s three great faiths.  It is not as though I believe, or in any way support, the inner or outer workings of Islam or Judaism, but I do understand that we have common roots. From the Muslim’s perspective — and here I must acknowledge that I have never thought this through before — Jews and Christians must seem to have become disloyal to God during the course of history.  For the Muslim, Moses was a prophet, and Jesus was a prophet, but Mohammed was the prophet.  (Compare this to the Mormons and Joseph Smith.  This is NOT beside the point.)  For the Muslim, Mohammed was the fulfillment of what had gone before, and anyone who rejects Mohammed rejects it all.  One who rejects Mohammed is, for them, an infidel.

In my meanderings, I have encountered quite a few people who have repudiated, to one degree or another, various ideals and practices of the American Restoration Movement.  It is rarely difficult for me to accept such a person’s pathway, since I myself have picked and chosen — as I see this Movement lining up with, or disagreeing with, scripture.  But when a person summarily rejects the Movement, that person may aptly be labeled an “infidel” to that Movement.  (This person is very difficult for me to trust, I might add.  When one has understood certain inalienable truths, principles, and scruples … and later rejects them wholesale, he seems like an infidel to me.)  Today, I think that I understand a little more of the Muslim’s idea of infidelity.

Muslims are right, of course, about the rampant materialism in the western world. (While many of them have little clarity around their own weaknesses at times, they are right in this area about us.)  That soldiers in the Gulf war were required to ascend to Muslim moral code, living without alcohol and Playboy (Yancey, p. 92) should tell us something.  And yet materialism and worldliness are mere symptoms of the greater evil.  If we have denied the supreme, holy God, that is the foundational sin.

Have we denied and rebelled against God?  Why, yes, we have.  I am concerned by the country’s denial, to whatever extent that has occurred.  But Yancey rightly probes, “Does God really judge the United States or any other country as a national entity? . . . God is now working not primarily through nations, but through an invisible kingdom that transcends nations.” (p. 99)

And I am exceedingly more concerned by individuals’ denials — yes, including my own.  The reign of God exists in the human heart, not in the institutions of religion; and the reign of God, unlike any denomination or nation, is forever.

Musings on Yancey, the US, and Muslims (1)

Toward Greater Faith in Things That Last, and Toward More Far-Reaching Understanding . . .

For better or worse, I’m more a watcher of politics in the last half-dozen years than in any other period of my life.  I am persuaded that this watching has done very little, if anything, for my life or for the lives of others, but it is what it is.  Political stuff will be what it will be, too.

This morning, not having any idea it would be a Friday for deeper pondering, I was reading more of Philip Yancey’s 1995 thoughts in his book  Finding God in Unexpected Places.  And I was again struck by the prevalence of politics- and religion-related assumptions by Americans, and by professing Christians … yea, by most humans.  We need to be careful with high-sounding assumptions of the present, drawing instead from something less time-bound.  Hear Yancey’s quotation of Shakespeare and his one-sentence commentary punch:

In Richard III, a hired assassin trembles before his assignment, fearing “Not to kill him, having a warrant, but to be damned for killing him, from the which no warrant can defend me.”  And in the Henry VI, the Earl of Warwick prays, ” . . . ere my knee rise from the earth’s cold face, I throw my hands, my eyes, my heart to Thee, Thou setter -up and plucker-down of kings.”  Our leaders could use a dose of such humility.

It’s been quite a while since I felt a U.S. president exhibited much humility.  Perhaps Clinton, when he called in a team of spiritual advisers after the Monica Lewinsky affair?  (Or maybe that was mere posturing — who can say?)  My fading sense of Pres. Reagan was that he had at least a few humble bones.  Both parties’ candidates these days would do well to show some humility along the way.

Yancey also speaks of lasting purpose and belief in the hereafter:

In one of the great ironies of history, Islam has co-opted the word martyr.  Early Christians prevailed over Rome because they opted for eternal rewards instead of mere physical survival.  The blood of the martyrs was the seed of the church. Nowadays you hear very little talk in the west about eternal rewards and much talk about techniques to keep death at bay. . . .

“Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul,” Jesus cautioned.  And again, “It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to go into hell.”

Could Islam have more of a “biblical” sense (albeit skewed) of the eternal reign of deity than does popular Christianity?  The Islamic “Fanatical Fringe” (thanks, Mr. Yancey) possesses an inexplicable willingness to die, leaving this temporary world, while we in the West persistently place our eggs in the ephemeral world’s basket. Despite my abhorrence of (and, yes, fear of) Muslim extremism, I can admire absolute devotion to a cause — to what some Muslims hold as the over-arching raison d’etre.  They are willing to lose their physical lives for a religion they believe lasts longer.

To be continued . . .

Public prayersphere (does that rhyme with “Shakespeare”?)

I didn’t even know I had this little paperback edition of Shakespeare sonnets. Must’ve picked it up at a yard sale. In straightening & reorganizing around the house this summer, I came upon it and it picked it up. Anyway, according to the editor, C.S. Lewis once likened a good sonnet to a good public prayer: “the test is whether the congregation can join and make it their own.”

Aside:  sometimes I write theoretically, sometimes it’s unabashed opinion, and many times it’s out of experience. I think this combines all three of those. First, the opinion and the theory (skip a paragraph if you’re only interested in real life!). . . .

I’m of the opinion that public prayer is much-overemphasized in Christendom. The plural pronouns in the so-called “Lord’s Prayer” (which really isn’t) do seem to indicate a validity in collective prayer-thought, i.e., unison prayer-verbiage from a group of people. And 1 Corinthians 14 implies a spoken-out-loud-ness mode of prayer.  But one is hard-pressed to find nearly as much example or instruction concerning public praying as about private praying.  I do find that there’s an art to public praying, and it’s in the ear of the auditor.  Personally, I’m a better oral reader than a public prayer, so I tend to work a little harder at the latter.

In my own public prayersphere of late, I’ve had two opportunities to lead our group of gathered saints. A couple of weeks ago, I led what I consider the “main” prayer in our assembly. (In print, it’s known as the “Adoration and Confession” prayer, and it tends to gravitate toward one or the other, depending on the intentions or inclinations of the given leader.) On that occasion I spent a couple of hours collecting and arranging thoughts in advance.  My intent was to blend the notions and practices of 1) adoring God worshipfully and 2) confessing our humanness to Him.  I think I failed rather decidedly.  The preparation was–as usual for me–more fruitful in terms of Kingdom work than the actual spoken prayer was in the assembly.  The prayer was, in one sense, pretty well constructed, but I really don’t think it was very effective in bringing along other hearts before the Throne.  I’m just guessing here, having heard from no one.

Today, I led the “closing prayer.”  You know the one, if you’re in my branch of Christendom–it’s the prayer they usually ask the least “ept” guys to lead, because it’s the least embarrassing if you mess it up.  Not because of this stereotype, but more because of my own frame of mind, I opted out of advance preparation this time, figuring I could probably tie things together in a relatively brief, effective public prayer without much thought.

Last Sunday, the Adoration and Confession prayer was theologically deeper, more polished, and more prepared.  Today, the closing prayer appealed to faith examples of Hebrews 11 (from the sermon), other examples of living folks nearby, the Apostle John’s particular testimony (being one who had seen and touched the risen Lord Jesus), and the experience of Jesus and Thomas, post-resurrection.  All this was in less than a minute, and my closing words were something like this:  “Now help us all to move from simple belief in the reality of the risen Jesus to a living, intimate trust relationship with Him as we live this week.”

I have no real point to make about preparation or lack of it here; it’s only a bit of personal experience.  Take it for what it’s worth. . . .