Seeing the Forest

I’ve got a pop quiz for you. Take out a paper and number it one to ten. No phones. Go.

1. What is the capital of Alaska?
2. What year did WW1 end?
3. What was the official language of Vietnam until 1954?
4. Who was the 19th president of the US?
5. When was the Louisiana Purchase made?
6. What two countries make up the former Rhodesia?
7. What was the currency of Germany before the European Union?
8. What countries held the 1956 Olympics?
9. What state was Custer’s Last Stand in?
10. When did the War of 1812 begin?

How do you think you did? In case you want to answers, here they are.

Juneau

1918

French

Rutherford B Hayes

1803

Zambia and Zimbabwe

Deutsche Mark

Italy and Australia

Montana

1812

Making It Stick

The thing is, most of us probably learned many of those answers at some point in our lives. But most of it didn’t stick. We might know the capital of Alaska if we know someone who lives there, or we’re deep into the study of the tundra fox, or we really, really like Jack London. (I don’t. The dog always dies.) Or if you, like me, memorized all the capitals in grade school and strangely retained ALL of that information while still unable to recall what day your spouse said he needed an airport ride.

I don’t know most Olympic cities, but I’ll never forget Kerri Strug or seeing Jesse Owens Allee in Berlin mere weeks after its naming and knowing the stories of courage that went with those names.

Those things stick. Those stories strike something in us when their courage speaks to our hearts.

As anyone who really knows me knows, my New Year’s Eve tradition is watching the Lord of the Rings Trilogy, extended editions, every year. (That’s my idea of a party.) One of the most moving parts in the entire twelve hours or so is Sam’s speech on the ramparts of Osgiliath, explaining why he suddenly comprehends the power of stories.

“Those were the stories that stayed with you, that meant something, even if you were too small to understand why . . . But I think I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back. Only they didn’t, because they were holding on to something…”

It’s those stories that matter—the ones that show us the best, and worst, of ourselves. The ones that point us toward the values we know matter but forget in our daily busyness, where knowing things like the capital of Alaska, or the balance in our bank account and exactly where that $4.19 was spent, appear larger than they ought to.

It’s the big themes, interweaving, becoming complex, challenging my assumptions, and coming out strong that attract me, especially because of, or in spite of, the daily minutiae that clogs our spiritual arteries.

Bible Pop Quiz

I think we often approach the Bible too much like it’s a pop quiz of facts. We believe we’re supposed to know instinctively who begat whom, which gospel harbors the story of Zacchaeus, and what order the minor prophets are in, or that a thing called “minor prophets” exists.

Yet this ends up with a “forest for the trees” form of discipleship—a knowledge of Scripture that might be thorough in its ability to quote chapter and verse but shallow indeed in its ability to sustain faith and life in a windy world.

Scot McKnight believes that, “God did not give us the Bible so we could master him or it but so we could be mastered by it,” and I wonder if that is not closer to what God intended with his word to us. Perhaps the idea of scripture is not so much to know it in minute detail as to know God by and through it, and therefore to know ourselves and our world.

Some research into our discipleship shows a depressing link between our attitudes toward knowing the Bible and our actual ability to grasp it.

Because they know they’ll be told what is important each week, many Christians feel little need to explore the Bible on their own . . . Many Christians believe they are incapable of taking much from the Bible. At the same time, the same Christians tend to believe they know and understand Scripture because they have heard it presented so many times. So these people leave church after a really good speech feeling like their faith has been strengthened. But when they try to put those same ideas into play in the real world, they can’t quite figure out how to do it. They begin to think they are the problem.

The more we hear the Bible, the more we think we know it. The more we realize we don’t know it, the worse we feel about that. The worse we feel, the less we read and know. The cycle continues. People who think they’re the problem don’t tend to have a lot of motivation to overcome the problem. Doug Pagitt, Preaching Reimagined 

Maybe we’re reading the room, and the Scriptures, wrong.

A second issue with this focus on learning chapter and verse, and thinking we’ve learned the Bible because we listen to people talk about it, is the tendency for so many of us to choose our doctrines based on those verses we’ve learned or heard. We haven’t learned to read for overarching themes, to search for the big picture ideas, and so we manufacture our beliefs over a twenty-minute span on one or two verses—and subsequently defend them aggressively over coffee and Twitter.

This seems backward.

If we read God’s word ultimately to know God, why do we spend so much more of our time formulating our ideas of what God wants and what we must do and so much less discerning what he’s telling us about who he is?

Learning who he is inevitably leads us to what he wants us to be and do. We cannot see his passion for justice and not do something. We can’t hear his heart for his people and not act. We  can’t taste and see that he is good without wanting to be good ourselves.

But getting that the other way around never works. Diving into God’s words to come out with a recipe for behavior or doctrine works as well as diving into the ocean and hoping to surface with a fully cooked lobster dinner.

 

This is my Scripture goal for 2020, and my preaching goal as well. I want to see the forest. I want to walk beneath its shade and experience the whole of it, while certainly looking at the trees themselves. I think it will enhance the enjoyment of and appreciation for their individuality to focus on their common purpose. What are the great themes that hold all of Scripture together? How do they help me to know God by and through them, and therefore to know myself and my world? I’m looking forward to diving in.

Legacy Leaving and Statue Building — What Is Your Vision for 2015?

The kings of old didn’t do things small.

Our kids are a huge disappointment to us. Seriously, the Richardsons are leaving nothing in this world when we exit, and it is all those kids’ fault.

In several short months, one of them is going to be leaving that name behind for a new one. Eventually, it is assumed (but not a necessity) the other two will marry as well. Not that they could not keep their names—they choose not to. (Unless one of them gets engaged to a guy named, say, Snuffleupagus or something. Then, please reconsider, kiddo.)

Nor will they carry on the family business. None of our daughters wants to be a doctor. (Their mother may have swayed them a bit with her horror stories. Or her preference for Shakespeare over intestines.) They will never be practice partners with dad. In the ways traditional families measure legacies, we’re slacking. Fortunately, we don’t care. There are more important legacies to leave.

Last week, we talked about how our children reflect our character. It’s an analogy for how we reflect God’s character as his children and his image. But there is even more to being a child, and an image, than reflecting behaviors and ideas.

Our children are the ones we entrust to carry into this world what we find important. They are the ones we hope and believe will take on our values and visions for the future.

Sometimes it’s a family business; sometimes it’s a family name. I hope, more often, it’s treasured beliefs like caring for others, protecting family ties, and persevering through a difficult task. We won’t be here to continue what was important to us. We dream that they will.

God has the same dream. 

He not only made us to reflect his character–he created us to see his vision.  . We’re not meant to simply be nice people in this world. A computer knows how to generate good manners. We’re meant to spread God’s values like rain after a California drought. To make our world loving and just, not settle for making ourselves good people.

Giant Statues and Kingdom Stakes

In the ancient world, kings set up images of themselves in the outer regions of their kingdom. Why? Other people might just send an email with a photo attachment. A strongly worded memo. But these guys figured, hey, I’m a king. I don’t do things small. Giant statues? Let’s get on this thing!

There was a reason. See, when your kingdom is far flung, and your transportation system is a chariot, and there is no satellite programming to get your message out on 347 channels, you’ve got to have a Plan B. And their plan was to establish statues that would stand in for them. The figures would have their authority. Whatever a person would be expected to do in the king’s actual presence he is expected to do for the statue. The image was a representative of the real thing. It had the authority of the king.

That’s the idea we’re supposed to get from being told in Genesis 1 that we are created in the image of God. You (you as in people–you and I) have been placed in the outer reaches of the kingdom as God’s own representative. You have his authority to do what he would do. You’re like an emissary sent our from your country to offer aid to this government and counsel to this other one.

This makes for an entirely different plot line than just looking at the image of God idea as “Wow, maybe I should kind of act better.” It’s, “Wow, there’s an entire kingdom at stake here, and I’m spending my days hanging out on Facebook arguing over who should have won the Golden Globes.” Arguing nicely, understand, because I’m the image of God.

We are a people called to mirror his character and his vision into a crazy world. That’s way bigger than “Share this picture if you love Jesus.” Crazy bigger.

We’re the delegation he has sent out to accomplish what the King wants for His kingdom. You’re an envoy. For the King of the universe. That’s serious stuff right there. Potentially scary. And unbelievably exciting.

(Side note: If we’re sent to do what he would do? We’d better be quite sure what he would do. And fyi, I don’t think launching hate campaigns against people who don’t think like us is on the short list of things God would do.)

Giant Changes and Kingdom Strategies

For this little guy? She is Jesus.

How would it change your day to day priorities if you got out of bed today thinking, “I’m an emissary for God?” How would it mess with your agenda? Change your schedule? Slow your hurried walk past people you work with, shop with, go to school with? Deflect the criticism on your tongue or push out the encouragement? Keep you from thinking “someone should fix that problem” and start you fixing it yourself?

If we looked one person in the eyes and thought, how can I represent God to her? Right here, right now? Not in a 4-Spiritual-Laws shove the gospel at her kind of way but in a Jesus-would-do-this style. If we saw one social issue of our time and, instead of wringing our hands or focusing blame on one side, thought, how does God see this? How can I bring light and love into the darkness of this bad situation?

I used to think I wanted to go into politics. Now I know I’m not cut out for the mind games involved. Yet I have the responsibility of standing in for the King.

God says He’s looking for someone to go on an adventure. Are you ready?

Next week—What does being in God’s image mean for how we treat others? How about ourselves? Which one is harder for you?