Living Story Grace

“Your mom threw a better spiral than I did!”

So ends one of my husband’s favorite stories to tell my kids.  They’ve heard it so many times that when he starts telling it, they often say something like, “Oh, I know, Dad, I’ll bet Mom threw a better spiral than you did!”

It’s the day of the Georgia-Florida game, among numerous other big football games, and for some reason, I’m thinking about football.  Although my husband and I both graduated from UGA, although he grew up down the street from Vince Dooley (if you don’t know who that is, you might should find something else to read:), although my husband also held a coveted position as a runner and a ballboy when he grew up, for some reason we are not the kind of diehard fans that will mourn for several days after our team loses or get in the face of a Gator when our team wins.  In fact, our eldest son, Kirby, who now attends Auburn, blames us for never taking him to a Georgia game.  Yes, it is our chief failure as parents.  And even worse, dare I say it?  I find myself watching Auburn games more now than Georgia games and trying to figure out if they are the War Eagles or the Tigers!

With that long rambling introduction to our status as football fans, I’m going to tell you a few of my football memories, for better or worse, and ask you to tell me some of yours.

First, the story Kip likes to tell.  It has to do with our courtship, or perhaps when he truly fell in love with me.  We were biology lab partners, and before the first test, he asked me to study with him for the first test.  (No, he really was not pursuing me at this point, because he was too busy taking – PENNY CASH – to the World’s Largest Cocktail Party, aka The Georgia-Florida game!)  I arrived at his apartment to pick him up (yes, that’s a little backwards:), but since we weren’t dating, I guess it was okay).  I noticed a football sitting on the kitchen table, and I said, “Hey, why don’t you bring that?”  He looked at me puzzled, and I said, “Yeah, well we’ll need study breaks, so we can go outside and throw the football.”  And that’s when, as he tells the kids the story,  he delivers the punchline…”Your mom threw a better spiral than I did!”

It’s not exactly true that I threw a better spiral than he did, but I did know how to throw a football.  After my parents divorced, we spent every other weekend on a farm my father rented, and many fall afternoons were passed (so to speak:) with my Dad, brother, and I throwing the football around.  I was fully prepared when we moved into a neighborhood with a park where touch football games were the daily activity of the neighborhood kids.  Usually the only girl, I often played quarterback or receiver.  (We played the old two-pass first down rules, for those of you who remember.)

Then there were the Atlanta Falcons of the 70’s…they completed the misery of Sunday afternoons when the sweet Sabbath of the weekend was drawing to a close by rarely failing to lose and to look like the “Foul – Clowns” as they did so.  I have too many memories of my brother throwing temper tantrums when they lost – I have to hand it to him – I’d long ago given up on them, but he always held onto the belief that one week they would do better!

And a long overdue apology – despite the fact that it was football that brought us together, my husband and I were married on September 4, 1982 – the day of the Georgia-Auburn game in Athens.  As I say, he grew up down the street from the Dooleys, who threw us a pre-wedding party.  To all of the die-hard dawgs who were presented with a terrible dilemma that day, we apologize for our poor scheduling.  (I should explain to those who find this utterly inexcusable that we had no choice – it was the only Saturday between semesters – we got married before our Senior year in college).

Sadly, I no longer throw a better spiral than my husband.  After two shoulder surgeries on my throwing shoulder, I live with a huge fear that if I were to attempt to throw a football my arm would come off with the forward motion and go hurtling into the neighbor’s yard.  But I do occasionally dream about it.

HUNKER DOWN YOU HAIRY WAR EAGLES!

We are jumping back every few days are so about some of the major topics explored in Dorothy Sayers’ mock Christian exam and answers.  Today, we remind ourselves of who the Holy Spirit is.  Most authors who have studied the subject thoroughly say we’ve done one of two things with the Holy Spirit — either made too much of the Spirit’s power or made too little of it.  As with so many things, understanding the Holy Spirit requires that we live in mystery and complexity and remember what Scripture tells us.  Today I’m posting two resources for more understanding on the person of the Trinity who brings power, comfort, and conviction:  first, the question and answer from the Heidelberg Catechism, and second, several quotes from Michael  Green’s I Believe in the Holy Spirit. Read these, and ask, “What strange things have I been taught about the Holy Spirit?  Have I been afraid rather than comforted and assured by the Holy Spirit?  Or have I just been confused in a way that made me ignore the Spirit altogether?”

Q. What do you believe
concerning “the Holy Spirit”?

A. First, he, as well as the Father and the Son,
is eternal God.^1

Second, he has been given to me personally,^2
so that, by true faith,
he makes me share in Christ and all his blessings,^3
comforts me,^4
and remains with me forever.^5

^1 Gen. 1:1-2; Matt. 28:19; Acts 5:3-4
^2 1 Cor. 6:19; 2 Cor. 1:21-22; Gal. 4:6
^3 Gal. 3:14
^4 John 15:26; Acts 9:31
^5 John 14:16-17; 1 Pet. 4:14

All of the quotations below are from Michael Green:
Just as the will of God cannot be known without the revelation   of the Spirit, so the service of God cannot be carried  through without the equipment of that same Spirit. It is  only through God’s revelation that we can know him. It is only  through his power that we can serve him. Isaiah 61:1 takes up  this theme, and the prophet cries:
The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me  because the Lord has anointed me  to bring good tidings to the afflicted;  he has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,  to proclaim liberty to the captives,  and the opening of the prison to those who are bound;  to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour …

But that strength is available to all who are in Christ. It is  none other than the superhuman power which raised Christ  from the dead which is let loose within our human bodies (Eph.  1:18f).

The seal of the Spirit is meant to  assure us that we belong to Christ, and to let others also know  the fact.

Accordingly, it is  not modesty to say, `I hope I am a Christian, but I cannot say  more.’ That might indeed be the proper thing to say if being a  Christian were the result of my own efforts, goodness or  achievements. But the New Testament writers insist with one  voice that it is nothing of the kind. I am saved by God’s gracious   intervention on my behalf, not by `works’ of whatever  type. So I have nothing to boast of. `It is all of God that you  are in Christ Jesus’, says Paul to the Corinthians (1 Cor. 1:30),  `and God makes Christ to be our wisdom, righteousness, sanctification and redemption, so that, as the Scripture says,  “He that boasts must boast in the Lord.”‘ It is not, therefore,  presumptuous to say with quiet confidence, `I know that I  belong to Christ. I have not done anything to earn it, but God  has given me the Spirit and accepted me into his family; and he  means me to know that I belong.’

Power over  the inclinations of the fallen `flesh’ is possible only when the  Spirit is given control by our act of deliberate choice. He has  the power to overcome my fallen appetites, but he will not use  it in me unless I ask him.

Mercifully, the Spirit works deeply within my subconscious self. When I am so self-centred that I would not dream of asking the  Spirit for his strength, preferring to go my own way, I am  encouraged to recall that `God is at work in you both to will and  to work for his good pleasure’ (Phil. 2:13). We shall not be mistaken   in seeing that as a reference to God the Holy Spirit. He it  is who not only empowers us to do right, but works in us the  desire to want to do right, without which we would never dream  of turning to ask him for his strength.

God’s purpose is to change us by  his Spirit within us (the word `change’ is used in the Gospels to  denote Jesus’ transfiguration!); and to change us from one  degree of glory to another. `Glory’ indicates the person and
character of God, under the imagery of light.”

What hope do you find as you read these thoughts about the Holy Spirit?  Think of a particular story in your life where you long for deep change, and ask the Spirit to invade with mighty power.

Picking up on yesterday’s theme, here are a few thoughts on how we either insult the consumer’s intelligence or suggest that Christianity offers “results” that it does not. Again, I’d love to hear from you: what false claims or impressions have people given you about Christianity or have you given others?

Insulting the consumer’s intelligence

• We insult the consumer’s intelligence a)when we think of people who don’t know Christ as “consumers” or as “potential converts.”
• We also insult the consumers’ intelligence when we offer Christianity “Light,” and drain the Grand Narrative of Scripture of its pain, violence, conflict, sorrow.

False Advertising
Let me go back to the hilarious Billy Mays’ takeoff (wasn’t it fun?) for a few examples of how we ‘sell’ Christianity:

• “It will smooth your hair — ANYWHERE!”: We falsely advertise when we tell people it will smooth out all of the rough places in your life.  True, as we will heard sung in the Messiah soon:   “He will make our rough places smooth…”  but that verse comes in the context of a much larger story that involves a lot of tripping along in a fallen and redeemed world before everything is finally perfected.
• “Those other products are a bunch of crap”: We insult seekers’ intelligence when we casually dismiss the stories other religions are telling.  All religions will bear some of the Christian story.  We should study to know why people would be attracted to other religions and how Christianity fulfills our deepest human needs because it calls us to worship our Creator.
• “Only 19.99!” The cost of Christianity is great.  Daily we are asked to “Lay down our life,” that is, to put down my agenda and ask, “Christ, what do you want me to do today?”  For many Christians, the cost of following Christ involves saying good-bye to families or even death.  Just ask a Muslim who has converted to Christianity if 19.99 feels like it’s about the right price!
• “Before I used the Frizz-E Buddy, my wife and I, well we had relationship problems!” It is true that Christ transforms our hearts in ways that heal broken relationships.   If we follow Christ in his call to repentance and forgiveness, relationships will be more functional, but at least for me, summoning the courage, humility, and words to say, “I’m sorry.  I really came after you,” feels like death, not a swipe of a magic tool that instantly cures marital frizz and worse.

That’s enough from me for now.  I’d love to hear from you — what false advertising have you experienced or been a part of?  And even better, how can we do a better job of telling the good news of the gospel?

My daughter is working on a visual rhetoric project for English, and she showed me a Mike Shapiro cartoon she found with the caption:
“We feel advertising that insults the customers’ intelligence distracts them from the high cost of the product.”

It made me think of two things:

1. how in our consumeristic society we can be prone to presenting the gospel in a way that there seems to be no cost, only benefit.  I might say more about that another day, and I’d love to hear from you about what you think the costs of following Jesus are.
2. a wild and wacky satire on a Billy Mays’ commercial scripted, directed, acted and edited by three of our four kids.

If you’re looking for some fun for wacky Wednesday, this just may be your ticket!  Click and enjoy!

To sum up our very short meditation on who Jesus is (for now), I’m posting part of a Bible study I wrote.  In this short scene, we see how Jesus spoke intimately to his mother’s heart in the final moments of his life. To see the picture, begin by reading John 19.

For much of John 19, which describes the final days of Jesus’ life, Mary goes unmentioned.  With my mothering heart, I imagine that she was following Jesus through the final days of abuse and mockery, remembering Gabriel’s announcement, remembering Simeon’s words, “and a sword shall pierce your soul,” remembering her son’s first steps and his first words, remembering moments of joy and moments of despair. N.T. Wright says,

But we mustn’t imagine that Mary was a heroine, an Annie-get-your-gun type, grasping the promise of God and riding off with it through all the problems to emerge in triumph at the end.  As we saw in an earlier chapter, she must lose her dream before she realizes it.  She must watch her Son, whom she thought was to be the Messiah, taking up with the shabby crowd down at the pub.  She must watch him being fawned over by the girls of the street, not seeming to mind…When God calls a woman, he bids her come and die – die to the hope she cherished, the hope she suckled, the hope born from her own womb and heart.”  (The Crown and the Fire)

Mary’s story began bursting with hope, bolstered by remembrance of the mighty works God has done.  And yet, over the years, the “hope and consolation of Israel” has brought as much confusion as consolation, as much heartache as hope.  And now, as he dies on the cross, what is she to do?

In this moment, Mary has no words.  Hopelessness can be like that.  Into her silence, out of his own suffering, Jesus speaks.  He looks at her and says four simple words, “Woman, behold your son,” clearly referring not to himself, but to the beloved disciple, John.  He then looks at John and says, “Behold, your mother!”  Not many words, but paragraphs of meaning.

All of her life, Mary has struggled with seeing Jesus as Lord, because he is her son.  She has wanted things from him that he could not and should not provide, and again and again he has resisted yielding to her selfish demand.  Always, he has loved her well by providing for her deeper needs, the need for a Savior, the need for true Hope and Consolation.

In this moment, he does it again.  The odd thing about this story is that Mary already has sons who will support her when her eldest dies.  She does not need a son.  So why does Jesus give John to her as a son?  Of course I don’t know, but my guess is that he is saying something like this:  “I know you, Woman.  I do know you, I know your heart and its struggles, and in the coming days, it will be harder than ever to understand this story.  And because I love you and care for you, I am entrusting you to my very best friend, not just because I know he will care for you, but because I know he he will know how to help you hope when it appears that all is lost.  All will be well.”

Mary’s story offers no clear formula for how to hope in the face of loss, but it also invites us to hope by honestly expressing our doubts and confusion.  In the suffering of hope, Jesus meets us.   He meets us in the Cross, and he meets us in the Resurrection.  Most of all, he meets us in the Consummation, the coming day when he will finally finish making all things new.

Mary’s story reveals that while there is no formula for hope, there is reason for hope.  We DO KNOW the end of the story, and it really is a “happy” ending, in all of the best possible senses of the word.  To hope in painful moments of our story or another’s story is to remember the past: God has rescued before, and He will finish the work He has begun.  To hope is to wrestle well with the question that Mary, the mother of Jesus, had to sort through her entire life, “Who do you say that I am?”  To hope is to finally rest in the answer that Mary came to more fully after Jesus’ death and resurrection, “You are Lord of my life.” Like Mary, we must ultimately surrender in trust that God knows what He’s doing, and in doing so, we suffer hope in seasons of lost shalom.