Link Love

April 30, 2013

Bad Writing: Bad writing is naturally mistaken for good writing. That’s because unlike good writing, bad writing hoards attention.

Getting Through Slumps: I’m no expert on either preaching or getting out of slumps. But doodling tonight, I thought of six things that might help.

Permitted or Pursued? I have to think that egalitarians would grow quieter in their critiques if we could point to more women within our ranks who convincingly demonstrate equal, complementary value in our churches.

Body Image: Changing the definition of what we want these bodies to look like doesn’t get anywhere near to solving our problems.

Biters: Then, with calculated persistence, they began to eat each other, each to the death.

Heart Idols: 20 piercing questions from Tim Keller. These are great questions to ask ourselves.

A Deeper Beauty: Women, “Hot Wives,” and Christ: While it’s a distinctly God-glorifying thing for a young man to really, really, really like his wife, it’s possible that some women might feel pressure to be some sort of gospel version of [supermodel whose name you shouldn’t really know here]. 

No one has to be convinced that something went wrong somewhere in the bodies and beauty department. Stand in a grocery aisle and figure out how to beat those pesky inches, woo your disinterested man, and find more perfect clothes for perfect bodies.

Something has gone wrong. So where?

It was at a tree. A food laden tree. Something good, beautiful, and delectable gone horribly wrong.

(Will Deutsch)

It began at the beginning of beginnings, Genesis, where food was made, food was eaten, and where all of our food issues began.

Strange, isn’t it, that one of our principles struggles is still there? With food?

We starve from it, binge on it, measure it out, disgust ourselves with it, pride ourselves on it, obsess over recipes, and TIVO our favorite cooking shows. Rarely do we see food as the perfect provision and perfect protection that it was designed to be. Provided for our health; protection from death.

God created food: a perfect provision for His creation. Then He clearly defined it as right or wrong: a perfect protection for his children. He set up His boundaries, endlessly good ones that felt good too, until they bumped up against the one ‘don’t’ rule: don’t eat of this tree.

Yet this is the tree from which they ate. First the woman and then the man.

Ignoring the plenty and subversively skirting the mandate by a subtle legalism, “God says don’t eat of it AND don’t touch it,” she fell the boundaries that God so lovingly placed on her and him and all of us.

Don’t we do this too? Don’t we see the plenty and choose instead the smaller portion, the lesser good? We add to the boundaries given. Sinking deeply into diets or delectable feasts, feeling helpless against the siren call that is food.

God calls out: Where are you? And we hide, behind exercise, behind enhancement, behind extra weight. We hide.

We hide because it is easier to hide than to be known. We’ve eaten off the tree of knowledge and now we think we know.

Yet still He seeks us. Pursues us. Finds us, shivering and scratching under the weight of man-made garments and expectations. I’m there. Are you too?

And all this because we added to what God said. He gave good boundaries and we made them smaller and tighter, thinking that more rules will keep us safer. God has said don’t eat of the fruit, but we think that it’s safer to just not touch it at all?

This is our great sin. This is our great fall. We add to what God has said and the boundaries become cages. We imagine He is a harsher God than He is.

We eat the fruit thinking it will make us like God and really all it does is make us into our own god. And we are powerless gods, always trying to find things to bulk us, beautify us, fix us.

All the while He is still giving perfect provision and perfect protection. The second time was in a much less beautiful environment. Dark, though midday, the place of the skull. A broken, bleeding, and bruised man. He is saying it is finished and we can hardly believe it is true.

So we are still adding to it. Principles. Practices. Helping God, we think, with clearer expectations on His people and on us. Don’t eat it, we say, or touch it. Or surely you will die.

The truth is that we are finished. Perfect in Christ’s eyes and through His provision. Nothing can be added or removed from you to make you more of who you’re intended to be in Christ.

He looks on you and sees clean, pure, perfect righteousness and beauty.

When God knit this person together, He did so with an optimism of the best sort for everyone else and a pessimism of the worst sort for herself. If there is good to see in others, I will see it, and if there is anything out of place in me, I will caricature it until it is as ugly to the rest of the world as it is to myself. Others call this narcissism. I call it human-nature.

We’re all plagued with an evil eye toward ourselves—even if our greatest flaw is thinking the best of ourselves and the worst of others. Thinking the best of ourselves comes laden with baggage of the self-sufficient, and who needs sufficiency of self if we have not been failed by all others because of our inability to keep them satisfied? “I don’t need nobody else, just me,” is the blight of men everywhere since the enemy fell from legions of angels whose sole concern was Other Than, if only because nobody else could satisfy self like self.

There are a myriad of ways out of this navel gazing—and trust me, I’ve tried them all—but the only one that works is putting two eyes toward the cross and centering them there.

Jesus did it for the joy set before Him, though, and we do a disservice if we do anything motivated by anything other than the same joy. Too often we talk about “bearing the cross” and “picking up our cross,” and I don’t want to mislead you, making you think anything about the Christian life is anything less than a cross. It isn’t. But it is so much more than the cross—and therein lies the joy set before us.

The narcissism that keeps us desperate for the approval of man, the compliments of others, and the affirmation of the achieved, is desperately flawed in that it sets its joy on something less than eternal.

So press on, friends, for the joy set before you. Endure the cross of your ugliest aspects and the gross imperfections of others—this world is a vapor and what lasts is so much more. Treasure, too, the beauty found in others and in yourself, but do it with an eye toward the eternal where the only One we’ll be making much of is Christ.

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As part of some Bible study curriculum I’ve been working on for Project Red Light Rescue, I spent a bit of time studying the Joseph narrative in Genesis. There are many elements in Joseph’s life that address aspects of the sex industry: angry family members, the selling of Joseph to slave traders, the attempted seduction of Joseph by Potiphar’s wife, and more. But there is one bit of whole story that caught our attention as we discussed the story: thrown in the middle of this riveting narrative of Joseph’s life, there’s a chapter given over to Judah, his sons, and his daughter-in-law Tamar.

Why, in the middle of Joseph’s epic story of rags to riches, forgotten to forgiving, is there a putrid story of sex, lies, incest, and temple prostitutes?

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Do you ever take a good hard look at the Church around you? For those who find themselves in healthy local church environments, do you let yourself be blinded to the brokenness present? Do you gloss over sin? Do you confront it? Do you shelter those affected by it? And for those who have been in less than healthy environments, do you ever see the good that was done? Do you see how God intends every part of everyone’s story for good? Are you able to exercise gratefulness to those who led well and walked humbly, and forgiveness to those who do not deserve it?

It seems there’s always another controversy rising up in the Church these days. One pastor falls into adultery, another worship leader catapults into sexual sin, another outcry of sexual abuse scandals comes to light—where is the good in any of this?

I’ve been asking myself this question for the past few months as more and more stories come forward of individuals who have been harmed by sexual scandal in the church, and their churches purportedly did nothing about it.

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Back to the house of Judah:

Tamar is given in marriage to Judah’s oldest son who dies before Tamar becomes pregnant, so Tamar is given (as is the custom) to the next brother in line, Onan, who in turn “spills his seed” on the ground; Tamar is given to the next son, but he’s still too young to father a baby, so at this point she is left without a husband and no children. So she does what nearly every girl in this situation will do to snag herself a baby-daddy: she dresses the part of the prostitute and stands by the city entrance waiting for a man to take note. The one she’s waiting for, though, is her father-in-law, Judah, the man who hadn’t kept his word to give her a baby. And, well, you know the rest of the story. If you don’t, here. There are many implications and nuances to this narrative that should be explored in light of the Gospel.

Then the intermission is over and we’re back to Joseph, who is about to have a similar little shebang pulled on him by Potiphar’s wife.

The difference is, unlike Judah, Joseph flees. 

At great peril to his life, livelihood, and final freedom, Joseph runs away. And then he’s imprisoned for what he didn’t do.

But we know the rest of the story, which ends with those beautiful words, “What you intended for evil, God meant for good.” Those words have been caricatured, tshirted, coffee-cupped, and spouted more than enough to lose their potency. But if you can step back far enough and see the whole picture, from Joseph’s wild dreams and inheritance cloak, to final restoration with his family, including Judah—I think we can agree there was much evil there and not so much seeming good.

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This is conjecture of course, but I think the reason we’re given that small intermission into Judah’s messy household matters is because God wanted to juxtapose the sort of life Joseph came from and the different decisions he made. Where his brother was abdicating his responsibility to his family, frequenting houses of ill-repute, and impregnating his desperate daughter-in-law, Joseph was running from what could have offered him security and comfort in an illicit affair. Joseph was not held captive to the brokenness in his family or his place of employment. Even when he was trafficked as a slave, accused of rape wrongly, imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit, he was held tightly in the hand of God and God’s ultimate purposes.

Because this is a blog post, and not a full-on inductive Bible Study on Joseph (which you can, and should, find here), there are deeper matters and more difficult nuances to this narrative, but what I would like to say is this:

If you have a background with sexual brokenness, whether you were abused or the abuser, the seductress or the succumbed, you have the opportunity to walk free from that. This is not to say you will walk without consequences or pain, but you can walk in the full goodness of a God who intends good from evil and secreted deeds, from hearts soiled by greed and lust, and from bodies broken by abuse and neglect.

He is a God who does not lose one of His. Not one. He completes the purpose of every person’s life with victory and finality; He brings His children home to glory and there is not one crushed bone or broken spirit among them (Ps 34).

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On Thursday, April 25th, there is a free one-day conference to train and equip the Church to protect the vulnerable, to confront abusers, and to counsel and care for victims. The line-up of speakers is stellar, particularly Justin Holcomb whose ministry is dedicated to freedom for those in bondage by sexual issues. Paul David Tripp, Matt Chandler, and Greg Love will also be speaking. I will be there representing Project Red Light Rescue, and there will be other ministries there to equip anyone and everyone with how to RESPOND to sexual brokenness within the Church.

For a long time I’ve heard many people ask the question, “Why doesn’t the Church talk about these issues? Why don’t they protect the victims?” If you’ve asked those questions, I hope you’ll take comfort. We are talking about it. This Thursday. Come if you can.

RespondConPromo FINAL1280 from Respond Conference on Vimeo.

Somewhere Else

April 21, 2013

Late nights and long car rides, I got lost this weekend. A few friends of mine, namely a couple, meaning only two friends technically, got hitched in the hill country on Friday. It was everything a proper hitching should be: under twining Texas oaks, surrounded a few close friends and family, replete with the fullness of the Gospel, of grace, and of everything good. Weddings are so brimming with Christ and our joy felt complete.

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To detour some famous Austin traffic, my road-tripping companion and I took Creek Road, a swirling, twirling, spinning back road that made us gasp every minute. I told her I could die, right then and there. Totally happy. That if our last memory should be a good one, this could be mine. It made me hungry for heaven. The world always does.

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Last night we stood on the top of a roof and watched the vestiges of the sunset dip pink, then blue, and then black in the west, and the Austin skyline in front of us. The infamous swarms of bats glowed white in light of the Frost Bank Tower, they moved in unison and disappeared.

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We were a caravan of weary travelers coming home, and somehow my car led the way. I don’t like to lead, I said to my friend next to me. She put her cool hand on my sunburned neck and asked good questions. She always does. And then we were quiet, keeping an eye on the headlights behind us and their tired drivers. We traded drivers and cars and passengers in Waco and kept going north. I saw the Dallas skyline and my heart didn’t love it the way it loves Austin’s.

I always want to be somewhere else.

I pulled in my driveway nearly to 3am, and crawled under my down comforter and cool white sheets. I slept hard.

This morning I made coffee in the french press and stood in front of the window by our kitchen sink, staring at the trees, the hammock, the bottles on the window ledge, the aloe plant that grows faster than I can repot it, the faded blue curtains. I always want to be somewhere else, I know, but I love my home. And I love it best.

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