I’m currently making my way through Frederick Buechner’s masterwork Telling the Truth. The subheading is “The Gospel as Tragedy, Comedy and Fairy Tale.” Upon a friend’s recommendation, I found the book online for cheap and set a course once received.

I was only a few pages in before audible gasps and sighs were heard by my wife trying to sleep. It’s no secret ’round these parts that Buechner’s abilities are wonderfully poetic - a salve in my currently dry reading time (most books lately have left me wanting). In the midst of this piece, I found something particularly moving for me as a pastor and something I thought would resonate with the Rabbit Room audience no matter the vocation.

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I’ve recently taken to a disgusting habit that involves manipulating my dog to eat his food. He’s never been one to go hungry. But over the past couple of months we’ve seen him grow bored with his morning ritual of devouring his food. I think he wants us to understand that after three years, perhaps he would like something besides brown pellets of smashed up lamb and rice. This wouldn’t be a big deal, except for the fact that when he doesn’t eat in the morning he pukes up this orangey-bile-vomitty-liquid that makes me not want to eat my food. I’ve learned that if I stand in his food corner and shake his bowl next to my mouth he assumes I’m eating his food, so that when I set it back to the ground he inhales all four scoops.

I enjoy afternoon showers. This particular afternoon in the shower I was thinking about the good fortune I had come into that day. I was in Loew Brenn (Huntington University English Department) whispering threats to the printers in the second floor lounge because they weren’t cooperating with me. I overhead a group of professors arguing in the classroom a few feet away from the printers and I wrenched my neck to listen. I love listening to professors argue. Their voices were just low enough to create a soft murmur that kept me from understanding a single thing. I brought my attention back to the printers, whispering, “I’ll murder your children if you don’t give me my paper.”

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This morning, I was enjoying a chapter from He Loves Me by Wayne Jacobsen, and I found myself pondering the question of fear. Fearing God, that is. Many of the people I spend time with were raised with a mindset that told them to follow all of God’s rules (as interpreted by your pastor and parents) or you will face his punishment. Therefore, we spend a lot of time looking into the character of God and his awesome love poured out to us through Jesus in order to develop a more healthy view of God. After all, He did come in the flesh, as one of us, to pay for all of our sin, didn’t He? So, He must love us unconditionally and now we don’t have to worry about Him keeping score of our sin.

While I believe this all to be very true, I still find myself grasping for balance at times. To clarify, I sometimes feel we gain a more healthy view of our Father God only to the detriment of our view of sin. Yes, I believe that God has paid for all of our sin, and he no longer holds it against me. But, His Word also says that this freedom or expression of grace doesn’t mean that we should sin all the more. Yet, when we know that we have a “get out of jail free” card, it definitely seems to make it easier to go our own way. So, I am left pondering, “Is there some healthy fear of God that will help us with this?”

In Proverbs 1:8, we are told that “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.” Yes, I understand that this leans more towards reverence than terror; however, it is still fear. My wife said that she felt this was very similar to something that would occur in her home growing up. She said that before she left to go out with friends, her parents would remind her that she represented their family with everything she did. I asked her if this wasn’t an attempt to scare her into acting correctly while she was away from them. She agreed, but added that her fear was not that she would be punished or abandoned; rather, her fear was that she would disappoint them because they loved her so much.

Oh, that everyone could experience this model of parenting and family upbringing. Based on this idea, I wonder then if the question is not whether or not we fear God, but how and why we do? Okay, before I receive the much desired barrage of feedback about this blog, I want to make clear that my concept of living for God has changed much over the last few years. I am learning to live for Him out of my love relationship with Him, instead of living for Him to gain His love and approval. I’ll end with a quote by Brennan Manning from The Lion and the Lamb. “Won’t the awareness God loves us no matter what lead to spiritual laziness and moral laxity? Theoretically, this seems a reasonable fear, but in reality the opposite is true. The more rooted we are in the love of God, the more generously we will live our faith.”

It was an unexpected interview. Not that fact that I was interviewing Roger O’Donnell, longtime keyboardist for The Cure and Thompson Twins, since I had it scheduled for a few weeks in advance already, but rather that I actually enjoyed it so much. I’ve interviewed nearly 1,000 musicians in my time as a writer so the process has become rather dull for the most part and rare is the interview where the conversation is as stimulating as it was with this one.

Of course, as a music industry veteran for the last 30 years, O’Donnell’s perspectives are quite interesting to say the least. However, it was one thing he said in the middle that stays with me long after we both hung up our phones. When I asked him about the demise of the Cure into what he earlier called “the best Cure tribute band ever,” O’Donnell said the reason was that an artist only has so much to say and after that, they just repeat themselves.

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Probably most of you have heard of Malcolm Gladwell, the author behind such best-selling titles as Blink or The Tipping Point. If not, then just know that it’s stimulating, easy to read non-fiction that Wikipedia calls “pop sociology.” (Although I realize that someone could easily edit it if you wanted to fact-check me and change it to Andrew Peterson impersonator).

Anyway, Gladwell’s latest book, Outliers, holds interesting truths within and specifically for the church. And it’s something I’m particularly drawn to since I believe the consequences could be huge.

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Just like Matt, we’ve been going through 1 Timothy over here and we’ve had some interesting discussions as well.  One of the things I’ve been thinking a lot about is what it actually means to be a leader in the Church.  I wanted to share a few metaphors that have been meaningful for me, and invite others to join in with their own.  Just as a point of protocol, though, if anyone mentions “foot washing” I will punch you in the eye.

Metaphor #1: The King Leads the Army
It doesn’t work that way anymore, but I always love how, in movies like The Return of the King and Braveheart, the king is the first one down the hill in battle.  We were watching a clip from Braveheart the other night and I was struck how, in the move at least, people followed William Wallace, not because of his rank or position but because he had a reputation as a warrior.  David was the same - “Saul has killed his thousands but David his ten thousands.”

As leaders in an organization you can’t lead every charge and there’s delegation and I’d be the first to say that leaders shouldn’t have to have their fingers in every pie…but I don’t want get up and tell people to do things that I don’t have some stories about already.  I will not tell people to “engage the lost” if I don’t have any friendships with those who don’t believe.  I may only be two steps farther down the high, but I will not be standing at the top cheering the boys on every again (God willing).

Metaphor #2: The Miner
This is one I’ve been thinking about a lot.  I’ve been seeing part of my role as a leader is to mine treasure from my own relationship with God.  By treasure, I mean history, authority, reality.  Have you ever been in a prayer meeting with the beautiful old man (or woman) who just knows God in ways you can’t even imagine and when he opens his mouth, it’s like the whole room shifts?  That man has treasure that he has mined in secret over the long haul and he carries it with him everywhere he goes.

I think this dynamic happens in all kinds of areas.  Guys like Shane Claiborne have mined treasure in the area of social justice and you can tell – if he and I got up and gave the same sermon word for word, I would sound like a poser and he would make you want to cry or throw rocks at him or both.  Why?  Why are some of the best musicians the crappiest worship leaders? Why are there people who tell you “it’s going to be ok, God will provide” and it takes all the weight off your shoulders, while others tell you the same thing and it means nothing?

We must be miners who, as Jesus said “bring out treasures old and new.”

Metaphor #3: Adam Answers the Question
When humans fell it was Eve who did the dead, but when God came knocking afterward it was to Adam that he directed the questions (Gen 3:9).  I’m not intending to start any discussions about male/female headship here, but rather to point out something about the nature of being a leader.

It means that when my wife and I are fighting and we’re both wrong and both right, the leader is the one that says “the relationship is what matters.”  I won’t be held accountable for winning fights, only for whether or not I ended up with my wife’s heart and loved her well.  It’s who is going to step up to the line first?

At some point, my position or recognition or decision making power doesn’t matter.  It only matters what God has entrusted to me and what he will say to me about that trust on the day I stand before him.  It means that leadership is not a question of whether or not people obey me, but whether they can relax and be safe in my care.  It’s an umbrella instead of a scepter.  Do I love people unconditionally or do I need things from them?  Do they leave my presence having been blessed?  Do I want them to go farther and higher than I have gone?

So those are just a few thoughts I’ve been having as I’ve been mulling these things over.  I’d love to hear some others.

Mark

Tip o’ the Irish hat to Mark Guinn for this link. Here’s John Piper on our current economic climate:

I am a white male born in America. And that makes me automatically one of the luckiest people on planet earth.

I come preloaded with statements that I always thought were okay for me to make. For example when someone speaks of race, I would say something along the lines of “well, I am colorblind.” I have numerous people begin to quote the number of black friends they have when racism is being discussed, as if having multiple non-whites in your phone proves you don’t have racist tendencies or something.

I found out another one this last Sunday. We had it out in our church community gathering. We unpacked the text of 1 Tim. 2 for well over an hour - opening up the floor for discussion on a passage that says that women are second rate and they will be saved through childbearing and that it was through them that sin entered the world.

Of course, I come preloaded with a statement for that, too. “Paul doesn’t really mean it.” Or “it’s cultural.” Or “look at these other verses that say this or that.”

I never meant to be this way. It’s not that I delighted in the slighting of others’ predicaments. So please know that it was never intentional. But, accidental or not, it is still ignorant. Those statements are still privileged. And they deserve to be looked at.

The bottom line is this: I have no idea what it’s like. I have no idea idea what it’s like to have race identify me before you know anything else about my likes, dislikes, personality, character, job, dreams or ethics. I have no idea what it’s like to be stereotyped when you see me coming from far down the road. I have no idea what it’s like to engage with this entire race issue. So when I say, “I’m colorblind”, what I’m really saying is “I am lucky enough to have been known my entire life without the color of my skin making a difference” and then expecting everyone else to be able to think the same way.

The same thing with gender. I’m a white male. Every pastor in America (slight overstatement) fits my description. Every elder. Every deacon. Every teacher or worship leader or offering gatherer or sound guy (never a girl). Women may fill the pews and I know there are women in all these various roles to some degree… but I have no idea what it’s like to be told you’re lesser than. I have no idea what it’s like to never have that chance to even explore a teaching or preaching gift because that’s male territory.

So when I try to work my way around these offensive statements of Paul, I’m being the same privileged white male that also says “I’m colorblind.”

I’m thankful for my upbringing. I’m blessed to be who I am and what I am and how I am. But what I’m slowly beginning to realize is that Jesus told people like me to try to put myself in people who aren’t like me. I’m starting to see that Jesus asked me to not speak from my platform, but to head to the platforms of others (phil. 2) and see things through their eyes. “walk a mile in my shoes” is honestly that very call - to not even try to talk about issues of race or gender until I realize that I really have no idea what I’m talking about here.

It’s a humbling thing to be told to shut up. And, of course, no one really told me that. But that’s how i feel inside, so maybe it’s God telling me to shut up. But no matter who is the source of this call to silence, I realize that it’s the right thing to do. After all, my preloaded statements are the last thing needed in these ongoing conversations toward healing and reconcilation.

I asked some of the guys recently to tell me what they’ve been reading. We will do this from time to time to hear what’s recommended or not and to get a cross-section of what piques our interest. In this installment, we’ve got books from chefs, pastors, businessmen and more. Here’s what’s on our nightstands at the current moment:

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