The Lamppost of a New World

For some time, the street in front of our church building has been under construction, but it has finally been completed. While stopping by there one recent evening to drop some papers off, I looked up the sidewalk, and standing tall on the corner was a new streetlamp. Not an average wood pole and light, but a decorative, vintage-looking lamp.

I strolled up the sidewalk to get a better look; with our church building illuminated behind it, I laughed quietly to myself.

Yes, I thought of Jesus’ statements that his followers are the “light of the world” who are to let their “light shine before others”. But there was something also that stirred my imagination.

One of the most popular series in modern Christian literature is C.S. Lewis’ The Chronicles of Narnia. It’s first and most famous novel tells the story of a young girl, Lucy, who playfully steps into a wardrobe and discovers within a strange and magical land. Her first few steps bring her to a London-style lamppost located amid a wintery forest. As she gazes in wonder at this sight, a woodland creature named Mr. Tumnus, a Faun with his own complicated story, happens upon her. It is at this lamppost their friendship begins, and ultimately incites an adventure leading to the salvation and liberation of Narnia. Later we learn the lamppost was planted there at Narnia’s beginning, grew from out of Narnia’s newness, and has since emitted an eternal flame to remind all of the Life and Song with which it was imbued.

While I may just be making something out of nothing, that’s what landmarks do. They serve as reminders that something happened here, and we can be better for it. The lamppost in the Narnia story can serve to kindle our church’s imagination for her purpose every time we see the newly installed lamppost on our street corner.

Like Narnia’s lamppost, the Church can mark the bridging of the world as it is, and the better world God is making through Christ. Like Narnia’s lamppost, the Church can also bear witness to the Life and Song as it was in the beginning, and as it will stir and ring out again. Just as with Lucy and Mr. Tumnus, the Church is where relationships can begin, and reconciliation is made possible. Finally, as seen at the novel’s end when Lucy again encounters the lamppost and returns to the wardrobe and to her world, the Church marks the end of old stories that are also the beginning of new chapters.

Beholding the lamppost then as if for the first time, Lucy declared “It will not go out of my mind that if we pass this post and lantern, either we shall find strange adventures or else some great changes of our fortunes.”

I hope those who encounter our church may also echo Lucy’s daring in their own thoughts. I hope that our church may be such a “light of the world” letting our “light shine before others” that those who enter our midst may experience in our community the deep magic of a world being made new.






Churching in the Rain

Several months after graduating from college with a ministry degree, I was still looking for a church to serve. During this search a friend persuaded me to move to South Korea with him. My prayer at the time was I would be fine with going as long as I could do ministry. That ministry blessedly turned out to be Juan English Ministry in Incheon.

When I learned the ministry recently celebrated their 15th Anniversary, Pastor Joshua Ro kindly sent me an anniversary gift the church had made for her members—an umbrella.

I found this both amusing and appropriate for a ministry in Korea. Umbrellas are sold everywhere in every design. If citizens aren’t using umbrellas to shield themselves from the sun, they’re definitely using them during Korea’s torrential monsoon season. I can’t remember how many umbrellas I bought, broke, or lost during my time there. But when I received the umbrella today in the mail and saw the Juan English Ministry emblem on the fabric, I felt an even deeper appreciation.

The days following my move to Incheon were difficult. There was culture shock, loneliness, emotional instability. For a few weeks I went to my friend’s church about an hour away; it was fine. Then one Sunday a guest minister visited and advertised his congregation which happened to be located just a few blocks from where I lived. After visiting the following week, it felt like a community I needed to join. In the days and weeks that followed, I met new people, worshipped with them, prayed with them, studied the Bible with them, ate meals with them, fellowshipped with them, participated with them in various activities. They helped me to settle into the rhythm of life there. They relieved me of loneliness, protected me from isolation, provided me with purpose, and kept my flame from getting doused. In short, the JEM community was an umbrella.

As is befitting the business of the Church, JEM has regularly opened and outspread such blessedness to countless many from Korea and all over the world. Just as Christ covers the Church with His blood, JEM has covered so many in their love. As the years continue, I pray that however many seek shelter from life’s storms will find in JEM a holy gathering huddled beneath the warmth of God’s embrace with always room enough for more.

What the Church might yet learn from Billy Graham

I must confess I struggle to know what the term Evangelical means anymore. I know that in the Greek, it originally meant good news or gospel. While I find that to be the most clarifying sense of the word, for over many years now it seems to have also taken on nuances of historical nostalgia, political influence, and attitudes similar to those who might pursue and preserve power. It’s a word whose many connotations I find difficult to fully comprehend. It has a lot of baggage with it that has burdened its original intention to convey God’s good news. For that reason, I rarely use it or readily identify with it.

This morning I woke up to the news that the Reverend Billy Graham had passed into God’s good presence. I know of Billy Graham the same as what everybody knows, that he was a preacher of Jesus Christ. While I wish I knew more about him, when it comes down to it, that is what he essentially was. A man who devoted his life to travelling from city to city, state to state, country to country preaching the good news about Jesus. In a culture that frequently esteems complexity and nuance, it’s amazing to think a man of such simplicity impacted the world so greatly.

In a sense, that simple essence helps remind and clarify what it might mean to be evangelical. A person whose life reveals God’s good news.

Reverend Graham’s passing comes at a time in our history where so much of the country is embroiled in a chaotic divisiveness of which the Church is very much a part. What role the Church goes on to play amidst this chaos will greatly depend on whose rule or kingdom we are seeking.

In Reverend Graham’s death and our looking back at the simple essence he was about, maybe the Church can be reminded that our essence is not about leveraging power to progress an agenda, but to be those whose lives really convey God’s good news.

My Dad once told me a story that when Richard Nixon received the presidential nomination at the Republican convention, he invited friend Billy Graham to a backroom with other friends and politicians where there would likely be smoking, drinking, cussing, political discourse. Ruth Graham, however, pulled Billy aside and said, “That’s no place for the man of God.”

Our place is to make much of Jesus and embody his way of living that conveys the uniqueness of God’s good news. It is a mission for which Reverend Graham labored long; now that his labors are over, his labors are now ours. As we take them up, let us be careful to leave the baggage behind. May we take up his labor of love in such a way that conveys news that is truly good.

A thought for when nothing seems to matter

Fun fact: If in certain seasons you’ve struggled with the thought that nothing matters, you are viewing the world through the lenses of nihilism. Stemming from the Latin word meaning “nothing”, nihilism is, writes philosophy professor James Sire, “more of a feeling than a philosophy. Nihilism is not a philosophy at all but a denial of philosophy, of knowledge, of anything valuable, even existence itself.”

I myself am tempted on occasion into this way of feeling. Sometimes it comes in seasons of frustration, isolation, or anger. Sometimes exaggerated shadows in my mind will induce panic or anxiety, or I may even just slip into the darkness of indifference.

How do I then try to turn my philosophical frown upside down? I try to remember an inversion—ex nihilo! 

Stemming from the same Latin word, ex nihilo is a phrase made in reference to God’s means of creation—“out of nothing”. Though acknowledging a void, the phrase’s focus is upon what God chooses to do with that void.

The psalmist beautifully writes “By the word of the LORD the heavens were made, and all their host by the breath of his mouth…For he spoke, and it came to be; he commanded, and it stood firm” (Ps33:6,9).

Whereas nihilism denies existence has any meaning, ex nihilo declares that meaning comes from beyond existence. God takes nothingness and calls existence into being. Nothingness is the canvas God makes his masterpiece.

Whenever you wonder if nothing matters, remember God made matter from nothing. Having come into existence by God’s allowance, we have left nothingness behind. We matter because we are God-made matter.

We are not abandoned to a void but within this reality being brought towards the renewal of all things, we are creation’s centerpieces whose worth flows from out of the resplendence of God’s power and creativity.



Do you know you are loved?

In Oliver Stone’s epic biographical interpretation Nixon, the controversial filmmaker makes much of Nixon’s personal insecurities as the driving force behind most of his professional decision-making. There is a scene near the end where, as Richard Nixon’s presidency is imploding, one of his last remaining advisors, Henry Kissinger, is watching a televised speech in which the president again denies having any knowledge of the Watergate cover-up. Exasperated their president has lost touch with reality, Kissinger comments to the chief of staff “Can you imagine what this man would have been had he ever been loved? It’s a tragedy, because he had greatness in his grasp”.

Historical accuracy aside, the comment stands out as a reflection of a narrative with which we all struggle—knowing we are loved and living from out of that awareness. For many people this struggle stems from growing up in an environment where they never were actually shown any love at all. For many other people, this struggle is the result of never having actively embraced the love they were actually shown. In such cases, the grounded assurance of being both loved and lovely is lacking. This deficient awareness of love seems only to fuel futures filled with fearfulness, distrust, bitterness, isolation, loneliness, and, ultimately, the withholding of love towards others, thus perpetuating the cycle.

I can do nothing about the environments that create such a poverty of love, but I can try bringing to your attention that love exists and is abundantly available and accessible. To do so, please allow me a well-worn platitude that is also very true: God loves you.

My father and pastor, Charles Robinson, recently preached a terrific sermon wherein he referenced Nebuchadnezzar’s casting of Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah into the fiery furnace. Citing Daniel 3:25, Pastor Robinson commented “God didn’t rescue them from the flames; God joined them.”

This arouses the deep awareness that God has not left us alone to the environments and moments in which we feel so often abandoned. Though they seem bereft of our preferred expressions of love, they are not without God’s presence. The totality of place and time is permeated with the presence of God. I refer of course to the incarnation of Jesus Christ: God with us, God amongst us, God for us. Through Christ’s incarnation, crucifixion, and resurrection, the presence of God fills the present of every believer’s person, place, and period and expands across their past and future. When pains of the past and fears of the future come stealing in, Christ is already there to absorb every ache and anxiety, redemptively molding your memories and moments into a grace that emits his majesty through you. When time and life feel fractured and fragmented, Christ fills the cracks and the voids, the emptiness and brokenness, so that all may be restored to wholeness. We then shall find we need not resent the past nor fear the future, for they are becoming the planes upon which God’s salvation has and will play out.

In Christ, God conveys upon us love without end. Christ awakens us to what throughout this world lies dormant—the rich assuring awareness that we are lovely and loved.

Do you know you are loved? Has knowing Christ enabled you to accept that truth? If your mind was constantly attuned to this awareness, how might you imagine living?

God is up to something good

I was recently at a Barnes and Noble, relaxing with a crossword puzzle and a black French Roast.  I would occasionally glance up and look out over the rows of shelves containing their wealth of words and wisdom.  On one such glance I saw a table with books piled up; in the middle was a short sign that read “New in History”.

My first thought was how that’s an oxymoron.  History has already happened; there’s nothing new about it.  But of course, it referred to history books just newly published.

It reminded me of a phrase or way of thinking we occasionally use to generate fresh interest or enthusiasm in ministry settings: “God is up to something new” or “God is doing a new thing.”

I get it.  Like the would-be readers of these newly released history books, an individual or community is experiencing God’s grace in a way that feels refreshingly new and they’re rejoicing in this.  That’s only right; it’s good to rejoice. That being said, this idea could benefit from some unpacking.

We like new things. New phones, new clothes, a new car (and its new car smell), starting a new job, ringing in the New Year, turning over a new leaf. Why? Besides the sparkliness it brings, new things make us feel like we’re making progress. Change is good, we say. It moves us forward; so we make a change here, a change there, and soon we feel we’re making a difference. But we also say that the more things change the more they stay the same. That’s the idea that if things keep changing, eventually they come back around to what they were. What good is a rotating merry-go-round of new changes if they inevitably never affect a perpetual newness?

This is why it is best not to measure God’s work by its shininess or sparkle, but by the consistent vitality that has always characterized his goodness. Salvation is the rhythmic goodness of God at work in history, an ancient wonder that constantly renews.

Why might this be important to clarify? As with every new thing, our faith will experience the fervor of a honeymoon phase(s), then transition into a variety of seasons. The newness we felt will eventually feel old, possibly making us feel our faith needs an upgrade; then upgrade after upgrade. It’s a recipe for an anxiety-riddled faith. In such seasons, we will need a foundation reminding us that whether old or new, it is always God’s goodness at work, and that God’s goodness is always enough. In that reminder we find joy, peace, and rest in the God who, through old and new, is always up to something good.

Why the prodigal son needed his older brother

Monday night I watched the season three finale of “Better Call Saul”, Vince Gilligan and Peter Gould’s wonderful prequel series to their incomparable “Breaking Bad” series. Through consistent simmering narrative, we gradually learn what is pushing the likable elder-law lawyer Jimmy McGill towards becoming the amoral scumbag Saul Goodman who protects and defends Albuquerque’s criminals. Naturally, it has to do with his relationship to his brother. His older brother, Charles McGill, a brilliant and well accomplished attorney, has bailed his younger brother out of more trouble than he’d like through the years. After years of frustration and resentment towards Jimmy for bending and breaking the rules to get ahead, as well as for being their mother’s favorite, Chuck uses his career and knowledge of the law as a way to hold Jimmy to a higher standard. But when Jimmy makes an honest effort to do better in life by becoming a good lawyer and man, Chuck’s resentment spills over as he believes his brother doesn’t deserve either. He grows dismissive of Jimmy, hindering his every honest effort, while condescendingly explaining he only wants what’s best for him.

In Monday night’s season finale, his journey to the dark side got a big push. When Jimmy tries to make amends with Chuck over a recent discord, in a moment where Chuck’s own life is falling apart, Chuck goes off. He tells Jimmy “Why have regrets at all? What’s the point? You’re just going to keep hurting people. This is what you do. In the end, you’re going to hurt everyone around you; you can’t help it. So stop apologizing and accept it, embrace it. You don’t have to make up with me; things are fine the way they are. The truth is, you’ve never mattered that much to me.”

The sad irony is that for all of Chuck’s speeches of how the law is something to be respected and handled by good people to keep the world in check, his own resentment and disparagement may be precisely what drives Jimmy to become the criminal lawyer who would enable so much pain and sadness.

Why am I going on about a TV show? It made me think of the “prodigal son” parable. You know the story. Having demanded, then wasted his father’s inheritance on frivolities, the younger son realizes his mistakes, is ashamed, and returns home simply hoping for the mercy of a job. Instead his father gracefully restores him to sonship, celebrating with a feast. The older brother refuses to participate, telling his father that all this time he stayed, worked, and has never been celebrated like this. His father tells him “Son, you have always been with me, and all that is mine is yours. But we had to celebrate and rejoice, for this brother of yours was dead and has begun to live, and was lost and has been found.”

Obviously the father wants his older son to understand grace, but why? To simply enjoy a party? Perhaps, but for a much broader purpose. How the older brother reacts to his younger brother would set the tone for all that would happen after. The father has already set a public tone of grace; if the older brother’s reaction contradicts that grace, it will have a damaging impact on the tone his father set, as well as the already damaged younger brother. If we were to let the story play out logically, one day when their father would no longer be there, the whole estate would belong to the older son and the younger brother’s fate would greatly depend on his older brother. How would he then treat him? His father wants him to get grace now so he’ll give grace later; that by the time comes when his younger brother is at his mercy, he’ll have chosen to embody the grace they both learned from their father by building him up rather than breaking him down.

Like the younger brother we all feverishly want something that’s ours, something that gives us meaning, a place or group to belong, a chance to become someone that others value. The younger brother would come to eventually find all those things at home, through a reality perpetuated in the grace given by his father. Would his brother continue to build on that? Jesus never says, perhaps because he wants our lives to be the answer to that question.