I’m about to begin a teaching series at Otter Creek Church (The Story of Us) from Genesis 1-11. I’ve been studying all summer, and am working in community with Wade, Luke, Josh, and Collin (two of whom are church planters) on the role of Genesis in the local church. It’s been a tremendous season of reflection and thought for me as Otter Creek continues to live into the energy God’s spirit is pouring upon us.

This week, I’ve been particularly attune to the competing narratives that contest for identity and allegiance. My assumption is that the Enuma Elish (ancient cosmological account) and others must be understood, on some level, in order for the sting of Genesis to be felt by modern listeners. Moreover, anyone teaching Genesis must be willing to exegete the competing narratives within one’s given culture (be it Uganda, Brazilian or North American). Here are three competing stories that the writer/preacher/teacher must weigh when teaching Genesis.

• The Consumer Story: this story says that God created you to shop. Your sum worth is directly linked to your ability and execution of purchasing the latest in fashion and technology. If you don’t look a certain way, you can’t play a certain part. If you don’t have a crackberry/iPhone/iPad you are somehow incomplete. Your identity is tied to what you obtain. Both President Obama and President Bush showed their hand when they used language that the only way to bring the U.S. economy back was to get consumers to spend (one of the reasons we got where we are in the first place). Or, as Mark Twain once noted about Tom Sawyer, “Tom discovered a great law of human action, namely, that in order to make a man covet a thing it is only necessary to make the thing difficult to attain.” The more we have, ironically, the more we want.
• The Nationalist Story: This story, which is found in almost every nation-state in the West, says that the accident of birth should be ignored. The country you live in is superior to surrounding countries because it’s the country in which you live. Most nations then have room for religion as long as particular expressions of religion are good for said country. Or, as one preacher likes to say, the relationship between government and faith is like mixing manure and ice cream. It’s good for the manure bad for the ice cream. Whenever faith gets caught up in the agenda of a particular party (liberal or conservative) faith loses. As I explained previously on this blog, there’s a profound difference between being a patriot and a nationalist. A patriot loves what is worth loving and hates what is worth hating about one’s particular country. A nationalist blindly bolsters the agenda of said nation regardless of the cost.
• The Competition Story: This story says your worth is tied to what you do, what you manage to accomplish. From out-of-control youth sports coaches/leagues, to the cut-throat corporate ladder many  are forced to climb, this narrative is often what drives education and career paths. That is, we go to school and pick jobs based, not upon what God is calling us to repair in God’s broken world, but “how much money can I make?”)–which of course is the intersection of Story #1 and #3.

I only like to play in tournaments I think I can win. The problem with these three tournaments is that even when you win, you lose. More importantly, when we win, the Story of God in scripture loses. Genesis gives us a better story.

Randy Harris wrapped up our RHYTHM series at Otter Creek Church yesterday. It was a powerful morning. You can listen HERE. Enjoy the dance. (don’t get too hung up on title of video, apologies if it offends you)

Thanks to my friend Jonathan Ross for sharing this.

For part of our back-to-school-blessing, I read a letter (know I don’t know the Paisley song on country music stations that’s similar) . . .

16 year old Josh:

You are about to turn 16. You are going to drive a big red F250 truck (affectionately nicknamed “Big Red” and “Clifford” for the children’s book character—you got street cred). You will have ample opportunity to pursue the vices that have swirled in your imagination for the past few years. Life’s about to get real interesting.

Basketball is going to open doors to travel, share life with people from all over the U.S. But you will also have doors opened because of basketball that you need not walk through.

You work hard being the person others want you to be (that’s not all bad)—but you are missing out on being yourself. Be yourself (the version God made you to be) because everyone else is taken.

You are about to have angst inside yourself that you think can be quenched by relationships—but it’s a mirage in the desert. Like salt-water, the more you drink the thirstier you’ll be.

Your parents  have a deeply rooted love for you and while you think they don’t know what you are going through, there is nothing new under the sun. They know more than you think. Actually, the older you get the more you’ll realize how brilliant your parents actually were. The older you get the smarter they’ll be. You will end up modeling them when you become a parent yourself.

You are going to make some big mistakes—some bigger than you thought you were capable of. The pain will be real, the scars permanent. You’re going to do some important things too. Things you’ll look back on with great pride. Don’t let either define you.

In just a few years, you’ll read something form Howard Thurman that will change your life. I wish you could read it now: “Don’t ask what the world needs. Instead, ask what makes you come alive, because what the world needs is people who’ve come alive.” Chase that which gives life. The rest will work itself out.

I hope these words find a way to your heart.

Love,

31 year old Josh

Six years ago, I served as an assistant basketball coach at a university in Texas. The first week on the job, the head coach (my boss) walked into my office with the other assistant coach and declared, “Boys, we’re going on a road trip. We need to spend some time with each other out of the office.” As he said this, he placed on my desk an 8 x 10 photo of Pike’s Peak, one of the largest mountain summits in the U.S. “We’re going to climb Pike’s Peak in one day.”

My heart went in my stomach. Though I’d played college basketball I had spent all my time the previous year in the library studying theology—I was in no shape to do this. Neither were my two friends.

We drove from West Texas to the Colorado Springs area the night before we were to climb. I informed my friends that I needed to go to Wal-Mart. “Why?” they inquired. “Because I need some supplies.” “You mean you didn’t bring anything with you?” “I brought my shorts, running shoes and a few granola bars.” “Are you serious?” “Yes, I’m serious.” A long pause ensued.

We over-slept the next morning. This is a crucial detail because the window for summiting Pike’s Peak is small during August. That is, you can get caught in a lightning storm or blizzard if you don’t summit before early afternoon.

The first stretch of the hike was fine save the fact that I thought my heart was going to burst. Apparently this whole “acclamation” thing that real hikers talk about is serious business. We got to the half way point in decent shape. I should note that it’s called the half way point but it’s really like the 1/3 point because the next stretch of terrain is much more difficult than the beginning part. About an hour into this second portion of the hike, the temperature begins to drop and I’m thinking that my shorts, tank-top, and three dollar Wal-Mart pull-over might not get the job done. All of the sudden, lightning began ripping through the sky. Here, in this moment of fright, I gained one of my first lessons in hiking. When a 6’4″ human is walking beyond the tree line, said person becomes the tree. We were totally exposed and in a dangerous place.

One of us in the group, I can’t remember who, became convinced (probably due to a lack of oxygen) that our cell phones were conductors and that we needed to throw them down the side of the mountain. Slightly less dumb heads prevailed and we continued to walk. About thirty minutes into the lightning storm, a blizzard broke out. I’ve seen my share of snow (I grew up in a city surrounded by lakes—we invented lake effect snow) but nothing like this. It came out of nowhere. I could barely see five feet ahead of me. After another thirty minutes or so of walking in this blizzard with the lightning, we found a cave. It was like finding a pool of water in the middle of a dry desert. We huddled inside the cave (one member of our group tried calling his wife in case he didn’t “make it”) only to find there were some other hikers inside the cave. These hikers, who looked professional compared to the look-what-the-cat-drug-in crew before their eyes, were warming themselves with special blankets (I came to find out later they were space blankets). “What on God’s green earth are you doing here?” one man asked. I thought I’d be helpful and replied, “We’re trying to make it to the Summit.” I can’t repeat what he said to me. Actually I can, I just might have to attend an impromptu elders breakfast in the morning if I repeat (on this blog) what he said.

Here’s the gist of his message: you don’t belong up here. You have not prepared. You don’t have a guide (Pike’s Peak at the time was the highest climb available to people without guides); you don’t know where you are going or what you are doing. People die every week on this mountain because they think they can do this alone but they can’t.

Before you think I’m totally inept (mostly inept and totally inept are two different things), contrast that experience with another I had just a few years later after the Pike’s Peak Disaster. Right after we’d moved back to Michigan to begin full-time ministry work post grad/undergraduate school, a life-long friend and mentor approached me: “I know you’ve just finished a marathon of sorts,” he said alluding to the 84 hour masters degree I’d just completed, but I’ve got another marathon for you—an actual one.

To this point in my life, I’d been a jogger not a runner. I had not interest in doing a marathon. Except for the fact that I knew I’d get to be around Andy a lot if I decided to do this. Andy was the kind of person I wanted to be (highly disciplined, devout in his reading, terrific father/husband). I said “yes” to train for one of the more grueling events I know of, (who runs 26 miles on purpose?), because I wanted to be around Andy. Fred Craddock told an audience once, in my hearing, “I’m a six mile runner. In my life, I’ve run a total of 6 miles. Quarter mile, eighth of a mile there. I’m a six mile runner.”

The training was intense, different than anything basketball ever threw my way. Much more mental than physical. My feet bruised all over. My body went through all kinds of exhaustion and cramping. I stuck with it thought because I had a great mentor, someone who’d walk me through what was coming; someone who could take to a place he had already been. I remember one Friday morning (about 4am) we met at the park to run twenty miles. Up to that point this was the longest distance I’d ever run. It rained the entire time. I was soaked to my bones. I caught a flight to Purdue University a few hours later where I was to speak at a retreat for a campus ministry. Of course, there was a mix-up, and we did not have rooms to sleep in that night.

But I smiled a big smile as I slept on the floor of that cafeteria, cold tile below my back, because I’d met the test, not with perfection, but with grit and grace. Truth be told, the actual marathon experience was a bit of a letdown. I was glad to have done it, but it was not was I’d expected. I’d envisioned the theme music to Rocky playing with Kara standing at the finish line as I passed three Kenyans on my way to the finish line. The end was hardly that dramatic. In fact, I hate my finish photo because there are a few people who, let’s just say were not in marathon shape, are in front of me in the photo making it look like they beat me when they had only run a three mile leg for a large relay team. I’m over it. Really.

It was in the preparation, that I came to like running. It was in the training that I changed.

And so it is with our life in God’s love. God’s grace drenches the entire planet. There’s not a single secular molecule in the universe. God is screaming to us, if only we could hear more clearly. But, we have to respond. Because God is not a dictator, he’s a lover. And, it takes two to tango (God and God’s people).

Adversity, suffering, pain, and trial are coming. These are the gifts no one wants. C.S. Lewis wrote “We are not necessarily doubting that God will do the best for us; we are wondering how painful the best will turn out to be.” If we’ve been so moved by the grace of God as to prepare for what life brings our way, we don’t have to be afraid and we can begin, because of the perspective that disciplines provide, to realize that pain and suffering might actually be odd and holy gifts . After all, pain reminds us: 1) we are still alive 2) things are not as they should be 3) perhaps things can one day be as they should and 4)I am not, alone, I am not enough to get through it.

This is why these scriptures are so important to the Christian community at large: “If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me,” (Mk. 8:34). “And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus,” (Col. 3:17). “Since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us,” (Heb. 12:1).

As a Christian minister, I am a public leader. Like it or not, it comes with the territory. I know the following will resonate with some and disturb others. I write the following after much study, reflection, and prayer. I write also knowing that a blog is a tenuous place to talk about the things that really matter.

I’ve been reading the Pulitzer-Prize winner The Good Soldiers this week and paying attention to the debate raging across the media landscape regarding the mosque that could potentially be built near the sight of the Twin Towers (a.k.a Ground Zero). Good Soldiers is a painful account of how absolutely dark war can be, the complexity of Nation-State and religions in bed with each other, the perspectives of the soldier (often ignored by both parties in the U.S.) and the sheer difficulty of measuring what is “good” and “redemptive” in a war-time era. The book also masterfully depicts the complexity of the collision between America’s Christianity and Iraq’s Islam (not to mention the fact that there are Muslims in the U.S. and Christians in Iraq).

I sympathize with those who are opposed to a mosque being built near Ground Zero. It is a “slap in the face”, in this perspective, to put one of the major symbols of Islam (a mosque, more appropriately titled, masjid–mosque is the French translation of the Arabic) in the shadow of the deadliest attack from an outside group on American soil. Over three thousand people, innocent people lost their lives. It was a day of sheer evil and horror. A day that has forever changed the narrative of good and evil in America.

I understand that many U.S. citizens are afraid of Islam, or detest Islam because of certain actions of a small minority (it’s a religion of 1.2 billion people–the second largest religion in the world behind Christianity which has just over 2 billion adherents). But, the fear/rage is also the result of the lack of leadership on behalf of other Islamic leaders speaking out against the terrorist expression of jihad. The world needs more Islamic leaders to step to center stage and speak out against the insidious violence we see almost every week–just as we needed Christian leaders to speak out against the genocide of Native Americans, the atomic bombs dropped in Japan, the Holocaust in Europe, the murder of 800k  in Rwanda, the slaughter in Sudan, the list goes on and on. SIDE NOTE: The majority of Muslims in the world do not live in the Middle East. The majority live outside: For instance, I believe Indonesia has more Muslims than any other single country.

When I asked a Muslim leader at the al-Farooq mosque in Atlanta why more Muslim leaders don’t speak out, he apologized, agreed and also noted that “Christians have gone silent during some of the great injustices of human history.” Whether one believes Jesus to be the true revelation of God (which I do), his point is well taken.

Perhaps there are a few more things to consider on this public matter. First, I’ m appalled at the inconsistency of some in their reading of the 1st Amendment (many don’t know what the 1st Amendment actually says). That is, conservatives become “intent of the law” (i.e. “The Founding Fathers meant Christianity when they wrote ‘religion.’”) interpreters and liberals become strict constructionists (i.e. “It says ‘freedom of religion’). We are all selective interpreters and selective fundamentalists. Until we begin to admit this, we can’t cover the ground needed to move forward. We tend to be “selective” when it’s in our best interest or fits our particular belief system.

Second, the actual location is two blocks from Ground Zero. Manhattan is a big place. If I understand the facts accurately, there’s another mosque even closer that’s been there for several decades.

Third, Since the Immigration Act of 1965 (see blog post here), the ethnic, and thereby religious, landscape of America will never be the same. America can choose to eliminate all Muslims from our society, isolate and imprison, or seek to build authentic relationships for understanding and mutual transformation. What other options are there? I choose the latter because I think the future depends upon it.

Fusing the world of Jesus with the contemporary is a remarkably difficult task. It takes wisdom, discernment, and historical perspective. I personally would not want to treat a minority group in a way, that if the roles were reversed,  would silence my religious beliefs. If the leaders of Iran ask me if they should allow a church to be built, I would enthusiastically hope for this happen. If you object, saying, “That will never happen in Iran.” Perhaps, but if we believe it should, perhaps our duty in America is to show that such mutual respect and mutual commitment for one’s deepest convictions should compel all of us to exemplify the best of our traditions, not the worst.

May God grant us the courage to change the things we can, the humility to accept the things we cannot change and the wisdom to know the difference.