I see that, and I agree that it’s definitely a problem. I’ve been thinking lately that it affects us in a surprising way.

See, when right and wrong get diluted, then it leaves us ripe to elevate our opinions further than we normally would. In place of moral consensus, we emphasize our own hunches about the way the world ought to be. It’s not just the moral void that’s the problem—our own tendency to fill that void by elevating our own opinions that wreaks havoc on the formation of our character. The result is we live in an age of not just pervasive relativity, but pervasive negativity as well. This is the age of cynicism.

In a world where nobody has the final say about whether or not what I do is good or not, everybody has a say in whether they like it or not—people from every stage of life, young and old, now excel at cynicism in every arena of life. Negative judgmental critiques have become our highest rated form of entertainment—the bold and aggressive cynic is indeed the true American Idol.

It seems that even in the church, people eagerly voice their judgments and shamelessly gossip their critiques of their neighbors. Gone is any hint that the critiqued man, woman or child is a creature who somehow bears the image of God, gone is any impression of their value, gone is the spirit of love that compels us to see the face of Christ on our neighbors. In the place is only what we see and judge by the standards of what we like and what we don’t, what conveniences or annoys us.

We who believe in revelation must be better than that. What we have received from God certainly forms in us boundaries of what we may morally approve, but it is just as true that it should form a boundary of what we freely critique. Just as we must freely testify that Jesus is Lord indeed, we must also give testimony that we are not lords of the universe ourselves. Our witness to what God does say cannot be diluted by assertions of our own will and judgment. In the age of cynics, may the church instead choose to be something else:

May we choose to be prophets.

Prophets who speak the word of the Lord, but who bite our tongues before they spill the poison of cynical, negative gossip.

My small group has been talking about different kinds of prayer disciplines for the past month, and it’s prompted me to work through Psalms in a more deliberate way.  For the past couple of days I’ve been mulling over the Hebrew text of Psalm 1, eventually coming to the translation above.  Below are some of the meditative thoughts the Psalm has led me to so far this week.

Surroundings

This is a wisdom type psalm, or a Psalm of orientation, and so it more or less flows out of the way the world normally works, the way things should work.  It’s a generalization.  I wouldn’t have to poke around to hard to see exceptions here, but when you look at the opening verses about the wisdom of not surrounding yourself with wicked, evil, cynical people, it’s hard to argue.  I don’t think it’s an argument for cloistering ourselves up and insulating ourselves from the world, but a warning about the consequences of taking on the viewpoints, behaviors and assumptions of people without making some sort of judgment about who we’re listening to.

Personally, it’s the bit about sitting in the seat of cynics that has challenged me the most as I’ve meditated on this part of the Psalm.  The old translations use “scornful”, or “mockers”, or “scoffers”, which are just outdated enough to lose their bite.  When I started reading the word as “cynics”, it became more personal in a hurry. There is simply so much of this attitude, whatever you want to call it, in every corner of our culture. The spirit of mocking, judgmental cynicism is remarkably contagious and corrosive to the human heart, and who among us hasn’t felt the pull of all that negative gravity? You can’t drink all that poison and still thrive.  There’s a place for pushing away from those directions, and choosing, deliberately, to live with a different set of attitudes and assumptions. It might be hard work, but worthwhile.  It’s a path of blessing, whatever that means.

Blessed

I’m not really sure what that means – blessing.  That first word in the Psalm is fairly easy to translate, but it hard to get my mind around.  What does it mean to be blessed?  Things are just going to generally go your way? You’re going to feel good, or be lucky? Better parking spots or quicker lines at the DMV? Obviously it’s a positive designation–I mean, who wouldn’t want to be blessed? But still, the Psalm leaves me wondering what the content of that word “blessed” is when it just stands all on its own in a context like this. Reading the Psalm, the best I can come up with is that “blessed” in this context means something like “stable”, “secure”, “possessing meaning”, and “successful”, all rolled into one word.  Basically, “blessed” is the guy everyone wants to be. (Side note, culturally laden: The Dos Equis and Old Spice commercials might be seen as parodies of “blessed” Ha!.)

The safest part of the blessing bestowed here is that is eventual.  It relies on the watchful eye of the Lord to bring it about, but also just seems to be the natural order of things (not necessarily separate concepts here). As improbable as it seems, the psalm affirms that it is worthwhile to stay the course and pursue a life of righteousness and integrity.  That idea is easily questioned, and is often questioned even within the Psalter. Nonetheless, this psalm offers me the words to prayerfully consider in integrity as a source of blessing, and my cynicism and wickedness as threats to my own safety, security, and purposefulness. As I pray trough the Psalm, I find myself saying to God, “Please, let it be so.  Let it be true. I want to be the righteous man, and wholly desire the blessing. Let it only be true…”

“May God grant me the courage to change the things I can, the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, and the wisdom to know the difference.”

After all, what is is impossible with men is possible with God. How dare I deny it?

And when the Lord your God brings you into the land that he swore to your fathers, to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob, to give you —with great and good cities that you did not build, and houses full of all good things that you did not fill, and cisterns that you did not dig, and and vineyards and and olives trees that you did not plant —and when you eat and are full, then take care lest you forget the Lord, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of house of slavery.

It’s a great reminder for me as we get to work here at Cedar Lane.  We’re joining something very much in progress here, with a lot of history.  All kinds of people have poured their hearts into building this church, and I want to live with gratitude for that and find ways to honor it.

• I’ll honor that work by listening well.
• I honor that work by expressing gratitude.
• I honor that work by getting to know those in the church who are “trustees” of the heritage.
• I honor that work by keeping away from any hint of arrogance.
• I honor that work by working hard myself.

In honoring their work, I am really living in gratitude for what God has already been at work doing here for generations, and have a better perspective of my own place and identity in that work.

This is a great text for me today.

Discipleship without Jesus Christ is choosing one’s own path.  It could be an ideal path or a martyr’s path, but it is without the promise.  Jesus will reject it.

“Then they went on to another village.  As they were going along the road, someone said to him, ‘I will follow you wherever you go.’ And Jesus said to him, ‘foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.’ To another he said, ‘Follow me.’ But he said, ‘Lord, first let me go and bury my father.’ But Jesus said to him, ‘Let the dead bury their own dead; but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.’ Another said, ‘I will follow you, Lord; but first let me say farewell to those at my home.’ Jesus said to him, ‘ No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God’” (Luke 9:57-62).

…

The third one called, like the first, understands discipleship as an offer made only by him, as his own self-chosen program for life. But in contrast to the first, he things he is justified in setting his own conditions. doing so entangles him in a complete contradiction. He wants to join Jesus, but at the same time he himself puts something in the way between himself and Jesus: “Let me first.” He wants to follow, but he wants to set his own conditions for following.  Discipleship is a possibility for him, whose implementation requires fulfilling conditions and prerequisites.  This makes discipleship something humanly reasonable and comprehensible. First one does the one thing, and then the other. Everything has its own rights and its own time. The discipleship makes himself available, but retains the right to set his own conditions. It is obvious that, at that moment, discipleship stops being discipleship. It becomes a human program, which I can organize according to my own judgment and can justify rationally and ethically.  This third one wants to follow [Christ], but already in the very act of declaring his willingness to do so, he no longer wants to follow him.  He eliminates discipleship by his offer, because discipleship does not tolerate any conditions that could come between Jesus and obedience…”

Isn’t that a tail-kicking bit of writing?  It’s not just these unnamed wannabe disciples that get the terms mixed up.  All of us do.  It’s tough to honestly come to Jesus on his terms, to check ourselves so that we don’t impose ourselves on the one we call Lord.  I want to be a straight up follower, one who is willing to do discipleship like Jesus wants it done, who comes purely to follow, with no agenda of my own except the commitment to follow.  It’s clear that If I want to be a disciple at all, this is how it has to be.  I’m finding this terribly convicting this week.

The section describes Paul’s identity in some interesting ways, and one of those in particular caught my attention.  Paul is a steward of God’s grace, particularly God’s grace to the gentiles.  As he proclaims the mystery which he has received, he is acting not just as a conduit for God’s message, but a manager, a caretaker of the grace of God.  He stewards that grace in relationship to the Gentiles freely, but also with skill and wisdom.

That responsibility, the stewardship of grace to the Gentiles, was a very concrete concept for Paul.  It is as a steward, charged with a responsibility of grace, that he interacts with Gentiles who have names and faces.  They aren’t just a general race, but the actual persons he knew, love, and with whom he struggled.  they are the people who would gather in house churches in particular cities like Corinth, Philippi, or Ephesus.  These weren’t mythical cities, but actual particular locations, with streets and buildings, noises and smells.  And to the people in those cities, Paul understood himself to be bound by a sacred charge to demonstrate, declare, and dispense the grace of God.

Most of us who understand ourselves to be disciples of Jesus understand that we have a role in passing on God’s grace to others.  It is critical, though, that we move from that understanding, with it’s nameless faceless “others“, towards understanding that we have been charged with extending grace to specific, particular people.  We can easily think of ourselves as “stewards” of God grace, but the important questions to ask is, “I am a steward of God’s grace to __________?”

I am most plugged into God’s call for my life when I have some names and faces to go with that question.  The further away I get from being able to be specific, the closer I get to understanding it as a general “others”, the further I move from real engagement with God’s mission.

Think about it.  Pray about it.  Meditate on it.  Scan facebook, drive around your city and look around, look through your cell phone’s address book, but start getting your head around this critical question:

Who is the flesh and blood embodiment of your mission to extend God’s grace to the world?

But when you don’t get it right the first time, you have a chance to do something that develops and demonstrates your character. Get it right the second time.

In today’s reading in Project 4:4, There’s a great example in the life of David.  The ark of the covenant had been captured and taken away by the Philistines during the reign of Saul.  When David took Jerusalem, he desired to bring the ark back there, and so had it loaded up on a cart to be transported to its intended locale.  along the way, the cart jostled, and one of them men, Uzzah, reached out to steady the ark with his hand, and fell down dead immediately.  This gets everyone’s attention in a hurry, and they decide that they need to treat the ark with the respect and indeed fear that it deserved.  So David stops and has the ark housed in the town closest to where Uzzah had died.

Three months later,  two significant things have changed.  First and most obviously, David finds out that the man who is housing the ark temporarily is being blessed abundantly!  Beyond that, though, David has done his homework, and the version in Chronicles tells that David now knows that the reason behind Uzzah’s death was that they hadn’t been respecting the ark properly by following God’s commands for how it was to be carried.  He says to the Levites, whom he gathers, “You are the heads of the Levitical families; you and your fellow Levites are to consecrate yourselves and bring up the ark of the Lord, the God of Israel, to the place I have prepared for it.  It was because you, the Levites, did not bring it up the first time that the Lord our God broke out in anger against us. We did not inquire of him about how to do it in the prescribed way.”  (I Chron 15:12-13)  So this time, David follows the rules, and in this moment we see perhaps his greatest moment of celebration.  David dances before the Lord, part of the procession of the ark as it comes in properly, carried on poles on the shoulders of levites.

This whole episode of carrying the ark into newly captured and established Jerusalem, in preparation for its permanent placement in the temple , was part of one of David’s big projects.  The establishment of Jerusalem as the political and religious heart of Israel was one of his most significant legacies.  But don’t miss out on the fact that he didn’t get it right the first time.  In fact, this shouldn’t be glossed over, his failure led to a man’s death.  But, he didn’t give up.  Nor did he try to do it again the very same way.  He fixed the mistake, and got it right the second time.  That makes a huge difference, and shows us something of David’s character.

It can also show us something of ours.

Look, I hope you get most things right the first time.  You should try to do that, and can spare some heartache and waste, if not waste of life!  But most of us are blessed with more than a few times when the first go around doesn’t really go that well.  In those chances, show what you’re made of.  Have the courage and perseverance to try again, and the humility to change what you need to change.  Get it right the second time.

But first, let’s talk a little bit more about what that means.

If you read the gospels with an eye alert to the sorts of things Jesus teaches about living wisely or ethically, the motif of readiness really jumps out at you. Reading today in Matthew 25, I came across this peculiar story of the ten virgins, the ones who were waiting for the wedding celebration. The groom is delayed, so they all fall asleep. When they wake up, they realize that half of them have failed to bring enough oil to keep their lamps burning, and they have to make a midnight run for more, so they can make it through the night. While they’re gone, the groom comes, the door is shut, and the party starts. The groom is so offended by their tardiness that when they get back, he claims to not even know them. The parable ends with the admonition,

“Be ready, therefore, because you know neither the day or the hour.”

This apocalyptic readiness, the awareness that any moment could be the one when the game is over and the score tallied, is an interesting and challenging virtue. It has perhaps been interpreted too other-worldy, though, as if the way to maintain holy readiness is to detatch ourselves from the world around us and focus our attention wholy on our spiritual destiny. The rest of the chapter shatters that tempting interpretation, though. Jesus goes on to tell the parables of the talents and the sheep and goats. The clear message goes from a simple “Be ready!” to the more active “Be ready, making the most of every opportunity and resource you have to do good for other people.”

Christian readiness isn’t just a waiting around, passive readiness that clicks its tongue disapprovingly of the world going by. Instead, it’s a constant awareness of the good that waits to be done and the evil undone. It’s an awareness of the limited number of opportunities we have, coupled with an absolute sense of accountability for what we make of our opportunities. The call to readiness doesn’t disengage us from our world, it thrusts us into the world with wide open eyes, our hands ready to push back against darkness and destruction.

So, get ready. But realize that getting ready means getting busy.

That the leaders took the lead in Israel,
that all the people offered themselves willingly,
Bless the Lord!
-Judges 5:2

The rest of the song has the feel of epic legend, a hero song. The retelling of Jael slaying Sisera is very vivid towards the end, and perhaps dominated my reading of the song before. Today, though, I can’t help if these simple three lines at the beginning really set the stage for the whole event. Are these the conditions of victory? Leaders who step up, people who are willing to give of themselves – how many things fail because of the lack of one of these two? The willingness of both leaders and the people to play the part God has given them results in the victory of God’s people. Jael gets the tent peg to the head.

“When Achan son of Zerah acted unfaithfully regarding the devoted things, did not wrath come upon the whole community of Israel?  He was not the only one who died for his sin.”

The motif of community responsibility in the Achan saga is brutal.  It reminds me that, as much as I want to deny it and hide from it, I am not the only one who pays for my sins.  Sin is not an individual problem, but is as much tied into the identity of the community as it is my own personal identity.  I have to think about what it means for me to be holy, but I have to also pursue a holiness that is plural.  I contribute to and detract from our holiness.  God is not just sanctifying me, he is sanctifying us.

It may be that we are seeing a swing of the cultural pendulum back towards an awareness of the ethics of community responsibility in our culture.  I think that’s a positive thing, although there’s still much to say about what kind of ethic the greater culture is going to embody.  Frankly, I’m much, much less concerned with that, and much more concerned about the community that calls itself God’s people, and is committed to being disciples of Jesus.  How does our community of faith seek to follow Jesus in a way that honors him not just as a collection of individuals, but which also honors him by the way we live as a community of holy people, defined by his ethics?  How do I contribute to that?