They Also Serve....

Yesterday, June 20th, was the 40th anniversary of the Apollo 11 moon landing. Neil Armstrong, a native of Wapakoneta, Ohio, became the first man to walk on the moon. What once had seemed unreachable for mankind - outer space, the moon, the stars - became attainable. What was once an object of worship became a new frontier for exploration.

But that conquest came at a heavy price. On January 27, 1967, three American astronauts - Gus Grissom, Ed White II and Roger Chaffee were killed by a fire that ignited in the module during a test. The fire was a horrific disaster that nonetheless served to help designers reconfigure the Apollo lunar capsule to increase safety and reliability of key functions. Because of the sacrifice of those three astronauts, Armstrong, Collins and Aldrin were able to successfully make it to the moon and back, fulfilling President Kennedy's challenge to our country. After Apollo 11, NASA did not suffer the loss of a single Apollo astronaut, even when Apollo 13 nearly met with disaster.

As you enjoy commemorations of the Apollo 11 landing, and thrill to the replays of the original television and radio broadcasts, take a moment to remember the crew of Apollo 1. They served, too.

A Tough Row to Hoe

I share a cubicle with a woman here at work - we shall call her Lily. Lily has a lot on her plate, both personally and in the office. She's married to an alcoholic, and while they share a home, they don't have any kind of marital relationship. She has a ne'er-do-well son, and is raising one of her grandchildren. Layoffs are coming, and she's sure her position is threatened. (And it is: over the last six months or so, she's had more and more of her responsibilities taken away and given to others.) She's a little advanced in years, is not financially able to retire, and is scared.

I have befriended her. I look after her - she doesn't do stairs well, so I run her paperwork around for her. I surprise her with frosties from Wendy's. I've listened to her problems, and I pray for her every day at lunch. I'm kind to her.

Today, she stabbed me in the back. Suffice to say that Lily went straight to my supervisor with errant information about a conversation I'd had. She neither heard the conversation, nor took the time to listen to my side of it. She went straight over my head, and had to climb the stairs to do so, so God knows it took determination and effort. My supervisor talked to me, believes me, asked me not to confront Lily about it, etc.

Here's the funny part: As I was driving to work this morning, I heard Chuck Swindoll tell a story my wife used in a sermon illustration this week. A missionary was preaching a sermon, and after the service, she was surprised to see a German SS guard who had tormented her and her sister years before, in a concentration camp during World War II. It took everything she had - specifically, several quiet prayers to God - to extend her hand in friendship. But she did it, hard as it was.

As I came downstairs from my supervisor's office, I was steaming. I wanted so badly to talk to Lily directly, tell her off, and sulk. But I'm required to forgive. Worse, I'm required to pray for her:

"But I say to you, love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you...." (Matt. 5:44, NIV)

Now, I'm not being persecuted, but I am confronted with the spirit of the verse, and that spirit requires me to treat Lily no differently than I did before. In fact, I have to treat her better. Today, I'm going to pray for her during my lunchtime devotions, just as I always do. And I'll probably pick her up a frostie from Wendy's.

I will say one thing: six months ago, I'd have let Lily have it. God has been working on me - hard - and I can notice differences in the way I used to act, and the way I act now. All too often, I fail, but I do see growth. I see a difference.

This Christian thing is tough, though. It's a tough row to hoe.

HBO's Rome

My wife and I have been trekking through HBO's Rome miniseries. Though we're only two-thirds through the first season, and have a whole second season to enjoy, I thought I'd offer up a few thoughts about what I've seen so far.

First, as an amateur historian (I'm not sure majoring in history in college qualifies you as an "historian," per se), I'm reasonably happy with the basic historical accuracy of the settings, clothing and manners. I can't understand why producers can't accurately portray Roman military shields or Ptolemaic military equipment, but that's a minor quibble. The characters are well-drawn, the acting solid and the writing usually lively. The show is pretty raunchy, with lots of off-color language, but - it's HBO, so you know what to expect going in.

Rome, Season One follows the adventures of Lucius Vorenus, a centurion, and Titus Pullo, a common legionarius, both of whom belong to Julius Caesar's XIII Legion. I won't try to retrace the plot, but these two get into various mishaps against the backdrop of Caesar's impending clash with Pompey Magnus - Pompey the Great. Caesar and Pompey (along with Marcus Crassus, who is regrettably missing from the show) are locked in a battle for supremacy in the Roman Republic. Pompey is the champion (and, I would argue, lap dog) of the Senate and Optimates party, while Caesar is the champion (cynically so, one might say) of the Populares, or commoners.

We just finished episode 9 - "Caesarion." Caesar has defeated Pompey at the Battle of Pharsalus. The Senate (Cato and Scipio, specifically) have abandoned Pompey, and fled to Africa to raise fresh armies to oppose Caesar. Pompey flees to Egypt, mistakenly believing the boy King Ptolemy XIII will help him, and is assassinated on the beach. Caesar lands in Egypt in pursuit of Pompey, only to be presented with the head of his rival. Incensed, Caesar holds a funeral for Pompey, rescues Cleopatra from the clutches of Ptomely XIII and his minders, and has a dalliance with the Egyptian queen. A child is born, who Caesar claims as his own. A few observations:

1. If we think modern culture is sex-obsessed and decadent, we should take a look backward. The miniseries fairly accurately shows sex to be a common part of Hellenized Roman life. It's everywhere - at home, in the streets, in the byways, in religion, scratched on the walls - everywhere. Our modern American culture, even with its easy access to online porn, DVDs, books, magazines, prostitutes, casual affairs and "hook-ups" - all with a compliant or (I would suggest) cheerleading mass media behind it - has nothing to compare. Those of us worried about the laissez-faire attitude of modern Americans to sexual purity and convention can thank God we aren't laboring in that society. It's bad today, but it could be worse - a lot worse.

2. If we think modern America's slow, mindless descent into pluralism and syncretism is grating, we should take a look at the way HBO chose to portray Roman culture. There isn't a god these people won't worship. One sees exactly why a building like the Pantheon (though constructed centuries after the events portrayed in the miniseries) was built. Your god is valid, my god is valid, his god is valid, etc., so - let's worship them all! There's a maddening variety and number of gods to please - Triton for sea travel, Mars for war, Jupiter for glory, household gods, fertility gods, agrarian gods - you name it. Amazing stuff.

What a shock Christianity must have been to the early converts. The early Christians had to make a major leap to narrow their allegiance and fidelity to the one true God. Far from sharing Paul's exasperation with the Corinthians, I now find it astonishing that the Gentile churches were as faithful as they were! And I now understand far better what Paul was facing when he spoke in Athens. What a culture! I've read about it for years, but to see it on the screen, over the course of several hours, has been really eye-opening for me.

Another word about the way religion is portrayed: These pagans aren't worshiping gods who love them. They worship out of fear. Vorenus tells Pullo that they'll be safe on board their ship - despite a horrendous storm at sea - because "good sacrifices" were made to Triton. These aren't gods who sacrifice for their creation - the creation sacrifices to them. It's a quid pro quo arrangement: mortals sacrifice to the gods, the gods forbear the mortals. The portrayal of religion in Rome has really caused me to reflect on my faith in Christ. God loves me. God sent His Son to die for me. I didn't sacrifice to Him - He sacrificed Himself for me. The gods in Rome are contractual gods - I serve a covenanting God. Amazing grace, indeed!

3. Poor Pompey Magnus. I've always been a great admirer of Caesar - he was a boyhood hero to me (we'll reflect on what that says about me and my upbringing later). Nonetheless, Pompey, for all his arrogance and desperation to please the Patrician circles, moves the viewer to pity when we see him disintegrate in the days following Pharsalus. What used to be the second-richest man in the Senate - a man who had conquered hundreds of nations, brought Mithridates and the Mediterranean pirates to heel and celebrated three triumphs through the streets of Rome - simply disintegrates after his loss to Caesar, the abandonment of Cato and Scipio, etc. He has nothing. Under the glittering armor, riches and great glory he had amassed, Pompey is revealed to be an empty suit. He dies a broken, defeated man, muttering to himself about past glories, bereft of friends and faith. I feel for him.

Many a time in my spiritual life, I've been a Pompey. I'm fine and dandy when things are going well, but as soon as I've hit a bump, I've fallen off the wagon. I've been unfaithful to God, unwilling to struggle and fight, unable to accept a setback or defeat. I haven't been willing to press on to the next battle. I've been a Pompey.

I'm facing my own Pharsalus in my life. I'm threatened with a layoff from my job, I haven't had much luck searching for another job, all this waiting on the local pastor process to begin is depressing me, etc. I really feel like I'm about to wage a Pharsalus of my own. If I win this, I'll glory like Caesar, and move on to greater things. But what if I lose?

What if things don't work out like I hope, or want? Will I resort to brokenness and despair, like Pompey? Will I accept negative events, and still believe that God loves me, and will provide for me? Will He find me faithful, even in the storm? I pray so.

More observations from the show will follow, but I thought I'd share a few things that came to mind as I watched the series. Enjoy church this weekend!

Comment on the Synchroblog Effort

If you're not aware of the Synchroblog effort, you can find it here:

http://btgproject.blogspot.com/2009/06/closing-and-reflecting-on-synchroblog.html

A gathering of bloggers are attempting to "bridge the gap" rending the Church apart over the issue of homosexuality. You can read some responses for yourself. I did, and found posts from a number of different perspectives. I didn't plan on posting on this topic, and won't in any exhaustive fashion, but I will venture a few observations.

First, I find it fascinating to observe the way in which language is couched in these exchanges. "Acceptance," "tolerance," "understanding," "diversity" - these are all common, agenda-driven catchwords today, used in ways that would befuddle educated people living only a century ago. Language is wielded as a weapon, oftentimes without the reading audience's knowledge. Language forms the terrain on which our battles are fought.

When I was a high school and college debater, it was the job of the first affirmative speaker to define the terms of the debate. It was boredom, listening to some earnest cheerleader define the precise meaning of the word "is," though Bill Clinton could probably have taken a pointer or two. The point is that words mean things. Words mean what the speaker wants them to mean, and if your opposition yields ground on words like "acceptance" and "tolerance," the battle is half over.

Those opposing increased sexual permissiveness need to make sure they are not fighting on disadvantageous terrain. Make sure you know what words mean, and - above all - don't be caught using politically-correct catchwords that originate from the very folks who advocate a major shift in Christian understanding about the nature of sexuality.

Second, I'm stumped as to why those who feel strongly that homosexuality is specifically prohibited by Scripture, common sense and two thousand years of Church history are so incredibly reluctant to state their position clearly. Of what are you afraid? I've read at least six blogs decrying the phrase "love the sinner, hate the sin," and describing it as "clicheed," "shopworn" and "dated." What exactly is wrong with that phrase, save its clarity? My wife loves me, but doesn't love my temper. I love myself, but hate the sin I know infests my heart. What is wrong with that phrase? Just because mean, spiteful people have misused it in the past doesn't invalidate its perfectly sensible sentiment.

Third, it's remarkable to watch people selectively choose those items from Scripture and the life of Jesus that we like, while ignoring the rest. One pro-gay blogger doesn't want to hear anything more about the "five big Scriptures" (Romans or Leviticus, for example - she calls them "clobbers"); another conservative blogger seems to remember everything the Bible said about homosexuality, but nothing about being a pretentious jerk. I'm not going to delve into the whole debate over whether Leviticus is purely concerning itself with ritual law, or whether Paul was talking about pagan worship practices in his letter to the Romans. But I will say a little something about Jesus, if I may be so bold.

Jesus wasn't just a huggable teddy bear, "accepting" (whatever that term means to those who ride it like a horse) of anyone who came to Him. Jesus taught about the love and grace of God - yes! - and we're right to cherish those teachings and memorize them so they come to mind easily and carry us through tough times. But He was also demanding, stern and pointed. He offended people. As His ministry went on, the number of His followers dwindled. He was despised by many, and executed for ticking the wrong people off. He called the leading religious figures of His day a "brood of vipers." As His life hung in the balance (or so it was perceived), He refused to answer the pompous Herod a single word. He sparred with Pilate. He cleaned out the Temple with a whip of cords. In short, no one came to Jesus and stayed the same. He was a polarizing figure, and His Gospel calls each and every one of us to make some very hard choices. Again, I resort to Scripture:

"Do not think that I came to bring peace on the earth; I did not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I came to 'SET A MAN AGAINST HIS FATHER, AND A DAUGHTER AGAINT HER MOTHER, AND A DAUGHTER-IN-LAW AGAINST HER MOTHER-IN-LAW,' and 'A MAN's ENEMIES WILL BE THE MEMBERS OF HIS HOUSEHOLD.' He who loves father or mother more than Me is not worthy of Me; and he who loves son or daughter more than Me is not worthy of Me. And he who does not take his cross and follow after Me is not worthy of Me. He who has found his life will lose it, and he who has lost his life for My sake will find it." (Matt 14:32-39, NASB)

Some pro-gay (I dislike the term, too, but don't know of a good substitute) bloggers grow weary of conservative (I prefer "orthodox") people comparing their sexual orientation to a bent for thieving, fornication, gossip and the like. They feel their "sexuality" (again, whatever that means, since the term is so loosely defined) in their core. Rightly, they don't like it when some arrogant jerk acts like they walked into Wal-Mart and purchased the gay "lifestyle." I completely understand their frustration. Sin is deeply seated in the human heart - a consequence of the Fall - and should never be treated lightly. I can no more choose to stop being a sinner on my own than I could choose to change my skin color. Sin cuts right down to the very core of our being. It's only by the power of God that it gets rooted out. We shouldn't act like it's as easy as changing socks.

That said, I cannot dismiss the witness of Scripture. As aggravating as it may be to those who want a more sexually permissive attitude among orthodox Christians, Scripture stands in the way of what we'd like orthodox attitudes about sex to be. It matters not a whit whether one believes she was born gay. I believe I was born with two or three things in my heart that are absolutely part of my make-up. Guess what? I have to give them up. I have no excuse in front of Jesus. It matters not whether it "feels" right to me to "allow" someone to love whomever they wish; my feelings are part of my sinful flesh, and must always yield to Scripture. When it comes to knowing what is right and wrong, neither my impression of myself nor my emotions (or mind, for that matter) can win out over Scripture. Scripture always wins.

At the root, I believe that much of the bruhaha over homosexuality - as critically important as a clear resolution to this "debate"* is for the Church - is based more on our complete unwillingness to part with our fleshly nature and exchange it for a spiritual one. We want Jesus as Lord, so long as He doesn't expect us to do hard, hard work. We want salvation, a sense of community with fellow believers, peace and joy, but not the sweat, the agony and the pain. We want our Jesus in a box.

Jesus is a gentleman, but He's a heck of a house guest. Oh, He'll ask you whether you want Him to come in, but once there, He expects you to arrange things as He wants them.

And that's where I think we have most of our troubles.

* Note: In the interest of making language clear, I use the word "debate" here only loosely. There is no debate whatsoever over what Scripture and the historical, orthodox Church teach about homosexuality; there is a debate only between those who want more sexual permissiveness and those who rely on the witness of Holy Scripture.

News Flash: I Could Be Wrong

My wife knows that it is sometimes difficult - she'd probably say impossible - to get me to admit that I might be wrong. Granted, I sometimes ham it up a bit when we're discussing something (I love to get a rise out of her), but, truth be told, I have a hard time admitting when I'm wrong. Maybe it's the Scot in me, but I like to plant my feet firmly on an opinion, and take on all comers.

If you look at my first post, you'll notice that I deleted an anonymous comment. I didn't delete it because the poster disagreed with me, but because the person who left it was anonymous. I think the internet provides too much anonymity, and anyone who doesn't have the gumption to leave his name and contact info probably doesn't have much to add to the discussion. After thinking about it, though, I think it might be good to reproduce what he wrote, so that I can respond. Here's what he wrote, in its entirety:

"what your [sic] describing is socialism, not religion"

I presume he's referring to my observation that the modern, Western church looks nothing like the church as described in Acts. As noted in my comments (which were based off a selection of Scripture from Acts 2), the early believers were selling all they had, putting the proceeds into a common good, and distributing as each had need. They were eating together, praying together, and enjoying the good will of the people in general. I simply noted that no one I know of - and I included myself - has ever sold off a dear possession in order to give the proceeds to others. I noted that we - the modern church in the West, that is - severely limit our interaction with each other. We do not hold all things in common, and we don't generally enjoy the good will of the culture at large.

The simplest response I could offer - and the one Mr. Anonymous set himself up for - is this: Your issue isn't with my observation, it's with the book of Acts, and the behavior of the early church. If you have an issue with Scripture, take it up with Scripture. (I'll lay aside my suspicion that Mr. Anonymous has no grasp of political theory, because socialism, particularly as practiced in the modern world, has about as much in common with the behavior of the church in Acts as the Cleveland Browns have to do with winning football games.)

That said, I think another response could be offered, and I'll try to do that as succinctly as I can.

In Steven King's book On Writing, the author advises aspiring writers to "kill your babies." What does he mean? He means that sometimes in the writing process, the author has to be willing to strike out anything and everything that does not further the plot, develop the characters, or add to the overall mission of the story. In other words, no matter how much I might like a particular turn of phrase or foray into beautiful prose, if it doesn't move things along, it has to come out.

It would appear - in light of the dearth of additional commentary he left me - that Mr. Anonymous does not like socialism, and his dislike of socialism is so strong that he cannot bear the thought of the early church acting in any way that is not similar to the "every man for himself" ethos we've come to embrace in modern American culture. Mr. Anonymous may have to kill one of his babies - his dislike of socialism - in order to accept the witness of Scripture: the early church just didn't act like a modern, Western, North American church. Sorry, Charlie.

Mr. Anonymous is not alone. I have very definite, firm political opinions. I have strong opinions about lots of things. I love the Steelers, and can't stand the Browns. I despise large government, and cherish limited federal power. I am suspicious of foreign entanglements, and don't like seeing American soldiers overseas in wars that are not in our direct national interest. I despise Yankee culture, and cherish Southern gentility. I believe abortion is murder most foul. I don't like contemporary worship services; I want my hymnal and a pew. Like Mr. Anonymous, I despise socialism. I have my opinions, and I'm sure you have yours. But if I hold a conservative point of view that I later find to be contrary to Scripture, doesn't the viewpoint have to yield? Wouldn't I have to "kill one of my babies?"

Scripture sometimes has this annoying way of walking up to me and slapping me in the face. For example, when confronted by folks who would describe themselves as "environmentally conscious," I automatically get my hackles up. I believe much of their point of view is based on demonstrably shoddy science. I view much of their agenda as an avenue by which government and its proxies become even more meddlesome in the private lives of its citizens. I get ticked off - so much so, that I view any benign, reasonable conservation or recycling effort with suspicion. I think we should care for our natural resources, but some of this nonsense (especially the pabulum from the UMC's General Board of Church and Society) feels like thinly-veiled Gaea worship.

So, here I was at work today, listening to my iPod, and enjoying a talk from Asbury's worship chapel about the Wesleyan heritage (it was part of a series). The speaker was discussing how, through Christian history, God's creation - all of it - has been systematically diminished in light of His salvation. In Judaic thought (particularly later Judaic thought), the resurrection was all about the body and soul, since the two were inextricably linked (the thought of a soul without a body was impossible on its face). Thus, Paul looks forward to his whole person - body and soul - being raised up incorruptible. As time went on, Neoplatonism took hold (I would add Gnosticism, but I digress), and the material world came to be viewed as evil, or at least of very little account. In the Middle Ages, artists portrayed heaven as some destination in the clouds, away from the New Earth, and its inhabitants as disembodied spirits, without physical form, and unaccompanied by any of the vestiges of life on earth, like plants and animals. Well, what does the Scripture say about that?

My wife and I were reading Genesis 1 last night as part of our devotions, and I was impressed by the beauty, perfection and inherent goodness of God's creation. When God created the earth, the plants, the animals and man, He called it "good." Wesley went deep into the Old Testament and demonstrated that all creation - all of it - is under God's sovereignty and subject to His redemptive plan. We are part of God's creation, and He is going to redeem all of it. All of it. No city up in the clouds, no floating incorporeal through the air. No, I'm going to be resurrected with a new body - a glorious body! - and I am going to witness the redemption of all of God's creation: the earth, the plants, the animals - all of it. It's going to be a big zoo, without the bars, and the concessions are free. A new heaven and a new earth.

Paul said that all of creation is "groaning" for redemption. As Wesleyans, we have always believed that salvation is not limited to a single encounter of God's forgiveness alone. No, it's about the whole person. Wesley's was not a theology of cold, dispassionate detachment from the world around him - his was a dynamic, hands-on, "sleeves-rolled-up" kind of faith that was to encompass the whole man. Our hearts were changed, our behavior was changed, our way of looking and dealing with our fellow man was to change, and our outlook on the world was to change. We - the redeemed - were to be agents of change. Look at the words of Paul in the 12th chapter of Romans:

"Therefore, I urge you, brethren, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies a living and holy sacrifice, acceptable to God, which is your spiritual service of worship. And do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, so that you may prove what the will of God is, that which is good and acceptable and perfect. For through the grace given to me I say to everyone among you not to think more highly of himself than he ought to think; but to think so as to have sound judgment, as God has allotted to each a measure of faith."

On the personal level, I'm to present my heart, soul and body to God as a sacrifice, as a service of worship. I'm not to conform to the world anymore, but be transformed - changed - by the renewing of my mind. What my mind was like before I met Christ has to give way to what my mind must be like after I met Christ. My haughty opinions must submit to the Lordship of Christ. I'm to be completely and totally converted.

So, in light of what I've pondered today, I admit that I have to kill one of my babies. I was wrong to view every single member of Greenpeace as a tree-worshiping pagan, bent on the destruction of liberty, private property and free enterprise. I may not agree with the more nutty propositions of those on the Left, but I admit that I was wrong to take such an extreme position against those folks who advocate taking care of the world around us. My position was so extreme that I would not listen to any part of their points of view.

I viewed salvation as having to do only with my soul - who cares about my body? I viewed it as having to do only with me - who cares about creation? But as a sinner redeemed by grace, I am not separate from God's creation - I am part of it - and He intends to save it all! Why would I care for the sick or the poor, but not care for the rest of His creation? The least I can do is take care of it all, as an offering of thanks and appreciation to God. I can look after all of His creation, while looking forward to His total, irresistible, imminent and certain salvation. If God cares enough about His creation to completely redeem it all, I should care about it in the here and now.

I've taken much pride and perverse pleasure in cackling and heckling those who are "going green" to "save God's creation." Poking fun at the green crowd has been one of my babies, and perhaps I've been more wrong than right on that issue. So, I'll recycle my cans and try to save energy, and you'll not pass a law forcing me to paint my roof white to delay the effects of man-made global warming. Deal?

"Wow, what a difference!"

Blockbuster Video had an awful TV commercial in the early 90s with a jingle that was nearly impossible to get out of my head. "Wow, what a difference! Blockbuster Video! Wow!" Annoying, but incredibly effective. At that point, Blockbuster was the first big, national chain. No more was a customer relegated to renting videos from small, privately-owned, independent stores with sometimes maddeningly eclectic collections. Now, you could be anywhere in the country, and be assured that Blockbuster Video had lots of videos in lots of genres. The stores stuck out like a sore thumb.

This weekend, I will deliver a brief meditation to nursing home residents. Sunday is Pentecost Sunday, and I've been spending a lot of time in the book of Acts. Here's what the Scripture says the early church looked like. Prepare for a shock. This is Acts 2:42-47, from the NASB:

They were continually devoting themselves to the apostles' teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer. Everyone kept feeling a sense of awe; and many wonders and signs were taking place through the apostles. And all those who believed were together and had all things in common; and they began selling their property and possessions and were sharing them with all, as anyone might have need. Day by day continuing with one mind in the temple, and breaking bread from house to house, they were taking their meals together with gladness and sincerity of heart, praising God and having favor with all the people. And the Lord was adding to their number day by day those who were being saved.

Wow, what a difference! I don't know about you, but the picture given us by the Scripture looks nothing whatsoever like the average church I come across today - including my own - and I'm reasonably certain that the church in Acts will be unfamiliar to anyone who happens to reside in the nursing home I'll visit on Sunday. Why? Why are churches today not following the Biblical model?

Can you imagine what would happen if members of your church, awed by the presence and power of God, started selling off their possessions and handing the money to the church, to be distributed to anyone who had a need? Can you imagine how drastically different the church would look if we "h[eld] all things in common," and devoted ourselves to prayer and the breaking of bread together? Can you imagine what it would be like to enjoy the favor of all those around us, instead of being the butt of a joke? Can you imagine the impact of new converts being added to the body of Christ, "day by day?"

Sounds a little cultish, doesn't it? We're so far removed from the spirit of Pentecost that the church as described in Acts sounds like a group David Koresh would head up. Yet that's just the model we're given. Rather than stick out like sore thumbs in this materialistic, pagan society, we blend right in. The church of the Pentecost built not just a church, but a miniature society, and it drew ire, curiousity and - occasionally - converts from the people around them. These people were really odd. They were unlike the greater part of the society around them. Wow, what a difference!

The Western church, on the other hand, is awash in "church growth" models drawn from the pagan, corporate world. We regard the breaking of bread (which happened "continually" for the church in Acts) as the occasional bean supper or pancake dinner. We give grudgingly, and usually only from our excess - I know of no one, including myself, who has ever sold their house or car to meet someone else's need. And our church will listen to anything - absolutely anything, from Oprah to Deepak Chopra - except the teaching brought down to us from the Apostles. And then we wonder why our churches don't grow, why no new converts are brought in, why we feel so powerless and benign.

O, faithless generation! If the Church of the Pentecost sounds like something from an alien world, it is because we have alienated ourselves from the teaching of the Scripture. The Church in Acts is not separated from us by two millenia; we have, over two millenia, separated ourselves from the Church in Acts. Wow, what a difference, indeed.

I am praying that God would open my eyes and make me see what radical changes I need to make in my life - on an individual, personal level - to recapture the spirit of Pentecost. I want to be a person who sticks out. I want to be part of a church that is completely focused on God, utterly repentant of our faithlessness and totally dependent on His leadership and instruction. In years to come, I hope pagans can only look at the church in awe, and say "Wow, what a difference!"