Perceptions from a Pewboy

The following words appear in the welcome literature of the congregation that I am privileged to serve. On this World Communion Sunday, I find myself reading through these words and meditating upon their meaning.

The United Methodist tradition maintains that the bread and cup of the Lord’s Supper are not merely symbols, but conduits for the real presence of the Living Christ. We believe, therefore, that Christ-followers are to partake of the Lord’s Supper often and with joyful reverence.

As United Methodist Christians, we believe all are welcome at the Communion table who repent of their sin and place their trust in Christ, regardless of their denominational affiliation or church membership status. One need not be a member of any particular congregation in order to commune at Central Highlands Church. All that is required is an availability to the grace of Jesus Christ and a willingness to acknowledge our need for him.

This day, I pray that many if not all of you are able to taste a portion of the goodness of God in the bread and cup of the Lord’s Supper.

I’ll be with you at the table.

Some of you may be familiar with the name of Joe Eszterhas. Eszterhas wrote the screenplays for some of the steamiest Hollywood films of the last two decades, including “Basic Instinct,” “Sliver,” “Showgirls,” and “Jade.” Notorious for his hard drinking and sexual escapades, Eszterhas was once thought to be incorrigible. However, a few years ago, during a difficult and life-altering battle with throat cancer, Eszterhas met Jesus Christ in a transforming way. Since then, his entire life has changed. Eszterhas now attends mass every Sunday, prays every day, meditates upon Scripture and the life of Christ, and has no interest whatsoever in the kind of screenplay that he used to write.

In his new book (released this month), Eszterhas tells the story of his dramatic conversion. Entitled “Crossbearer: A Memoir of Faith,” the book describes Eszterhas’ spiritual journey and his relatively new devotion to Jesus Christ and the ministry of his church.

I stumbled upon THIS INTERVIEW yesterday. In the interview, Eszterhas talks with NPR’s Scott Simon about his conversion. I find it to be an interesting conversation, especially when Eszterhas speaks about his desire to explore the possibility of a screenplay on the life of the Apostle Paul and the anti-Christian bias that exists in Hollywood.

I am praying for Joe Eszterhas today. I thank God for his testimony.

I am a big fan of “Star Trek,” the science fiction television series that first aired in 1966 (the year of my birth). One of the things that I have always appreciated about “Star Trek” is the fact that all of the “Star Trek” characters willingly submit themselves to a behavioral edict known as “the Prime Directive.” The prime directive, also known as Starfleet General Order #1, mandates that all Starfleet personnel are prohibited from interfering with the normal development of any alien society. Furthermore, any crewmember or vessel is to be considered expendable if it means preventing the violation of this foundational priority. The rationale behind the prime directive is that a strong emphasis upon non-interference would hopefully prevent an imperialistic misuse of Starfleet’s power.

The arrival of the fall season, which, for me, is always conducive to some change-of-season meditation and soul-searching, has inspired me to reflect upon the question of what constitutes the church’s “General Order #1.” In other words, what is our “prime directive” as disciples of Jesus Christ? What is the foundational priority that undergirds our behavior as Christ-followers?

Some Wesleyan thinkers may answer this question by appealing to brother John’s three simple rules: do no harm, do good, and attend upon the ordinances of God. These three simple rules can certainly be interpreted as a prime directive, especially by those who embrace Wesley’s two-fold emphasis upon both piety and mercy.

These days, however, I am finding the church’s prime directive, not in three simple rules, but in one simple verse. That verse is Philippians 2:5: “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus.”

The church’s prime directive, according to Philippians 2:5, is to become so passionate about manifesting the likeness of Christ that people cannot help but think of Jesus when they pay attention to the lives of his disciples. To put it another way, the church’s prime directive is to make disciples who are so inwardly occupied by the Spirit of Christ that they begin to think the thoughts that Jesus would think, to speak the words that Jesus would speak, to do the ministry that Jesus would do, and to view the world in the way that Jesus would view it. In a human pilgrimage that often illuminates agendas that are as complex as they are multi-layered, the church’s prime directive is one of Christocentric simplicity: Imitate Christ in all things until his consciousness becomes our consciousness, until his Way becomes our way, until his mind becomes our mind.

I’m curious. What is your prime directive these days? Where do you find your General Order #1?

In what can only be described as a phantasmagorical manifestation of postmodern spirituality, the musical artist formerly (and presently!) known as Prince has been a Jehovah’s Witness since 2001.

I had heard about Prince’s conversion, but had never read about his personal testimony. However, in an interview appearing in this Friday’s “USA Today,” Prince offers some insights into his relatively new faith. The interview is part of a publicity blitz surrounding the release of “21 Nights,” Prince’s new book of poetry, lyrics, and photographs. In the course of the interview, Prince makes some comments that illuminate his conviction that his faith has been nothing less than personally transformational:

I’m single, celibate, and sexy. I feel free…I don’t celebrate birthdays or holidays. I don’t vote…I love to bring the Bible to the table and ask [people] if they believe in God.

According to interviewer Edna Gundersen, Prince has also surrendered his passion for womanizing:

The onetime voracious womanizer, who crooned ‘Scandalous,’ ‘Do It All Night,’ and ‘Dirty Mind,’ has purged his lyrics of naughty lingo and spends more time proselytizing than partying. He’s as likely to show up on a neighbor’s doorstep with a Watchtower Bible as he is to frequent a hot club.

“Sometimes fans freak out,” Prince says of his missionary endeavors.

I don’t really want to burden this matter with analysis. I do find it compelling, though, that Prince, who sold out a London arena this year for an unprecedented 21 concerts, has the opportunity to occupy a much more influential “pulpit” than any clergyperson.

Of course, I have not touched upon the theological question of how it is that Jehovah’s Witnesses relate to Orthodox Christianity. That is a matter for another time. Of greater interest to me right now is the transformation of a popular musician’s life, not to mention the postmodern context in which this musician’s spiritual voice is given permission to resonate.

So, let’s review: Prince is no longer partying “like it’s 1999.” Instead, his life has apparently become a “purple rain,” poured out as a regal libation to the One whose salvation comes like a “kiss” and whose grace covers one’s consciousness like a “raspberry beret.”

In other words, “let’s go crazy!!”

I’ll give extra points to anyone who can turn “Little Red Corvette” into a spiritual metaphor!!

I am currently in Nashville, participating in a four-day gathering of a ministry team of the United Methodist Church called the General Board of Discipleship.

It’s an important word, isn’t it: discipleship. Making disciples is what Jesus instructed his followers to do in his “great commission.” Making disciples has been the church’s governing priority for nearly two-thousand years. And making disciples is at the heart of United Methodism’s clearly articulated mission, which is to “make disciples of Jesus Christ for the transformation of the world.”

I suppose that it is not all that surprising that, at a gathering of the General Board of Discipleship, I find myself pondering what faithful discipleship to Jesus Christ means and what it looks like.

Over the centuries of Christian theology, Christian thinkers have perpetuated what I consider to be a misguided and unfortunate debate concerning the nature of discipleship. The debate is normally referred to as the faith versus works debate, and it hinges on this theological question: Are we saved by faith or are we saved by our good works? People on both sides of the debate cite particular scriptures to support their arguments. The people who believe that we are saved by faith alone (in Latin, “sola fide”) are quick to cite Ephesians 2:8-9, which reads this way: “By grace we have been saved through faith, and this is not our own doing, but the gift of God, not the result of works, so that no one may boast.” That’s a pretty clear teaching, right?

But hold on. On the other side of the debate are the people who maintain that salvation is received—not earned, mind you, but RECEIVED—through the doing of good and compassionate works. They hang their hermeneutical hats on Matthew 25:31-46, a passage of Scripture in which Jesus makes clear that, in the final judgment, our eternal reward or punishment is dependent upon whether or not we have fed the hungry, given drink to the thirsty, clothed the naked, cared for the sick, and visited the prisoner. In Matthew 25 Jesus seems to teach that works are indeed instrumental in the eternal salvation that God has made possible.

For centuries, the theological debate has raged on, spawning hugely unfortunate extremes and unnecessary distortions of biblical truth. Interestingly, in the New Testament book of James, it is made crystal clear to us that debating over faith and works is something like debating over blood flow and breathing. Which would you rather do without, the flow of blood through your veins or the intake of oxygen? That would be a ridiculous conversation. Life depends upon both of these processes. In much the same way, salvation, according to the book of James, depends upon both faith AND good works. They are interdependent manifestations of God’s saving grace and are inseparably joined in the life of discipleship:

You see that a person is justified by works and not by faith alone. For just as the body without the spirit is dead, so also faith without works is dead. (James 2:24, 26)

The great theologian and ecclesiastical reformer Martin Luther once described the book of James as “an epistle of straw” because of his belief that James confuses the issue and de-emphasizes the centrality of faith. In truth, however, James simply illuminates a truth that those seeking to understand discipleship cannot afford to ignore: Faith, without works, is dead. On the other hand, good works, without faith, are random, unsubstantiated, and devoid of their appropriate motive.

Perhaps a corporeal metaphor is best here: Faith and works are the two spiritual arms with which we embrace God’s precious gift of salvation—a gift far too valuable to be received with only one of those arms.

Return with me, then, to a foundational question: What is a disciple of Jesus Christ? One biblical response to that question is this: A disciple is a person of faith, but not just any faith. More specifically, a disciple is a person whose faith is nothing less than a growing relationship with Jesus Christ and whose life accommodates that relationship through the rendering of good and merciful works. The doing of such works becomes a nothing less than a salvific conduit through which the justifying and sanctifying grace of God makes its way into the hearts of those who are ready to embrace that grace with both of their spiritual arms.

Those are the humble thoughts on discipleship from a humble pewboy in Nashville.

Now, pass the okra and grits.

On a cold winter’s day in 2003, I had the opportunity to officiate at a couple’s reaffirmation of their wedding vows. This husband and wife had gone through a very difficult period in their marriage in recent years. Their careers had taken them in different directions. They had grown content with spending as little attentive time with one another as they possibly could. They fell out of the habit of breaking bread with one another. They fell out of the routine of having daily conversations with one another. They fell out of the practice of sleeping in the same bed. In essence, they stopped caring about one another’s lives. The result was a condition of marital indifference. But that indifference soon gave way to a condition of marital anger. They became angry over having to stay married to someone that they didn’t really know or like anymore. Before long, they separated and initiated the process of divorce.

Before the divorce was ever finalized, however, this husband and wife found their way back to one another and reconnected. The instrument of their reconnection was their eight-year-old daughter’s elementary school choral concert, where, during the singing of the Beatles’ “Yesterday,” they realized that they still had a thing for one another. They began to rekindle their friendship. And in the context of that friendship, it became clear to them that they had never stopped loving one another. On a cold winter’s day in 2003, this husband and wife gathered in the church sanctuary with family and friends in order to reaffirm their wedding vows to one another. It was an experience that I will never forget.

After the reaffirmation, as I was making ready to leave the sanctuary, the husband walked up to me with tears in his eyes. “I just wanted to tell you,” he said, “that I think I learned something really important through all of this.”

“What’s that,” I asked.

“Well,” he said, “I learned that, when there’s a chasm between a man and his soulmate, there is nothing sweeter than finding the bridge that leads back home.”

As soon as I heard his words, I knew that they applied, not only to his marital relationship, but also to the reconciliation with God that Jesus Christ makes possible. The book of Romans essentially says to us that our enslavement to sin makes us enemies of God, meaning that we find ourselves separted from God by a spiritual chasm that we, on our own, do not have the wherewithal to bridge. Therefore God, out of a love that travels well beyond the boundaries of human comprehension, built the bridge for us. God built the bridge that we could not build, and the bridge that God built was none other than Jesus Christ.

“While we were enemies,” are the words found in the fifth chapter of Romans, “we were reconciled to God by the death of his son” (Romans 5:10). These words declare a glorious mystery. They are words that compel us to acknowledge that, somehow, when Jesus suffered and died on the cross, he gathered into himself everything that was separating us from God, thereby bridging the chasm between us and God that we could not bridge, and thereby enabling us to be “justified by his blood and saved through him from the wrath of God” (Romans 5:9).

That’s a big deal, isn’t it? In an age in which the church is often tempted to lose its christological focus, perhaps Romans 5, with its bold emphasis upon Christ as divine reconciler, is an important chapter to keep close to one’s heart and mind. After all, the husband that I described at the beginning of this post was absolutely right. When there is a chasm between soulmates, there is nothing sweeter than finding the bridge that leads back home.

Hello, boys and girls. Uncle pewboy here, praying that September is going well for all of you and that you have enjoyed the Steelers’ first two victories.

The man in the photo above is none other than Ziggy Stardust, the iconic and thoroughly androgynous rock and roll persona created by David Bowie back in 1972 (a year in which some worshiped polyester as a deity). Bowie’s Stardust has been on my mind in recent days because one of the song’s that he/she sang most frequently was “Changes” (from the 1972 Bowie album “Hunky Dory”). I find myself singing the chorus of that song even as I type these words:

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes
Turn and face the strain.
Ch-ch-changes.
Gonna’ have to be a different man.
Time may change me, but I can’t trace time.

Personally, I am finding evidence of ch-ch-changes wherever I look these days. Today, for example, September 16th, marks my mom and dad’s 59th wedding anniversary. For 59 years, Lura Jean and Ferd Park have loved and nurtured one another in the covenant of marriage. It is hard for me to comprehend the mathematics of their blessed 59-year union, but the calendar doesn’t lie. It is quite an achievement. I am proud of them. I love them. I thank God for their marriage. And yet, their anniversary also reminds me that life is very different for them than when they walked down the aisle of First United Methodist Church in Homestead, Pennsylvania 59 years ago. Could they have imagined back then that the “for better or worse…in sickness and in health” portion of their vows would demand of my mom that she become the primary caregiver for a husband with Alzheimer’s Disease? Probably not. But that is their reality today. They embrace that reality with dignity, tenderness, grace, and laughter, loving one another all the more through the ch-ch-changes (even the painful ones).

When I say that Mom and Dad are who I want to be when I grow up, I mean it.

Beyond parental changes, I am also confronted with the reality of vocational change. About 12 days ago, over a wonderful meal that began with hummus and ended with piping hot java, Bishop Tom Bickerton informed me that, effective January 1 of 2009, I will be the District Superintendent of the Washington District. (To quote Ziggy Stardust, “turn and face the strain, ch-ch-changes!!!”).

If you are a not a United Methodist (and, perhaps, even if you are), you may have no interest whatsoever in who or what a district superintendent is. More sympathetic I could not be. In fact, even the response of some of my colleagues in ministry to the news of my new appointment has been revelatory. Many have responded with a whispered word of “congratulations,” spoken with a dubious tone that implied the presence of a question mark.

“Congratulations?”—which, of course, can be translated this way: “Uh, I want to celebrate this affirmation of your ministry, but, given the nature of the district superintendency, I’m not sure that ‘congratulations’ is the right thing to say.’

Such a tone, I suppose, bears witness to the postmodern skepticism of the institutionalism that many believe the district superintendency represents. In the eyes of many, the district superintendents are little more than denominational bureaucrats who tow the party line, cater to the whims of the bishop, put out ecclesiastical fires on occasion, and show up for the yearly administrative dinosaur known as the church conference. Oh yeah, and they are also the backroom negotiators who shuffle around the pastors in that inscrutable segment of United Methodist polity called the appointment system.

Does that about cover it?

Personally, I am currently praying my way into an understanding of the district superintendency that moves beyond the sinking sand of cynicism to a more Christ-honoring spirit of hope and vision. District superintendents, at their best, are instruments of Christocentric accountability who hold pastors gently but firmly accountable for their ministry but who also allow themselves to be held accountable by their pastors. At their best, they are leaders and facilitators of worship who dare to see worship as humankind’s only appropriate response to God’s majesty and who diligently create opportunities for their brothers and sisters on the district to connect with one another in the context of the communal adoration of God.

They are generators of outreach and mission who work with other visioners to create district-wide opportunities for hands-on ministry beyond the walls of the church building.

They are builders of redemptive relationships with their pastors and laity, who comfort the afflicted with gentle words, who afflict the comfortable with directive words, who listen quietly when no words are necessary, all the while cultivating the kind of attentiveness that honors the integrity of those they lead.

They are practitioners of the spiritual disciplines, who pray for their pastors and churches, who study the Word and meditate upon its revelation, who preach the Gospel with passion, who fast for discernment (in order to remind themselves that they are hungrier for God than they are for food), who worship as though their lives depended on it, and who commit themselves to holy conferencing (both with the churches on their district and the cabinet).

The bottom line, of course, is that I can’t afford to be cynical about the office that I have been called upon to occupy. And so, I choose hope and vision over cynicism. I’m just goofy enough to believe that the district superintendency has something important—even crucial—to offer to the ministry of the people called United Methodist. If I can be some small part of that offering, then to God be the glory.

My emotions concerning this new appointment are deeply mixed due, in large part, to the ongoing health crisis of my dear friend and mentor, La Mar Carlson. I have known La Mar since 1990. His pastoral ministry has been an inspiration to me since I was a seminarian. His intelligence has challenged me; his vision for the church has humbled me; and his love for Jesus has reminded me of what discipleship looks like when I’ve been tempted to forget. La Mar has provided stellar leadership as the Washington District Superintendent for the last four years. The fact that his current health will not permit him to continue in this ministry for which he is so abundantly gifted breaks my heart. I have cried over it more than once.

And yet, because I know that La Mar would settle for nothing less from me, I am approaching the district superintendency with a sense of excitement and wonder. I am profoundly honored to serve the church in this new way, especially since I am following a leader in La Mar who served with such noteworthy faithfulness and integrity.

The Washington District feels like home to me. Back in 1966, while my dad was serving as the pastor of West Washington United Methodist Church, I was born into the Washington District. Three months later, I experienced the baptismal water there. Back in 1992, as a returning seminarian, I was appointed to the Washington District (as the pastor of First United Methodist Church of McDonald, Pennsylvania). Back in 2004, after the elimination of the Pittsburgh East District, Central Highlands Church (my current appointment) was warmly welcomed and embraced as a new congregation to the Washington District.

I have grown to love the people of this district. I have grown to appreciate the wondrous accommodation of diversity that enables the Washington District to manifest the ministry of God’s kingdom from Greene County all the way to the airport corridor. I cannot help but see the exciting potential for ministry on the horizon, especially given the population growth that is currently taking place in many segments of the district. I am humbled, challenged, and meaningfully unsettled by the opportunity to become the superintendent of a district that has been so instrumental in my personal walk with Jesus Christ.

Please pray for me. Pray for my wife, Tara, who is as awestruck by this transition as I am. Pray for the dear souls at Central Highlands Church, who have been our family for the last seven years and from whose embrace it will be very painful for us to leave. Pray for La Mar and his remarkably attentive wife, Rachel, as they move into a new season of life and ministry. Pray for our Bishop and Cabinet as they ponder all of the critical decisions that are before them to make.

And, along the way, don’t forget to allow yourself to be completely undone by the holiness and hugeness of God amidst all of your ch-ch-ch-ch-changes.

Back in 2003, Rolling Stone magazine (issues 925 and 926, July 2003) featured an article entitled “The Killer Elite”. The author of the article, a reporter by the name of Evan Wright, had spent two months in 2003 traveling with a Marine reconnaissance battalion in Iraq. This particular battalion, populated by young, courageous, and well-trained soldiers, was at the forefront of the charge toward Baghdad.

In the article, the author spends some time addressing the role of the military chaplain who was a part of the battalion. The chaplain believed that it was his primary responsibility to help the soldiers to cope spiritually and emotionally with the almost incomprehensible horrors of combat. On Easter Sunday of 2003, that chaplain held a worship service in a barren field in Iraq. About fifty Marines were in attendance. One Marine, new to faith, chose to be baptized at that worship service. When the chaplain poured the baptismal water over the soldier’s head, the rest of the Marines applauded. The chaplain believed that the baptism boosted the collective morale of the battalion and served as powerful evidence that the Holy Spirit was moving even across the sands of Iraq.

Later that day, however, when Sgt. Brad Colbert, the team leader and one of the most respected Marines in the battalion, heard about the baptism, he became angry. In fact, the article maintains that, when Colbert heard about the baptism, he could not conceal his outrage: “Give me a break,” Colbert exclaimed. “Marines getting baptized? This used to be a place of men with pure warrior spirit. Chaplains are a goddamn waste.”

Jesus, I suppose, will always be looked upon as a dangerous threat by all those who are more invested in the kingdoms of this world than they are in the kingdom of God. Think about it. King Herod saw Jesus as a threat to his throne 2,000 years ago. Current-day soldiers occasionally see Jesus as a threat to the “pure warrior spirit.” Perhaps such conflict is inevitable. Jesus, after all, came to inaugurate a new kingdom, and new kingdoms, it seems, are never established without considerable resistance.

As the presidential race goes into high gear, I find it particularly urgent to remind myself of which kingdom it is in which I have my primary citizenship. It is a kingdom that is governed, but not by Republicans or Democrats. It is a kingdom that is protected, but not by Marines. It is a kingdom in which a single baptism is more threatening and unsettling than an M-16 rifle.

I saw an interesting film on Cinemax the other day. The film, released in 2006 and entitled “The Last Kiss,” creates a rather unsettling and multi-layered cinematic portrait of young men and women attempting to come to grips with issues of commitment, betrayal, parenthood, and covenant. It is not a great film. Nevertheless, it creates some memorable on-screen moments.

One of those moments revolves around the following words, spoken by an older and wiser patriarch to a younger man who has recently cheated on his girlfriend with another woman. This younger man begins to talk about how much he loves his girlfriend. The patriarch interrupts him with this significant observation:

Stop talking about love. Every idiot in the world says he loves somebody. It means nothing. What you FEEL only matters to you. It’s what you DO to the people you say you love. That’s what matters. It’s the only thing that counts.

It was a moment that compelled me to reflect upon how frequently I over-romanticize love, allowing it to become little more than a self-gratifying inner warmth and a euphoric means to emotional self-aggrandizement. After all, I throw around the word “love” with an almost devil-may-care nonchalance. I say that I love my wife. I say that I love my parents. I say that I love Jesus. But I also say that I love homemade vanilla ice cream and the new Batman movie. Maybe the patriarch from the movie is right. Maybe “every idiot in the world SAYS that he loves someBODY,” or someTHING.

In the parable of the great judgment, Jesus tells us that, whenever we have fed the hungry, clothed the naked, cared for the sick, and visited the prisoner, we have, in actuality, done those things to Jesus himself. “‘Truly I tell you, just as you DID these things to one of the least of my brothers and sister, you did them to me.” (Matthew 25:40) It is almost as though Jesus is saying to us, “Stop TALKING about love. Every idiot in the world says that he loves somebody. It means nothing. It’s what you DO to the people you say you love. That’s what matters. What really counts is whether or not you dared to see my face in the faces of the people around you and then did something tangible to minister to their need.”

Perhaps Jesus is telling us, in other words, that love is not authentic love until it moves beyond what is felt to what is done. Authentic love, in other words, is love incarnated; love in motion and action; love demonstrated in the form of tangible acts of mercy and compassion.

Anyway, it was a nice cinematic moment in “The Last Kiss.” It made me want to love better.

In a lecture entitled “New Perspectives on Paul,” (delivered at the 10th Edinburgh Dogmatics Conference in August of 2003), scholar N. T. Wright offers this persuasive reading of the Apostle Paul’s soteriology:

I begin where Romans begins – with the gospel. My proposal is this: When Paul refers to ‘the gospel’, he is not referring to a system of salvation, though of course the gospel implies and contains this, nor even to the good news that there now IS a way of salvation open to all, but rather to the proclamation that the crucified Jesus of Nazareth has been raised from the dead and thereby demonstrated to be both Israel’s Messiah and the world’s true Lord.

‘The gospel’ is not ‘you can be saved, and here’s how.’ Rather, the gospel, for Paul, is ‘Jesus Christ is Lord’…And, since the gospel is the heraldic proclamation of Jesus as Lord, it is not first and foremost a suggestion that one might like to enjoy a new religious experience. Nor is it even the take-it-or-leave-it offer of a way to salvation. It is a royal summons to submission, to obedience, to allegiance; and the form that this submission and obedient allegiance takes is of course faith.

What I appreciate most about Wright’s reading of Paul is his recognition of the fact that Paul’s doctrine of salvation is grounded, not in a conceptualization of a linear system or a dramatic religious experience, but in the cosmically-significant resurrection of Jesus Christ and in his comprehensive Lordship over all creation.

In my own preaching, I confess that I am prone to reductionism concerning the salvation that God has made possible in Jesus Christ. All too often, I reduce that salvation to a matter of intellectual propositions, epigrammatic platitudes, and pietistic behavioral instructions which, if embraced, will enable people to “get saved” (so to speak) or “to know Jesus Christ as their personal Lord and Savior.”

Please don’t misunderstand me here. I am not suggesting that salvation in Christ is not a deeply moving religious experience or that the Lordship of Jesus is not something that can be personally and individually held. But the problem with so much of my treatment (and the church’s treatment) of salvation is that, when we limit ourselves entirely to a theological nomenclature like “getting saved,” we reduce salvation to yet another possession that is ours to claim, use, and even manipulate (which, I suppose, is capitalistic hubris at its most ecclesiastical). Likewise, when we make salvation solely about “knowing Jesus Christ as personal Lord and Savior,” we reduce salvation to a purely individualistic accomplishment (“I come to the garden ALONE…”), thereby diminishing the communal emphasis that Scripture always seems to see as being connected to the Lordship of Jesus.

Again, I want to be very clear: I believe that salvation in Jesus Christ is deeply personal, and it certainly demands a decision on the part of individual sinners. But, if Wright is correct in his reading of Paul, then we are compelled to recognize the more comprehensive nature of the proclamation that Jesus is Lord. It is a Lordship that covers, not only individual souls, but entire communities of believers. (How might such a recognition help us to see the church, not simply as an institution, but as the community that Christ is saving and sanctifying on a daily basis?) It is a Lordship that encompasses, not only human beings, but all of creation. (How might such a recognition help us to reflect theologically on the matter of environmental care and the treatment of animal life?) It is a Lordship that depends primarily, not on our decision to embrace or reject it (as important as that decision is) but upon the profligate grace of an incarnating God who refuses to allow history to remain random and unredeemed.

All of this might be more than you want to tackle as the weekend begins. I can certainly appreciate that. But I simply wanted to give a “shout out” to N. T. Wright and his willingness to see in Paul a broader and more comprehensive soteriology than the church often preaches.