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C.S. Lewis writes in A Preface to Paradise Lost that “the first qualification for judging any piece of workmanship from a corkscrew to a cathedral is to know what it is—what it was intended to do and how it is meant to be used.” We do well therefore, to go back and carefully read the “In the beginning” of Genesis 1 and 2. I feel we commit a fatal error when we hastily read through the beginning words of Scripture. And we commit an even greater mistake when we read them through the lens of modern day science instead of the poetic narrative in which they are written. Thankfully, Carmen Joy Imes, in her book Being God’s Image: Why Creation Matters, pulls us back to the creation story so that we can live accordingly in the now of today in preparation for the new creation to come.
It doesn’t take a Ph.D. for one to experience the reality that we as humanity have an identity problem. Even church folk struggle. True, we as Christ-followers are told we are created in the image of God, but what does that mean? Personally, I’m not sure I really became aware of all the ramifications of the Imago Dei until a few years ago. Who knows why it escaped me? Even as one who has a couple of seminary degrees, this most important theological truth was never given an opportunity to take root.
Today, I have a much better grasp of what it means to be in the image of God. But perhaps if Imess’s most accessible book were available “back in the day,” I might have understood sooner that we as male and female are created for relationship with God and each other to reflect God’s glory as we work toward making this earth as it is in Heaven. Did you notice the word “work?” Yes, we have jobs! And it’s an important part of being in God’s image. Imes writes, “From the beginning, our human vocation had to do with the cultivation and care of creation, making the rest of the earth like Eden. We neglect [this] to our own peril, and that of our children” (38).
Imes doesn’t just spend all her words on exegeting Genesis 1 and 2, however. These beginning verses in Genesis serve as the launching pad for her entire book. She begins by walking her readers through the Bible story to show how being in God’s image manifests itself throughout Scripture. From Genesis 3, where sin enters the scene yet “humanity retains its identity as God’s image in spite of rebellion and punishment” (66), to Revelation, where all creation is restored and we are once again set right to rule and steward the creation in holiness, being God’s image is at the core.
Several things stand out to me about Being God’s Image. First, Imes is an Old Testament scholar. This means that her work is full of nuggets of Biblical exegesis that are there for the mining. For example, in chapter 6, Imes has an excursus on Ecclesiastes on whether life is really meaningless as implied by its beginning verses. Naturally life has meaning, so what is the teacher in Ecclesiastes trying to say? For Imes, there exists a better translation for the word “meaningless.” She contends that it should be interpreted as “vapor.” In that understanding, it’s not that life does not have meaning, it is just beyond our grasp to understand. She writes that it’s like the man who wants to retire at fifty and so he worked all the overtime he could while his children were young only to see them leave when he retired. That’s vapor. “When our eyes are always on the future, we miss the joy that’s right under our nose,” writes Imes (98).
Another thing that grabbed my attention in Imes’s book is the subtitle: Why Creation Still Matters. Though the idea of the importance of creation exists throughout, it’s the final chapter in which she puts an exclamation point on the subject. In reading it, I very much resonated with her experiences concerning the rapture. I too grew up with the idea that Jesus is going to rescue his followers from this sinking ship we call earth before it is utterly destroyed. But this is a dangerous belief according to Imes. “If I believe my destiny is elsewhere,” she writes, “why invest in this planet’s long term health? Why spend time building businesses and schools and societies here? Why create anything at all? Why not just wait things out?” (169) The truth is that God is not abandoning his creation. As already mentioned, our work in making this earth as it is in Heaven is vital to our being in God’s image. This is true for the present and the future.
And finally, I found what Imes writes of Jesus regarding the image of God to be of utmost and profound importance. She writes: “Jesus is not the image of God because he is God. Jesus is the image of God because he is human.” In other words, “Jesus is and does what humans were meant to be and do” (110). If you want to know what it looks like to live in the image of God, look to Jesus. Consider how he performs acts of justice for those who have no voice. Consider how he brings healing to those on the margins. And consider how he selflessly gives of himself in love.
Being God’s Image: Why Creation Still Matters is a book of good news. Imes desires for her readers to dive deep into understanding and embracing a life lived in the image of God. To do so is to find purpose, identity and joy. But this book is also a book of challenges. It will cause you to ask how you see and treat those different from you. It will push you to act upon the truth that all people, regardless of race or disability or sex are created in the image of God. And it will make you think about how we steward the creation that God made and gave to us so that it flourishes.
I hope many pick up a copy of this book and digest its contents. No doubt for some it will challenge long held interpretations of Scripture, but such interpretations need to be challenged. We need to be awakened to understand work, recreation, rest, worship, ministry and mission all through the lens of being created in the image of God. Thankfully Imes helps us to do so as she proclaims that “this world is not a failed experiment or a temporary staging ground for eternity. God called the world very good. In the midst of our suffering and disillusionment, God invited us to pray honestly, to let go of our own need to understand everything, to trust him, and to learn to enjoy the journey” (184).
This first appeared at The Englewood Review of Books
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No one reads a book in a vacuum. Or at least I don’t. Books are always read and digested in the midst of living life. This past week for me entailed being a part of a roundtable group of pastors/church staff in which my role was to lead in a discussion of spiritual formation. One of the specifics of personal growth of which I wanted to dialogue about concerned suffering and pain. In other words, how do days of difficulty shape us? How can/does God use pain to mold us into the people he wants us to become?
What took place in this roundtable discussion was not what I expected. When these folks were asked to talk about their transforming times of anxiety and hurt, what came to the surface was their personal agony related to a former church staff experience. And in each occurrence, the root of the distress was soiled in the misuse of power and authority. So here I was, listening to these stories of toxicity in the church while at the same time reading Scot McKnight’s and Laura Barringer’s new book Pivot: The Priorities, Practices, and Powers That Can Transform Your Church into a Tov Culture. It was almost as if this group of pastors/staff were quoting directly from Pivot and its examples of toxicity found in churches.
But it’s not just the context of this roundtable discussion from which I read Pivot. What has continued to be swirling in my head for quite some time are the words from Russell Moore. Moore, who is currently the editor-in-chief for Christianity Today, has for some time commented that the reason that there is such a rise of the “nones” and “dones” is not because they reject Jesus, but because they think we as churchgoers do. They see churches embodying the same harmful effects of power that they encounter within the American empire in which they live and work.
So with the thoughts of Moore swirling in my mind along with the stories of these pastors, I became angry, frustrated, and broken. What is becoming of the church? Now I don’t for any second believe that all churches are toxic. I know there are healthy bodies of Christ throughout our country. Yet I still hear too many stories of church cultures which are poisonous. Something has to change. McKnight and Barringer agree. They also have encountered toxicity in churches first hand. And thankfully, they have given voice and guidance to the transformation that is needed.
Pivot is described as a “practical guide to help you build a culture in your church or organization that resists abuse and cultivates goodness.” For the most part, it is a sequel to A Church Called Tov: Forming a Goodness Culture That Resists Abuses of Power and Promotes Healing which was released in 2020. At its heart this book addresses the need for pastors along with the church as a whole to grow beyond unhealthy business models and consumeristic tendencies that have taken root in today’s church culture. It is a book which I feel can help the church to become a place of attractive Christoformity that our neighborhoods so desperately need.
One might think that it’s only those tied up in a toxic church environment who need to read this book. Such is not the case. No church or organization is immune from the harmful tendencies mentioned by McKnight and Barringer. It could be easy to read Pivot while pointing fingers at the church across the street. But for it to produce the goodness needed in churches today, it must be read and discussed as a mirror to one’s own soul, ministry, church or organization. Thankfully, the questions which are written at the end of each chapter along with the “Tov Tool” at the back of the book make such personal and organizational reflections possible.
There is quite a bit of information packed into Pivot. As one might expect, McKnight and Barringer have done their homework. But I feel there are two main points that surface throughout the book that must be taken to heart. The first is that for a church or organization to become one of tov, a deep inspection must be made. McKnight writes that “the health of the church depends upon the condition of its ‘soil’” (20). In other words, new programs or vision statements won’t cut it. Those are surface issues. Deeper plowing must be sought. “Transforming a culture requires arduous, often painful discovery,” writes McKnight. “It takes a willingness to learn why the tree isn’t producing blossoms or why the fruit is rotten or why the blossoms are an unexpected color” (25).
Second, developing a tov culture takes work. Specifically, it is a work of patience. “Most cultural rebirths take seven years,” writes McKnight. “If you cut corners and try to rush it, you will pay” (126). To plow deep and to create good soil is not an overnight venture. Nor is it pain free. The road to tov is paved with suffering and opposition. “One can expect resistance to culture transformation because deep-rooted change disrupts homeostasis and creates disequilibrium, leading to disorientation,” mentions McKnight. “No matter how toxic the culture may be, people will turn to homeostasis,” that is, people will continue with what’s comfortable and familiar regardless of how unhealthy that might be (27).
Regardless of the pain and difficulty changing a culture might be, McKnight and Barringer, along with others they cite in Pivot, believe it is worth it. And I would go so far as to write that they not only believe it is worth it, but that it is imperative that churches make such a journey. McKnight and Barringer conclude with the challenge “to make character formation, both for individuals and the church as a culture, the most important mission of your local church” ( 201). I hope we take their challenge seriously. And to start, regardless of where your church or organization might be on the toxicity scale, I encourage you to make the first step in your mission of Christlike transformation to wrestle your way through Pivot. Grace and peace to you as you do.
This review first appeared in The Englewood Review of Books
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I think oftentimes when we consider those who are questioning the faith they grew up with, it is young adults that come to mind. This is particularly true of me as I work on a university campus. But perhaps it’s the young we hone in on because this is the group where most of the research and writing seems to feature. It does make sense why this would be so. It’s a somewhat natural process for a person on his/her journey towards adulthood to begin to struggle and push back on the many things he/she held at face value while growing up. But what about older folks? Don’t they have doubts?
Fortunately, Bekah McNeel’s book Bringing Up Kids When Church Lets You Down: A Guide for Parents Questioning Their Faith, gives voice not only to an older crowd per se, but specifically, to parents who struggle with the faith. And McNeel is perfect for the task because she does so not from the theoretical, but the testimonial. In other words, she is in the midst of the struggle herself. She writes, “The question I was asking myself was: Is the Christianity I grew up with something I want to give to my children?” (9) Therefore, McNeel’s goal in this book is to seek to understand “how people talk to their kids about things they haven’t fully resolved” (13).
As one might expect, McNeel begins her book by discussing her own doubt, disgust, and pain she experienced via her encounters with the church. McNeel could not understand why the church did not speak out more concerning the injustices being inflicted upon those in the margins. She didn’t know why church leadership seemed to be dominated by men, specifically white men. And there seemed to be little compassion for those who, on the Christian journey, trip and fall every now and then. For McNeel, it was this perfection that led to the thought of her never being good enough. She writes: “Ever felt like your pastor or parent would always find some sin you could be working on? Or that your Christian friends always wanted to talk about ‘the condition of your heart’ even after you’d apologized for something? Like God’s blessing was the carrot dangling out there to keep you trying harder?”
McNeel’s clashes with the church opened the door for her to explore even further the questions that were in some contexts, forbidden to discuss. Things such as the authority of Scripture, the concept of hell, racism, homosexuality, politics, and fundamentalist apologetics top her list. In reading her struggles with these questions, some may not find much new here in terms of today’s deconstruction literature. But what I did find distinctive was the direction of which her pursuit of answers fueled her parenting. “In our home my husband and I have opted for a wholehearted embrace of inquiry, science, and perspective-taking,” writes McNeel. “We want our kids to ask ‘why’ and ‘why not’ not only of us but of all authority, because we believe authority should not be making arbitrary rules or overplaying its hand” (149).
These doubts that McNeal fostered were enlarged however, when she began to see life through the eyes of others. She admits that it wasn’t until she attended graduate school that she began to look at events and history through the lens of non-Americans and non-white people. “It wasn’t a logical debate about evolution or postmodernism that got to me,” writes McNeel. “It was the stepping outside my own perspective,” writes McNeel, “seeing the world through the eyes of people who were not like me but who were not adhering to the script I’d been given for enemies of the faith” (146). And as you might expect, she does not want her kids to be blind to the views of others until they, like her, move away from home.
All of the questions that McNeel had and continues to have with the institutional church and the way Christianity was lived out to her while growing up comes to a climax in the last four chapters of her book. This is where she works out her journey of parenting. This is where she leans into her own doubts and struggles as she seeks to guide her children toward a faith that is life giving.
It’s in these last chapters that I found myself saying both “Amen! Preach it!” and “What? Did she really just write this?” She asks: “Should we take our children to church?” Well, of course we should. But then what is meant by church? Have we turned church more into an event we attend rather than a family in which we gather? And her thinking ahead to sexuality talks with her kids caused friction in my soul at times. It’s not that she is boundary free per se, but reading that perhaps the end goal of sexual purity is bigger than just not having sex before marriage might cause some grumbling. But we do well to hear her out as she writes that healthy relationships are what is most important. Granted, this does involve boundaries. But in relation to sexual sin, some might wish for her to be a little more firm on the “Do Not’s.”
As a wrap this review up, I have a few final thoughts. First, if you are reading Bringing Up Kids, I would read it not as a prescriptive take on how to raise kids, but instead a description of how parents, specifically McNeel, are seeking to parent in the midst of their own struggles with their faith. As indicated above, there are some things that McNeel shares in her book that I’m not sure I can agree with. You will probably feel the same at times. But remember, McNeel is sharing from her context. So be quick to listen before judging.
Second, it’s important to realize that McNeel herself is on a journey. She’s open about her struggles with her faith and the church, from which there is much to learn. But though she has had many bumps along the way, the good news is that she is continuing to press on. McNeel asks herself, “Why am I still doing this? With all the crap that came along with religion, how am I still praying?” Her response? “I came back to the church not out of fear, but because it was where God had been meeting me for thirty years, sometimes through the words and teaching and songs. Sometimes in spite of them” (224-225).
This review appeared first at Englewood Review of Books.
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When I’m looking at a book, it’s funny how many times the subtitle really grabs my attention. And this is no less true with Joining Jesus: Ordinary People at the Edges of the Church by Moses Chung and Christopher Meehan. Ordinary people. How many times do we feel the need to be extraordinary? Being ordinary doesn’t cut it. No one notices ordinary. Ordinary doesn’t make the nightly news.
And the “Edges of the Church?” Just reading the title at face value, I picture those who don’t quite make it in. Or perhaps it’s those who feel as though they don’t belong. In some people’s viewpoint, these are the folks that are not necessarily church material (whatever that means). They don’t really mix well with the general religious population. Too needy. Their problems are not as refined as our problems.
Yet for Chung and Meehan, it’s those on the margins and those who possibly feel trapped in their everydayness in which Jesus takes up residence. And it’s these type of folks whom God uses to be the salt and light of the world. It seems so counterintuitive, yet time and time again in Joining Jesus, the words of Paul to the church in Corinth are embodied. Paul writes: “Brothers and sisters, think of what you were when you were called. Not many of you were wise by human standards; not many were influential; not many were of noble birth. But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong.” (1 Cor 1:26-27)
What I find intriguing about Joining Jesus is that it is a history, a sketch of a Luke 10 vision, and a series of eyewitness accounts of God moving throughout North America all rolled into one collection. Chung and Meehan share the work of the Christian Reformed Church’s mission to North America for the past 25 years. In doing so, they continue the story of their previous book entitled Flourishing in the Land: A Hundred-Year History of the Christian Reformed Missions in North America, written in 1996.
But as mentioned, Joining Jesus is more than a history. It is also an embodied interpretation of Jesus’s commissioning of his disciples in Luke 10. Each chapter lays out a verse or two from Luke 10 that guides the reader in viewing each mission story through the lens of Jesus’s empowering and sending of his disciples. But if I were to cite a key element understood by Chung and Meehan in CRC’s mission success as it relates to Luke 10, it would have to be becoming an incarnational neighbor. “According to Luke 10,” writes Chung and Meehan, “a neighbor is someone who promotes peace and joins in learning what God is doing. This is a posture of being ‘with’ and not doing ministry ‘for.’ It is hearing—really setting ourselves aside to listen to the stories of those with whom we are connected, essentially with our neighbors” (48).
Most importantly in reading Joining Jesus however, is that this history of the CRC mission is told through the use of story. As you read, it’s as if you travel all over North America and hear from those in the trenches of ministry. From college students in Seattle to Native Americans in New Mexico, Chung and Meehan interview a variety of folks allowing their stories to communicate how God is working throughout North America. And as the subtitle indicates, this work is accomplished by the ordinary with those who are not only on the edges of church, but oftentimes, those on the edges of society as well.
Personally, it is the stories from those on the field that make this book worth the read. Reading the story of Momma T, a frequent visitor to a small church in Detroit, Michigan, barging into the Bible study and shouting, “I need to hear Galatians today,” pushes me to rethink what it is for me to study the Bible. Momma T’s brother is trapped in an abusive situation in which his daughter’s ex-boyfriend, a former boxer, keeps storming into their apartment and abusing him, his daughter, and even his daughter’s new baby. So what does Momma T want in the midst of feeling trapped because she can’t seem to help her brother? She wants some Galatians.
But it’s not just the stories that give value to Joining Jesus. It’s also the wisdom from those who are walking with the Momma T’s. It’s the missiological insights from the faithful who are present day-in and day-out to the communities around them. Betsy Turnbull, who as a church planter with her husband, found that her child’s preschool playground became its own mission field. “These connections and conversations, and chances for discipleship,” she says, “happen in random places” (43). Also, Pastor Albert Chu, whose church continues to reach out to the large population of Chinese in Vancouver, Canada, expresses how, much like Betsy, “Physical presence is an important thing. We have to be always asking what we can do with the spaces we inhabit to be a blessing to our community” (140).
One might conclude that reading such a book as Joining Jesus might point one to new strategies for mission. In some ways, this might be true. But the heart of this history is not necessarily about what works today, but what has always worked. And as Chung and Meehan point out, the early church which “met together, supported one another, broke bread together, and went from place to place and shared their stories” is still what is needed to build the Kingdom (139). I find this both refreshing and convicting. Refreshing because of its simplicity. Convicting because of how we sometimes complicate God’s mission given to us by our over-programming. Yet the truth remains that God calls us who are ordinary to go to those who are on the edges. And as we do, as the stories found in Joining Jesus tell us, we might just find Jesus!
This review first appeared on The Englewood Review of Books
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“Christianity has an image problem,” writes David Kinnaman and Gabe Lyons. And though written in 2007 in their book entitled UNchristian, I’m afraid this statement still rings true. I grow weary of reading how people both inside and outside the church have been wounded by so-called Christians. I continue to be broken over the number of people who walk away from church because they feel misunderstood, condemned, and unloved. So when I encountered Mark D. Baker’s book entitled Centered-Set Church: Discipleship and Community Without Judgmentalism, the Without Judgmentalism portion of his title grabbed my attention.
The question which Baker has us think about throughout his book is whether following Jesus is about a line we cross or a direction we face. True; following Jesus does mean moving in a new direction and will, therefore, involve making some hard decisions at times, but to be centered-set, as Baker wants churches to become, is more about a life-long journey towards Jesus rather than just overcoming some sins that we categorize as worse than others.
Though Baker has previously written about the concepts found here in Centered-Set Church (see Religious No More), it was his encounter with the work of Paul Hiebert that gave him further definition and language in describing churches as being either “bounded, fuzzy, or centered” (17). Understanding these three components and their implications and/or deterrences is what comprises the pages of this book.
As Baker has discovered, some churches draw lines– that is, set up rules– and if you are on the inside of those lines, then all is good. But if not, then you are looked down upon. These churches are called “bounded.” This is not to say that guidelines are not important in determining what is acceptable or true, but in a bounded church, they “use those lines to separate and categorize people in a judgmental way” (26). Consider the lines drawn between Jews and Gentiles in the first century. Were Gentiles truly Christ followers if they didn’t follow certain dietary restrictions? What about circumcision? Such were the lines drawn by Jews yet Paul writes emphatically, especially in Galatians, that such rules were missing the mark.
As you might expect, there are those who have pushed back against these bounded churches due to their tendency to exclude others. These churches are “fuzzy.” They erase the lines. It might appear that because fuzzy churches dispense of those barriers that obstruct one from being on the inside that they would be places of real healing. But this is not the case. Baker writes of one person in a fuzzy church lamenting: “At a point when I most needed direction and discipleship, I instead experienced a community of people lost and wandering. Metaphorically, many of us jumped off bridges while the rest of us watched” (37).
As mentioned above, for Baker, the church must become a centered-set group. By this he means that “the group is created by defining a center and observing people’s relationship with the center” (23). Again, it’s not about a line you cross per se, but a direction you face. Naturally, there will be some who are further from the center than others, but regardless, like everyone else, they are on a pilgrimage. This is a key element in understanding being centered-set. “A bounded church demands people move across the line, but then it becomes fairly static—you are in, not out,” writes Baker. “A fuzzy church is fuzzy; it is difficult to call for movement or change. A centered church, however, invites people on a journey. It is not static because we have not yet arrived” (109).
The center is no less than Jesus. However, Baker wants to define who this Jesus is “because our conceptions about God will influence whether we do church in a bounded, fuzzy, or centered way, and the paradigm of our church will influence how we view God” (61). If one grew up in a strict fundamentalist church then naturally, one might see God as one who is harsh and demanding. So Baker is adamant that we see God as the father in Luke 15 who not only runs after the son who squanders everything, but also engages the son who stays home and keeps the rules yet is disgruntled over the amazing grace given to his runaway brother.
The strength of Centered-Set Church comes from its practicality. Granted, Baker devotes chapters to the theological, but as good theology always does, it leads one to the trenches– that is, the everyday life of everyday folks who lead and serve in everyday churches. So Baker engages in everything from preaching to prison ministry to guide his readers to see the effects of a church becoming centered. And in the various ministries he lists, he leans heavily on the insight of various practitioners in the field (just glance at how many footnotes are cited from emails from pastors and others).
Two specific praxis points of being centered grabbed my attention. First involves the language we use to exhort others. I teach the Bible often and so Baker’s encouragement is to “link imperatives to indicatives.” It’s helpful to avoid ‘should’ language, to learn to paint a vision, and to use directional words such as “journey” (see chapter 6). The second concerns the intervention needed in the lives of those who wander from the center. You could call this church discipline, but for Baker, the intervention he is writing about is much bigger. And he’s quick to point out that it’s quite messy and involves a bit of work. I think it would benefit many to read Baker’s thoughts on this matter.
I whole-heartedly recommend Centered- Set Church to all. Naturally, one might say that church leaders would benefit the most from it, but as Baker might write, “It is for all because we are all on a journey to the center…and that center being none other than Jesus himself…the generous and loving God.” So grab a copy, and be refreshed and challenged by where you are on your walk with others towards Jesus.
This review first appeared on The Englewood Review of Books
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I’m not sure I’m comfortable with being human. Why? Because it seems so…well…so limiting. There’s got to be more , right? Yet in my search to be more I never seem to be satisfied. Can’t get off the merry-go-round of never feeling enough no matter how much “success” comes my way. So Kelly Kapic has done me (and all of humanity) a great service by reminding us that it’s not only okay to be human, but it’s who God made us to be. Therefore, he encourages us not to run from being human, but to embrace it.
Kapic writes that realizing who we are as human beings, and all of the limits that entails, is really good news. This is quite counterintuitive to Western thought, but the reality is that unless we rest in our identity found in being made in the image of God along with our relationships to others, we will become more like a machine of seeking endless productivity and efficiency. And the danger is that we will treat others as the same, that is, mere cogs in a dehumanized system.
Two thoughts really stand out in You’re Only Human for me. First concerns the question of “Why doesn’t God just instantly change me?” I’m sure he’s able, so why doesn’t he? Kapic asks, “Might it be true that, although he clearly does not enjoy our sin, God values the process of our growth and the work involved in it, and not just the final product?” (p. 145) If such is the case, then I must embrace the journey. And I must also be patient with the journey of others as well.
Second, it can be easy to fall prey to the “change the world” mantra being heralded by many writers, pastors, etc…. It’s not that we as Christ followers are not to be “salt” and “light,” but to be that for the whole world? As one human? I am limited. I can only do so much. However, as Kapic points out, when we connect with others and their gifts and resources, then we as the church, both locally and globally, impact the world. We need each other. “No individual is to carry the weight of the world,” writes Kapic. (p. 179).
Could write much more, but hopefully I’ve whetted your appetite to pick up your own copy of You’re Only Human. I think you will be glad that you did! Happy reading!
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Here I am, working with a ministry on a university campus, agreeing to read and review a book that for the most part, tells the heartbeat of Good Works, a ministry designed for the marginalized in our society. Not exactly the type of folks I encounter daily. Therefore, it could have been easy for me to have read it from a distance, that is, underline some catchy quotes, write a helpful review, and then place it atop my stack of read books. But such was not the case.
I guess you could say that the reason I couldn’t just write a simple and perhaps a more objective review of Good Works: Hospitality and Faithful Discipleship is because of two things. First is my continued recollection of what Howard Thurman wrote in Jesus and the Disinherited, “The masses of men live with their backs constantly against the wall. They are the poor, the disinherited, the dispossessed. What does our religion say to them?” (12)
Second has been my recent study of the Gospel of Mark. To aid me in this endeavor I picked up a copy of Timothy Gombis’s work on Mark in The Story of God Bible Commentary. Throughout, Gombis has caused me to think afresh about what it means “to take up the cross.” He writes, “Jesus calls the church to join him on the way to the cross and to cultivate community life orientated by the cross, which is embodied through service to the least and hospitality to the marginalized” (379).
So as I began to read Good Works, I found myself once again confronted and challenged with how I see those on the margins. But not just those on the periphery. The question became, How do I view anyone with whom I cross paths? The truth for many of us is that we can be dehumanizing to others without even knowing it. And to realize this reality is part of our discipleship. This means we have to ask some hard questions of ourselves of which personally, Good Works caused me to do.
In no way am I going to exhaust in this short review the questions Keith Wasserman and Christine D. Pohl bring to a reader’s mind, or at least to my mind. However, I do want to present just a few. First, and I feel this is a major component of Good Works: What kind of disciples are we making? According to Wasserman and Pohl, “The practices of discipleship available through the traditional structures of the church are not always expansive enough to challenge believers to mature in faith by asking them to interact with folks different from themselves” (29). I’m fearful that much discipleship today leans more toward discerning proper doctrine than seeking to emulate God’s Kingdom in which the least of the least are invited to the party.
Second, why do we sometimes worry about being efficient in ministry? We are a results-oriented society and if things aren’t happening at a pace we are pleased with, we have to analyze the situation for the sake of productivity. And sometimes this might be an okay thing to do. But ministry does not always work in a timely manner. “Much of ministry is accompaniment,” writes Wasserman, “walking with a person through difficult circumstances. And that is rarely efficient. It is slow and can be painful” (53). Jesus journeyed with the disciples for close to 3 years and at the end of it, they were still struggling to understand who he was. Making disciples is messy. Patience is needed. There is nothing fast or efficient about it.
Third, how are we seeking to understand those in need? I have found that I am much better at judging others than empathizing with them. Wasserman might classify himself the same way. But to gain perspective of the homeless with whom he ministers, he takes journeys to other cities in which he, for a period of time, lives as though he were himself homeless. “I believe that since God became flesh for our world in order to be a bridge for men and women to have a relationship with their Maker, we too must incarnate ourselves into the world of those whom we care about” (64). And as he does so, he says that his “reservoir of compassion is replenished” (63).
Fourth, and finally, does our serving others lead to our knowing, loving and becoming friends with them? Wasserman mentions that our serving others, that is, meeting a need in which there are defined roles of giver and receiver, can cause both giver and receiver to remain quite distant from each other. We may pray, as Wasserman points out, “Lord, I may be able to serve these people, and I want to love them, but please don’t ask me to become friends with them” (93). Yet it is when we start being “with” and moving into friendships with those unlike us that “we discover something of the kingdom of God we could not experience in a Bible study or church meeting” (94).
I don’t claim that all who read Good Works will have the same experience with it as I did. And by the way, it was not all euphoric-type reading for me. There are some parts of the book in which I felt I was just trudging through while looking ahead to the next section. Some of the details in leadership selection and programming related to Good Works as a ministry were not as beneficial to me. However, another reader might find them extremely helpful.
Regardless, though there might be a few pages of grinding it out, it’s worth the grind. No matter where you are on the journey of following Jesus, and no matter who lives in your neighborhood, Good Works will challenge you to think a bit outside the box. It will push you to think differently about being with those who need healing. And hopefully, it will be a catalyst to help us live in ways so that others can see “what the good news of Jesus looks like when it is embodied in real life—flawed, forgiving, encouraged, and deeply loving people” (157).
The review first appeared on The Englewood Review of Books
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