Monthly Archives: April 2010

Leaving out stories

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Many things are included in Bibles that are not part of “the Bible.” Old photographs, notes from loved ones, flattened leaves, and gum wrappers are obvious examples. They have sentimental value, but they are not part of the text.

Footnotes, cross references, and explanatory notes are printed in many Bibles, but they are not part of “the Bible.” For example, the footnotes in a study Bible reflect the interpretation of some editor or writer.  The sports stories in Bibles given to athletes are intended to show that famous people study the Bible, but they are not part of “the Bible”. Even the section headings in many Bibles and the chapters and the verse numbers are added for convenience rather than appearing in the original texts.

All of this may be obvious, but I think is worth pointing out. All of these additions are to help with understanding, but they have to be acknowledged as interpretation.

Why mention this on this particular day? Because in many translations, near the end of John 7, we find this little note:

((The earliest and most reliable manuscripts and other ancient witnesses do not have John 7:53-8:11.))

And then we find a familiar story, one that includes the phrase, “If any one of you is without sin, let him be the first to throw a stone at her.”

Here’s the problem.

This story doesn’t show up in manuscripts until mid 300 AD. Most scholars, including conservative scholars, say that it shouldn’t be included in the text of “the Bible.” Many don’t even include it in their commentary.

I love the story. It “preaches well.” It offers great speculation opportunities for storytellers. (What did Jesus write in the sand? What happened to the guy.) But we can’t confuse explaining the text with the text itself.

Not with integrity.

I’m not Paul

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As I read through the New Testament, I frequently have wrestled with a frustrating thought: I’m not Paul.

Paul sets the standard for the dynamic, confrontive, visionary, genius, self-abasing, persecuted, passionate ministry leader. We love him, we know him, and at times, we really don’t like him. Why? Because he sets a standard that fits a personality that most of us don’t have, even those of us in ministry.

And this is particularly difficult for those of us who are in leadership roles or aspire to those roles. We think that Paul sets the standard of how to be a leader. We look at the people who are leading the big churches, people who are writing the significant books on pastoral leadership. Those of us who are not Paul (or what we perceive to be his contemporary counterparts) start to wonder how God can use us.

I have wondered myself.  You see, I’m a second generation second fiddle. My dad was an incredibly effective leader in his organization, but he never moved to the “top” position, the role of executive director. Instead, he “plateaued” at the role of director of the field staff. It sounded better, of course, as Senior Vice President. It meant that “all” he did was to work with the men who represented the organization. He prayed with them, encouraged them, challenged them, hired them, fired them. He was responsible for the well-being of the guys who did the real work of the organization.

In a sense, my dad would have been wasted if he had been moved into the top position.

In the next few weeks, I’ll be talking occasionally about some of the people we find in the early church who aren’t Paul, but matter. I hope you find it helpful. I know I will.

All in the family: Jesus and the Pharisees.

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The Pharisees were caught in a sitcom.

I think that they are like the dad, the one that tries everything to solve a problem and nothing works?

Last thing they knew, Jesus had left town. Their sources told them that he was back home, up in the northern part of the country. Good riddance, they thought.

The Feast of Tabernacles started, the happy feast, the party feast, the “pitch a tent and sleep outside and remember how God brought us through the wilderness” feast. It would be a horrible time for Jesus to show up for people trying to maintain order.  Jesus was the kind of person that would take a wilderness experience and turn it into some metaphor for deliverance and freedom.

It must have been a relief for the leadership to hear nothing of Jesus on the first day of the feast. Nothing on the second day. Nothing on the third or fourth days.

Dad leans back in the recliner. Mr Wilson thinks Dennis moved.

And then Jesus shows up.

Andy sends Barney to find out what’s happening. Jim sends his wife’s brother, Andy. Tim (the Toolman) Taylor sends Al Borland to bring Jesus in for a conversation.

Barney and Andy and Al come back in.

“Where’s Jesus?” says Andy/Jim/Tim/Chief Priest.

“Have you heard him talk? No one ever sounded like that. It was amazing!” says B/A/A.

“Bah. What would we expect from a mob? There isn’t one intelligent person who would say what you just said.”

“Just curious,” says Opie, says Cheryl, says Wilson and Jill and Nicodemus. “Should we talk with him before we try to kill him?”

The camera comes in close on the face of the leading character. Rage and frustration and betrayal and fear twist together.

“Are you leaving as sane us only?”

—

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How was your day?

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Recently, I talked to a young woman about God. Among other things, we talked about talking to God. At times, she said, she felt like she was talking to air.

How would you talk differently if you could see him, I asked.

“I’d ask how his day was,” she blurted out.

When we talk with people we see, we converse. We ask how their day was. We ask how they are feeling. We ask questions and listen to the answers. We take turns. We don’t talk just about ourselves. We don’t spend all our time making the other person talk about us, about what they want us to do, about what they want us to learn, about what they expect from us.

Well, I suppose we do actually do those things with some people. With people who are our counselors, we talk about ourselves, and in the process are directed to areas to celebrate and areas to work on.

But we don’t view those interactions as conversations.

With people who are our teachers, we do listen for instructions and goals and expectations.

But we don’t view those interactions as conversations.

With people who are friends or more, however, we exchange feelings and dreams and frustrations. We expect that the relationship will last longer than a series of sessions or a semester.

A couple weeks ago, out walking with the dog, I had asked God the very question she suggested. I asked him how his day had been. I laughed at myself. And then I listened.

I realized that by asking God to talk about himself, I moved myself out of the middle of the universe, or at least, my universe.

“But his day is always perfect.” My young friend laughed.

Even a perfect day is made better by sharing it.

the day after

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I teach every week in three settings, but I only preach a couple of times a year.

Yesterday I stitched together posts  about John 4, explored  ideas with our Saturday night small group, and preached. I’m grateful for the responses, grateful for what I learned while studying.

I don’t want to talk about the message here. I want to talk about the day after.

The day after I teach or preach is often a pretty numb day. I spend Sunday playing tapes in my head, identifying the “what I should have said” and “what I could have said” and “That was a dumb thing to say.” I know that these are not objective statements. I try to take a nap which has the effect of rebooting my brain.

I say this to let you know that if you teach or preach and this happens to you, you are not alone.

On Monday, I find thinking to be a difficult thing to do. There is often little creativity. There is often little patience. There is often little initiative. There is a tendency to argue with comments about the previous day’s performance, especially if those comments are positive. There is a tendency to think of the previous day as a performance.

I say this to let you know that if you teach or preach and this happens to you, you are not alone.

There is little desire to do what Jesus did in these situations, to go off by himself and spend time with his dad. There is little desire to let responsibility for what people do with the teaching rest with them and with God.

I say this to let you know that if you teach or preach and this happens to you, you are not alone.

I’m glad I’m not alone.