Life

A reminder that the body of Christ hurts together too

When we talk about the “body” of Christ, we are referring to the group of people who form the church. We often speak of the ways that we serve the body of Christ through our unique spiritual gifts.

However, as I walk with our community through tragic loss of a wife and mother, I can’t help but think of the body of Christ as something more than functional.

We are all connected and united as a body. In 2 Corinthians Paul talks about how the community of believers doesn’t just work together, we feel together.

“For as we share abundantly in Christ’s sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too…Our hope for you is unshaken, for we know that as you share in our sufferings, you will share in our comfort.” (1:5,7)

“Now if anyone has caused pain, he has caused it not to me, but in some measure – not to put it too severely—to all of you.” (2:5)

“For this slight momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.” (4:17-18)

Perhaps I’ve hardly been this close to such a tragic end of a life before, but this moment has revealed in my heart the truth that the body of Christ doesn’t just work together, it is truly a body that feels together. When we lose a brother or sister in Christ our body is wounded. Though it will eventually heal and adapt to the wound, it will never be the same as it was.

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Devotional

Chasing the light

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I took a photo of these succulents this afternoon because they reminded me of an important truth about the spiritual life that I have been coming back to often lately.

Staying in relationship with God requires a constant reorientation of myself.

Like the succulent on our kitchen table that twists and bends to constantly face the sun, I too have to constantly be conscious of whether or not I am still facing the path that leads to God or if I’ve gotten stuck in one spot and lost sight of the light.

All day, every day, the succulents will chase the sun as it moves across the sky.

I too hope and pray that I am pursuing the light of the world, Jesus, as he moves in my life and the whole world.

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Blogging

Don’t blog to be heard, blog to be known

When people talk about why they don’t blog there are often two reasons that get repeated over and over.

  • I have nothing to say.
  • Nobody cares about what I say.

Personally, I think those are both lame. I think they are born out of the idea that people think they can’t have an impact on the world. Their voice is not significant. And to that, I would start to agree because of the fundamental principal that our voice is only a part of our personhood. To me, blogging is less about being heard, and more about being known.

What we say or blog about today is easily drowned out by the sheer volume of the crowd in our media. And for some people, this is enough to discourage them from speaking at all. However, I think there is a bigger issue that we should address. That when we speak we are articulating a greater story. Our story.

I’ve been reading through a book by Fleming Rutledge called “And God Spoke to Abraham: Preaching from the Old Testament” for my preaching class this semester. It is a compilation of an entire career’s worth of sermons by Mrs. Rutledge.

I think the intent was to expose us to some good Old Testament preaching, but I found myself eating up the book for another reason. I was developing a relationship with the author. Not just the sermons, but I feel like I have been getting to know the person behind the sermons. And this was a unique experience for me because while I’ve read many, many sermons in seminary, rarely do I feel like I connect with the preacher. This is because when we read great sermons in seminary we read a single sermon by that preacher (yes, I’ve read all of John Wesley’s sermons, but the dude has such an old style that the connection is harder than contemporary preachers). Just one speech gets lost in the noise of everything else.

And this is the power of having a constant voice. That your sheep learn the sound of your voice. That when we speak enough, we are known. When we speak more than on the occasional Sunday or give the occasional epic speech we have to draw from somewhere other than our epic-ness gland (if you don’t know, it’s connected next to pride-lobe in your brain).

When we are heard over and over, we are known more for who we are as a person than as just another voice. People begin to know our story, they develop a relationship and they might even start to take what you say more seriously.

Honestly, you might even start taking what you say more seriously.

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