Obligations I Cannot Fulfill

Life seems to involve an increasing set of obligations that I cannot fulfill.  Family and friendships and love mount the obligations even higher.

I've been reading Hans Urs von Balthasar's Only Love Is Credible (What a great name!  What a great title!), and he confirms this perception.

"The moment I claim to have 'understood' the love that another person has for me, i.e., either explaining it on the basis of the laws of human nature or considering myself entitled to it because of my inherent qualities, I have once and for all undermined and falsified that love and thereby cut off the possibility of reciprocation. Genuine love is always inconceivable, and only thus is it a gift," p. 52, n.1;

"When man encounters the love of God in Christ, not only does he experience what genuine love is, but he is also confronted with the undeniable fact that he, a selfish sinner, does not possess true love. He experiences two things at once: the finitude of the 
creature's love and its sinful frigidity," p. 61;

and today,
"But at a deeper level, man is aware of his heart's paralysis, fallenness, and frigidity, his incapacity to meet the demand of any law of love, no matter how generally postulated.  He simply cannot summon up enough courage for it.  And in any event he would not presume to believe in such a fulfillment of existence.  He finds such a lack of strength in himself that he thinks he must complain to authorities higher than his own heart, a heart that to be sure could always go a few steps further than it actually does, but could never (it feels quite certain about this) make the entire journey—all the more so insofar as no one can really imagine where this path may in fact lead.  The stages of the journey are impossible to map out; they trail off immediately into the impenetrable night," p. 67.

It's comforting to know I'm not the only one to feel this way.  Now, what to do about it?

When don't we need Jesus?

[This was originally posted here on September 3, 2012]

            Psalm 127 poses an interesting and daunting set of problems for preaching a gospel-centered sermon. 

Unless the Lord builds the house, they labor in vain who build it;

    unless the Lord guards the city, the watchman keeps awake in vain.

It is vain for you to rise up early, to retire late, to eat the bread of painful labors;

    for He gives to His beloved even in his sleep.

Behold, children are a gift of the Lord,

    the fruit of the womb is a reward.

Like arrows in the hand of a warrior,


    so are the children of one’s youth.

How blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them;

    they will not be ashamed when they speak with their enemies in the gate.

Aside from addressing the significant change of direction that the psalm makes in the middle, the two questions I find most interesting are 1) what is the Jesus connection here, and 2) why is seeing that connection so difficult?

The second question may have its answer in a kind of dualism that our culture sometimes presents, a dualism that also works its way into our theology.  Specifically, we treat some concepts and aspects of life as if they relate generally to God without having to bring Jesus into the picture, while other concepts and aspects of life require that we look at the work of Christ.  The following table lays out these concepts roughly:

Everyday life	general grace	God (generally)	this world	work
Salvation	special grace	Jesus Christ	the next world	grace

Jesus comes into the picture when we are in trouble.  No trouble, no need for Jesus.  Seldom or never are we taught what Jesus has to do with everyday work and life, what he has to do with building houses or watching cities or earning our daily bread.  We know (or think we do) what he has to do with the special grace that saves us for life after death, but the most we can usually connect Jesus with the matters of this world is to puzzle over the Sermon on the Mount.

What does it mean for this psalm that God became a man who built, watched, worked, ate, slept, and blessed children?  What in this psalm points us to resources that can answer this question?

What is this psalm about?  It isn’t centrally about building, watching, working, eating, sleeping, and children.  Those items are one dimension, or one kind of dimension, that the psalm works in.  But look at the actions and their sources:  We act and God acts—or refrains from acting.  That is the central question of the psalm:  Who is acting and what does this mean?  The secondary question is:  In view of God’s action, or his self-restraint, what can we do?  We are already busy about this world’s work.  That isn’t bad.  But as we work, where is our trust and hope?  Is it in the effectiveness of our actions, or in the God who has bound us to himself?  So the psalm contrasts fretting and sleeplessness with trust and rest.

Now the psalm sounds a bit like Matt. 6:25-34, where Jesus points out that God is not just the Creator and Provider and Covenant-Maker, but also, and more importantly, our Father.  And now we have a very strong Jesus connection, because Christ both is and displays our connection with the Father.  It is by looking here that we can see most clearly God’s concerns for our cities, our houses, our jobs, and our children.  Jesus is not salvation from our everyday life, he is the salvation of our everyday life.  He shows us its meaning. 

Our theology has sadly neglected this and we must work to repair that wound in our minds.

Bailing out of church? Or just bailing out tonight?

[This was originally posted here on July 29, 2012]

            So - - - today I didn’t go to church in the usual place.  Our congregation is tied to a “daughter” congregation about 40 miles away, I have some duties there next week, so I went this week also to get the feel of the place, meet people, etc.

            But our church also had an evening event tonight, which meant I could still keep in contact with our people.  I didn’t go.  Watching a movie I have only seen twice before seemed more interesting.

            Who cares?  What difference does it all really make, anyway?  If the place can’t hold together without me, then what good is it?  On the other hand, if it doesn’t need me, then why bother?  Interesting dilemma.  Not that many of them know the difference between a problem generically and a dilemma specifically, anyway.  And if that gives you, gentle Reader, some hint that your writer is (specifically) irritable and tired, as well as (generally) pedantic and arrogant, then your wits are working.  Such as they are.

            If I had a real job that paid an actual living, then I would be heavily tempted to invest myself there and find some kind of escape with illusions of productivity and accomplishment. If not that, then diversion, at least.

            But no.  I had to go and dabble in something that has real meaning.  Not that I can assemble even the illusion, much less the reality, of productivity and accomplishment there.  So church in the morning is followed by a nap in the afternoon, and then the evening brings a choice between putting on a happy face and being nice to people at an event that accomplishes little or nothing and gets us negligibly closer, if at all, to some semblance of real community—or watching a movie by myself.  None of this seems to be working, and I don’t want to try any more.

            But then tomorrow and next week will overtake us all, a different balance of endorphins, serotonin, and other neurotransmitters will kick in, and my faulty perceptions may more closely relay to my befuddled mind the reality that I am, in fact, connected to those people I avoided tonight.  I may even remember that they love me (God help them), and on a good day I may have some dim inkling of how to love them back.  Jesus does intervene sometimes.

            But tonight the inklings are not working, and a light supper with some Tinto Garnacha on the side is less troubling.