Category: Through a Glass Darkly

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The Challenge of Easter {1}

The Question of Jesus’ Resurrection

{nathan f. elmore}


On this first Monday of Easter, our guide for the first chapter of The Challenge of Easter is Nathan Elmore.
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N.T. Wright most likely prefers soccer to baseball, his national pastime to ours. Nonetheless, on the traditional Opening Day of the Major League Baseball season, it seems destined that we should begin our conversation surrounding his book, The Challenge of Easter, with a baseball story.

On a crisp, sunny Saturday in March, Camden, my eight-year-old son, joined over 500 Richmond Little League (RLL) players in reciting the Little League pledge. RLL’s annual Opening Day ceremony in Byrd Park – which includes each team from each skill level sprinting onto the immaculately manicured dirt and grass, a performance of the national anthem, and candy bars, ring-pops and grilled hot dogs for sale – was pitch-perfect Americana.

The only patriotism left, in fact, was for Glenn Beck to toss out the ceremonial first pitch with a copy of his latest book tucked under his arm and for Justin Bieber to sing “God Bless America” without a shirt.

The Little League pledge begins with four words that, given this Easter season, should actually make every Little Leaguer (not to mention their parents) pee their pants: “I trust in God.” Hearing this simple recitation made for a religiously surreal moment, to be honest, and it reminded me of Donald Miller’s slyly provocative statement in Blue Like Jazz: “It is so, so cumbersome to believe anything.”

As a father, I could imagine the gap between Camden’s mouthing of those four words to start his baseball season and what the seasons of his life will have to say about whether he will practically believe and utter those words – in the world. Likewise, the three triumphant words of Easter’s season – “He is risen” – open a similar gap for the Christ-follower between affirming a meaningful truth and authentically and wholly surrendering to the truth’s meaning – in the world.

Wright asks, so why did Christianity arise? And he begins the answer by saying: “The early Christians themselves reply: we exist because of Jesus’ resurrection.” As I read this, however, I could feel the painful disjointedness of my own existence despite the renewed joints of Jesus.

Wright then traverses a bit through what he calls “false trails” leading away from the tomb. Here, my favorite Wright-ism, in response to the recycled charge of Jesus’ non-death, was his almost blithe quip: “As has been shown often enough, the Romans knew how to kill people.” Indeed.

Rather seriously, Wright goes on to marshal “two scholars who do not appear to believe in Jesus’ bodily resurrection” to remind us that “Christianity began very soon after [Jesus’] death and began as precisely a resurrection-movement.” I appreciated Ed Sanders’ vague but poetic description of the disciples carrying on the “logic” of Jesus’ work in “a transformed situation” even as I mused on Jesus’ words in John 14:12: “…greater works than these will [the one who believes in me] do, because I am going to the Father.”

Suddenly (and this is the anecdotal, coincidental truth), as I typed the above words, a blind instructor from the Virginia Rehabilitation Center for the Blind and Vision Impaired, walked into Stir Crazy Café, a neighborhood coffee shop where I’ve been known to perch. The instructor was teaching another blind man how to navigate the café. (Before you jump to any fantastical conclusions, no, I was not able to pull a “greater work” and heal the man. Besides, if I had, I certainly would’ve tweeted about it. God only knows if the tweet would’ve trended higher than Beck or Bieber.)

Seeing this obviously humble navigation – with my own eyes! – was, in the moment, a remarkable kind of grace. It pushed my nose further out of Wright’s book – into the world. It sent my spirit deeper into Wright’s not-new-but-profoundly-new-considering-the-stripe-of-evangelicalism-I-grew-up-with assertion: that the kingdom of God did not mean for the early Christians “a new personal or spiritual experience, rather a Jewish-style movement designed to establish the rule of God in the world.”

Download Luke 4. You know, where Jesus is handed the Isaiah scroll in the Nazareth synagogue and spellbindingly announces: “He has sent me to proclaim liberty to the captives and recovering of sight to the blind.” “Today this Scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.”

Back in the Richmond coffee shop, of course, this established rule of God comes into direct conflict – literally –with my eyes. Watching the blind student’s walking stick go tap-tap on the floor in search of the coffee shop door, well, how could that not become intellectually and spiritually disturbing? In the moment I wanted to beg the heavens for more kingdom come, for God to resurrect this man’s blindness – like he raised to life Jesus’ body – “in the middle of the present age,” as Wright says. If only that 21st century man could open the damn door, walk out and see.

Right about now, it shouldn’t be very hard to reflect on our own desperately penetrating questions: our exile, our not-yet fulfillment, our agonizing un-renewal. No doubt these questions are our human way of tap-tapping at the door of heaven, with a walking stick. However, at least one thing seems strikingly clear after absorbing Wright’s opening chapter: a “spiritual resurrection” could not inspire the kind of hope needed to face our most earnest questions – in the world.

In the world, then, Mahmood and I sat quietly in a smoke-filled Lebanese restaurant and discussed the parables of Jesus. On this night, Mahmood, a Muslim pre-med student at Virginia Commonwealth University, was distracted by an upcoming presentation on the subject of ancient healing. He told me he was also distracted – intellectually and spiritually – by the healing miracles of Jesus.

Somehow we ventured into the story – detailed in John 9 – where Jesus’ disciples, upon beholding “a man blind from birth,” inquired into the origins of the man’s blindness, supposing it to be a matter of personal or generational sin. Jesus’ response, as you might recall, was morally and theologically incisive: “It was not that this man sinned, or his parents, but that the works of God might be displayed in him.” Jesus then concocted a mud ointment, which he applied to the blind man’s eyes, telling him to wash in a pool. And the rest of the story is all sight.

While the actual miracle is very compelling (for any number of reasons), at the end of the day Mahmood was mesmerized by Jesus’ transcendent answer: “…that the works of God might be displayed in him.” I responded: “It’s quite an answer, isn’t it?”

Having entered the explicit Christian joy that is Eastertide, I can’t help but pray: for my friend, Mahmood, in the middle of Islam; for my son, Camden, in the middle of American-styled civic religion; for that blind man in the coffee shop, in the middle of his physical disability; and for that other “blind man” who’s watching him with good eyes, in the middle of his everyday cup of coffee. Do they really know that Jesus’ God-forsaken death has culminated in his bodily resurrection that the work of God might be displayed – in the world?

Hope was and is a body, a person. Surely the great rising up of everything dead had/has begun.

No wonder Wright remarks, toward the end of the chapter: “[The early church] busily set about redesigning their whole worldview around this new fixed point.” It was as if they believed the new age had dawned in the middle of the present age. And, after all, it is so cumbersome to believe anything.

Nathan F. Elmore lives in Richmond, Virginia, where he pastors, writes and mantains an affinity for the word artisanal.
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The Challenge of Easter {introduction}

The Apostle Paul famously said that if Jesus did not raise from the dead, our “faith is futile.” (I Corinthians 15:17)

Interesting, isn’t it, that Paul did not say that if Jesus had never been born or if Jesus had never lived a perfect life or if Jesus had never gone to the cross (though perhaps he could have said any of these) — our faith is absolutely and utterly pointless. Rather, for Paul, everything hinged on the shattering moment when Mary Magdalene ran to the tomb and amid her tears and sorrow found a tomb empty as empty can be.

For those of us who actually believe this preposterous, unlikely story, we hear the apostle and we might wonder why exactly everything (everything) hangs on this reality. For those of us who dismiss this preposterous, unlikely story, we may hear the apostle and think, “well, sounds about right, all of it is rubbish.”

Wherever we might be, how about reading along and thinking along with us this Easter season. For the first five Mondays of Easter, we will have a different guide reflect on that weeks chapter from Bishop N.T. Wright’s The Challenge of Easter. Five weeks. Five chapters. Five voices.

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Silent Saturday: The Last Day of Lent

Lent draws to a close. For those who haven’t participated in the Lenten Twitter posts, here are a few from the past couple of weeks.

Ponder. Wait. Sit in these silent hours. Joy comes in the morning.

|Good Friday|
The darkest darkness settles over all the kingdoms of men. God has murdered himself.

Sin is shalom-breaking. 
{Cornelius Plantiga}


The Psalms act as good psychologists. They defeat our tendency to try to be holy without being human first. {Kathleen Norris}


Repentance spends less time looking at the past and saying “I’m sorry,” than to the future and saying, “Wow!” {Frederich Buechner}

One is changed by what one loves. {Joseph Brodsky}

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Faux Community

In The Villages, Florida, a well-funded developer has created a planned community unprecedented in vision and scope. The Villages has been created to look historic, look quaint, look pristine. With fake historical plaques, fake railroad tracks, ubiquitous golf carts that look like Bentleys and Mini-Coopers and a population engineered to weed out the undesirables (in this case, the young whipper-snappers), The Villages population has exploded, from 8,000 to 80,000 in ten years.

Here are a few snippets from the recent NPR story:

But history means something different in The Villages. The whole place was built in a year or so, Blechman says. But it has made-up history, including a man-made lake, which is supposed to be 100 years old with a lighthouse, and two manufactured downtowns that were themed by entertainment specialists from Universal Studios…

Everything’s owned by the developer,” he says. “The government is owned by the developer. Everything’s privatized – and they’re happy with that. You know, they’ve traded in the ballot box for the corporate suggestion box.

I don’t fault anyone residing in The Villages for wanting an energetic, beautiful space for spending their golden years with friends, and I’m sure that there is much about life at The Villages to commend it. However, this is a sorrowful ode to our longing for community – we are so desperate for community that we will create a plastic version of it if we must, just to get some modicum of the real thing.

Truthfully, I think that many of us have done the same in our churches. We have put together structures and groups and hang out the shingles that say “community.” If we’re honest with ourselves, though, we have quite a facade going, and we’re shriveling up inside. We’re The Truman Show.

There is no way to get the real thing without the mess. You can’t build much of anything genuine overnight, no matter how well-funded or polished or comprehensive your master plan might be. I can’t discover a lifelong friendship without the mess and mingle of odd-hour coffees, shared experiences, boring seasons, weddings and funerals and long stretches where nothing of any consequence is happening – nothing other than living in the middle of another person’s life, and them in mine.

As one resident said, “Golf carts should look like golf carts.” Amen, sister.

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Guides for our Easter Readings

I am eager for Easter, eager for life. I’m very much looking forward to reading and chatting about N.T. Wright’s The Challenge of Easter here with you. If you haven’t purchased your copy yet, you still can, really. We will discuss chapter one here on Monday – and you can read it in about 15 minutes. 

The Challenge of EasterAlso, Andrew and Tmamome, you won the drawing and haven’t sent me your address. If you still want your copy, let me know ASAP.
One of the things I’m most eager about is having other voices helping us to make this a shared, communal conversation. Each of them will offer a post on one of the chapters (each Monday, beginning this Monday), and I want to introduce them to you.
Nathan Elmore | nathan is a true cohort. He and I worked side by side, dreaming and scheming, in Clemson, SC for almost three years. In those years, he became a brother. He is a man who knows how to properly use the power of metaphor (and that’s saying something). Nathan sees truth (and questions) in things as diverse as fine vino and Jack Black. Nathan doesn’t blog, but (and I’m still processing this) he twitters.
Juli Kalbaugh | juli is the first artist who made me cry because of the beauty and power of her painting. She wrestles hard, loves hard, hopes hard. She and her hubby Corey have been part of our life / family for years and years – and will be for years to come. In fact, they are living with us right now, which is quite a hoot. Juli blogs @ evening soultide.
John Blase | john is the best friend I have that I’ve never actually met. We’ve only connected through the digital reality (in fact, I’m not even sure I’ve ever heard his voice on the phone), but I will tell you this – John and I are kindred spirits. He is my kind of man, my kind of writer. John blogs @ the dirty shame.
Miska Collier | miska is a woman with a fierce heart; she is, in fact – and in every way – the best woman I know. She is a pastor and spiritual director in our little community (All Souls Charlottesville), and when I need to encounter hope or life or Jesus, Miska is very often God’s voice for me. There are people who we say have helped make us who we are – well, I firmly believe that, when my days are done, most of what God will have allowed me to be/say/do will trace its way back to the gift God gave me in Miska.  Miska blogs (but only often enough to make us all feel like she is a tease) @ for the sweet love of god.
Justin Scott | justin is a man of many amazing talents: bangs the keyboard like Ben Folds, opines like David Brooks and works electrical wizardry like someone very famous and electrical-wizardly, but since I know nothing about that field I’m drawing a blank. One of my joys over the last ten years has been watching Justin and Erin step into their place in this world. Justin blogs @ guesswork theory. 
Will you add your voice too? I hope you will. 
The Resurrection really is the center point in this whole story the Gospel is telling. As Jeroslav Pelikan said, “If Jesus rose from the dead, nothing else matters; and if Jesus didn’t rise from the dead, nothing else matters.” 
I wonder if that might be so – and if yes, why? Let’s imagine together…
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A Blessing for Death

This week…
May you gather up everything that you cling to
     as if your life depends on it…

Your reputation, your energy,
     your creativity,
Your business skills, your beauty,
     your contrary nature.
Your fear and your skepticism
     and your greed.
Your story.
Your hurts.
Your hopes.
Your desires that have turned into
     demands.
Those things you hide from others,
And those things you judge others by.

May you gather up these things –
     and everything
     that holds you back from being free…
Your caution that someone may do you wrong.
Your concern that you may get it wrong.
Your haunting fear that God may be wrong.
And in a defiant, courageous, child-like act,
May you fling them all aside –
And run to Jesus
And walk with Jesus to the Cross.
And die.
And then wait in death’s dark tomb.
Wait in death’s dark tomb.
Wait…for Resurrection to break in.

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Easter Book Conversation

The Challenge of EasterEaster is coming, thank God. In Charlottesville, spring has tempted us the past couple days – downtown and the parks have come alive. I know that Lent has not finished its work with me (does it ever, really?)

I’ve been thinking for a while about some new directions I’d like to take my blog, more on that later. However, here’s something I want to do with you right away. For Easter (remember, it’s a season, not a day – it’s 50 days, in fact), I’d like to have a conversation here on resurrection and what it might mean for us in this crazy world and life we are all finding our way through. To facilitate this, I’d like us to read a book together, The Challenge of Easter by N.T. Wright. It’s only 60-odd pages, 5 chapters we would read over 5 weeks. This book is a more digestible version of his work, The Challenge of Jesus (which is in turn a more digestible version his tome, Jesus and the Victory of God).

Here’s what I propose: each Monday of Easter, let’s gather here and discuss one of the chapters. We can react and dream and rant and laugh and basically revel in resurrection. What do you say? The best part may be this – I’ve already recruited 5 different voices to guide one of the weeks of our conversation. So, this is going to be interactive, diverse and hopefully – full of imagination. I want questions, thoughts, disappointments, fears, joy – let’s see where it takes us.

I’d love to know who is in. The book is $6, and you can read the whole thing in less than two hours. Personally, I’d like to spend as much purpose walking into Easter (life) as I have spent walking into Lent (death). So, are you in?

p.s. If 10 of you let me know (in the comment section) that you are on board, I’ll draw a name for a free copy. If 15 of you jump in by Monday, two people will get a free copy. Look for the winner Monday in the comments section.

p.s.s. If you have a blog, perhaps consider getting some of your tribe in on the conversation too.

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Settling Into Lent

We enter the bright sadness. Sad for all that is broken. Bright for what God will awaken. But now the earth is silent and sorrowful.

The calendar tells me I am well into Lent. However, I don’t know how well I’m into the practices and fasts I’ve taken on; they’re coming, but it’s been harder than last year to create the space I want (but resist).

This year, Miska has chosen for me (each of us choose the others’ practice) to be off the computer every night by 8:00 and to have 30 minutes of silence 5 days a week. The computer has been no biggie, but the silence has been more difficult. I’ve fallen asleep. I’ve daydreamed. I’ve chased rabid thoughts around in mental circles, kind of like our dog Daisy when she performs her nightly ritual of chasing her tail in mad whirls.

But at least I’ve shown up, and I know I want more. Grace and quiet and longing invite me in.

I’ve put a daily Lenten post on Twitter. Here is a taste:

Lent is…a preparation to rejoice in God’s love…casting out what cannot remain in the same room with mercy. {Thomas Merton}
  
Ashes are the end of things. The end of what we can make of our world. Our schemes and disguises mercifully burnt to the ground.

The beginning of repentance is homesickness. {Will Weedon}
 
We thrash. We flail. We angle, primp and prop up. Then in shame, we douse and we shrink. Will someone save us from ourselves?

Snag all of them throughout Lent, if you like.

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Sunday Liturgy: Cry to the Lord

A Litany from Deuteronomy 26:5-11:

We are small. We are empty.

We cry to the Lord.

We are strangers and aliens. We are misfits.

We cry to the Lord, the God of our ancestors.
 

We have worked so hard to hold our life together.

We lay down our life, and we bow before you, our God.
 

Do our words just drop into empty space? Does God see us?

The Lord hears us. God sees our affliction and our oppression.
 

Dare we hope?

The Lord will bring us out with a might hand and an outstretched arm.
 

Will we always feel like a stranger, an alien, an outcast in this world?

All of us – and the aliens who live with us — will celebrate God’s bounty.
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Lenten Tweets

Rest assured, the irony of this post’s title is not lost on me. Perhaps no two words in the English language belong together less.

I’ve resisted Twitter. I’ve gone back and forth and then back and then forth. I don’t need more noise. They tell me writers must avail themselves of such things, but I don’t want to use these mediums merely for marketing. And, of course, no one cares one whit to know that:  

12:07  I’m leaving for lunch now 

12:11  I’m driving to lunch

12:19  I’m sitting in line at Burger King because Wendy’s was packed, man, packed!

12:21  Dude, can you believe these lines!?! Still sitting in line. Catching up on facebook, though, so that’s cool

12:23  Burgers are yummy, yo

12:31  Heading back to the office, filled and fulfilled

12:33  Listening to 80’s tunes in the ride, and 80’s rock!

12:38  At the office, 3 hours and 17 minutes to quitting time – but only 91 seconds to my next tweet.

Oh my, we can barely wait.

This week, I’m at a conference in DC; and in this room filled with young culturally-savvy turks, the computers (mostly mac, of course) are constantly humming and the phones (mostly iphone, of course) are constantly zinging. It makes me dizzy. Some of these chaps amaze me with their ability to quatro-task

Still, I’ve had this thought of offering a daily Tweet during Lent. I hesitated, knowing I would instantly lose my aspiring Ludite, anti-tweet cred. But Lent is for giving up and surrendering. Strangely, for me, I think this means I’ll tweet. For Lent.

This Lenten season is going to be important for me, I feel it. I’d love to share it with you. If you’d like to get the tweet each day over the next 40 days, you can follow me here. And if you have no idea what twitter or tweet or follow me mean, well, that’s quite alright.

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