Tag Archives: christianity

The Cross On Wheels Religion

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PHOTO BY PATRICK T. FALLON/GETTY IMAGES

This photo is a perfect illustration of the civil religion that masquerades as Christianity in North America.

It uses Christian imagery and language.

It sings the songs and feels the feels. 

It makes converts to its cause.

It prays the prayers, it quotes the Bible. 

It draws crowds and calls it revival.

But it sacrifices little and makes it easier to follow Jesus by replacing his way with something much more palatable and practical. Like wheels on an instrument of torture and death. 

It will wear the cross as jewelry, but it cannot, will not, bear the burden of the cross in its totality.

The burden of loving enemies. Or neighbors, if they are too inconvenient.

It will seldom turn the other check. Likely never turn a sword into a plow and will, in fact, call you names for suggesting we do so.

It will not be critiqued and will call any pushback “persecution.”

It employs fear and scarcity to drive conformity.

It will not repent of bias and bigotry because it trades deep self-examination for shallow self-improvement.

It dismisses systemic change because it thrives in the system as is.

It will not tear down its idols because the idols all parrot the right words and promise power and privilege and position.

It has built itself in such a way that talking points and statements of belief matter more than flesh and blood humanity.

It offers wealth and upward mobility, 3 quick steps to breakthrough, and all the assurance that you’re one of the good guys.

And it confuses this nation (and the partisanship that comes with it) for the upside down, nationless Kingdom of God. 

The cross on wheels religion is a sham. Whether fully embraced or sprinkled in here and there, it distorts the Gospel and hinders the work of the Church. It has shown up time and again throughout history (and Scripture), but despite how often it invokes the name, it is a stranger to the God revealed in Jesus Christ. 

There is another way. A better way. It’s much less glamorous and the crowds are often smaller.

This way will require all of you. A change of mind and heart and allegiance. It will ask for more than a simple prayer or attendance at worship gatherings or social media posts like this one. It will ask you to lay down your life and embrace the stranger and insist that the last go first. It is not terribly pragmatic. 

But it is good. It is grace-filled and spacious and life giving. It is the way that follows after Jesus and bears fruit like kindness and gentleness and self-control. And joy and peace and love and patience. It is the way of mercy and justice and line erasing and deep, meaningful faithfulness in the face of all that has gone wrong.

There are many different ways to be a Christian in this world, but they don’t all look like Jesus of Nazareth. He is not a mascot or a means to an end. He isn’t a prop or commodity. He asks more than lip service and certainly more than faith interwoven with something as fallible as a nation state.

He is not seeking to hand us the American dream or whisk us away to some far-off afterlife. He is redeeming all creation. Making all things new. He invites us to stumble along the way with him as he repairs all that is broken in the us and the world. And as his cross – the one without the training wheels – testifies, there are no shortcuts to a better world.

No weapon formed against you.

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“No weapon formed against you shall prosper.”

I keep seeing this Bible verse in response to the violent attempt against Donald Trump’s life.

I am glad he survived – and violence has no place in our politics – but this usage of Scripture is nonsense at best and idolatrous with ease.

This verse is from Isaiah 54, where the writer is speaking to Jerusalem, the city, the center of the Jewish faith. It is not about a person, then or now.

Neither Trump nor Biden are Jerusalem. They are not the center of faith – at least not any faith that isn’t blasphemous.

We cannot grab any ole verse out of context and apply it to our current situation.

Anyone quoting Isaiah 54 would likely be upset by someone else quoting Revelation 13, “One of the beast’s heads looked like it had sustained a mortal wound, but its fatal wound was healed. Rapt with amazement, the whole world followed the beast.”

Gross, right?

The Bible is not about Trump or Biden. Or the USA. Or any election.

God is not promising no harm will be done to your preferred political candidate (or pastor or modern nation state or pro athlete or you).

Even Jerusalem has suffered harm and violence after these words were originally spoken.

And what of Corey Comperatore, who lost his life to a bullet intended for the former president? Why do weapons formed against a politician not prosper, but weapons against fire fighters in the audience do? Or kids in classrooms?

For Christians, this is particularly perplexing because the guy we follow was crucified, died, and buried. Escaping death and harm is no where promised to us. We are people who believe in laying down our lives, not sanctified bubble wrap.

Ascribing God-ordained protections or callings to a modern political candidate is a dangerous game. These readings elevate people to a status that does not belong to them. They become deified, infallible, untouchable in ways that lead us astray. It keeps us from asking the questions we should be asking, pushing back where we should be pushing back, and marries our good God to these less than perfect people and platforms.

So, if you’d made it this far, reject violence and reject shallow readings of Scripture. Reject reading the Bible as an out of context magic 8 ball. Reject the idea that God can only use one person or that some people are above accountability or correction or even death because they are “anointed.”

We can do better than this.

The Weary World Rejoices

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This year I am weary. Maybe it’s my cynicism flaring up, but I feel the weight of our present reality more acutely than in years past.

I’m worn out by our political climate. I’m tired of the name calling and the line drawing, the hypocrisy and the partisanship. I’m tired from holding my tongue and I’m tired from speaking up (however infrequently). I’m fatigued by our lack of decency and our infatuation with power at any cost.

I’m worn out by the Church too. From our political idolatry for sure, but also our constant bickering over petty stuff. I’m tired of watching people walk away from faith because they were shown an inaccurate view of God. I’m drained by self-appointed gatekeepers intent on keeping people out. I’m worn out by church as entertainment and the pull to chase crowds and celebrity. I ache for congregations doing their best to be faithful in a world that has no time for them. And I’m tired of story after story about how we who are called to bless the world have instead wounded God’s beloved.

I’m exhausted from grief as I see people limp through life. From those who are denied justice to those who have made a mess of things.

I see friends and family and strangers on the internet who carry heavy loads. Who battle trauma and depression and estrangement. I watch as people wrestle with doubt and hardship and diagnoses that suck the life right out of them. People we love and people who are us have struggled in finances and bodies and loneliness and child rearing and every single other thing. It has run us ragged.

I’m tired from the 24 hour news cycle. The constant outrage. The constant apathy. The refugee crisis and gun violence and racism and terrorism and war and suicide and consumerism and all of it.

I’m weary from all the times I’ve blown it and all the times I wish I had chosen differently. I am even tired from knowing I have it better than so many others and my seeming inability to bring about progress.

I am weary.

And yet.

The old song sings, “A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices, for yonder breaks, a new and glorious morn.”

A thrill of hope that Jesus is here. On our side. At work. Restoring. Redeeming. Re-orienting us.

Despite our brokenness. Despite our shame. Despite our constantly screwing it up and never getting it all right, God is with us.

God sees our mess and moves toward us to show us the way. The way out of and away from all the things that beat us down. A God who comes not to burden us but to carry our burdens for and with us.

A God who comes to the bedraggled and barely making it. To battered souls and threadbare faiths. A God who comes and offers unconditional love and incomprehensible peace even in the midst of all that is wrong.

I believe there will be a day when weariness will be no more and darkness will be banished and justice will roll like a river. I believe in a day with no more sickness or political pandering or shattered hearts.

However far off that day feels, Christmas reminds us that it isn’t out of reach. A better world is on the way. The someday we await is just over there, as close as the next dawn.

The light of eternal sunrise is waking from its slumber. It creeps across the horizon, slowly stretching its warm fingers and chasing away all that is shadow. It will not, can not be held back.

When we look for it we can see it. When we are uncertain we can walk toward it. When we are undone by the weight of it all we can rest in and celebrate the goodness of God’s coming.

Even our longing for rest and wholeness serves as a reminder that God is on the move. With us. When we hurt. When we fail. When we want to crawl into bed and sleep for a decade. When hope feels more like an ache than an excitement.

God is near. The sun will rise. The angels will sing. Our tears will be dried. And life and light will bring all that we need.

So rejoice, weary world. Lift up your head. You are not forgotten. You are not alone. All will be made new. Love has come.