Welcome to the website of a retired United Methodist pastor! This corner of the Internet continues nearly fifty years of a weekly column in a church newsletter, on topics ranging from the ridiculous to the sublime. The opinions expressed are the author's and represent no institution, although it is hoped that within these pages you will find a reflection of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, who, in his own borrowed words, insists that we love God with, along with all the rest of what we are, our minds. "Critical" as used in the title does not mean being nasty or grumpy; it means using intellectual faculties in the service of God. Your reactions, rebuttals, comments, and questions can be addressed to: BobHow9846@comcast.net.
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October 18, 2014 - Williams Connections: Class of 1953 Mini-Reunion October 2014
October 23, 2014 - Reviews 2014 Forward: Memorial Service for Estelle Jackson
October 28, 2014 - Personal Matters: Stamford High School Class of 1949 65th Year Reunion
November 4, 2014 - Williams connections: Class Bulletin about Homecoming
November 6, 2014 - Essays: Cheap Hope
Good Lord, deliver me from unrelentingly cheerful worship; for
Christ's sake. Amen.
That's a prayer I've thought on Sunday mornings. Yeah, I know,
I'm a curmudgeon in the pew. Some think, I suppose, even Jesus couldn't
please me. What I don't get is the reflexive assumption that, after all is said
and done, the church is in the entertainment business. That we should do
whatever it takes to fill the pews, pandering included. Pastors who would never
accede to their children's wishes for a steady diet of French fries and
hamburgers nonetheless set the hymnbook aside in favor of praise songs...
because, you know, learning to sing "For All the Saints" isn't easy, especially
that first note. The pulpit readily swaps Bible paraphrase versions for
the reading in the NRSV in the bench rack, because no one cares that a
translation is authorized or not, and, besides, the paraphrase with its legions
of cliches matches ordinary speech. But, above all else, in worship, dear
pastor, smile, be happy. It worked for Robert Shuller. It works for Joel Osteen.
It can work for you
too. Like the tiny book of aphorisms I grew up with reminds every turned-around collar, "Smile and the world smiles with you; cry and you cry alone."
Right, picture me in the pew with my doleful look while those
around me are swinging and swaying to a contemporary beat.
In a small book every Protestant minister has read (or should
have), and many a Roman Catholic priest, The Cost of Discipleship, the
author, my beloved Bonhoeffer, tries to set straight his fellow Lutherans (and anyone
else prone to a misunderstanding of faith as mere, even if heartfelt, belief).
He coins there a phrase which I predict will be serviceable from now to
eternity: "cheap grace." Loving and serving Jesus ain't easy; it's expensive,
costing a disciple everything he has, heart, mind, and strength.
What I am caviling about in this essay, however, isn't cheap
grace but cheap hope. Turn on your TV to those stations where "Christians"
rule the air waves, and you can listen to the pulpiteer trumpet the
transformational power of faith in which Jesus is pictured (in this curmudgeonly
mind of mine) as a latter day John D. Rockefeller, the dime dispenser, only the
favor the Galilean dispenses is the healing of your wound, your promotion at work,
reconciliation with your spouse, and dollars in your bank account. Just
get right with God, bless his holy name, confess him as your Lord and Savior,
and all these benefits will be yours. That's beautiful, right? Only life
doesn't work that way. Something is missing. The cross. Not Jesus'.
The version of Jesus as power-broker for you ignores the claim
by him, repeated in each of the first three books of the New Testament, that to
follow him means taking up our own cross. Nothing there about personal
benefits to discipleship. Nothing there about putting your hand in the
hand of God's Son and everything will come up roses. Only the summons to a
larger life than you ever imagined, one in which the cross is shouldered, the
strong serve the weak, little children (the most vulnerable of the vulnerable)
are loved and protected, making peace tops the international agenda, and doing
all sorts of self-giving deeds intentionally that give Ayn Rand and Friedrich Nietzsche
What cheap hope for Christ's blessings ignores is the cross of
self-denial. Not my words, Jesus'.
Some people get it, Jesus' idea of costly hope clearly in the
shadow of the cross. Like the medical professionals from this country who
brave the threat of ebola as they respond to the need in West Africa. Like
the late mayor of Boston, Tom Menino, never hankering for higher office, a
public servant who continued his compassionate and persistent governing style
despite the ravages of cancer. Like my buddy Austin who in the throes of
his last illness refused to capitulate to self-pity, continuing to consider
himself (in the words of someone else he surely admired) "the luckiest guy in
the world." They are people who understand the old Sunday School phrase,
"No cross, no crown." Like Nelson Mandela, whose achievement in South
Africa - the reconciliation of forces seemingly dedicated to destroying each
other, peace accomplished by making forgiveness a national policy - shines
brighter and brighter in a world where tribal hatreds remain the rule; and
Mandela did it with most of his lifetime in jail. Like my own mother, a
parentless immigrant to these shores at nine years of age and never went to school thereafter,
who dreamed that a child of hers would go to college; and she housed and fed
roomers during the Depression to make it so: her stigmata were knuckles rubbed
raw from washing my socks.
I would encourage Joel and Creflo and John (Hagee), and anyone
else occupying the podium in a grand auditoria to acquaint themselves
with my pantheon of heroes for whom hope in the saving power of Jesus Christ was
confirmed by shouldering, not avoiding, the cross.
So... my dear, dear liturgist, before you invite me to pray
with you, please lay aside the promises of cheap hope; keep your eyes on the
cross; and hold in your heart a far larger vision of life and faith than "what's
in it for me."