The God of Everyday

"Behold, as the eyes of the servants look unto the hand of their masters, and as the eyes of the maiden look unto their mistress, so our eyes wait upon the Lord our God, until He has mercy upon us." Ps. 123:2

There is an art to waiting in the Christian life that we modern Christians have yet to even acquire, much less master. Paradoxically, waiting is the most intense trial of faith precisely because it is not intense. Of course, times of jubilation are not as difficult, but neither are storms of troubles. At least in a storm, something is happening that you can lock your energies and attention onto. The void is filled with chaos, but at least it is filled. In the waiting, however, there is nothing so momentous as jubilation or troubles. Just as it is in the scabbard that the sword is most likely to rust, so too it is in the waiting that our faith can rust. It is easier to slip out of trusting reliance on God when we feel like we don't need Him right now. In the good times, we know that we need Him because it is He who brings the good because He is the good. Likewise, in the bad times, we know that we need Him because only He can save us. Thus, it is in the times of stillness and silence, where there is neither a positive nor negative fever-pitch, that we can forget Him and lean to our own understanding.
Do not get confused. "Stillness and silence" does not mean "boring," or even "normal". For the Christian, there are no "normal" days as the world defines "normal"; all days are miraculous, and that is the key. In the midst of the still and silent days, God is still with us, and He continually interacts in our lives; "small graces" is how one songwriter described it. It is the continually presence of God in our lives, both in big and small graces, that defines the "art" of waiting for the Christian, i.e., to discern God's presence in every moment, not just the times of jubilation or trouble. It is the concept of mythic eyes: see God everywhere, everyday. This is not an empirical eisegesis, i.e., reading God into everything; rather, it is an empirical exegesis, i.e., discerning God's actual presence everyday, because He is with us everyday. He does not take a holiday. He is not merely involved in our great joys and sorrows, moments of triumph as well as crisis and failure; He is also involved in the minor minutia of our lives as well.
Think of it this way: In human relationships (esp. marriage), there are times of joy and sorrow, and strong relationships are built upon those moments. However, far more prevalent than the times of exultation and tragedy are the days "in between," the days when life is simply lived at a steady pace. It is those days that form the bulk of our lives, and thus those days that will build the bulk of the relationship. Any relationship that can remain through times of joy and sorrow but cannot maintain itself in the "in between" is doomed to failure. It is the same with us and God. God does not want us on the good and bad days; He wants us everyday, and we have to learn to likewise want Him as well.
In the movie Shenandoah, a boy name Sam wanted to marry Mr. Anderson's daughter. Anderson (played by Jimmy Stewart) asked him two questions. The first was, "Do you love her?" When Sam said yes, Anderson's response was, "Well, Sam, that's not good enough." He then asked his second question: "Do you like her?" When Sam said that he did, Anderson concludes with, "If you don't like her, then those nights can get cold!" Within the context of this scene, perhaps you will understand my next statement: God not only "loves" us; He also "likes" us. He is our God, our good Heavenly Father and holy Lord and Savior, everyday. It is in the waiting that we can most learn that truth, just as in a marriage it is in the days "in between" that we learn just how much someone really loves us, and how much we really love them.

-Jon Vowell

Minor Minutia

"I was glad when they said unto me, 'Let us go into the house of the Lord. Our feet shall stand within thy gates, O Jerusalem....' Pray for the peace of Jerusalem.... Because of the house of the Lord our God, I will seek thy good." Ps. 122:1-2, 6a, 9

The reason that Jerusalem was given such high status by the Jews was because it was the home of the Temple, i.e., the dwelling place of God. Peace was prayed for not for Jerusalem's sake, but rather because of the Temple ("Because of the house of the Lord our God"). By itself, the city was (and is) nothing; just another temporary home of man.
Many, however, still mistakenly pray for peace in Jerusalem because they think that it is the city that is important. It is not. What is important is God, and Him dwelling amongst man. To confuse the cynosure here is similar to what the Israelites did with the ark (I Sam. 4:3): they deemed the ark itself as important rather than the God who the ark represented.
We continue such mistakes today. Though there are plenty of things worth fighting for, we more often than not fight and nit-pick with much candor about minor minutia (frivolous things like denominational jingoism and established lists of approved and disapproved Bible translations, musical preferences, and hair styles). Meanwhile, important things (like God) get lost in the shuffle, and we fall from being the light of the world into just another religion; for the world does not need or rules or opinions. They need God, which means that they need Jesus, the only way back to God (John 14:6).

-Jon Vowell

When We Leave the Temple Behind

"I will lift up my eyes to the hills. Where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth." Ps. 121:1-2 (WEB)

This psalm, though written before the Exile, was a favorite of the exiles. As they were taken from their homes, they would quite literally "lift up [their] eyes to the hills," i.e., to Jerusalem and the Temple. As the will of God was further accomplished, all that was familiar and known was removed. Only God was left. Sometimes, many times, that is the way that it should be.
I have observed that many (including myself) view faith as going further and further into a bright and open place, with everything becoming clearer and clearer. Now, however, I think that such a view is mistake. A much more accurate (i.e., biblical) view is to say that faith is travelling deeper and deeper into darkness, a "deep but dazzling darkness," as Vaughan put it. Rather than a bright and open place, it is more like descending into the cave of a great mountain, with the daylight fading behind us the deeper that we go in. Spiritually speaking, a heavy dimness falls thicker and thicker over everything expect for one, i.e., God as He has revealed Himself to us. This seems to be the lesson about faith taught in Job: the greater the faith, the thicker the perplexity. The deeper that we go, the closer that we get, the more and more all other lamps go out. God Himself is shrouded in clouds and darkness (Ps. 97:2). All that we have is the light that He sows for us (Ps. 97:11), burning coals dropped like bread crumbs, each one urging us to move forward. Those lights are His word, His revelation to us, and thus even though He oft times hidden, He is never far. When we leave the Temple behind (which I believe is the proper definition of faith), we take God with us, for He is with us.
What I have discovered in my own life is that the life of faith means having God "clear the field," so to speak: all things familiar and certain, any chance for us to categorize, plan, and be confident of tomorrow, is utterly removed. In an immediate sense, things become more unknowable and uncertain, until the only thing left that we know for sure is God. All other people and circumstances have become shadows. That is what the life of faith is: certainty about God, uncertainty about everything else. God has revealed to us that He is holy (Is. 6:3), and that He has called us to holiness (I Pet. 1:15-16), and that He will accomplish that goal (Phil. 1:6). What he has not revealed is exactly how that will unfold in our individual lives, and it is on that point that we grow frustrated. We grow weary with waiting, and fall into two deadly snares. One is where we begin to place confidence in ourselves: "Perhaps I must do something." Such a confidence is always cursed.
The other snare is where we believe that the darkness is a result of our own stupidity and failure: "If only I was a stronger Christian things would be clearer!" Clarity belongs to those who are afraid of the dark, i.e., children. Those who have been grown up by the Lord are old enough to descend into His darkness, into a deeper trust in Him, which means a deeper knowledge of and love for Him. Faith is not our meager service to God whereby we earn enough brownie points to play with the grown ups in the burning sunlight. Rather, faith is the process (the "journey") by which we are drawn closer and closer to our destination, i.e., God Himself. We are drawn closer when we trust Him, but trust means nothing if everything is clear and sunny. Trust means that a shadow has been placed over everything. Not just any shadow, however, but the shadow of the Almighty; for it is only in that shadow that we find the secret place of God (Ps. 91:1). Leave your "temple" behind, and do not grow weary with the waiting, but rather go deeper still into the dark with your Father, Lover, and Friend.

-Jon Vowell

Shrubs in the Desert

"It is better to trust in the Lord than to put confidence in man. It is better to trust in the Lord than to put confidence in princes." Ps. 118:8-9

It is said in Jeremiah that "the man that trusteth in man" is like a shrub in the desert (Jer.17:5-6), which is a very apt description. The world of man is a wilderness and wasteland, both dry and thirsty. All who embrace that desolation and reject the Lord, who is "the fountain of living waters," shall be ashamed (Jer. 17:13).
This trusting "in man" comes in three ways. One is on a governmental level ("in princes"). Those who trust in the ruling chops of mankind have been disappointed continually. All empires eventually become history, their glory reduced to decadence and tyranny before being reduced to dust. Those who still cling to human ruling bodies for salvation will be ashamed in the end.
Another way we trust "in man" is on a corporate level ("in man"). We may lose faith in governments, but not humanity in general. We still hold out hope for mankind, and thus we try to think the best of people. The idea is that, though we have made many mistakes, we have also made many progresses, and we will one day dig ourselves out of the hole that we are in, whether we do it by reason, peace, war, or love. Those who think such are continually ashamed, for mankind fails continually. Our best efforts and good intentions are forever reduced to rubble and ruin, more often than not being turned on their heads in the process. We constantly laud the newest thing and romanticize the former things, all the while unaware (whether intentionally or not) that we are caught up in an endless cycle of our own fallenness, futility, and failure.
The last way that we trust "in man" is on a personal level, i.e., we trust in ourselves, leaning to our own understanding. We too shall be ashamed, and cry out with the psalmist, "My flesh and my heart faileth..." (Ps. 73:26a). We are the shrubs in the desert: there is no life in us, no living water. Whether we remain alone or congregate with other shrubs, or form coalitions and governments of shrubbery, we are all still shrubs in the desert: burnt, dry, and barren. When the heat and drought rage, we shall wither and fade.
All of this is plain logic, which is to say that it is mere common sense: If the Bible is true, and we are in fact dead in trespasses and sins, and God alone is life and light, then what business have we in hoping in ourselves? It is the height of ignorance and arrogance, yet we see it all the time. Man continues to trust "in man," and thus man is continually cursed: continually worn and weary, our efforts continually futile delusions of grandeur. The dust of the desert continually flies up into our faces; our eyes and throats burn with the dryness of it all. Still, we continue to trust in ourselves, and all the while an infinite water supply, water presenced with the very life of God, is offered to us without cost (Is. 55:1-2).

-Jon Vowell

Mercy and Truth

"O praise the Lord, all ye nations; praise Him, all ye people. For His merciful kindness is great toward us, and the truth of the Lord endureth forever. Praise ye the Lord." Ps. 117

Do you praise the Lord for His mercy? Do you praise Him for the light that He gives for the darkness within? Do you praise Him for the way that He overlooks your faults and doubts and gives you good things? Where would we be without the mercy of God? We would be nothing, for we are already and always nothing without Him. If it was not for His mercy at the Cross, we still would be lost. If it were not for His continually mercy day by day, we would be forever wandering and confused, stumbling over our own feet. He has not left us in the dark womb of death; He has brought us to new life, to new birth. Yet neither has He left us orphans in the howling wilderness, for He is not merely our physician but our father also. He feeds us and tends to us and teaches us how to walk. We will need such care our whole lives, and He is ready and able to give it, mercy continually, clouds and fire by day and night. Do we praise Him for His mercy, the mercy that is merciful even when we forget to praise Him for it, or when we lack the words? Praise Him for His merciful kindness, His loving kindness, which is better than life.
Do you praise the Lord for His truth? Do you praise Him for the light that He gives for the darkness without? Do you praise Him for giving to ignorant and unworthy men the secrets of the divine, even the "deep things of God" (I Cor. 2:9-10)? Do you praise Him for giving you guidance in the night season and all the day long? Where would we be without the truth of God? Again, we would be nothing. We would fumble about in the dark, headed we know not where, groping at we know not what, meant for we know not what. We would be forever trapped in that terrible prison of having only the journey and no destination. Yet God has given us His truth like a lamp in the night (Ps. 119:105). He has shown us not only the path of salvation, but also the path of holiness. He has not lead us to the Cross only to snuff out the light there. He stays with us, an ever-present fireside, to warm us and to light the way; for He is not merely our savior, but out guide and comforter also, our constant companion, leading us home. Do we praise Him for His truth, and for His listening ear that gives us the truth when we ask for it? Do we praise Him for the truth that comes in the midst of our doubts to help our unbelief, rather than abandon us to it? Praise Him for His truth, our light in the dark, the sun, moon, and stars of our souls. Praise Him for His truth that is true, and that shall never pass away nor change.

-Jon Vowell

Real Presence (Or, Haunted)

"I love the Lord, because He hath heard my voice...." Ps. 116:1a

"...ye have known God, or rather are know of God...." Gal. 4:9a

We do not worship God because He is a spirit. There is nothing praise-worthy about being a spirit: the Devil is a spirit. Nor do we worship Him because He is powerful, for mere power is grounds only for fear rather than worship. Nor even do we worship Him because of His goodness, for mere goodness is static goodness, and inconsequential to us and anything else. The reason that we worship God, praising Him in word and song and deed, the reason that we have given our hearts to Him alone, is because He is not inconsequential; "He hath heard" our voice.
All the goods of men are but silent stone and dumb wood, made from men's hands, mindless mirrors of their own emptiness (Ps. 115:2-8). Any spiritual peace available to us must be sought out by our own effort: we work and we search and we struggle; we grope about in the dark, uncertain if what we have grasped hold of is in fact what we have been looking for. We are, in such scenarioes, indeed the blind men with the elephant: destined and doomed to never know.
The Christian, however, is in love with and enraptured by God already, because this God has come to them: He dwelt with them once (John 1:14) and dwells with them still (I Cor. 6:19; II Cor. 6:16). Christianity is not another religion of maxims and moral living; it is a religion of presence, the presence of the living God who is there. Even our holy book (whereas others are mere codes of conduct) is full of the same presence (God-breather: II Tim. 3:16; God's dynamic life: Heb. 4:12). True Christians are different from every other religionists and spiritualists, every other holy man and guru, because they are (in a word) haunted, continually in the presence of another, i.e., the God who goes with them; with them (see Josh.1:9)! That is the great difference-maker, the great deal-breaker. Leave all the other religions of man to their fumbling about in the dark; give us instead the Light that walks amongst us, with us, and in us.

-Jon Vowell

Non Nobis Domine

"Not unto us, O Lord, not unto us; but unto Thy hame may all the glory be, for Thy mercy and Thy truth's sake." Ps. 115:1

"When Jesus heard [of Lazarus' illness], he said, 'This sickness is not for death, but for the glory of God that the Son of God might be glorified thereby.'" John 11:4

"[The chief priests and Pharisees said,] 'If we let Him alone like this, all men will believe on Him, and the Romans shall come and take away both our place and nation.'" John 11:48

Psalm 115 gives us a comparison of God with idols (vs. 2-9), with the conclusion being that while God is the Lord of Heaven (vs. 3), idols are nothing more than "the work of men's hands" (vs. 4), and "they that make them are like unto them, and so is everyone that trusteth in them" (vs. 8). There seemed to be an understanding amongst the Hebrews that the comparison of God to idols was not a comparison of God to other gods but rather a comparison of God to man, which is no comparison at all (hence the foolishness of idolatry). Idol worship is the glorification, not of lesser gods, but of man over God.
This is why the Pharisee's sentiment concerning Jesus is so dangerous. Whereas Jesus continually stressed the glory of the Father in all things, the Pharisees were more concerned with the maintenance and exaltation of themselves and their country, their very own "work of their hands."
It is very easy to glide over idolatry when we view it as simply the worship of false gods. We are civilized (so we say); we no longer have pagan totems or temples. If, however, idolatry is actually more basic, if it is simply to worship the work of your hands and therefore is subsequently self-worship, then we all have blood on our hands. It is easy to love ourselves, and it is easy to love the work of our hands: our humanity desires expression and commendation of that expression. The problem is when we glorify ourselves by glorifying the work, when all glory belongs to God, a glory sought not out of egotism, but out of love, for only when God is glorified are we wholly human.
This does not mean that we must never create (if so, then why are the Psalms scripture?). What it does mean is that every creation of our hands, and our understanding of ourselves as creatures, must keep in mind at all times the supremacy (and majesty) of the Creator. It is "in Him we live and move and have our being" (Acts 17:28), and thus every work of our hand is really a work of His hand. To claim otherwise is idolatry, which is pride, which is sin.
Nothing falls outside the grasp of the glory of God, not even evil (John 11:4). Why then should we think that the works of our hands are immune? Let all things be done for the glory of God, for all things are done to the glory of God. Any assertion to the contrary is a delusion on our part of the way things really are. How foolish will be the one who worships a creation that, on the day when "every knee" will bow, it itself will worship the Creator? If the works of our hands could speak, they would mimic the words of the angels, who said to any that worshipped them, "See that thou do it not, for I am thy fellow servant.... Worship God" (Rev. 19:10; 22:8-9).

-Jon Vowell

Fit for Fire

"...the god that answereth by fire, let Him be God." I Kings 18:24

The god who reveals himself, let Him be God. This is the answer to the "black box" puzzle: if you have a black box that is completely sealed and utterly impenetrable, how do you know what is inside? You can know what is inside if the thing inside it (1) is there, and (2) is not silent. If the thing inside reaches out to communicate somehow, then we can know what is inside. Our God is the same: our belief in Him is not based in blindness and good feelings but rather His revelations. He has answered by fire, and thus He is God.
"Is not my word like a fire?" (Jer. 23:29) The word of God is full of dynamic life and strength ("quick and powerful," Heb. 4:12) like a fire. It has burned the world for thousands of years, sending up smoke and incense alike into the eyes and nose of many. God has written to us, has set down in words and language His ways and His works. There are many holy books of men, but only one word of God, only one that burns like a flaming coal in the night, rekindling any ash it touches, and setting ablaze the deadwood of the wilderness; for the world is indeed a wilderness in need of fire.
"I am come to send fire on the earth" (Luke 12:49). Was not our Lord a fire as well? Was He not (and is He is still) a burning light to the world? Did He not (as Ms. Sayers put it) pass through this world "like a flame"? Read the Gospels, and you will see people, when confronted with Jesus, acting as though they were handling a fire. Herein is God's second answer: He has come to us and dwelt among us (John 1:14). The Morning Star has touched the dust of the earth, and the fire that He started can never be quenched. The works that He did bare witness to who He is (John 10:24-25), so that we are without excuse.
"The day of the Lord will come..., and the elements shall melt with a fervent heat..." (II Pet. 3:10). There is one last answer that God will give, one that is yet to come. The Second Coming of Christ, the day of God's judgment, will be the final word to all doubters and skeptics. There will come a day, as in Elijah's, when fire will once again fall from heaven before the eyes of the world, and all people will once again fall on their faces and say, "The Lord, He is God! The Lord, He is God!" (I Kings 18:39)
"...our God is a consuming fire" (Heb. 12:29). Our God can and will only answer by fire because He is fire. To know Him is to take fire into your bosom, a flaming coal to your lips. His burning is holiness: to kiss Him is to be purged of all damage and defects; to know Him is to be one with a furnace. Once, being sinners filthy and frail, we would have melted into ash in the presence of such a flame. However, through the blood of Christ, we are reconciled back to God (Rom. 5:1, 8-11; II Cor. 5:17-19; Eph. 1:7), back to the fire; and like the three young men in the furnace of Nebuchadnezzar, we walk unharmed because we do not walk alone. He has made us fit for fire, and for that we worship Him.

-Jon Vowell

God With Us: Unperverted Medievalism

"Who is like unto the Lord our God, who dwelleth on high, who humbleth Himself to behold the things that are in heaven and in earth!" Ps. 113:5-6

"What is man that Thou are mindful of him? And the son of man, that Thou visitest him?" Ps. 8:4

"[Jesus], being in the form of God, thought equality with God to not be a stolen prize, but made Himself of no reputation, and...humbled Himself, and became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross." Phil. 2:6-8

If there is one great ignorance today that every Christian must be embattled against (in word and deed, art and activity), it is the prevalent yet unspoken assumption that God (if He is there at all) is detached and disconnected from us and our lives. Pay close attention to the popular mindset of western culture: if the average person believes in God at all, it is usually a God that is more distant than the furthest star; He is far and away, and thus is small. He may be great, and even good; but He is ultimately inconsequential (and perhaps a bit distracted). This accounts for the strange way in which God is typically "handled" by most people (in and outside of the arts): the friendly buddy, the deadpan business exec., the booming voice in inaccessible light, etc. Regardless of the form, the theme remains: distant, inconsequential, or both. In a kind of perverted medievalism, we believe that we are far removed and sequestered off from God, that the only worse spot than us is the icy fires of hell. God is over "there" and we are over "here" with an immeasurable gulf fixed between us, and that is the end of the discussion.
Such a scenario is "perverted" medievalism because it is missing the truth of the Incarnation, and thus it is robbed of all hope; for what is Incarnation but the reality that God has stepped in (or rather down) into our sequestered area with us. Herein lies the proper response (again in word and deed) to the aforementioned ignorance: Immanuel, i.e., God with us. The concept of Immanuel is a heavy theme throughout the entire Bible. It is, of course, a strong New Testament topic, but the Old Testament Hebrews were not foreign to it. God's literally and personally meeting with His people in the Temple and tabernacle is a constant historical motif, while plenty of stories abound of the "visitor" God, whether it was discussions of faith and promise over a meal (Gen. 18), a fight in the night (Gen. 32:22-30), or a whirlwind in answer to a question (Job 38). The theme of the visitor-God crescendoed in Christ, but it remained the constant melody of the symphony of Scripture; and it is that theme that we must reassert today.
Mankind cannot take a disconnected deity. Though much lip-service is given to the thought of how happy we would be if God would "just leave us alone," the truth is (logically as well as historically) that His silence disturbs us; we could fare better with His non-existence than His indifference. Thus, if there is one thing that Christianity must do, it is to assert with absolute clarity and beauty the reality of God with us. "Immanuel" must be our constant theme. We must, in a sense, "unpervert" the current medievalism and reassert the old, i.e., though our Sin has separated us from God, He has come incarnate to us to save us from our Sin, so that now our silent planet can be filled to the brim with His song.

-Jon Vowell

"That also is a mystery..."

"So there was a division among the people because of Him." John 7:43

John 7:2 through 10:21 chronicles the events surrounding Jesus' visit to the temple at Jerusalem during the Feast of Tabernacles. Many notable events occur, containing several reoccurring themes. John 7:43, however, captures one of the most interesting themes, a theme whose implications are highly important.
It is an error to claim that Jesus was an enigma to only one group of people. The truth of the Gospels (esp. John) is that Jesus was an enigma to everyone. Of course, the Pharisees did not get Him, but neither did His family, or His disciples, or the Jews, or the Gentiles, or the woman caught in adultery, or the man born blind. From the highest rungs of political and religious power, to the lowest dregs of societal outcasts, the theme was the same: Jesus astounded and confounded; and all the while (esp. John 7:2-10:21), Jesus continued to hammer another theme essential to the former: (1) I am of God; (2) anyone who is of God gets me; (3) if you don't get me, then you are not of God. Even that bit of logic escaped them (John 8).
Perhaps these two intrinsically linked themes (Jesus' enigma caused by being from God) is what Paul was trying to express by the whole "conform/transform" dichotomy (Rom. 12:2). Jesus seemed to express the same thing in John 15:19: "If ye were of the world, the world would love its own; but because ye are not of the world (because I have chosen you out of the world), therefore the world hateth you." The author of Hebrews shares the same sentiment with their image of "strangers and pilgrims on the earth" (Heb. 11:13-14), and John adds his own voice when he said, "We are of God: he that knoweth God heareth us; he that is not of God heareth us not" (I John 4:6a). There seems to be an assumption in Scripture that those who are "of God" through Christ are necessarily a strange bird to everyone else. Some Rubicon has been crossed. Our relation to the world and its people has changed, and it will not and cannot be the same ever again; for we are no longer of this world (John 17:16).
Hence comes the frustrating tension of the "in the world but not of it" scenario, and the battles lines over this issue are drawn deep. Factions vary, but most can be safely grouped into two camps. One camp (we shall call them "Relevantists") claims (quite truthfully) that people are weary of an impersonal and sloganeering Christianity, detached from their lives and concerns; the truths of God must matter to them (who they are and where they are) before they will accept them. This particular camp condemns their opponents of being too aloof and "hands-off". Their favorite words of commendation are "real," "relevant," and "authentic"; their favorite words of condemnation are "Pharisaical," "fake," and "disingenuous". Meanwhile, the other camp (we shall call them "Sanctificationists") claims (again, quite truthfully) that we are clearly called to "be holy" as God "is holy," and to be bound up in the trappings and garb of the world will corrupt us and subsequently ruin our evangelism; the world needs and seeks holiness, and if we do not emit holiness then we have nothing to offer them. This particular camp condemns their opponents of being too down-and-dirty and "hands-on". Their favorite words of commendation are "godliness," "holiness," and "holy"; their favorite words of condemnation are "worldly," "fleshly," and "carnal".
Both sides equally claim that their way is the "Christ-like" way and that the other's way will (and is) sabotage and destroy the Christian mission. The rest of us are caught in the middle of these two trends, pulled by each side's truths and repelled by their errors. We do feel the necessity of relevance and honesty, yet feel that our Relevantist brothers and sisters are a bit too comfortable with the world. Likewise, we do feel the necessity of holiness and separation, yet feel that our Sanctificationist brothers and sisters are a bit too disconnected with the world. Thus, the frustrating tension continues without a resolution.
Oh, and guess what? Jesus does not help us on this point. He is still confounding, especially since both Relevantists and Sanctificationists quote Him to prove (and quite clearly prove) their respective cases! Jesus ate with sinners; He also met with Nicodemus. He argued against the unbelief of the Pharisees and the common folk, and thus committed Himself to no one. He told the woman at the well, a Samaritan and enemy, strange thoughts and astounding knowledge; and she believed, and He welcomed her. Yet this same Jesus told a rich young ruler, a man eager and ready to follow Him, strange thoughts and astounding knowledge; but the man went away, and Jesus did not go after Him. His enemies were divided over Him, but so where His own disciples. The self-righteous could not understand Him, but neither did the broken and downcast. Neither Relevantists and Sanctificationists nor any other group can claim Jesus as solely theirs. It is as if He belongs to no one but Himself. He is untouchable, as if the understood arrangement is "He does not belong to you; you belong to Him."
It seems to me (an admittedly unlearned man of faith and the Faith) that all of the movements and groups that try to make Jesus their "example" (a better word would be "mascot") are merely committing the unintentionally yet rather serious error of trying to completely rationalize and categorize what is inherently mysterious. The life of a Christian is the life of Christ, and the life of Christ is the life of God; and the life of God--that triune dance, that sovereign power so great that it can allow for free agents and yet cause no injury to its omnipotence, that love and wrath burning and boiling to their uttermost side by side, that immutable yet jealous zeal, the life of God--is inherently mysterious. It is with that life that we are made one in Christ (John 17:20-23). Why, then, do we act like we should make sense?
Madeleine L'Engle quoted some Cardinal (I forget his name) as saying that we are to live in such a way that our lives would make no sense if there was no God. I think that about perfectly sums it up. Jesus frustrated the logic and sensibilities of everyone, and the end result was either (1) they collapsed with their logic, or (2) their logic collapsed and they could finally see the truth (Matt. 21:42-44). Are we not called to be made into the same image? We are the living mysteries: we touch and yet are untouchable; so very real and yet so unreal. We frustrate and confound, yet none can turn away. Something within us burns with a fervent heat and living light, something that equally appalls and attracts. That something is not our charm and honesty, our righteousness and godliness; it is the life of the living God, surging through us like electricity through a conduit. At least, that is how it should be. For now, most of us (if not all of us) are tangled up in our own misconceptions and subsequent inconsistencies and inadequacies, faithfully missing the point and the mark. Yet God's grace fills up the crack of our imperfects, and makes (and is making) us what we ought to be. That also is a mystery, a great and beautiful one; let us leave it at that.

-Jon Vowell