Author: jonathan.kimball

²⁰ It is my eager expectation and hope that I will not be put to shame in any way, but that by my speaking with all boldness, Christ will be exalted now as always in my body, whether by life or by death. ²¹ For to me, living is Christ and dying is gain. ²² If I am to live in the flesh, that means fruitful labor for me; and I do not know which I prefer. ²³ I am hard pressed between the two: my desire is to depart and be with Christ, for that is far better; ²⁴ but to remain in the flesh is more necessary for you.

Philippians 1:20-24

I heard recently–I can’t remember where–that all human fear is ultimately fear of death. There are the obvious examples, like acrophobia. I’m not actually afraid of heights: I’m afraid of plummeting to my death.

But there are less obvious connections. Let’s think about what it means to be human. We are fundamentally tribal. We cannot survive alone. When I go elk hunting, I’m truly independent–except that I’m with a group who helps me out (mutual assistance) and I bring with me food, shelter, and tools that I obtain from the vast interconnected human society. If I had to go alone without any of these supplies, for more than about a week, I probably wouldn’t survive.

A human who is in a tribe survives, and may thrive along with their tribe; a human who is cast out of their tribe is in imminent danger. So many of our social fears come back to this connection. Why is someone afraid to do something embarrassing? At some primal level, they know that sufficient embarrassment could result in banishment and death.

And this is not altogether ridiculous, even today. Suppose the “embarrassing” thing a person does is to tell their parents that they are gay. There is a non-zero chance that their parents will throw them out. In fact, 40% of homeless teens are LGBT; 80% of those are homeless because their family rejected them in some way. Keep in mind that roughly 7% of the general population is LGBT. What happens when someone is homeless? Well, nothing good, at least not as good as being in a stable, supportive family. Also, LGBT homeless individuals report more abuse, violence, suicide attempts, and other negative experiences than straight homeless individuals.

So, fear of being shamed is rightly coupled with fear of death. But why should we fear?

In Paul’s letter to the church at Philippi, he wrote those famous words: “For to me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain.” Paul knew that one day, he would see God face to face. That he would meet Christ and dwell with him forever. To die would mean to be glorified. Knowing that death is not the end, he was bold to preach the Gospel. He could live confidently as an outspoken apostle.

Paul did pay an earthly price for his defiance of social norms and the Roman Empire. He spent years in prison, and was most likely martyred. And yet, he left a phenomenal legacy: the Christian church as we know it. Around one-third of the New Testament was written by, about, or in the name of Paul. He founded churches around the Mediterranean that survived when the Jewish homeland was destroyed.

So for Paul, to live was Christ: while he lived, he followed his calling and built a movement that endures to this day. And to die was gain: he entered into God’s presence when his work was done.

Where am I allowing fear of death, in the form of fear of embarrassment or shame, hold me back from proclaiming the Gospel?

Where are you living fearfully, instead of boldly?

What danger is the Holy Spirit leading you into, knowing that God will carry you through?

Recently, I’ve had conversations with two individuals–one devout Christian, one atheist–that touched on my beliefs about salvation. Here are some thoughts I’d like to share.

First, let me say that everyone is wrong in some way, myself included. There are things that we cannot know with any certainty this side of the grave. The reason to be concerned about our final destination, then, is not to be right, but to act in ways that lead to the maximum joy: abundant life.

There are three main Christian understandings of what happens when we die:

1. Some go to heaven, a place of eternal joy in God’s presence. The rest go to hell, a place of eternal conscious torment in God’s absence.
2. Some go to heaven. Others cease to exist.
3. Everyone goes to heaven.

There are many variations of each, but these three capture the essential options. You can find plenty of Biblical support for each position.

Another aspect in the Reformed branch, which descends from Calvin and includes Presbyterians, is the doctrine of election, or predestination. This doctrine also has various forms that I will not pretend to understand in their entirety.

The essence of predestination is that God, who knows the end from the beginning, has already chosen who will be saved. Under salvation option #1, the logical conclusion is that God has also already chosen who will be damned. My problem is this: What kind of being chooses “winners” and “losers” before the “game,” but lets the game proceed anyway? Are we all just some sort of cosmic entertainment?

Under salvation option #2, the situation is a bit better, but not much. The implication is that God still chooses winners & losers, but at least there is no punishment for the losers.

Let’s look at option #3. Everyone wins! How can that be? Karl Barth, one of the greatest 20th century theologians, explained it something like this: God the Father predestinated one human for salvation: God the Son, in the person of Jesus of Nazareth. In Him, all humanity was reconciled to God. By simply being human, we are all children of God, predestinated for salvation to the eternal joy of God’s presence.

This makes sense to me. I find the other versions of predestination unpalatable at a visceral level, and illogical in ways that are difficult to reconcile with my understanding of who God is.

Some will argue, “What about Jesus saying that ‘nobody comes to the Father but through me?'” I think that still works with Barth’s form of predestination. Others will say that you must “accept Jesus in your heart.” Sure. But who says it has to happen before you die? In 1 Peter 3:19 and 4:6, the writer indicates that Jesus preached to the dead. Whether you live a few hours or a hundred years, this life in these fragile bodies (“treasures in jars of clay,” 2 Corinthians 4:7) lasts for just a moment, compared to all eternity. As it says in Amazing Grace:

When we’ve been there ten thousand years,
  Bright shining as the sun,
We’ve no less days to sing God’s praise
  Than when we first begun.

That’s a hundred lifetimes. A just and merciful God would not punish you forever for something that happens in a blink of an eye.

“What about Hitler? Stalin? Pol Pot? ISIS?” There is redemption and reconciliation waiting for us all. ALL. Maybe it takes longer for some than others. I don’t know. But I will choose to act as thought ALL people are beloved children of God, destined for heaven, and therefore worthy of my love, too.

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I just returned from an elk hunting trip. During the trip, I drafted the above post. When I got home, I saw that the latest issue of The Christian Century (a wonderful gift from Rev. Robert Rogers) has an article on this subject. I will follow up with some thoughts after I have read that article. Meanwhile, I wanted to get this out.

Making predictions is hard, especially about the future.

Yogi Berra

The only prediction about the future that I feel confident in is this: the future will be different from both the past and the present. Maybe better, maybe worse, but surely different.

My students know that my favorite physical principle is the First Law of Thermodynamics: Energy can neither be created nor destroyed, only changed in form. I use this principle in a large fraction of my work, and it substantially impacts how I view the world. Also important, though, is the Second Law of Thermodynamics: Entropy of an isolated system always increases. Entropy is, essentially, the amount of disorder in a system.

What that means is, everything is always changing, and always in a direction towards decay, absent the input of external work. Consider a house. While a house is occupied, it is climate controlled in some way, damage is repaired, and so forth. Once it is abandoned, though, the house will gradually decay. Uncontrolled climate changes will cause materials to warp. Water will get in and damage anything made of wood, and will support the growth of mold. Wind and storms will cause a little damage that, unrepaired, becomes bigger with the next storm.

So each person’s world is always changing, like it or not. Some people seem blissfully unaware. Others focus all of their energy on preventing something bad from happening, or on holding onto the good things in their lives.

Consider parents of young children. Kids have a habit of growing up, like it or not. Some parents go to great lengths to prevent anything bad from ever happening to their kids. “Helicopter parents” fight all of their kids’ battles at school. Parents don’t let their kids explore the world on their own, fearful that they’ll get hurt.

Another approach some parents take is essentially to keep their kids in an immature state. They don’t want their kids to leave, so they foster a sense of dependence. They encourage their kids to pursue jobs or schooling in their hometown, whether or not that’s appropriate for the kids’ desired careers.

Our approach has been to encourage our kids to get tough and become independent. Maybe it worked a little too well. Sam is studying at Brown University, roughly 1200 miles away. Jesse is looking at options that are a little closer, but still hundreds of miles away. They are both choosing paths that they believe will make their lives better.

Which brings me to the point I’m trying to make. We all know that the future will be different from the present, and the past. We can ignore this fact. We can build up defenses to prevent bad things from happening. We can cling ever-more-tightly to the good things in our lives. Or, we can pursue what’s good.

I choose to believe that the future can be better than the present.

I choose to believe that the future can be better than the present. God’s promised Kingdom will be infinitely better than the broken world we inhabit today. We can experience a little glimpse of God’s Kingdom today, if we pursue it.

I experience God’s Kingdom each Thursday night at Fired Up! worship. I experience God’s Kingdom when I work at The Mission each Friday. I experience God’s Kingdom when I’m with my family and with my close friends. I experience God’s Kingdom when I’m elk hunting and I’ve reached the very end of my capabilities.

I also believe that we are all called to build a better world by applying the talents, skills, and knowledge we have to important problems. I have a pretty good life as a professor and could simply live with the status quo. However, I was given the opportunity to be the interim director of the Center for Research in Energy and Environment. I think I can help build up CREE and, by extension, Missouri S&T. So I said yes.

Each of us has choices to make every day. We can accept the decay of the world around us. We can fight rearguard actions to prevent change, a goal that is ultimately futile. The power of entropy will one day destroy all that we have, as time marches on. Or, we can embrace the possibilities before us and pursue the best new world available.

What doors is God opening for you? What do you need to let go so that you can move into a better future?

If you look up the Great Commandment, you will find references to Mark 12:30-31 and Matthew 22:36-40. Like so many other events in Jesus’s life, it appears in all three Synoptic Gospels. We just often skip past it in Luke.

²⁵ On one occasion an expert in the law stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he asked, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?”
²⁶ “What is written in the Law?” he replied. “How do you read it?”
²⁷ He answered, “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind’; and, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’”
²⁸ “You have answered correctly,” Jesus replied. “Do this and you will live.”
²⁹ But he wanted to justify himself, so he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?”
³⁰ In reply Jesus said: “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, when he was attacked by robbers. They stripped him of his clothes, beat him and went away, leaving him half dead. ³¹ A priest happened to be going down the same road, and when he saw the man, he passed by on the other side. ³² So too, a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. ³³ But a Samaritan, as he traveled, came where the man was; and when he saw him, he took pity on him. ³⁴ He went to him and bandaged his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he put the man on his own donkey, brought him to an inn and took care of him. ³⁵ The next day he took out two denarii and gave them to the innkeeper. ‘Look after him,’ he said, ‘and when I return, I will reimburse you for any extra expense you may have.’
³⁶ “Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?”
³⁷ The expert in the law replied, “The one who had mercy on him.”
Jesus told him, “Go and do likewise.”

Luke 10:25-37

See it? We call this the Parable of the Good Samaritan, and skim right past Jesus affirming the Great Commandment. In this telling, the questioner acknowledges the two pillars himself, quoting Deuteronomy 6:5 and Leviticus 19:18. Like any good lawyer, though, he looks for more detail. The familiar parable follows. It’s a well-known story, and I probably don’t have much to add, but I’ll try.

There are three passersby here: a priest, a Levite, and a Samaritan. In that time and place, a priest was someone who was able to enter the inner parts of the Temple; a Levite was an assistant around the Temple; and the Samaritans claimed common ancestry with the Jews and had a similar religion, but somewhat distorted. The priest and the Levite would have been careful to remain ritually clean so that they could continue their Temple service. The Samaritan would have been considered a heretic by the Jewish crowd.

Jesus is preaching here a contrast between orthodoxy and orthopraxy. The questioner was an expert in the law, so presumably was seeking ultimate orthodoxy. He wanted to be fully within the law. He would have seen himself in the priest and Levite, knowing the holiness codes that prohibit contact with blood, dead bodies, etc. The Samaritan, on the other hand, would clearly have NOT been considered righteous! He was outside the Law and would not worship at the Temple in Jerusalem. And yet, Jesus uses him to illustrate what it means to love your neighbor.

In the Reformed tradition (and probably other strands of Christian theology), we cannot do good works on our own, but only with God’s help. Jesus seems to be saying here that God works through the Samaritan, despite his distorted beliefs.

¹⁸ Dear children, let us not love with words or speech but with actions and in truth.

1 John 3:18

Loving your neighbor doesn’t mean sending them “thoughts and prayers,” or talking (or blogging, or writing on Facebook) about how important it is. Loving your neighbor means giving of yourself. It means risking your health, even your life, to help someone in need. It means taking time out of your schedule to serve others, and spending your money for their benefit.

The priest and Levite went past so that they could continue in their work, was service to God in the Temple. They honored the first half of the commandment at the expense of the second half. But it is all of one piece. You cannot love God and hate your neighbor. You cannot love God and neglect your neighbor in need.

Yesterday, sitting in worship at First Presby and listening to testimony from three members, I reflected on my previous post and realized how inadequate it was. I know most people who read this are family or close friends, but even still: what do you care about how I read the Bible? Or any of the other things, other than to confess hypocrisy.

What matters more broadly is how I fail to proclaim the Gospel. This summer, I’m taking a course on worship from the University of Dubuque. The point of worship is to prepare us for mission. In today’s church vernacular, “mission” is usually interpreted as acts of charity or service.My denomination, though, declares a different mission in the opening section of the Book of Order:

In Christ, the Church participates in God’s mission for the transformation of creation and humanity by proclaiming to all people the good news of God’s love, offering to all people the grace of God at font and table, and calling all people to discipleship in Christ.

PC(USA) Book of Order, F-1.01

Acts of charity and service are necessary but not sufficient. We must proclaim the Gospel to the ends of the earth.

So a more appropriate confession is this: I have failed to teach others about the good news of God’s love for all humanity. If you read my statements of faith (old and new), you’ll see that I believe that all are welcome in God’s kingdom. But if I don’t actually TELL people that they are welcome, or what that means or why they should care, what’s the point?

The dominant cultural narrative is that churches reject gay “lifestyles” and transgender “ideology.” If you ask a random person in Rolla, would they know that there are any churches where LGBT individuals are welcome? Any place where there are people who accept them as they were made in the image of God, regardless of sexual orientation or gender identity? Probably not.

One recent audiobook I listened to was Getting Things Done. My list of things to look into includes setting up an LGBT resource center of some sort in Rolla. S&T students have access to the student diversity house, but what about younger students, faculty, staff, or people in the community? What can I do, as a straight, cis-gender man, to support the LGBT community?

One last note: I was asked if I want feedback on these posts. Sure! I have it set that your first comment will need to be approved (just to keep spammers and trolls away), but feel free to comment on anything I post.

I listen to a lot of audiobooks while I’m running. I get them from the S&T library, which has OverDrive. I recently listened to Blue Like Jazz, by Donald Miller, subtitled “Nonreligious Thoughts on Christian Spirituality.” Actually, I didn’t get to finish it because my checkout expired. Still, it opened my mind to a lot of interesting perspectives.

One recurring theme is that our actions can block the Holy Spirit. That is, our sins are already forgiven, but until we confess them and place our trust in God, we cannot fully experience the power of the Holy Spirit working through us. One time this theme appeared was in the context of tithing, but that’s a topic for another day.

There’s a chapter in which he and the rest of his little Christian group hosted a public confession booth. Imagine a booth with one member of the group on one side of a divider (the “priest”) and a visitor on the other. What made it different, though, was that the “priest” was there to confess HIS (or HER) sins to the visitor. So often, those of us inside the church are perceived to be judging those outside the church, and/or to be hypocrites who fail to see the log in our own eye. They tried to flip the script.

Sins fall into two broad categories: sins of commission and sins of omission. I’d say I do OK on the sins of commission. I haven’t murdered anyone lately, but I need to work on coveting. Overall, maybe a B-. When it comes to sins of omission, though, I have a long way to go. More like a D+. So here goes: a far-from-exhaustive confession of sins of omission.

A couple months ago, I wrote about Radical, which ends with a call to change your life. There are five key parts to it:

• Pray for the whole world. My prayers continue to be me-centric. My life, my family, my job, my church. When I’m at my best, I pray for people who are in the news, maybe once. If I’m not praying for, say, LGBTQ equality, how much do I really care about it? If I’m not praying for people outside my immediate tribe, how can I hope to expand my circle and play a role in transforming the world?
• Read the whole Bible. I’m using the Bible In One Year app, which is good. However, my time with the Bible is rarely Spirit-filled. I scroll through it while drinking my coffee, or listen to the audio version while I’m getting dressed or something. There is little spiritual formation, just information.
• Give sacrificially. I got started on this, but we are now building a house. So I put that on hold. Again, back to being me-centric. I can justify, or perhaps rationalize, my current giving level by the uncertainties associated with construction, selling our house, kids, etc. Still, there are ALWAYS reasons (excuses) not to be generous.
• Go somewhere to spread the Gospel. I looked into Solar Under the Sun and was going to get started on it, but the schedule didn’t work out. I could have found some other program or other way to get outside my normal life, but I didn’t. They do training twice a year; I still have the next one on my calendar, so we’ll see.
• Community. This is perhaps the one that I’m doing the best, being a part of a Christian community. However, if I’m being honest, there’s only a fraction of my church that I actually engage with.

Beyond that list of areas, there are plenty of other ways that I fall short of God’s calling. I just started listening to Racism Without Racists by Eduardo Bonilla-Silva. (Honestly, it may be a little too academic for an audiobook. We’ll see if I can get through it.) So far, it has just reminded me that I am a product of extensive privilege: a highly-educated straight, cis-gender, white man. I know that I made the most of opportunities I was given, but I also know that I was given many opportunities that other people will never have. I should be working to rectify racism, homophobia, transphobia, classism, and so forth. Yet I am content to be a passive recipient of these privileges.

Confessional Community

The next piece of what Miller described was confessional community. That is, he did not personally go out and confess to random people on the street (or on the Internet, as I’m doing). He did it as a part of a Christian community that was honest with each other, and honest about the corporate sin of the Christian Church. How can we build that kind of community within First Presbyterian Church of Rolla? If not as a whole congregation, perhaps as a smaller group.

On an earlier post, Rev. Robert Rogers commented, “I think it should be the personal and the communal, because faith is both personal resulting from the promises of our baptism, but it is a baptism into the communal or tribe.” Amen! It’s a both-and situation. I am personally responsible for my own sins and their impact on the world. I am also part of a congregation, a denomination, and a universal Church that have sinned throughout history, and continue to sin in ways big and small. We fail to live up to our calling as the body of Christ. I cannot disentangle my personal sins from our corporate sins.

The tricky thing is to confess in humility, and not to make it a humblebrag. I hope that I have struck that balance in this post.