In a Garden State of Mind

I was having coffee with three young men who had planted house churches. I’m interested in actually talking with people who are participating in the emerging church, rather than just reading books on it. One of the recommendations they had was to watch the film Garden State. They told me that it was a window on the worldview of the people they were working to reach, so obviously, we went right out and rented the film.

The action begins when 20-something Andrew Largeman, an aspiring actor who has not been home to New Jersey, receives a call from his father telling him that his mother died and he must come home for the funeral. Largeman seems to be numb to just about everything around him, largely due to his medications (which we find out later, serve to numb the pain of some of his family experience). When he comes home, he’s reunited with several of his High School friends. Mark, a gravedigger at the cemetery where Andrew’s mother is interred, is obviously a close friend, and becomes Andrew’s companion through the film.

On the way to meet Mark at a party, Andrew runs into his friend Kenny who became a police officer. Largeman asks why, Kenny says “I don’t know…couldn’t think of anything better to do. No, but it’s really cool, though man. People really listen to you, I mean… they have to (pulling gun and laughing)”. Then at the party he runs into another friend who invented a product called “silent Velcro” – it’s just like Velcro, without the noise. He sold the patent for a fortune and when Largeman asks what he’s doing now he says, slightly uncomfortably, “Nothing…Nothing. I’ve never been so bored in my whole life.” And then he quickly changes the subject, asking for a joint. The next scene is an extended party scene of intoxication and sexually charged drug use, while Largeman sits numbly on the couch.

In another scene at Mark’s house, Mark’s mother starts nagging her son about doing something with his life (though her idea of doing something is ordering the obvious scam real investment tapes that you see advertised on late night TV infomercials). She tells him “I know what you could be if you only applied yourself” Mark snaps back “I do apply myself….” Everyday burying dead people. “I’m only 26. I’m not in any rush. What’s your rush for?”

This pretty much settles the tone of the whole movie – aimless wandering – indulging in so much alcohol and drugs that the pain of aimlessness is numbed. This is the kind of ache that is present in the so-called post-Christian generation.

Then Andrew meets Sam, a 20 something woman who talks incessantly, but has a bright adventurous streak in her. They begin to spend time together and strike up a friendship that veers toward romantic attraction. Sitting in her bedroom, they have the only religious conversation in the film. Andrew mentions the wailing wall in Jerusalem, and she asks “You’re really Jewish, aren’t you.” He says no – he doesn’t even go to temple. He says he doesn’t know any jews that go to temple – only on the Day of Atonement. And Sam shoots back with “I don’t really believe in God” – and then the conversation veers in a different direction.

So we have desperate 20 somethings longing for meaning in life, and yet they have out of hand rejected the traditions and beliefs that have given meaning for millinea. And there’s no wrestling with it, as though they were rejecting the idea of eating at the Chineese Buffet. “Oh, I don’t really like chineese food” – so lets try to derive meaning from within.

The film takes an interesting turn as Mark leads Andrew and Sam on a journey to purchase a goodbye gift for Andrew. It takes them to a house on the edge of a gigantic pit – a proposed site for a mall that when blasted open revealed a huge chasm going deep into the earth – the government closed the site to determine if they should study the fissure, and there on the edge of the Abyss is Albert and his family. Albert is paid simply to keep people off the premisies. Albert and his wife are very happy. He is keeping everyone out of the Abyss, but at night, he climbs down to be the first person to explore it. He playfully says that he likes to pretend that the abyss in infinite. “We think it’s important…I guess I just like the idea of discovering something. Of doing something that’s completely unique….that’s never been done before.” “Albert’s abyss” jokes Largeman. “Well, maybe,” answers Albert “who knows. But you know what, that’s all ego. None of that really matters. If I get to be with this person right here (gesturing to his wife) and our beautiful baby, that’s all I need.” A dramatic pause and then the film continues. As they leave Largeman shouts out “good luck exploring the infinite abyss.” And albert shouts back “Hey you too”

So the film becomes a statement about coming out of the meaningless existence by finding meaning where you are and with who you’re with. Again, relationships and being true to thine own self are what is most important in this worldview – and yet, I’m left wrestling because they seem to have stripped away everything that undergirds relationships and the self – what do you do when the relationship goes bad? Who do you turn to when you wake up and realize you don’t really like yourself. Every week, I have to deal with the messy fallout of people being true to themselves, and its not always pretty. If there is not some external meaning giver, then when my being true to my self clashes with your being true to yourself, we will have a bloody mess.

If you have endured this tugid description of the film thus far, you may be asking “So how does the Christian approach this film.” First, I would Echo Francis Schaeffer’s sentiments from The God Who is There – he outlines how culture has fallen below what he calls the “Line of Despair” – he shows the hopelessness in the worldview of many 20th century artists, musicians, etc. and then he writes with power: “These paintings, these poems and these demonstrations which we have been talking about are the expression of men who are struggling with their appalling lostness. Dare we laugh at such things? Dare we feel superior when we view their tortured expressions in their art? Christians should stop laughing and take such men seriously. Then we shall have the right to speak again to our generation. These men are dying while they live, yet where is our compassion for them? There is nothing more ugly than an orthodoxy without understanding or without compassion.”

Later in the same book, Schaeffer writes: “To live below the line of despair is not to live in paradise, whether that of a fool or any other kind. It is in a real sense to have a foretaste of hell now, as well as the reality in the life to come. Many of our most sensitive people have been left absolutely naked by the destruction. Should we not grieve and cry before God for such people?”

So I thank God for our house church planters, who feel heartbroken for a generation of lost and hurting people who have effectively cut themselves off from the church by assumption. I thank God for the people who are engaged in the messy and difficult task of involving themselves in deep relationships with those who are searching – for the relationships are the way to truly make the gospel real. It is so very wrong for those of us in the “institutional church” to criticize and condemn the house church and the emergent church. Can we not find a way to embrace people in the house church – to nurture them and pour ourselves into them – as missionaries to a post Christian subculture that is rapidly ascendant.

Just thinking….

Ramones Re-dux

Scott Atkinson rightly (and quite gently) reminds me that punk is not all about anger – there are playful and fun elements to it as well. He’s right – I was somewhat hasty in my labeling it as an expression of rage alone. Perhaps a better all-encompassing term would be “energy” – there is a vast reservoir of untapped energy that is aching for release. The driving energy of punk music (and most Rock music in general) is simply a release of internal energy of the listener. It is a mild form of Aristotle’s catharsis, arising not from the purging power of a well plotted tragedy, but from the emotional power of music.

I also neglected the deep connection between punk, rock, and pop. Punk is perhaps a logical outgrowth of Rock – after all, one of the essential defining elements of rock is a sense of rebellion and finding your own way. I can’t help but think of Jack Black in School of Rock trying to explain Rock to the highly cultured children. He explains it in terms of releasing anger. “Rock and Roll used to be a way to stick it to the man. But then along came MTV!!!!” – lines directly echoed by the Ramones in the documentary. They basically said that MTV ruined their business because you had to fit their business model if you wanted to get played. Thus the rise of 80’s pop, which did have great punk influence, but it tamed down and characterized by sweetness and playfulness and exuberance.

And then I’m reminded of Douglas Rushkoff’s Coercion when he talks about the coercive nature of the spectacle – the stage show. Think of this comment in connection to the live stage shows of great bands: “When we are part of a crowd, we are free to experience heightened levels of emotions that just aren’t possible for smaller groups. Relieved of our responsibility to make considered judgments, we can allow ourselves to be swept away by the enthusiasm of the greater body. Whatever everyone in the crowd has in common -- yet may not be free to express in daily life -- is amplified by the intensity of the spectacle and the protection that the anonymity of a mob affords.” (118).

Rushkoff says that we live much of life with a rage that begs for expression -- the anonymity of a crowd allows us to give voice to that rage and “A person who is able to name this sensation at just the right moment can direct the raw emotional energy at such a gathering to almost any end he chooses.” (123). Rushkoff identifies the raw emotional energy that seems to be released by well done music.

So the question is – what is the redemptive analogy for this raw energy – is this the raw energy that we release in powerful experiences of worship? (go read some of the psalms again). Is this the thrill that comes as a team returns from a mission trip. Is this the energy we feel when a deep insight from the Word grips us? Is the Holy Spirit working in us to sanctify these raw bursts of energy within – or rather sanctify our expression of them?

Just thinking – let me know what you think.
Soli Deo Gloria

Is the cigar just a cigar?

While working on the Gospel According to Shakespeare class, I was reading GK Chesterton’s collection of essays on Shakespeare. He wrote something to the effect of “The problem with Calvinists is that they’re always looking for a message rather than just enjoying” – of course I don’t remember the exact quote (it was 6 months ago, and I haven’t had a chance to look it up in my notes yet).

That comment stung – After all, isn’t that just what I’m trying to do with our cultural exegesis ministries (gospel according to Shakespeare, Art Museum Devotionals, etc). Then I came across this wonderful article on Belief.net by Frederica Matthews Green. It discusses the overanalysis of subtext in two children’s movies Shark Tales and the Incredibles. Both are wonderful movies, and both have led social pundits and commentators to go nuts in exploring the subtle messages that may or may not be behind the films.

See the article here

All of this leaves me wondering – are we doing this too? I really enjoy the films, plays, tv, books, experiences, and music that I write about here, but is this a case of overanalysis? There is an idea in deconstructionist philosophy that we simply play language games – we can deconstruct a work of art and then reconstruct its meaning in a playful and creative way – often directly contrary to what the artist intended. And if the philosophy holds true we can do this with every encounter. In effect, do we spend so much time “constructing our reality” that we don’t enjoy the reality that is around us? That seems to be exactly what Chesterton criticizes Calvinists for.

And yet, there is a sense that we Calvinists are not trying to reconstruct reality, but simply portray the deep truth behind reality. We believe in the Sovereignty of God. I Chronicles 29 shows David praying to God “Yours, O Lord, is the greatness and the power and the glory and the majesty and the spelndor; for everything in heaven and earth is yours. Yours O Lord, is the kingdom; you are exalted as head over all. Wealth and honor come from you; you are the ruler of all things. In your hands are strength and power to exalt and give strength to all.” Proverbs 8 depicts God as the master builder with wisdom, crafting everything in the Universe – including the foundational concepts of truth, goodness, beauty, love, faithfulness. All the virtues that we find in things reflect something of the Divine nature – even when that nature is not recognized. Artists who present beauty reflect God’s nature, even if they know nothing about God. This is the old doctrine of Common Grace.

And so the Calvinist goal is to call attention to Common Grace at work in the world. It doesn’t mean we stop enjoying a work of art in order to read our own message into it fully. Rather it means that we more fully enjoy a work of art – for our enjoyment becomes an act of praise and worship.

Soli Deo Gloria

Rock Rock Rock and Roll High School

I confess that I was never into punk rock. I never got it – the black clothes, the weird makeup, the machinegun pace and edgy lyrics. I was much more of a singer/songwriter fan – Paul Simon, Cat Stevens, Jimmy Buffett, James Taylor. Of course I also enjoyed a lot of Southern Rock and 80’s pop. But pure punk seemed to seethe with anger – anger that I just didn’t identify with. But growing up, those bands were on my periphery and I heard lots of their more popular songs. I had lots of friends who listened to the Clash, the Violent Femmes, and of course The Ramones.

So last night, as I was winding down, I turned on PBS to find a documentary on the career of the Ramones and how they had shaped Rock – and I was sucked in.

See the website for the documentary

At first, I felt like I was watching a re-make of Spinal Tap. It chronicled the band’s rise, the growing tension between vocalist Joey and guitarist Johnnie, and the revolving door of drummers. There was even a clip of strung out Dee Dee Ramone talking about the power of the new amps they had (and I kept waiting for him to say “this one goes to 11” – if you haven’t seen Spinal Tap, you really must). So I was finding this all rather amusing, but as the story developed, I began to feel for these characters.

Consider Dee Dee – whose interviews were just a little shy of bizarre. He was so fried from heroin use that he looked 10 years older than his age – he had a hard time stringing together a coherent sentence. We learned about his disastrous attempt at a solo Rap album (the video was almost like a Weird Al Yankovic video, only trying to be serious). Shortly after the Ramones 2002 induction into the Rock and Roll hall of Fame, Dee Dee died of a herion overdose just two weeks later.

Then there was the famous tension between Johnnie and Joey. Somewhat mirroring the tension between Paul McCartney and John Lennon – Joey, like Paul, wanted to have a more mainstream pop sound while Johnnie wanted to stay true to punk roots. Johnnie is painted as a micromanaging dictator who ran the band for 20 years. He basically alienated everyone else in the band – but his shrewdness kept them solvent and making music. Things came to a head in the 80’s when Joey’s love interest, Linda, dropped Joey for Johnnie. After that, Joey and Johnnie never spoke again, though they continued to make music and tour.

What grabbed me most was the interviews with Johnnie after Joey’s death from cancer. He kept saying that he didn’t call Joey during his final few weeks because they didn’t get along and he was trying to respect that. But then he admitted he had very deep feelings for Joey. He said they were Ramones, and that was a bond that would keep them together even if they didn’t like each other.

Tommy Ramone expressed something similar in an interview with Read Magazine on the passing of Johnny from cancer last year “We remained friends… we were close in the sense that we were bonded by the Ramones. Because the Ramones were like a family, a brotherhood of sorts. But we weren't close in any other way, really. But we remained friendly.”

See the Read Interview

So the Ramones remained bonded together even though they really didn’t get along. It became something beyond themselves. They had a different identity that they could not escape. Their dysfunction and fragmentation is tragic, but they still had a common identity as Ramones. Look past the raw energy of their expressed rage, look past the dysfunction, and you find a deep level of bondedness and commitment that arises out of their love of music and performing. Tommy Ramone says as much “I mean, you get all these dysfunctional people together, and you know, there's ego conflicts and turf conflicts and all this stuff, it's not going to be a happy camp. But as far as the music and the work is concerned, we all loved that, and we all believed in it, and we all worked very hard for that. And that was the fun part. The fun part was making the albums.”

And so I’m wrestling with this – if they can find that kind of bliss, unity, transcendence even in the midst of raging dysfunction – should not we be able to experience something similar in the Body of Christ. Do the Ramones shed new light on Romans 12:4-5 “Just as each of us has one body with many members, and these members do not all have the same function, so in Christ we who are many form one body, and each member belongs to all the others.” Do we not have just as much, if not more, claim on one another.

Just thinking…

The Dream of Restoration

I received a message from Scott Atkinson today mentioning the Gospel According to Shakespeare classes. Scott mentioned that he had just finished Greenblatt's biography Will in the World. This bio was a NY Times bestseller last year – Paul Ragan recommended it to me as well – so, I read it earlier this year.

What a wonderful book. It apparently sparked some controversy for taking imaginative liberties with Shakespeare’s life. Most likely, Greenblatt did take excessive liberty – I’m not sure I agree with the portrait that he paints of Shakespeare, save for one chapter (see next paragraph) – Greenblatt’s mastery is in painting the landscape of the time – the religious uncertainty, the beginnings of modern urbanism, the pastoral fantasy of country living, the political intrigue and paranoia around Elizabeth’s court, the freewheeling and indeed decadent atmosphere of the early Elizabethan theatre. All of it Greenblatt sketches out for us in colorful and captivating detail.

But he ultimately paints Shakespeare as a cautious, brilliant, but ultimately somewhat petty figure. Shakespeare is almost the ultimate Walter Mitty who is able to live out his fantasises and desires for revenge through his plays. His brilliance at absorbing language wherever he heard it (so comically depicted in the film Shakespeare in Love) was what made him a star – apparently he lived a humble life, not carousing with fellow playwrights. He was estraganged from his wife, and if his last will and testament is any indication, there was no reconciliation.

But the chapter that captures my heart is the one called “The dream of restoration”. Greenblatt tells us that Shakespeare’s father was a prominent citizen of Stratford and a successful businessman – he had even applied for a coat of arms, which would propel the family into a new social status. But then suddenly, the fortunes turned – John Shakespeare lost his prominence and his positions. He slipped into debt, and the hopes of being granted a coat of arms were lost. Greenblatt believes alcoholism contributed to the fall.

But years later, Young William, now a successful playwright and part owner of a company, reapplies for the coat of arms and it is granted – he adds the motto “Not without right”, a seeming jab to say “I do come from a good family”. Greenblatt shows how often in Shakespeare’s plays (particularly the comedies), the noble hero loses everything and must endure the wild world seeking a way to attain restoration – this is the story in twelfth night, comedy of errors, merchant of Venice. In the later romances, this loss of position and then later restoration is darkened by pain – the winer’s tale and the tempest being examples where there is a happy restoration, but with a melancholy twinge – a loss of innocence, as it were. The early comedies return to innocence, the later romances move to transcendence beyond the pain.

And this is what fascinates me – Shakespeare always presents the dream of wholeness – the dream of bringing order out of chaos – the dream of the good society. And the dream is usually attainable (save in Troilus and Cressida – perhaps the darkest Shakespeare play yet – where there are no sympathetic characters – it is an ironic lampooning of the Trojan war). Is this dream not reflective of our desire for the edenic state. Is it not reflecting something deeper within – a longing for the “real countries” beyond these shadow lands.

This is the longing that is reflected in Isaiah:

“The wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard will lie down with the goat, the calf and the lion and the yearling together: and a little child will lead them. The cow will feed with the bear, their young will lie down together, and the lion will eat straw like the ox The infant will play near the hole of the cobra, and the young child put his hand into the viper’s nest. They will neither harm nor destroy on all my holy mountain, for the earth will be full of the knowledge of the Lord, as the waters cover the sea.” (Is 11:6-9)

There is the longing for order out of chaos – the longing for all to be put right – for the forces of destruction to be put at bay – for our own destructive impulses to be transformed (the lion will eat straw like the ox – no longer a carnivore). It is a picture of society – not an individual paradise, but a society. And it is a picture of a society focused not upon ourselves, but upon knowing God. When we get our minds off ourselves, we find ourselves able to extend the graciousness of spirit and generosity. While we live in the present, the Holy Spirit gives us a foretaste, a hint and shadow, of the ultimate dream of restoration.

What do you think? Where do you see the dream of restoration played out? Have you seen this in Shakespeare? What are your thoughts about Greenblatt’s book. Just make a comment and join the conversation.

The True, The Good .... and the Force

The Cincinnati Enquirer just published an article on our church's Gospel According to Star Wars class.

Here's the link to the story

Then at 6:30 this morning, the Jim Scott show on WLW called and did a brief interview. As of this writing, we have had 40 hits on our website today (about 4-5 times what we normally have in a whole day!).

See our Website

Needless to say, I'm jazzed. Not just for the free publicity (though that is quite nice) but also for the opportunities we have here. For four years I've been talking about the True, the Good, and the Beautiful. My understanding of Christian doctrine tells me about general revelation -- the idea that all creation tells of God's glory, His character, His goodness. Check out Psalm 19 "The heavens declare the glory of God, the skies proclaim the work of his hands. Day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they display knowledge. There is no speech or language where their voice is not heard." or perhaps Romans 1 "...what may be known about God is plain to them, because God has made it plain to them. For since the creation of the world God's invisible qualities -- his eternal power and divine nature -- have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that men are without excuse." Simply put, God leaves his thumbprints all over creation, even in the imaginations of creative human beings like George Lucas.

Then when they tell their stories -- even if they don't know that they're talking about God, they wind up talking about Him. Paul demonstrates this on Mars Hill in Athens in Acts 17 "men of Athens, I see that you are religious people" and he goes on to reaveal the God of truth behind their shadowy shrines and their poets -- indeed the God who created within them their instinct for worship and their instinct for beauty.

And this is what we've been trying to do for the past 4 years with the Gospel according to the Simpsons, the Art Museum Devotional projects, The Gospel According to Shakespeare, countless film references in sermons -- and now the Gospel According to Star Wars -- we're trying to reveal the redemptive truth behind the shadowy pictures of truth, beauty, and goodness that surround us in the stories we hear and read.

What really stokes my fire is that I didn't even author this study -- Brook authored it, Andy teaches it. You don't have to be a religious professional to learn to view every element of the world through a Christian worldview -- indeed it probably helps if you're not a religious professional.

Hope you get a chance to check out the study -- let me know what you think!

Russell

Strictly Ballroom

So I'm starting to use this blog as a means for processing all the cultural input I receive - books, film, stories, websites, experiences. Part of the job of the preacher is to be the epic poet of his/her generation. I believe that I have to pay close attention to all that is around and filter it through a christian worldview, in hope that some of it may be used for building up the saints. i invite you to join me by giving your own thoughts/feedback/ideas. And thus, we begin.

This weekend, I picked up the film Strictly Ballroom for our usual Sunday Night viewing. This was a treasure of a film from 1992 that somehow I missed for the past decade. It's the charming story of competitive ballroom dancer Scott Hastings who wants to break out of the stale traditional steps that the Australian ballroom dancing federation requires of its participants. He loses his partner, but finds Fran, a seemingly clumsy wallflower who turns out to be a dance partner with soul and spirit.

I really liked this film, and for several reasons. First, it is mostly clean. A little innuendo and a few choice expletives -- but overall clean. It avoids having a titillating, but pointless, sex scene between Scott and Fran (unlike just about every other romantic comedy of the 80s 90s and 00s) -- and the movie is stronger for it -- it enables us to focus upon the story.

The film lampoon people who give themselves over to a subculture, but lose the sense of their first love. The "established" dance teachers and rulers of the ballroom dance federation are much more interested in control -- in having the next generation carry on their steps. Meanwhile, Scott simply wants to feel the music and abandon himself to dance. There is a wonderful scene where Frans father and grandmother teach scott the latin way to dance -- not just focusing on form, but also on feeling.

And therein lies the rub -- finding the artful balance of form and feeling. It would be a mistake to say that the film says that feeling is all important and form is pointless -- rather it says that form will only carry so far. All the technique in the world will not enable you to viscerally feel the music and abandon yourself to the dance. And that is what Scott must learn.

A good lesson for discipleship as well -- all the theology and self-discipline in the world will only take you so far -- it is only in an encounter with the Holy Spirit that we begin to dance in life. This does not mean that we abandon theology and self-discipline -- only that we don't make an idol out of it.

The other charming piece of the story is the ongoing refrain "A life lived in fear is a life half lived." If you've not seen it, I won't blow how this works out in the climax of the film -- but it is very true -- and again a powerful maxim for discipleship.

Key verse: "It was for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery." Galatians 5:1 (read in context -- dealing with the struggle of do Christians have to adopt all the jewish customs, or can they express Christianity in their own ethnic heritage -- this is not an anything goes statement)

Reflections on Lent, 2005

There is a way to be good again. Thus the sweep of the story of The Kite Runner begins. Written by Khaled Hosseini, the story of betrayal and restoration is told through the eyes of an Afghan refugee. Though the setting is exotic and the culture unfamiliar, the great human struggles are all a part of the story: longing for parental love, rootedness in culture, struggling against violence and chaos, and of course, wrestling with our own wrongdoing and seeking redemption.

Chosen by the Cincinnati Public Library for the 2005 On the Same Page project, this book is peculiarly apt for the Lenten season. Like the narrator, each of us have to face our personal ghosts of past wrongdoings: times we didn’t stand up for a weak person being abused, times we wounded someone we care about, times when we destroyed simply for the joy of destruction, times when we used other people as a means to an end, and then tossed them aside. The ghosts are all very personal, and they come back to us in the quiet hours as we drift off to sleep or in the morning when we pray for the alarm clock to hold off for just a while longer. They haunt us when we catch a fragment of a long forgotten tune or a whiff of an old familiar perfume. And as the ghosts swirl about in our heads, we long for a way to be good again.

Some view spiritual disciplines, such as Lenten fasts and worship services, as the way to recover that lost goodness. “If I work really hard at this,” so the thinking goes, “then God will have to recognize what I’ve done – and I’ll feel clean.” And after weeks, months, and years of agonizing effort, the end result is either frustration and despair (for they learn they can’t work their way to cleanliness), or legalism and self-righteousness (for if they can do it, everyone else should do it too).

The truth is that God doesn’t work that way. God doesn’t need our effort. Scripture teaches “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith – and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God – not by works, so that no one can boast” (Ephesians 2:8-9). We don’t work our way to God, but God graciously extends kindness to us through Jesus Christ. The season of Lent inevitably culminates in Good Friday and Easter. On good Friday, we commemorate Christ’s death that makes us clean – as the prophet says: “…he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed.” (Isaiah 53:5). There is a way to be good again.

Lent is not the season in which we engage in discipline to make God like us. It is the season in which God engages us in discipline to make us more like Him. After we learn about God’s grace in Ephesians 2:8-9 (quoted above), we read: “For we God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” God loves us just the way we are, but God doesn’t leave us the way we are. God’s grace is transformational.

And that’s what the Lenten disciplines are about – not so much about being good again (for that is the point of Good Friday and Easter), but about being transformed into the image of the Creator of all truth, goodness, and beauty. The Lenten disciplines are about surrendering our lives to the God who is there, the God who is not silent. Lent is about learning to trust in the grace extended to us through Jesus Christ.