Full manuscript of the talk here.
Discussion Guide here.
Guide to Spiritual Practices here. 

It's New Year's Day, which means it's time for that peculiar ritual of resolution making. We could call it the ritual of Good Intentions. Because making resolutions has become something of a cultural joke, something we all participate in. I want to be fit this year (why do you think gyms make you pay your membership a year at a time? Because they bank on New Year's business!). I want to read more. I want to spend more time at home.

I want to be more spiritual.

That's the one that always killed me. Growing up in the Church, New Year's was when I always decided that THIS would be the year I finally read my bible more or prayed more or whatever.

And of course, we know that the joke of Resolutions is that they are gone by February. Gyms are pretty slow in November and December. And while a few of us keep our resolutions, most of us let them fall by the wayside.

Today, I want to challenge Beavercreek Nazarene to be a people who are better than average. I want to be a part of a Church, part of a people who use 2012 to become more than we are right now.

I want to be a part of a Church in January 2013 that blows our January 2012 minds.

Download a full manuscript of the talk here. Download the discussion guide here.

Since my name is JR., people have always had a tough time with it. I get called “Junior" or "RJ" more often than you might think. Once some of the other staff and I went out to karaoke, and I wrote my name – JR. Forasteros – on the paper. When it was my turn, the DJ announced me as “Junior Foresters”, much to the amusement of my friends. And of course it stuck, so it’s not uncommon to hear me referred to as “Junior Foresters” when I show up somewhere. I always enjoy showing up somewhere where someone else has made the nametags, because I never know what’s going to be on my nametag. I’d say my name is correct on nametags other people make for me about 25% of the time. Some of you with tough names know what I’m talking about. Right? It’s an odd experience to walk around with a name that’s not really yours on your nametag, a name that someone else gave you.

But it's true that we wear labels other people have put on us.

We usually call this “victimization”. And I don't think it's possible for us to live in this culture without becoming victims at some point. I've shared before about how I left my previous church, when a pastor at a neighboring church decided he didn't like what I taught, so he misrepresented me online and in person to dozens of other pastors. I ended up having to leave my previous church position over it. I felt like he'd slapped a big "Heretic" sticker on me, and that all these people who didn't know the first thing about me saw. And the crazy part is that he still sort of lives up in my head. When I meet new people and they want to talk theology, I get a little shy. Because even though most people don’t see it, even though I don’t think it’s true or right, I still wear that nametag sometimes. What's your label? You may have a worse story than I do. Maybe you're the victim of some kind of abuse. Abuse is shockingly common in our society. And when you're the victim of some kind of abuse, it scars you. I know that because what I endured was relatively minor, especially in the grand scheme of things. And I know what I felt. I have close friends who have been verbally or physically abused by parents or significant others or spouses. I have several close friends who were sexually abused. And between the Priest scandals and the Penn state stuff, we know that abuse is far too common in our culture. Even the abuse of children. You want to talk about what it means to be a victim? To be on the receiving end of violence? Those kinds of abuse scar you. You leave those experiences with labels that other person has given you.

They stay in your head, telling you lies about yourself. Make you feel weak. Violated. Afraid. Like damaged goods.

Worst of all, when you're abused, when you are the victim of someone's violence, you feel totally isolated. Alone. You feel trapped under this label that's been put on you. Trapped by what that person has done to you.

The good news is that you're not alone.

Did you know that one in seven men was sexually abused as a child? And for women the number's much higher - one in three. That means that in this room, at least 80 people are the victims of sexual abuse. If you're one of them, you're not alone. And even if you’re not the victim of abuse, know that we all get what it’s like to be a victim. You’re not alone. Not even a little bit. And today, we meet a woman who was the victim of sexual violence, too. Someone else's choices ruined her entire life. But she refused to give in to despair, to let his choices define her. In fact, I'm sure it hasn't escaped your notice that all the women we've been learning from in this series are part of some dysfunctional or tragic family systems. And since human nature hasn't changed in the past 3,000 years, you know as well as I do that the systems they were a part of saddled them with labels. People talked back then the way people talk today. Tamar was a Black Widow - the woman whose husbands kept dying. She was poison. Toxic. Rahab was a prostitute. Shameful. Ruth was a foreigner. An immigrant. She was the Enemy. And this week, we meet a woman named Bathsheba.

Bathsheba teaches us that we don't have to live as a victim of someone else's choices. We can be victors over them through Jesus.

Download a full manuscript of the talk here. Download a Discussion Guide here.

This year for Advent, we're working our way through the Genealogy of Jesus found in Matthew 1. As any good Jewish person would, Matthew begins his story of Jesus with Jesus' pedigree. He wants you to know what kind of family Jesus comes from. That's a pretty normal thing to do, right? When you meet a new person, you want to know some of their story, some of where they come from. Especially for leaders, we want to know about their families. These days, everyone's always digging for skeletons in the closets. The embarassing family secretes everyone keeps. The weird relatives who get sat in the living room instead of at the big dining room table. We don't usually lead with those relatives. We keep them hidden as long as possible. And that was certainly as true in Jesus' day as it is for us now. Which is what makes Jesus' family tree here in Matthew all that much more odd. Because Matthew includes five women in the genealogy - something no one did back then. But even more interesting is the women he chose to include. They're not the heroes of the Old Testament. Their stories are embarassing. They're awkward to read (as everyone who was here last week already knows). It seems like Matthew intentionally led with the skeletons in Jesus' closet. Which is, of course, exactly what he did. Because by leading with these stories, Matthew is sending a clear message about exactly what kind of Savior Jesus is. He's not a squeaky clean savior. Not a spit-and-polish Lord. Jesus is the kind of Messiah that gets down in our Mess. Let's read the genealogy through this week's star:

 "This is a record of the ancestors of Jesus the Messiah, a descendant of David and of Abraham: Abraham was the father of Isaac. Isaac was the father of Jacob. Jacob was the father of Judah and his brothers. Judah was the father of Perez and Zerah (whose mother was Tamar). Perez was the father of Hezron. Hezron was the father of Ram. Ram was the father of Amminadab. Amminadab was the father of Nahshon. Nahshon was the father of Salmon. Salmon was the father of Boaz (whose mother was Rahab). " Matthew 1:1-5 (NLT)

Rahab. The second woman Matthew mentions in the genealogy. Who is Rahab? Well, her story is told back in the book of Joshua. Joshua led the Israelites into Canaan, which was the Promised Land. Before they cross into Canaan, Joshua sends two spies in to scope out the situation, and that's when we meet Rahab.

" Then Joshua secretly sent out two spies from the Israelite camp at Acacia Grove. He instructed them, "Scout out the land on the other side of the Jordan River, especially around Jericho." So the two men set out and came to the house of a prostitute named Rahab and stayed there that night. " Joshua 2:1 (NLT)

Wait, what?! Rahab is a prostitute?! Surprising, to say the least. It sort of makes you want to flip pages in your Bible, to say, "Are you sure we got the right Rahab? Surely there's got to be another Rahab in here somewhere!" Well, the only other Rahab in the bible is a giant mythical sea creature - imagine the Loch Ness Monster on steroids and HGH (LNMGH?). So given the choice between the two, it seems that this Rahab here is our woman. Jesus has a prostitute in his family line?! That's shocking. Can you imagine if some reporter figured out that one of the Republican Presidential candidates had a mother who was a prostitute? It'd be shameful. It'd be embarrassing. And so too here. It's shocking, even offensive that Matthew would include Rahab in Jesus' family tree. It says a lot about the state of the contemporary Church that we are so bothered by this sort of story. Most often these days, Church is a place you clean yourself up to go to. And even though we've mostly gotten away from having to wear "Sunday Best" to go to Church, we haven't let that shift penetrate to our souls. Church is a place you don't show weakness. You certainly don't talk open about the sin in your life. Morally speaking, we clean ourselves up. And that's not only a perception we have inside these walls. I can't tell you how many times I've been talking with someone who finds out I'm a pastor and they say, "Oh, I haven't been to church in years. I'm sure if I came now the building would burn down around me" or some similar sentiment. We have created a Church culture that says, Get your act together, then come check us out. That's why the story of Rahab is so awesome. Because she was a prostitute. Wow. Her story reminds what the Gospel really looks like. What Grace really looks like. Rahab's story reminds us of who we are, and what the Church can and should be.

Here's a manuscript of the full talk. Here's the Discussion Guide.

We've been confessing that this process of grieving is good. That it's necessary. Because if we don't move through the grief, we get trapped in it. And we can't look forward to what's next. We really and truly believe that This is Not the End. That the road doesn’t stop here. That God is making a new road for us. That something better is just over the horizon. So today we look ahead. Because the grieving process doesn't end in despair. Eventually, we come to Acceptance. When we talk about Acceptance, we're not talking about sitting on our hands, glumly sighing, Ho-hum, I guess life goes on. Acceptance is the moment in the grieving process when we acknowledge that what we've lost doesn't finally define us. That we are more than what we've lost. That there's a full, rich, vibrant life on the other side of our life. One that might not even be possible had we not experienced the loss. It's what we hear God encourage the Exiles in Isaiah 43:14-21. Here the prophet is speaking to those very people who have experienced the total loss of their culture. Who've witnessed everything stripped away. They've been forcibly deported to Babylon, a foreign country. And here's what God says to them:

This is what the LORD says-- your Redeemer, the Holy One of Israel: "For your sakes I will send an army against Babylon, forcing the Babylonians to flee in those ships they are so proud of.

It's interesting to me that the first thing God does is remind them (and us) that God knows what our situation is. God says, I know you’ve lost your way. I know you're in Babylon. And I'm going to do something about it. That's good news... God knows where we are. God knows that we're struggling - as a culture, as families, as individuals. God knows the anger we feel, the sense of injustice. The despair. God understands that everything's changing, that nothing's the way it used to be. God understands, and God is going to do something about it. What?

I am the LORD, your Holy One, Israel's Creator and King. I am the LORD, who opened a way through the waters, making a dry path through the sea. I called forth the mighty army of Egypt with all its chariots and horses. I drew them beneath the waves, and they drowned, their lives snuffed out like a smoldering candlewick.

God reminds the Exiles of their own story. God says, Don't you remember that I am your creator? I made this whole world out of nothing! And I am the God who saved you from Egypt. When your ancestors were slaves in Egypt, when they couldn’t see a way out, when they thought escape was impossible, I parted the Red Sea and made a dry path for them to cross it. I made a road where there wasn’t one before. And when Egypt pursued them, I destroyed the armies that threatened them. Remember that? Remember when they thought it was hopeless and I came through? Remember when they felt overwhelmed and I saved them? Remember when I made the impossible possible? Do you remember that? Which makes what God says next hilarious:

But forget all that-- it is nothing compared to what I am going to do.

Forget it? But you just told us to remember!

For I am about to do something new. See, I have already begun! Do you not see it? I will make a pathway through the wilderness. I will create rivers in the dry wasteland. The wild animals in the fields will thank me, the jackals and owls, too, for giving them water in the desert. Yes, I will make rivers in the dry wasteland so my chosen people can be refreshed. I have made Israel for myself, and they will someday honor me before the whole world. -- Isaiah 43:14-21 (NLT)

God says, Baby, you ain't seen nothing yet! All the ways I've worked in the past? Nothing compared to what I've got up my sleeve next. What I'm about to do is going to Blow. Your. Mind. Don’t you see it? I’m making a new road. A way where there wasn't a way before.

God is still in the business of making the impossible possible.

Here's a full length manuscript of the talk. Here's a Discussion Guide.

For the Israelites, it was the Exile. For us, it’s Post-modernism. The end of Post-modernism is what's called Nihilism. It's emptiness, the philosophical position that ultimately, nothing has any inherent meaning. There's no source of morality, no ultimate source of truth. It's the position we find in Ecclesiastes: "Eat, drink and party, for tomorrow we die." In watching Modernity crumble around us, we're grieving. We get angry. We want to bargain. And we face despair. Nihilism. Is it hard for you to believe that as a culture we’re all becoming Nihilists? That our culture is experiencing Despair right now? Did you know that more than 1 in every 10 Americans over the age of 12 is taking anitdepressant medications. And only about 1/3 of people who show symptoms for severe depression are actually taking any kinds of medication? Did you know that those anti-depressant medications are the third most commonly prescribed drug of all, and they’re rising? And most people taking antidepressants haven't seen a medical professional in the past year, which means we just FEEL depressed and decide we need to self-medicate. Did you know that in this country, someone commits suicide every 15 minutes? Is there any stronger statement that life has no meaning, that reality is empty, hopeless, than the decision to take your own life?

When we talk about Despair as a reaction to grief, this is what we're talking about. More and more, we as a culture are convinced that life isn't going anywhere, that there's no hope, that there's no ultimate, actual source of meaning.

This is the same despair the Exiled Israelites felt. They experienced the same loss, the same death of culture. The Kingdom of Judah was conquered by another Empire - the Babylonians. After the Israelites watched Jerusalem destroyed, they were forcibly deported to Babylon where they were reeducated in the ways of Babylon. This included religious training - they were strongly encouraged to worship Marduk, the Babylonian god, instead of Yahweh, Israel's god. Psalm 137 is a worship song composed during the Exile. And in this song we experience all the despair  Israel felt in the loss of their culture, their way of life, their world.

Beside the rivers of Babylon, we sat and wept as we thought of Jerusalem. We put away our harps, hanging them on the branches of poplar trees. -- Psalm 137:1-2 (NLT)

The Exiles are sitting on the shores of their new reality and weeping. They remember what they've lost and they're grieving. They say this isn't a time for song. They've hung their harps on some nearby trees, refusing to sing worship songs. Why?

For our captors demanded a song from us. Our tormentors insisted on a joyful hymn: "Sing us one of those songs of Jerusalem!" But how can we sing the songs of the LORD while in a pagan land?  -- Psalm 137:3-4 (NLT)

Apparently, the Babylonians taunt them. They mock the Exiles, asking them to sing hymns to Yahweh like they would've sung in the Temple. This would be like Al Queda broadcasting themselves singing The Star Spangled Banner or America the Beautiful on 9/12. Horribly offensive. Enraging. And the Exiles are powerless to resist. They're conquered. Captive.

If I forget you, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget how to play the harp. May my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth if I fail to remember you, if I don't make Jerusalem my greatest joy.  -- Psalm 137:5-6 (NLT)

But here the Exiles resist their despair. They will not forget what they've lost. They cling to their memory of Jerusalem. But then their memory takes a dangerous turn:

O LORD, remember what the Edomites did on the day the armies of Babylon captured Jerusalem. "Destroy it!" they yelled. "Level it to the ground!" O Babylon, you will be destroyed. Happy is the one who pays you back for what you have done to us. Happy is the one who takes your babies and smashes them against the rocks! -- Psalm 137:7-9 (NLT)

The Edomites were a neighboring country that betrayed Israel when the Babylonians invaded. Sort of like if Canada had trained the 9/11 pilots or something like that (which is NOT what happened. That's a hypothetical situation, you conspiracy buffs). So Israel's grief turns to rage at those who've put them in this place - the Edomites and the Babylonians. This hymn of grief ends with a cry for vengeance. Before we move too far in evaluating this song, let's pause to acknowledge that we feel those same feelings. We know despair. That cultural loss pervades our everyday lives. It's hard not to feel that sense of helplessness as we watch the world around us. How many of us are living lives that didn't turn out quite the way we expected them to? How many of us aren't in the job we'd always imagined? Or haven't advanced though the ranks like we always figured we would? How many of us have felt the pain of downsizing in our own families? How many of us live in houses we can't quite afford? How many of us live paycheck to paycheck, and always get nervous the day or two before the next check is due, crossing our fingers that nothing too bad happens before Friday?

You know the feeling that you're just treading water? That's what we're talking about.

How many of us worry? And not just a little bit, but enough that we might consider worry a habit? Anyone here want to admit that they've had a few sleepless nights because of anxiety? Or even if you're sleeping, you feel constant fatigue? You're always exhausted, it doesn't seem like there're enough hours in the day for you to feel truly rested? Anyone here feel alone, isolated? As though no matter how many people are around, you're not really connected to any of them? Are you a person who cuts? One of the major motivations for self-harm is the bleak hopelessness of life. Cutting provides feeling, it drags you into the moment, so that you feel something real, even if it's pain. Anyone in here have an addiction? Alcohol? Work? Shopping? Over- or under-eating? I'm starting to sound like a drug commercial. I'm selling you life in the wake of modernism: side effects may include a loss of purpose, emptiness and general despair. You may be starting to wonder if there's any good news in here anywhere. I know, I know... you didn't come to Church today to get depressed. But here's the thing: our culture, our way of life is changing. And for too long the Church has tried to hide our head in the sand and deny that anything is different. We've been dragged to Babylon and we're trying our hardest to pretend we're still in Jerusalem.

We've been refusing to grieve the loss we're experiencing. And that's so dangerous because it's actually good news that this change is happening. Just like it was good news for the Israelites. It's hard to believe, but it's true.

Here's a PDF of the full talk. Here's a Discussion Guide.

Those of us around my age and younger didn't have any say in making the world the way it is now. We're just inheriting a world that's got a lot of problems. In that way, we're actually quite a lot like the Israelites who lived after the Exile. As Sheila talked about last week, they had to watch their whole universe destroyed - because of choices their parents made - and they had to live with the consequences. We want to say, "That's not fair!" So did those exiled Israelites. They had developed a saying about it, that Ezekiel comments on in chapter 18 of his book (where we'll be today - go ahead and turn there). The word of the day was:

The parents have eaten sour grapes and the children's teeth are set on edge.

You know that reaction we have to sour right? When we eat something sour, we pucker. Our faces naturally contort. It's cause and effect. So that makes this proverb interesting. What they meant by saying this was that their parents had sinned. Their parents had eaten something sour. And now we are paying for it. Our faces are puckering. This proverb was a complaint. It was a way of saying, "Hey! This isn't fair! I didn't create this world. I just have to live in it." What's really under this issue is a question of inheritance. For us today, inheritance is all about money. But the ancient world didn't use cash. They really didn't use money very much. You inherited assets - land, livestock. Buildings. And all of this was wrapped up in your father's name. Your father passed on his name to you and your siblings. And you got everything that name entailed. Your father's reputation - good or bad. His debts. His successes and failures. And in that sense, we're not terribly different from the ancient Israelites. We become our parents - for good and for bad. Each of us has looked at our parents and said, "I never want to be like that," only later to find ourselves repeating that action, saying or habit. That seems inevitable. And when it's just a silly saying or mannerism, it's no big deal. We can just laugh it off. But not everything our parents have done is so harmless. Sometimes what our parents pass down to us is frightening. Sometimes our inheritance is sour. I wonder what Name you've inherited from your parents. I hope it's good. I hope you think of yourself as Capable. Or Powerful. I hope the name you've received is Love. Faithful. Safe. But for so many of us - even those of us who've come from great families - we have other names too.

Ashamed. Not Good Enough. Abused. Workaholic. Crazy. Absent. Cheater.

These are our inheritance. Our broken homes are no different that our broken world - we've been handed a world, a life, a family, an identity. And it's not always pretty. It's not usually pretty. It's hurtful, scary. And just like the Israelites living in the Exile, we want to say, Not fair! I didn't choose this! I didn't ask for this Name, this Inheritance. I didn't make this broken world. I'm suffering the consequences of a lot of choices that were made for me. Not fair! And God's response to them (and to us) is, You're right. That's not fair. Life's not fair. And here's the bad news: Life's not going to be fair. So get over it. So what's the Good News?