Going through my desk, I (Calvin) found this lament I had written for a class about a year ago. Our American culture is not too familiar with the lament, other than in popular break up songs. Yet the Psalms are filled with cries of anguish as people desperately try to make sense of God's movement in the midst of pain. Though it does not reflect my current status, I was reminded of the need to express our pain in its rawest and simplest form. May you be blessed by this.
Faithful and Redeeming God,
who has called to himself a people set apart and distinct,
bearing your name, living representations of You.
Why must I deal with your people?
What do you gain by covenanting with a people such as these?
Why have you yoked me to them?
With words and proclamations,
they deceitfully masquerade themselves as
faithful, pious, and full of compassion,
yet their hearts are hardened
to forgiveness, love and reconciliation.
Like a beginning art student,
their free-hand attempts to convey your image
only mar the original.
If you've call them to be your representation,
then I don't like the You I've gotten to know.
Pettiness,
Immaturity,
Ignorance,
and Self-Righteousness abound.
Can they get any more creative with their sin?
Though I do not understand, I know that these are your people
that you are transforming by your Holy Spirit.
I know that you have not abandoned us.
Your mercy and patience extend into eternity.
May I see your hand at work in this community and in looking at them, may I see you.
Monday, April 29, 2013
Friday, April 12, 2013
Doubting Thomas
Confession: I'm a PresbyFriend. Let me clarify - first and foremost, I follow Jesus. But I learned how to follow Jesus in a Presbyterian church. I've got reformed theology, a love for solid biblical teaching, structure, and traditional liturgy. Now I'm at an Evangelical Friends church. We love good community (and good food!), emphasizing Jesus in our midst, and influencing our culture. But if I'm really honest, I think I'm a closet wanna-be-charismatic-PresbyFriend.
I spent a summer in college living in the suburbs of Salt Lake City for an internship at a counseling center & spent a lot of time with my church family, The Adventure Four Square Church in Draper. These people are to this day some of the most amazing I've met in my life. They've got story after story of God's movement, his redemption, his life in the midst of a dead world. They also exercise a lot more freedom, movement, and power in the Spirit than my little Presbyterian brain could compute--in the best and most confusing way.
This past weekend I was home for my soon-to-be sister-in-law's bridal show & went to a Four Square church with mom. Their guest speaker was the most adorable 82 year old fire-cracker godly man who does missionary work in the Middle East, bringing millions to know Jesus. He told story after story of people being instantly healed of cancer, of signs and wonders that get people's attention and led them to Jesus. He read us parables and stories of Jesus healing the sick, of compassion welling up inside Him that led him to heal each and every person brought before Him. The speaker then led many to come up and be prayed over to be healed of cancer and sickness. No fanfire or fireworks, just a simple prayer over those with a simple faith in a big, capable God.
And there I sat in my chair, nervous. Not because anything they said was off base, but because I was convicted that my intellectual faith sometimes doesn't translate to a faith that fully trusts in God for all things. I can describe His power, cite passages of him healing the sick, blind, demonized, raising the dead...but apparently my heart doesn't fully believe it. I'm a doubting Thomas. I crave to live as Jesus intended his followers to live. A life I often describe as mundanely normal interwoven with threads of the miraculous. I struggle to find that balance, to boldly display the power of the Holy Spirit in my daily life. We are His ambassadors, with His authority, His power, & His inheritance granted to us as adopted children..
Last weekend I realized I believe all those things, yet they were wrapped in some unspoken contingencies: That living what I believe doesn't make me look foolish. That I'm not embarrassed. That it works within my schedule... Ultimately, I think I set up these walls in my heart so that I'm not disappointed if God chooses not to heal. If he chooses to answer differently than I wanted. If he chooses to be silent. I realized that I give up easily when disappointed or hurt. My heart puts up protective walls, and this week I realized once again that on those walls are written I don't fully trust you, God. Calvin recently listened to a sermon that said the opposite of faith is not doubt, it's sight. I am Thomas, who wouldn't believe Jesus was resurrected until He saw the wounds in his hands.
This week I've struggled to make sense of my heart. I'm reading through the gospels and finding innumerable accounts of this miraculous, normal life that doesn't always fit with the world I experience. Our God is sovereign, He will do what he wants, yet there is some mysterious relationship with our faith and his movement around us. And my faith is peanut sized, easily wavered when hit with disappointments. I've got no idea what this journey will look like. I only know I'm committing myself to pursuing a persistent faith like the one of the widow seeking justice...like the bleeding woman who knew if she could just touch His garment she'd be healed...like the centurion whose servant was dying....like the paralytic's friends...like the little boy with 5 fish and 2 loaves...like my 82 year old brother in Christ. I pursue faith not for faith's sake, because a misplaced faith, no matter how great, is ultimately in vain. I pursue a great faith because my God is great.
Sometimes I'll need to borrow other people's faith. So journey with me, encourage me, remind me of our great God, of the things He's done. Together I think we'll find a rich journey of adventuring with Jesus, a life that draws attention to our great King.
**I know there are a lot of views on gifts and how they are to be used, or not used, in today's context. I'm not advocating any certain theological stance, only responding to what I read in the Bible and hoping to live that out fully. Be gracious with me.
I spent a summer in college living in the suburbs of Salt Lake City for an internship at a counseling center & spent a lot of time with my church family, The Adventure Four Square Church in Draper. These people are to this day some of the most amazing I've met in my life. They've got story after story of God's movement, his redemption, his life in the midst of a dead world. They also exercise a lot more freedom, movement, and power in the Spirit than my little Presbyterian brain could compute--in the best and most confusing way.
This past weekend I was home for my soon-to-be sister-in-law's bridal show & went to a Four Square church with mom. Their guest speaker was the most adorable 82 year old fire-cracker godly man who does missionary work in the Middle East, bringing millions to know Jesus. He told story after story of people being instantly healed of cancer, of signs and wonders that get people's attention and led them to Jesus. He read us parables and stories of Jesus healing the sick, of compassion welling up inside Him that led him to heal each and every person brought before Him. The speaker then led many to come up and be prayed over to be healed of cancer and sickness. No fanfire or fireworks, just a simple prayer over those with a simple faith in a big, capable God.
And there I sat in my chair, nervous. Not because anything they said was off base, but because I was convicted that my intellectual faith sometimes doesn't translate to a faith that fully trusts in God for all things. I can describe His power, cite passages of him healing the sick, blind, demonized, raising the dead...but apparently my heart doesn't fully believe it. I'm a doubting Thomas. I crave to live as Jesus intended his followers to live. A life I often describe as mundanely normal interwoven with threads of the miraculous. I struggle to find that balance, to boldly display the power of the Holy Spirit in my daily life. We are His ambassadors, with His authority, His power, & His inheritance granted to us as adopted children..
Last weekend I realized I believe all those things, yet they were wrapped in some unspoken contingencies: That living what I believe doesn't make me look foolish. That I'm not embarrassed. That it works within my schedule... Ultimately, I think I set up these walls in my heart so that I'm not disappointed if God chooses not to heal. If he chooses to answer differently than I wanted. If he chooses to be silent. I realized that I give up easily when disappointed or hurt. My heart puts up protective walls, and this week I realized once again that on those walls are written I don't fully trust you, God. Calvin recently listened to a sermon that said the opposite of faith is not doubt, it's sight. I am Thomas, who wouldn't believe Jesus was resurrected until He saw the wounds in his hands.
This week I've struggled to make sense of my heart. I'm reading through the gospels and finding innumerable accounts of this miraculous, normal life that doesn't always fit with the world I experience. Our God is sovereign, He will do what he wants, yet there is some mysterious relationship with our faith and his movement around us. And my faith is peanut sized, easily wavered when hit with disappointments. I've got no idea what this journey will look like. I only know I'm committing myself to pursuing a persistent faith like the one of the widow seeking justice...like the bleeding woman who knew if she could just touch His garment she'd be healed...like the centurion whose servant was dying....like the paralytic's friends...like the little boy with 5 fish and 2 loaves...like my 82 year old brother in Christ. I pursue faith not for faith's sake, because a misplaced faith, no matter how great, is ultimately in vain. I pursue a great faith because my God is great.
Sometimes I'll need to borrow other people's faith. So journey with me, encourage me, remind me of our great God, of the things He's done. Together I think we'll find a rich journey of adventuring with Jesus, a life that draws attention to our great King.
**I know there are a lot of views on gifts and how they are to be used, or not used, in today's context. I'm not advocating any certain theological stance, only responding to what I read in the Bible and hoping to live that out fully. Be gracious with me.
Thursday, March 28, 2013
The Untameable Cross
Tomorrow is Good Friday, the penultimate paradox of Christianity, a celebration of a death that brings life. We do well to approach tomorrow with hesitancy, with bated breath, with a slowness in our step and a quiver in our voice. Tomorrow is the great upheaval, the day when the evil and violence that we've welcomed into our beds is overthrown, but not with a greater act of power. Rather, the darkness of the human heart is revealed for what it is in the face of God's submission to sacrifice. No one took his life- he laid it down. God submits to death. And at the center of it all stands the cross.
I think we've become too comfortable with the cross. We've tamed it and simplified it so it looks good on our walls, compliments our flower garden, and spices up our outfit as a crystallized accessory. We've forgotten, or maybe chosen to forget, the scandal of the cross. This object that we've become so familiar with, that decorates our homes and stands at the center of our houses of worship, is nothing more than a torture device.
In Jesus' time, a cross was not looked upon with fondness of heart. The cross conjured up images of disfigured, beaten bodies, streams of blood flowing from hands and feet. One could hear the sound of agonized screams of pain, or staggered breathing as those hours from death struggled to breath. One could smell the feces, the urine, the vomit as criminals nailed to the wood lost control of their systems, their bodies shutting down. Rome, who made torture an art form, considered the cross to be their masterpiece, their magnum opus.
That we have crosses on our walls, jewelry, clothing, or back windows of our cars is akin to covering our possessions with pictures of the electric chair. We do well to remember that the cross is not first, a religious symbol that brings peace, but a symbol of our wickedness, our depraved nature.
Although it is a symbol of ancient forms of torture, today, it IS a symbol of peace and love, that salvation has been accomplished. When we look at the cross we see that the evils of this world, the sick and twisted ways we perpetuate violence day in and day out, will never have the last word. No matter what depths we may stoop to, we see, at the cross, the love of God descending to our level, grabbing our face in his hands, and speaking three simple words - "It is finished."
The cross is a reminder that even the darkest forms of humanity are not averse to the light of God's redemption. The light always overcomes darkness. And though darkness covered the land at Christ's death, the light that breaks the dawn on Easter morning reminds us the resurrection is just around the corner. So this Good Friday, Holy Saturday, and Easter Sunday, may we be simultaneously made uncomfortable and comforted, repulsed and invited, saddened and overjoyed, at the sight of the cross
I think we've become too comfortable with the cross. We've tamed it and simplified it so it looks good on our walls, compliments our flower garden, and spices up our outfit as a crystallized accessory. We've forgotten, or maybe chosen to forget, the scandal of the cross. This object that we've become so familiar with, that decorates our homes and stands at the center of our houses of worship, is nothing more than a torture device.
In Jesus' time, a cross was not looked upon with fondness of heart. The cross conjured up images of disfigured, beaten bodies, streams of blood flowing from hands and feet. One could hear the sound of agonized screams of pain, or staggered breathing as those hours from death struggled to breath. One could smell the feces, the urine, the vomit as criminals nailed to the wood lost control of their systems, their bodies shutting down. Rome, who made torture an art form, considered the cross to be their masterpiece, their magnum opus.
That we have crosses on our walls, jewelry, clothing, or back windows of our cars is akin to covering our possessions with pictures of the electric chair. We do well to remember that the cross is not first, a religious symbol that brings peace, but a symbol of our wickedness, our depraved nature.
Although it is a symbol of ancient forms of torture, today, it IS a symbol of peace and love, that salvation has been accomplished. When we look at the cross we see that the evils of this world, the sick and twisted ways we perpetuate violence day in and day out, will never have the last word. No matter what depths we may stoop to, we see, at the cross, the love of God descending to our level, grabbing our face in his hands, and speaking three simple words - "It is finished."
The cross is a reminder that even the darkest forms of humanity are not averse to the light of God's redemption. The light always overcomes darkness. And though darkness covered the land at Christ's death, the light that breaks the dawn on Easter morning reminds us the resurrection is just around the corner. So this Good Friday, Holy Saturday, and Easter Sunday, may we be simultaneously made uncomfortable and comforted, repulsed and invited, saddened and overjoyed, at the sight of the cross
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Blinded by Manna
I fall asleep to the sound of rain, muffled by the roof over our head which keeps us warm for the night. I love the rain, but that's because I have the luxury of observing it from safety and shelter. Others don't have this.
I wake up to the sound of birds enjoying the fresh, sun streaked morning, singing their song for whoever chooses to listen. I pull the covers close to my head and nestle into the silky sheets we received as a wedding gift. I could sleep in, but I choose to wake up.
As I get ready, I mentally browse through my breakfast options as one browses the internet, with little haste and no sense of urgency. Aimlessly, really. Eggs? Smoothie? Cereal? Oatmeal? Which cereal? Shredded Wheat? Cheerios? It doesn't really matter. Whatever I choose, I'll walk out of my one-bedroom apartment, ideally situated close to Old Towne (the "e" is silent) Orange with no sense of hunger.
I enter my closet, pull open the drawer and grab the first shirt off the top of the pile. It's one I wear often, as I don't take the time to search through the shirts at the bottom of the drawer. Besides, my favorite shirts are always at the top. That's why they're there. Duh.
I put on my new pair of khakis, pants I didn't really need, but I had tried them on at Old Navy and I thought I looked pretty good. Especially when I wear it with my black North Face Jacket. I think it makes me look part adventurer, part worker, part down-to-earth guy, an image I'd love to convey.
I open up the refrigerator to make myself lunch for the day when I realize that we've left our lunch supplies at church. I could grab a few slices of bread to make a sandwich with the meat and cheese we have. Or I could use the new Trader Joe gift cards we have to buy myself something for lunch. I choose the latter. I'll always have sandwiches. I won't always have TJ gift cards.
After arriving at church, I sit down at my desk, surrounded by piles of papers and books, some of which have felt very neglected as of late. I grab my Bible and open to Exodus 17, the story of God's provision of manna for the Israelites.
It's amazing really. They wake up each morning and food is there for them, lying on the ground, waiting to be collected, like a fresh blanket of snow. As each family gathers food, they find that there is always enough for each day, never more, never less.
They did this for 40 years. Each day, waking up to a fresh blanket of food covering the ground, just enough for each day. I wonder if they ever took it for granted? Or was each day as exciting as the first? Did there come a point in time, after they had gone through their "365 Ways to Cook Manna" cookbook a few times, they were, dare I say it, ungrateful? It sure did. Numbers 11 documents their desire for a little meat to go with their manna.
Those silly Israelites. If only their hearts weren't so hardened. If only they didn't try to gather more than they needed. If only they were truly grateful for the things God had given them. If I had lived through the wilderness wandering, I'm sure I would have been grateful.
I best be going. I've got a dinner to make. Or maybe we'll eat out. We don't really have much good food to eat anyway.
I wake up to the sound of birds enjoying the fresh, sun streaked morning, singing their song for whoever chooses to listen. I pull the covers close to my head and nestle into the silky sheets we received as a wedding gift. I could sleep in, but I choose to wake up.
As I get ready, I mentally browse through my breakfast options as one browses the internet, with little haste and no sense of urgency. Aimlessly, really. Eggs? Smoothie? Cereal? Oatmeal? Which cereal? Shredded Wheat? Cheerios? It doesn't really matter. Whatever I choose, I'll walk out of my one-bedroom apartment, ideally situated close to Old Towne (the "e" is silent) Orange with no sense of hunger.
I enter my closet, pull open the drawer and grab the first shirt off the top of the pile. It's one I wear often, as I don't take the time to search through the shirts at the bottom of the drawer. Besides, my favorite shirts are always at the top. That's why they're there. Duh.
I put on my new pair of khakis, pants I didn't really need, but I had tried them on at Old Navy and I thought I looked pretty good. Especially when I wear it with my black North Face Jacket. I think it makes me look part adventurer, part worker, part down-to-earth guy, an image I'd love to convey.
I open up the refrigerator to make myself lunch for the day when I realize that we've left our lunch supplies at church. I could grab a few slices of bread to make a sandwich with the meat and cheese we have. Or I could use the new Trader Joe gift cards we have to buy myself something for lunch. I choose the latter. I'll always have sandwiches. I won't always have TJ gift cards.
After arriving at church, I sit down at my desk, surrounded by piles of papers and books, some of which have felt very neglected as of late. I grab my Bible and open to Exodus 17, the story of God's provision of manna for the Israelites.
It's amazing really. They wake up each morning and food is there for them, lying on the ground, waiting to be collected, like a fresh blanket of snow. As each family gathers food, they find that there is always enough for each day, never more, never less.
They did this for 40 years. Each day, waking up to a fresh blanket of food covering the ground, just enough for each day. I wonder if they ever took it for granted? Or was each day as exciting as the first? Did there come a point in time, after they had gone through their "365 Ways to Cook Manna" cookbook a few times, they were, dare I say it, ungrateful? It sure did. Numbers 11 documents their desire for a little meat to go with their manna.
Those silly Israelites. If only their hearts weren't so hardened. If only they didn't try to gather more than they needed. If only they were truly grateful for the things God had given them. If I had lived through the wilderness wandering, I'm sure I would have been grateful.
I best be going. I've got a dinner to make. Or maybe we'll eat out. We don't really have much good food to eat anyway.
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Slowing Down for Lent
In America we've lost the art & space of stillness. We are a super time-oriented culture. When we were in Ireland last summer, I was shocked to see there were no clocks in any of the hotel rooms. Sometimes our wake up calls were 20 minutes early. To me this seemed crazy, but they were just taking their time and slowly enjoying their life as it happened. The Church in other countries sometimes calls the American Church the "Happy Clappy" church. Our worship services reflect it - 3 fast songs to get us excited, 1 power ballad reflective song, then back on our feet clapping, before we hear a sermon and we're off to lunch. Here in Orange County, we're accustomed to a happy-clappy, fast paced lifestyle. I find myself pasting on a smile, packing my schedule full of activities, hopping from point A to B all day before getting home at 10pm and starting it all over again. In a state of perpetual haste, lots of things get run over, and quality time with the Lord is no exception.
So when Calvin asked me the other morning if we wanted to give up something for Lent, I decided that I'm going to give up speeding. I meant this most literally. Our friend Brendan (whose wisdom you can read in his own blog, Watch . Listen . Be .) gave up speeding for Lent a few years ago. He noted a few things - 1. You don't get anywhere significantly faster if you speed, 30 seconds, maybe. 2. Slowing down to the speed limit helps you slow down your heart & mind as well. I've been practicing slowing down on the freeways the last few days, and it's amazing how a small, intentional action can change my attitude as I start to my day. As cars whiz past me at 85mph+, I don't feel angry, or the need to compete, or change lines every 30 seconds to get 5 yards ahead. I feel calmer & more present in the car to listen to the radio, to pray, to sing, whatever. My heart takes cues from my body slowing down.
I'm hoping that this physical slowing will bleed into the attitude of my heart and mind. As I slow down in my car, in trying to multitask 4 things at once, in my work, in my time getting ready in the morning, etc. I'm praying that God will open my eyes to see his movement around me. That in my new commitment to slowness, I'll spend more time reflecting & listening to God in my daily time in the Word, not just crossing it off my list. I'm confident He's already moving in my midst, but most of the time I'm flying past him, too busy & too fast to notice anything around me.
In my hurried, speeding state I usually feel a little bit crazy. A little bit (probably a lot) rude to my husband as I'm rushing around the house. A little bit more important than the people I'm speeding past. A little bit self-consumed. Though in the moment running a little late or getting stuck behind that car on the freeway seems inconvenient, I think this "sacrifice" for Lent will slowly shape me more into Christ-likeness. And drawing closer to Jesus is what Lent's all about right?
So when Calvin asked me the other morning if we wanted to give up something for Lent, I decided that I'm going to give up speeding. I meant this most literally. Our friend Brendan (whose wisdom you can read in his own blog, Watch . Listen . Be .) gave up speeding for Lent a few years ago. He noted a few things - 1. You don't get anywhere significantly faster if you speed, 30 seconds, maybe. 2. Slowing down to the speed limit helps you slow down your heart & mind as well. I've been practicing slowing down on the freeways the last few days, and it's amazing how a small, intentional action can change my attitude as I start to my day. As cars whiz past me at 85mph+, I don't feel angry, or the need to compete, or change lines every 30 seconds to get 5 yards ahead. I feel calmer & more present in the car to listen to the radio, to pray, to sing, whatever. My heart takes cues from my body slowing down.
I'm hoping that this physical slowing will bleed into the attitude of my heart and mind. As I slow down in my car, in trying to multitask 4 things at once, in my work, in my time getting ready in the morning, etc. I'm praying that God will open my eyes to see his movement around me. That in my new commitment to slowness, I'll spend more time reflecting & listening to God in my daily time in the Word, not just crossing it off my list. I'm confident He's already moving in my midst, but most of the time I'm flying past him, too busy & too fast to notice anything around me.
In my hurried, speeding state I usually feel a little bit crazy. A little bit (probably a lot) rude to my husband as I'm rushing around the house. A little bit more important than the people I'm speeding past. A little bit self-consumed. Though in the moment running a little late or getting stuck behind that car on the freeway seems inconvenient, I think this "sacrifice" for Lent will slowly shape me more into Christ-likeness. And drawing closer to Jesus is what Lent's all about right?
Friday, February 1, 2013
Daddy Issues
A few weeks ago, I (Kenzie) read through the account of Abraham & Isaac in Genesis 22. Here God tests Abraham's faithfulness by asking him to sacrifice his only son as an offering. Like many others who have grown up in the church, I've heard this story time and time again. It's easy to read the story in light of its ending. God sends an angel to stop Abraham from killing his son.& instead provides a ram to sacrifice on the mountain. Hooray! We happily gloss over the details, then admire Abraham's faith and devotion to God. Not this time. I finished reading, turned to Calvin, and said "Okay, now where are the follow up chapters that talk about how Isaac never trusted his dad again, spent the rest of his life in therapy recovering from trauma, and decided this "God of Abraham" thing was not for him? Can you imagine the conversation between Abraham & Sarah when they return from their trip? "Welcome back, honey, how was your trip with your dad? Good bonding time?"
But, as with many of the details of the Bible, the reader is left to imagine. Daddy issues. That's what I imagine. Serious PTSD, trust problems, and big-time daddy issues. In fact, this story haunted me for weeks. I really struggled with why God would test Abraham like this. We praise Abraham for his faithfulness, yet I have to wonder about the task set before him. Anyone who tried to do the same today in the name of God would end up with CPS at their front door & a nice, long jail sentence.
Calvin gave me a good read on this, which gave good insights, but still didn't ease the tension I felt. As I reflected & struggled through my questions, I have come to no profound or comforting conclusion. In fact, it still makes me really uncomfortable. But as I continue to wrestle with my discomfort over this story, I've realized how comfortable I've become with the gospel. Here is this story of a father, asked to sacrifice his one and only son, and I am appalled. I'm cringing, sweating, then relieved that he doesn't have to go through with it. Yet here's another story I'm very comfortable with - a father sacrifices his one and only son, who willingly agrees to die, and no one stops it. In fact the crowds encourage it. And I'm indifferent. Hmm...sound like a familiar story line?
My intense discomfort with Abraham's story has only highlighted my silence to the Father's willingness to do the same. Abraham proved his love and devotion to the Lord. And the Lord has proved his love, devotion, and forgiveness to us in Jesus. He has spared nothing to pursue us, to show us His amazing love, yet sometimes I sit back with my own spiritual daddy issues, uncertain if I'm ready to trust Him.
May I continue to hear with fresh ears and react when I hear the absurdity of the gospel - that a Father would give his only Son to ransom us. That deserves a reaction. It's a story worth telling. It's a God worth getting to know.
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Faithfulness over Efficiency
Of the many lessons I've learned in marriage, one of the most important is the need to choose one's words wisely. For instance, one evening, having dinner with close friends, Kenzie and I were asked what the title of a book would be that chronicled our first year of marriage. My first response was "Pre-Marital Failure," which was an attempt to convey how I felt that pre-marital counseling, while helpful, did little to truly prepare Kenzie and I for the profound mysteriousness of marriage. Unfortunately, all Kenzie heard was that I thought our marriage was a failure. The moral of the story? Choose your words wisely, for they can communicate far more than you may intend.
This lesson is not only applicable in all marriages, relationships, and friendships, but I think we need to be mindful of this in the way we speak of God and the work he has beckoned us to join him in. For instance, as Christians, I think the words "effective" and "efficient" should be eradicated from our vocabulary when it comes to talking about ministry. Eradicated? Strong word I know, but I feel quite strongly about this.
I have no problem with people running an effective business or being mindful of more efficient ways to accomplish one's work. Effectiveness and efficiency communicate the importance of maximizing one's resources, finding the best way with a minimal amount of supplies to create the biggest net result. These words, if they could talk, might say, "We know the goal we're pursuing, but can we attain it in a better, faster, more productive way? Can we save time, energy, or money?" Effectiveness focuses on results and the means by which those results
are achieved. And sometimes, when effectiveness is the highest
priority, the means by which results are attained are uncritically
accepted. Then, it doesn't matter exactly how you do it as long as you
get the most results. The ends begin to justify the means.
These words are great for a business, but horrible for the church. God is not concerned with effectiveness and efficiency, but faithfulness. God is not concerned just with the results, but with every step of the process. Everything we do says something about who God is and what his Kingdom is like. With faithfulness, the goal is not results, but conformity to and unity with God.
I could see effectiveness and efficiency having a place within the church if the goal is the glory of God. Effectiveness then becomes, "How can I maximize glory for God?" which is a lot more akin to faithfulness. But glory to God is a bit more intangible than, for instance, more people. And efficiency and effectiveness tend to focus more on what we can see and measure. Eventually, over time, the ends will eclipse the means. Thus, if we removed the words altogether from our vocabulary, I think it would free us to faithfulness.
Some may think that I'm creating a false dichotomy here, which may be true. I just can't help but think about Jesus' ministry, who gave such difficult teachings that many walked away and abandoned him completely. Effective? Probably not. Faithful? He's the primary image of what faithfulness looks like.
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