“And he [Jesus] said to him [a lawyer], 'You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.' This is the great and foremost commandment. The second is like it, 'You shall love your neighbour as yourself.' On these two commandments depend the whole Law and the Prophets.”
–Matthew 22:37-40
For as long as I sought moral perfection I was unable to attain it. The more I tried the more I failed. Even in the simple things, the most clear-cut and obvious things that were impossible to rationalize, I found myself unable to create any lasting positive change. There were moments of conviction, moments of passion but they were fleeting and inconsequential.
I have given up the pursuit of some transcendent state of moral perfection.
After all, that's not what we are called to as followers of Jesus.
Christians need to give up the pursuit of moral perfection.
Instead we are called to journey in love relationships with God, with others, and with the rest of the cosmos. We should be pursuing love relationships, in particular we are to pursue love relationships with those who are most vulnerable – those who have been abandoned, abused and shattered.
It is only after we have begun to prioritize love and journey in those relationships that we discover that love truly is at the heart of the law and prophets. Suddenly we discover that the morality we were incapable of attaining as an end of it's own is something that occurs as we are transformed by intimacy. Things that always seemed forced become natural. Actions that seemed alien, that seemed to belong to the character of a transcendent God – and certainly not to the character of a finite being like myself – suddenly are the only actions that seem to be true to who I am.
When we journey in love relationships the sayings ascribed to Jesus and Paul suddenly gather a whole new coherence. What once seemed a poetic phrase about love and Law, or an abstract theological argument about grace and Law, suddenly make practical sense. Increasingly I find myself thinking, “Of course that's the way it is. Of course.” It just makes sense.
The problem is that the church has prioritized moral perfection, often at the expense of love. Not only is love neglected but by making morality the foundation of a Christian ethic the church gives itself an impossible task and dooms itself to failure. It is only on the foundation of love that any sense of moral perfection (or understanding of what that even looks like) becomes possible.
I've given up on perfection, in the end I think that whole idea has a lot more to do with Greek philosophers than with the God of the Bible.
What I have not given up on is love. It is love that lies at the heart of the Triune God.

I think I am more self-conscious than I used to be.
That is to say, I have become more self-absorbed.
Whereas before I could care less about what others thought of me, I became accustomed to being liked and even admired. As a result I have come to lose the very characteristics that produced those relationships in the first place. I have come to care greatly about what others think of me – and I have come to expect them to think highly of me.
Now, I've always been a shy person, but for the last half dozen years I've been able to hide that fairly well.
To be shy and arrogant, that's when the trouble truly begins.

He says, “God is good!” but what I think he means is that God helps those who help themselves. I don't know how much he realizes that he has blurred the line between the two.
It's as if he is playing a game so I play along:
“God is good!”
“Yes, he is.”
Only I know it's a game. The problem is that I think he's played the game for so long that he's lost track of the deception. The illusion has become increasingly concrete. The game has become his reality.
And I really don't know how to tell him that. Or even show him that. Really, I don't think it's possible for me to. It was a passing meeting and I don't think our paths will cross again. So I respond affirmatively but, in the end, I mean something completely different.

“'He pled the cause of the afflicted and needy; then it was well. Is not that what it means to know me?' Declares the LORD. 'But your eyes and your heart are intent only upon your own dishonest gain, and on shedding innocent blood and on practicing oppression and extortion.'”
Jeremiah 22.16f
How do you teach middle and upper class Christians that journeying with people who are suffering, journeying with the poor and oppressed, the abused and abandoned, is at the heart of following Jesus?
They say that they have harmed no one in getting wealth, in fact they are defined by integrity. I say they haven't realized the depth of corruption that exists in our society.
I try to tell them that God aligns himself with the oppressed, that God sides with the poor (and as a result often sides against the rich), and if we are pursuing godliness we need to do the same, and they walk away offended. Too selfish(?) to admit that following Jesus means carrying a cross, too scared(?) to admit that carrying a cross is actually tangible suffering and not just flowery rhetoric.
This, after all, isn't what they've grown up hearing in church. So I try and tell them the stats, the overwhelming amount of passages in the Bible that speak of wealth and poverty, and of God siding with the oppressed but they don't believe me. I quote specific passages and they quickly try to rationalize and spiritualize what is a concrete call.
They tell me rich people need Jesus too, and I tell them that maybe the rich will start finding Jesus if they started giving up their riches. They tell me there needs to be people to share Jesus with rich people and I tell them that we should then be telling the rich that they're only fooling themselves into thinking they're following Jesus if they're still accumulating wealth.
I try to remind them that we're talking about relationships, we're talking about journeying with people who are suffering, but they can't get passed their relationships with their possessions.
I remember Jesus saying it's harder for a rich man to get into the kingdom than it is for a camel to go through the eye of the needle. They talk about how the eye of the needle was a gate in Jerusalem that was very small. I tell them that for a camel to get through the gate it had to dump it's pack and crawl through on it's knees. They say, yeah, but it got through right? And I say, start loving people more (or for the first time) and loving your stuff less.
They say, yeah, but look at what I give to the poor. And I say maybe you should focus less on what you're giving to the poor and more on how much you're taking from them. If you steal 100% and then give back 10% I'm not gonna call you a hero.
They say, Jesus is talking about where our heart is, do we own our things or do our things own us? I say Jesus says that where our treasure is there our heart lies also – and let's not fool ourselves into thinking otherwise. They say Jesus is just emphasizing he should be number one in our lives. I say that Jesus is saying don't start following me unless you've realized that there is a tremendous cost. He's not number one, he's the only one.
I try to tell them, start loving people who are suffering, and they walk away reassuring themselves that it's okay to be affluent. They admit that there are dangers to wealth, but they're up to the challenge… and before they know it, they've forgetten the suffering and the poor once again.

For a long time I've been struggling with the idea of exile – convinced that the corporate church in North America is in exile yet wondering if all genuine members of the people of God are also in exile. Can I possess the eschatological spirit and yet still be in exile? I thought of people like Joshua and Caleb who journeyed in the wilderness with a body of people rejected by God, I thought about Daniel, Shadrach and the gang, and wondered, is there a sense in which even the remnant is in exile?
There is a tragic moment in Ezekiel when the prophet watches the Shekinah depart from the temple. At that moment the destruction of Jerusalem and the temple is assured. Yet there is also the idea that God's Shekinah departs to go into exile with her people. So I wondered, is there a sense in which I am in exile yet God is suffering in exile with me? Is there a sense in which I can possess the Spirit of Jesus, interceding on my behalf as I am in exile?
I thought that the answer to those questions was yes. But now I'm coming to another conclusion.
If my body is the temple of the Holy Spirit, if I do possess the spirit of the eschaton, if I am Jesus to the world that I live in, then I cannot be in exile. Rather I am the Shekinah of God that journeys with a people who are still in exile. Therefore, I am no more in exile than Jesus was. Jesus journeyed with a people in exile yet he never was in exile. Rather he embodied the in-breaking kingdom. Even if he suffered some of the consequences of the people in exile he was not in exile. Rather he suffered those consequences to bring the people out of exile. Therefore, I am not in exile with God suffering alongside of me. Rather I embody the Spirit of God who journeys with a people in exile, sharing in their sufferings in order to bring them out.

Her: “I'm fucked-up.”
Him: “No you're not.”
Her: “I've been shattered.”
Him: “No, you're whole.”
Her: “I'm ugly.”
Him: “No, you're beautiful.”
Her: “I'm damaged goods, I'm worthless.”
Him: “No, you're precious.”
Her: “I'm fucked-up.”
Him: “No you're not.”
Her: “Yes I am.”
Him: “No you're not.”
Her: “Yes I am.”
Him: “Okay… jeez… relax. What's your problem, anyway?”
You see, here's the thing. Loving people means allowing them to be fucked-up. That's why so often it is better to listen than it is to offer solutions. Even when people cry out for help, even when you're sure you have all the answers. Job's friends had all the answers and look what they did to him. The only time the demonstrated their wisdom was at the very beginning when they sat in silence with him. Once they started offering solutions everything goes downhill and Job's sufferings are made worse. You see, a person who has been shattered is only sure of one thing – that she is shattered. To say that they're not, means nothing to them and only leads them to conclude that you don't understand. It's what Rick Tobias calls “oppressive potential.” By always seeing what person can be, we never end up meeting them where they are. Instead of offering answers we need to be offering love. That conversation should run more like this:
Her: “I'm fucked-up.”
Him: “I love you.”
Her: “I've been shattered.”
Him: “I love you.”
Her: “I'm ugly.”
Him: “I love you.”
Her: “I'm damaged goods, I'm worthless.”
Him: “I love you.”
Her: “I'm fucked-up.”
Him: “I love you.”
Although she may be sure that she is shattered this love thing may be something new. It may start her thinking, “What is he talking about?” She may be sure of her brokenness, and worthlessness no matter how many times you tell her otherwise, but as you journey in love relationship with her, she will begin to realize, “Hold on a minute… this love thing is something that makes me whole. It's something that makes me beautiful and precious. It's something that makes me not fucked-up!”
Of course the genders could be just as easily reversed. I don't want to suggest that women are always the “victims” and men are always saving them (the idea that men must always save women is one that, ultimately, only further victimizes women).

Here's the difference between the way in which Christians today define love and the way in which Jesus defined it not that long ago.
Love is in these days. Everybody talks about love, it seems like we are all in agreement that we just need to be more loving. Not that we're doing too bad of a job of it… we'd all like to believe we're pretty caring people. Even more interesting to those who pay a little closer attention, is the fact that Christians and those of other faiths seem to be talking about the same thing when they talk about love. It seems that love is demonstrated in a willingness to sacrifice should the need arise. It is a willingness to give to those who cross our paths. Walking down Queen Street I demonstrate love by stopping to buy lunch for the squeegie kids. Heck, I love my family so much that, should the need arise, I would even die for them., If someone were to fire a gun, I'd jump into the line of fire – that sort of thing.
Unfortunately for us Christians I think Jesus is talking about something very different when he spoke about love. This isn't lost on the authors of the New Testament. In “Romans” 5 Paul says this:
“But God demonstrates his own love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.”
A little later John writes in “1 John” 3:
We know love by this, that he laid down his life for us; and we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren. But whoever has the world's goods, and sees his brother in need and closes his heart against him, how does the love of God abide in him? Little children, let us not love with word or with tongue, but in deed and truth.”
The words sound familiar, the examples equally so, but something radically different is going on here. We have defined love by the willingness to make sacrifices as we cross paths with those in need. Yet this is not love as God has modeled it to us. It is not simply that humanity (and the rest of creation) was headed in one direction, God in another, our paths crossed, Jesus died, and we both keep going our separate ways. No. Fallen humanity was journeying away from God. Yet God demonstrated his love by deliberately placing himself in our path. God went and sought us out.
And that's where the difference lies. As Christians we are not called to give as the need arises. We are called to go out and discover that need – not simply address it as we stumble upon it. That's why we are called to lay down our lives. It is in our living that we pay the price. It is about living a sacrificial life, not simply dying a sacrificial death. The question is no longer, “What are you giving?” but rather, “What are you holding back?” Then the language Jesus used, the language about crosses, about sacrifice, about suffering, starts making sense in hard and practical ways. It's not simply flowery rhetoric, it's the cost of discipleship.
When Jesus tells the famous story of the “Good Samaritan” he concludes by asking, “Who was the neighbor of the robbed man?” The man who was questioning him (remember this takes place in context of the command to “love your neighbor as you love yourself”) responds by saying, “The one who showed mercy.” Jesus then says, “You have answered correctly. Go and do likewise.” Love is demonstrated by placing ourselves in the paths of those who have suffered, love is demonstrated in seeking out the wounded – not just waiting until we stumble upon them (which we hardly do. Mostly because we are untrustworthy and unsafe and so those around us never share their stories with us).

So Jude asks me, “Where is the joy in carrying our cross? Where is the joy that comes with dying? All this talk about grief and suffering, how does this idea of the joy of the Lord being within us fit into that picture?”
It's a tough question. One that I've struggled with a long time, and mostly ended up ignoring because I was never fully satisfied with the answers I could think of. Now I feel like I've started to discover an answer, it came through one of those, “can't see the forest for the trees” sort of moments.
As I told the guys at the shelter I was leaving, a lot of them made comments about how positive a presence I was, how I always had a ready smile, that sort of thing. One of my best friends there said to me, “Man, you're the happiest person I know.” I got to thinking about this and remembered how kids at the drop-in had said the same thing when I left there, “You've always got a smile for me… no matter how the day is going you're always happy to see us.” These people see me as a joyful person.
Which is funny because all my friends from Christian circles tend to see me as sad or critical or pessimistic. That's also the way I've always tended to see myself. I feel like I spend far more time “mourning with those who mourn” than “rejoicing with those who rejoice.”
And that's when it hit me. In my reflections on this I discovered the joy we have in the midst of carrying crosses. I feel like the cross I carry is often the suffering and grief of the homeless, abandoned and oppressed that I journey with. Yet these are people I love dearly. Of course I smile when I see them, it's a delight for me to see them. Of course I laugh with them, they're beautiful and brilliant. Therein lies the joy. I am journeying in love relationships. I love these men, these kids, these people, and – amazingly – they love me! How can the joy that brings me not be reflected in my relationships with them?
So there the paradox finds its resolution. On one hand there is a genuine cross and a deep suffering that comes with journeying with people who are broken at a level I will never experience. On the other hand there is genuine joy and delight that comes with journeying with beautiful and brilliant people that I love and that love me.
—
*Taken from the title of a C.S. Lewis book. He means it in a different way but, dang, it's such an appropriate quote for this situation.

I was sitting talking on the porch with an LIT and she was asking about my work and began telling me how her and her friends would volunteer at Sanctuary. She was talking about her desire to love people, her desire to help but her feeling of inadequacy,
“I meet these people, I listen to your stories and I think, 'how can I offer these people anything? How can I empathize?' I've always had it really good. I've never gone through anything bad.”
I've often struggled with feeling that way. I've asked myself the same questions, I used to think that I needed to run away, lose myself in the streets, go through every type of hell, so that then I would be able to come alongside of people who were suffering. Then I would be able to say, “I understand,” then I would be able to say, “let's get through this together.” Then I would be able to at least offer companionship, and they would not be so alone.
Of course to even feel such things shows how little we understand suffering. Say such a thing to someone who has suffered deeply and they'll look at you like you're crazy.
“You don't know what you're saying. I never want anybody to go through anything close to what I've gone through.”
And then, talking with this LIT, I realized something. It was Jesus who surrendered everything to enter into our suffering and bring us out of it. It is Jesus who can truly empathize, who can truly offer companionship and comfort. And then I realized, it is Jesus in us, Jesus in me, that the people I work with recognize. It is because I have Christ in me that I can come alongside of those who are suffering and offer them something. I always want it to be me who makes the difference, me who is significant, but really, it's Jesus in me that these people recognize, it's Jesus who makes the difference.
And that's why I can still do the work I do. That's why I can still journey with the people that I love, and that love me – without having to go through the hell that they have experienced.