Babel or Pentecost? - Part 1

(This is an article I wrote in 2007 about technology and faith, when I was somewhat of a Luddite. I'm going to re-publish it here in several installments, and then write about how my views have evolved as the age of social media has dawned.)

I have a friend who is a minister and self-professing techno-geek. He loves computers. He builds websites and plays interactive video games. He even co-hosts something called a podcast - which is like a radio show on the Internet.

As long as we've been friends, I've enjoyed getting on his nerves by calling computers evil and by making fun of people who use them a lot. The funny thing is, because of him, I've been much more of a techno person than I ever thought I would. He's even gotten me started on making my own blog.

The two of us have had an ongoing conversation about whether our rapidly advancing technology is a good thing. My friends thinks that the Internet offers new ways for people to make connections and share information, that it strengthens the bonds of human relatinship.

And he's right! We have gained a lot from new technologies, and we will continue to in ways that we cannot even dream about today. But I am cautious about where this progression will ultimately lead us. Maybe I watch too much science fiction, but this rapid acceleration in what computers can do scares me.

And it's not because I think we're going to end up enslaved to machines like in "Terminator" or "The Matrix." My concern has more to do with how our machines have the potential to distract us from God and the creator/creature relationship. My cautionary tale, therefore, is not one of those movies. It's a story that appears in the eleventh chapter of Genesis, and it describes an ancient race of people who unite briefly in glorious technological achievement, but end up scattered and confused. It's the story of Babel...

From the Pulpit: Risky Faith

(This excerpt is from a sermon preached October 16, 2011 - based on I Thessalonians 1:1-10)

The apostles were quite bold in taking risks, but not taking too many. As he travelled from place to place, Paul developed a keen sense of when to aggressively push with the Gospel, and when to retreat and take a more defensive tactic. The Book of Acts details this balance of sound risk-taking as the Christian faith exploded from a disorganized band of 12 disciples into a powerful religion that has changed the scope of world history.

But even more important than imitating the apostle’s risky faith is the fact that they have imitated Christ himself – Paul says “us and the Lord”. Because the apostles didn’t invent their strategy of good risk-taking. They were imitating what Jesus Christ did on the cross. So what Paul is really telling the Thessalonians is that since Christ was not afraid of risks, and was not even afraid being killed, then neither should Christ’s followers be afraid.

Now it might seem strange to say that Christ on the cross was a risk. It might even seem heretical to put it this way, because it implies that God, by sending his only Son into the world, was rolling the dice – that God was not in control of things. It implies that Jesus was just taking a chance and hoping for the best when he started his ministry. And it implies that this risk failed when he was killed.

So what, then, is Paul getting at when he says that we should be imitators of the apostles and of Christ? What does it mean for us to have a “risky faith” that Paul would praise?

Let’s think back to those games of Risk that I played with my brothers, and specifically to my failed strategy. Recall that I played too defensively, always trying to find a safe corner where I could hole up and protect myself. And recall how I always lost, because my brothers would build up bigger armies by being more aggressive. As it turns out, my risk-averse strategy was actually quite risky. By failing to take any risks, I was taking the biggest risk of all. I was guaranteeing that I would not succeed. Just ask anyone who has started a business. They will understand this principle well.

Now apply this principle to the cross. In order for Jesus to succeed, in order for him win our salvation, he had to die and rise again. And in order to be driven to the cross, he had to have a certain level of aggressiveness and risk-taking in his ministry. If he had avoided all danger and all risk, he never would become our Lord and Savior. Therefore, for Jesus to be completely risk-averse would have been the biggest risk of all.

That’s what Paul is talking about when he talks about imitating Christ. He is praising the Thessalonians for not being so timid and so risk-averse that they can’t fulfill the calling that God has given them. They endure labors and persecutions, but persevere to become examples of faith for churches everywhere.

And we are no different. We are called to be imitators of the Thessalonians, imitators of the apostles, and imitators of Christ. We are called to avoid the biggest risk of all, which is not fulfilling our God-given purpose. We are called to find the balance that comes in taking take good risks.

For Jesus, taking good risks involved speaking the truth about the Kingdom of God and challenging the authorities of this time. For Paul and the early Christians, taking good risks meant going into potentially dangerous places and sharing the good news of Christ. What, then, does taking good risks mean for us?

That’s a question that each one of us will answer differently. For some, a good risk is inviting a neighbor to church. For others, a good risk is volunteering for an outreach ministry that seems a little intimidating. For still others, a good risk is speaking up with an opinion that might not be popular with everyone who hears it. And for some, just to show up at church, or at Bible study, or at a Fellowship meal is a risk – but a risk that is worth taking.

But as Paul has shown, and as my boyhood games of Risk have shown, the true risk – the one that we should always avoid taking – is the risk of never taking one. Amen.