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A student survey conducted at one of our local schools determined that young people see the church as being full of old people and pews. And they think that the pews have to go. There’s some good news in that survey, they didn’t say the old people should go, only the pews.
Think for a moment: How does their perception match reality?
We might immediately begin to defend the pews. They've been good enough for generations. They keep us awake. They haven’t killed anyone.
Or we might be offended that they’ve labelled us as old. We might argue that we’re not nearly as old as our grandparents were at the same age.
We might want to join James and John to ask Jesus whether we should call down fire from heaven and destroy them.
But before we get too defensive, these young people are crying out for the church to recognise and value them. They don’t think the church cares about them, they don’t think we care. They think the church is only interested in the people who’re already involved, which to them means old people.
I wonder whether they’re any different to those of any age who aren’t connected to our churches. Would the whole ‘unchurched’ and 'previously-churched’ community agree that we don’t care. Would they contend that we’re only interested in ourselves.
If we’re so busy polishing and defending our pews then they have to go. If there’s anything in our church that uses up our time at the expense of living our lives for Jesus then it has to go.
Even more urgently we have to go. Not leave the church, the community of God’s people, but go with the good news that because God loves and cares for every single person in this world so do we.
“As you go”, Jesus says, “make disciples of all nations.” Jesus cares about this because he has ‘skin-in-the-game’. He died for each and every one we encounter as we go about our lives.
How do we, as individuals and a church, need to change so that no one in our community will feel that we don’t care about them?
And I’m starving
by Shane Altmann
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Then they took their bones and buried them under the tamarisk tree in Jabesh and fasted seven days (1 Samuel 31:13).
Read 1 Samuel 31:1–13
It’s about 3.30 in the afternoon. Our college here in Redlands, in bayside Brisbane, is quietening down as the last of the kids slowly wander out to their busy afternoons. Teachers are poking around, tidying up and chatting with each other. Some kids are doing sport training on the oval; office staff are industriously toiling away as they do. The afternoon is settling in.
And I am starving.
Somewhere in the distance, a car horn honks, busy school traffic starts to thin out, and vehicles start moving more freely again. The phone rings, and our receptionist takes a call from a mum whose kid lost their hat. Tradies wander past in their high-vis gear, finishing up from building works they have been doing on-site. The afternoon is settling in.
And I’m starving.
Some brave men sneak up to the wall of Beth-shan, take down Saul’s body, carry it home under the cover of darkness, burn it and bury the bones. Then they fast for seven days.
And I’m starving.
Wait! What? Seven days?
When you say seven days, you mean they just skipped breakfast or something, right? Or were the days shorter in biblical times? Perhaps seven Old Testament days are like two of our days.
It staggers me that people could fast for that long. God bless the disciplined. The hunger and the fatigue must be dreadful.
In 2 Corinthians 12:10, Paul reminds us, ‘That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weakness. In insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. When I am weak, then I am strong.’
When everything has been stripped away, when there is nothing left, when our metaphorical king is dead and hanging on our enemy’s wall, all we have is God. What great sustenance that is. Christ’s power is made perfect in weakness. This is the upside-down God we worship. The God who dies. The God who lives again.
Don’t get me wrong, we are not called to be ascetics, to practice extreme self-denial and live miserably to get close to Jesus. We are freed from such things and freed for a life that is full and abundant, a life of joy, hope and love.
But when it’s tough, when we face misery and mourning, hardship and trials, right there in that space is where God is close to us.
Where he carries us.
Jesus, you know what it is to suffer, to be fully human, to feel grief and loss, anxiety and sadness. Be close to all who suffer. Bring them comfort by your Holy Spirit and through the connection and care of those around them. Grow in us hearts of compassion and care for those we meet. Amen.
Shane Altmann is the principal of Faith Lutheran College Redlands in Queensland and has served in education for more than 35 years. Married to Monica and father of two children, Harry and Zoe, Shane has learnt that he is largely helpless without the love and support of the people with whom he lives and works. A pilgrim of multiple Caminos de Santiago, a Penrith Panthers tragic and a restorer of old stuff, Shane loves a project and, when he is able, fills his days tinkering with something.
It’s very Shakespeare
by Shane Altmann
Click here to download your printable verse to carry with you today.
Then the woman said, ‘Whom shall I bring up for you?’ He answered, ‘Bring up Samuel for me’ (1 Samuel 28:11).
Read 1 Samuel 28:3–20
Buckle up. Things are about to get weird.
This passage in Samuel is all Hollywood and special effects. King Saul, bereft of hope, turns to a medium, a clairvoyant, a seer to get in touch with the spirit world, séance style. ‘I need to speak to the recently departed Samuel. Can you get him up for me?’
She screams; his ghostly form appears and delivers the awful truth to Saul. Time’s up!
It’s very Shakespeare.
I mean, Samuel’s ghost appears (at least to the medium)! And talks to Saul! It’s wild.
Where is God in this unholy business? What’s in this for us? Well, for a start, don’t dabble in that voodoo stuff; it generally doesn’t end well. Here endeth the lesson.
But I reckon we can dig a bit deeper here and see some patterns and glean some good about our great God of Love.
I am a firm believer that God is active in the world, in service of people, through the vocation of others and the temporal rhythm of the natural world, his creation. He can – and does – act supernaturally and miraculously, but generally, it is the ordinary stuff of daily life where God is found.
‘Truly you are a God who hides yourself!’ says Isaiah in chapter 45, verse 15. He heals the sick through the work of doctors, feeds us through the work of farmers and shopkeepers and protects us with police and armies. The list goes on. Believers and unbelievers alike are all instruments of God’s loving kindness towards people.
And I think that’s what’s happening here. God has a plan. He is moving Jesus towards us, Jesus of the line of David. So, we need David.
God hides his glory in the baby Jesus, in the humanity and ordinariness of the person of Jesus, behind the cross. But he is always for us, always graciously reaching down to us, relentlessly moving the story forward. So, the seer steps in, pronounces Saul’s doom via the ghost of Samuel. And on we roll.
God at work, even then, even now. God for us.
Lord of Life, thank you for always being for us. Thank you for not just creating us and then leaving us alone, but for being constantly and relentlessly at work in the world out of your great love for all people. Thank you, Jesus, that you do indeed give us this day our daily bread. Bless us as we live out our vocations as your light in the world. Amen.
Shane Altmann is the principal of Faith Lutheran College Redlands in Queensland and has served in education for more than 35 years. Married to Monica and father of two children, Harry and Zoe, Shane has learnt that he is largely helpless without the love and support of the people with whom he lives and works. A pilgrim of multiple Caminos de Santiago, a Penrith Panthers tragic and a restorer of old stuff, Shane loves a project and, when he is able, fills his days tinkering with something.
It’s always God’s work
by Shane Altmann
Click here to download your printable verse to carry with you today.
I fast twice a week: I give a tenth of my income (Luke 18:12).
Read Luke 18:9–14
This old classic. The Parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector. It rolls around every now and then to remind us good Christians that we should be humble and not get too far ahead of ourselves with our piety and righteousness. Be like the tax collector, not the Pharisee.
Check.
Except. Uh oh. When I’m like the tax collector, I’m actually being like the Pharisee, rather self-congratulatory about my humble approach to my reliance on God. ‘I’m glad I’m not like that Pharisee!’
Same, same.
Of our own accord, we are, of course, doomed. And that’s the point. It is always God’s work. Always. We are neither the Pharisee nor the tax collector; we are, at the same time, both.
Martin Luther coined the phrase ‘simul iustus et peccator’, meaning ‘at the same time both saint and sinner’. We are not just one or the other, sometimes this and sometimes that, but always both. Fully human, fully capable of great compassion for, and destruction of, ourselves and others. Lost and helpless. But covered, washed white as snow by the blood of the lamb. His work, his unmerited redeeming grace. I am reminded of the beautiful words of the song ‘I am covered over’: ‘When he looks at me, he sees not what I used to be, but he sees Jesus.’
It’s always God’s work.
Jesus’ words in the contrasting prayers of the parable guide us: ‘God, I …’ versus ‘God, be …’ Jesus reminds us to focus not on ourselves, our piety or our humility, but rather on him.
It is God – his work, his action towards us, only ever and always – that is the source of both our salvation and joy.
God of grace, thank you for reminding us again and again of your ever-present love through your word and by your Spirit. Thank you that even now, you are drawing close to your people, Immanuel, God with us. Amen.
Shane Altmann is the principal of Faith Lutheran College Redlands in Queensland and has served in education for more than 35 years. Married to Monica and father of two children, Harry and Zoe, Shane has learnt that he is largely helpless without the love and support of the people with whom he lives and works. A pilgrim of multiple Caminos de Santiago, a Penrith Panthers tragic and a restorer of old stuff, Shane loves a project and, when he is able, fills his days tinkering with something.