Getting Ready: Advent Reflections, Luke 1:1-2

‘Many have undertaken to draw up an account of the things that have been fulfilled among us, just as they were handed down to us by those who from the first were eye witnesses and servants of the word.’

Luke 1:1-2


I love Luke’s introduction to his gospel. He gets right to the point of saying what he’s doing: he's writing about how God has fulfilled his promises to Israel through Jesus Christ.

A short word on God’s promises to Israel. Long before Luke wrote his gospel, God told Abraham to leave his country and go to the place God would show him. God promised that he would bless Abraham and his descendants, protecting them against their enemies, and that through Abraham’s lineage all peoples on earth would be blessed.

It is this promise, Luke writes in his gospel, that has been fulfilled in Jesus, who is a descendent of Abraham. Through Jesus, God has blessed Israel, delivering Israel from its enemies. Through Jesus, God has blessed all peoples.

But this fulfilment of God’s promises did not stop in Luke’s time. We believe that God’s promises are still being fulfilled today through all who live in Jesus Christ. Through the church, which is Christ’s body, God desires to continue blessing all peoples.

As we study God’s work this Advent, especially in the lives of Zechariah, Elizabeth and Mary, I pray that we notice God’s work in our own lives – the ways God has blessed us through Jesus, and is calling us to bless the people and world we know.

What promises is God fulfilling among us, even today?

My God (Holy Saturday reflection)

Holy Saturday 2018


'It is in affliction itself that the splendour of God's mercy shines, from its very depths, in the heart of its inconsolable bitterness. If still persevering in our love, we fall to the point where the soul cannot keep back the cry "My God, why hast thou forsaken me?" if we remain at this point without ceasing to love, we end by touching something that is not affliction, not joy, something that is the central essence, necessary and pure, something not of the senses, common to joy and sorrow: the very love of God.

'We know then that joy is the sweetness of contact with the love of God, that affliction is the wound of this same contact when it is painful, and that only the contact matters, not the manner of it.

'It is the same as when we see someone very dear to us after a long absence; the words we exchange with him do not matter, but only the sound of his voice, which assures of his presence.

'The knowledge of this presence of God does not afford consolation; it takes nothing from the fearful bitterness of affliction; nor does it heal the mutilation of the soul. But we know quite certainly that God's love for us is the very substance of this bitterness and this mutilation.'

- From Waiting for God by Simone Weil

Not, I'll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee;
Not untwist — slack they may be — these last strands of man
In me ór, most weary, cry I can no more. I can;
Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be.
But ah, but O thou terrible, why wouldst thou rude on me
Thy wring-world right foot rock? lay a lionlimb against me? scan
With darksome devouring eyes my bruisèd bones? and fan,
O in turns of tempest, me heaped there; me frantic to avoid thee and flee?

Why? That my chaff might fly; my grain lie, sheer and clear.
Nay in all that toil, that coil, since (seems) I kissed the rod,
Hand rather, my heart lo! lapped strength, stole joy, would laugh, chéer.
Cheer whom though? the hero whose heaven-handling flung me, fóot trod
Me? or me that fought him? O which one? is it each one? That night, that year
Of now done darkness I wretch lay wrestling with (my God!) my God.

- Carrion Comfort by Gerard Manley Hopkins

'Endure trials for the sake of discipline. God is treating you as children; for what child is there whom a parent does not discipline? If you do not have that discipline in which all children share, then you are illegitimate and not his children. Moreover, we had human parents to discipline us, and we respected them. Should we not be even more willing to be subject to the Father of spirits and live?  For they disciplined us for a short time as seemed best to them, but he disciplines us for our good, in order that we may share his holiness.  Now, discipline always seems painful rather than pleasant at the time, but later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it.'

- Hebrews 12:7-11


'Yet it was the LORD's will to crush him and cause him to suffer,
and though the LORD makes his life a guilt offering,
he will see his offspring and prolong his days,
and the will of the LORD will prosper in his hand.
After the suffering of his soul,
he will see the light of life and be satisfied;
by his knowledge my righteous servant will justify many,
and he will bear their iniquities.'

- Isaiah 53:10-11

"Have fun": Discipleship and play

"Play is the highest form of research." - Albert Einstein

I recently watched a news video about a new video game, one designed to teach doctors to identify trauma in their patients. The doctors who played the game tended to make fewer mistakes in assessing patients than those who didn't play.

Games can be a useful form of teaching.

Before Jesus ascended into heaven, he told his disciples - his students - to make disciples of the nations, baptising them and teaching them everything he commanded (Matt. 28:18-20). Jesus, our master teacher, has told us to teach others. Christians teach in a variety of ways, including speaking, writing and leading by example. But can our methods also include playing games?

To my knowledge Jesus didn't teach his disciples by challenging them to a round of dominoes, and when he sat down on the mountain it was to preach a sermon, not play chess. But in his ministry he used elements found in games. Jesus often taught through asking questions, prompting people to think and respond, as one does in a game. Once, when a law expert asked Jesus how to obtain eternal life, Jesus answered with two questions: "What is written in the law? How do you read it?" (Luke 10:26). Through such questions Jesus "put the ball in his court," as the saying goes.

Jesus also used hyperbole, exaggerating objects to make a point: "Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? How can you say to your brother, 'Let me take the speck out of your eye,' when all the time there is a plank in your own eye?" (Matt. 7:3-4). Like the prophets and psalmists before him, Jesus played well with words.

Jesus also told parables which evaded the defenses of his hearers, entertaining them and then inviting them to identify with characters, learn from characters' choices and ask themselves questions. Games can do the same thing.

Part of why games are powerful teachers is because they are fun and interesting, absorbing players in their worlds, calling forth active involvement. Perhaps the key ingredient is play.

How might we grow as disciples if we played more often? I don't mean incorporating Settlers of Catan matches as a regular part of worship services, but cultivating an attitude of risk-taking, exploration and fun.

Truly learning any form of art (such as music, as in the comic to the right) involves practice, observation and discipline - but it also requires play. When God created the world he said it was "good" - he delighted in it. When I read the stories of Jesus' resurrection, of his incarnation as the firstborn of the new creation, I sense joy in his expression, such as when he calls out "Mary!" or when he's standing on the beach cooking fish for breakfast, waiting for his disciples to recognize him.

Hand in hand with play is confidence, which literally means having faith and trust (con - 'with',  fidere - 'trust'). A confident jazz musician performs and improvises naturally and gracefully. I wonder if the more Christlike we become, the more playful we become too. Most of the Christians I look up to have a sense of humor and are light-hearted and joyful. As Paul writes to the Philippian church, "Rejoice always!" We're able to play when we trust the people we're playing with. It follows then that as we grow in deeper trust in God, we also become more playful, more relaxed.

But play is not neutral. The games we play shape us, for better or worse. The organisation Ultimate Spirit understands this. Based in Manchester, they seek to bring together as many people from diverse backgrounds as possible through teaching and playing the sport Ultimate Frisbee. They are enthusiastic about the game, but as one of the organisers explained to me, they also have a philosophical motive. Ultimate Frisbee is self-refereed at all levels, expecting and trusting in each player's honesty. By encouraging people to play a sport with such an ethos, they grow an atmosphere of equal, dispersed governance and responsibility. What looks like just another club turns out to be quite revolutionary.

Beyond games, we play when we watch films, read novels and listen to music, and all of these activities influence our discipleship, nourishing our faith or tripping us up. How does our leisure time, our Sabbath rest, affect our character? Do we regularly practise Sabbath rest?

And what kinds of games, stories, songs do we create, knowing that these can be used by God to influence, teach and inspire others towards God's kingdom and Christ?

I remember advice a pastor once gave me as I picked up my guitar, preparing to lead the congregation in worship: "Have fun." Yes, singing and strumming require focus and a reverent attitude towards God. But worship also involves basking in God's goodness and mercy to us in so many forms. For this all we can do is give thanks - responding to the One who gives, the One who loves us - with delight.

"The Decision of Dale Tuttle" (short story)

By Josh Seligman

Written in 2012 for a class

Dale Tuttle tossed the tray of chicken pieces into the oven, boiled the Jasmine rice, and stir fried the green and red bell peppers, carrot rings, and green beans.  He enjoyed cooking, so long as it was every once in a while. 

Tonight his friends were coming over to visit his new house.  It was actually Sally’s idea.  Dale had considered declining hosting them, but remembered that he hardly ever had friends over, and was always satisfied when he had done so.  Dale took out his pocket journal.

I might even tell them the truth, he wrote. 

The first of his guests to arrive were Sally and John.  When he saw them through the living room window walking by the front gate, Dale squared up the white pillows on the three-cushioned couch, and adjusted the glass globe on the coffee table so that whoever was sitting on the couch would have a clear view of the Pacific Ocean.

“We come with gifts,” said John, holding out two-liter bottles of ginger ale.  Sally had brought a basket of oranges from her garden. 

Robbie arrived a few minutes later.

“Where’s your gift?” John asked.

Robbie, standing in the doorway, held out his hands.  “Gift?”

“I brought soda, Sally brought some fruit.  Why didn’t you bring anything?”

“You didn’t have to bring anything,” Sally said.

“It is invisible,” Robbie laughed.        

 

The oven timer beeped, the frying pan wailed, and the rice pot lid rattled.  Dale had planned for them all to sit at the round table in the kitchen, but at the last minute, decided it would be more comfortable if they sat in the living room with the plates on their laps instead.  His friends agreed.  John snagged the plush recliner next to the bookshelf, Sally and Robbie sat on the couch, and Dale sat on the wooden chair by the living room desk. 

For a while, they ate without saying anything.  Sally looked around the living room, at the tree-like lamp next to the bookshelf and the short, sunny lamp on the little cabinet by the front door, and, hanging above her, a painting of a ship leaving or entering a port.  “Well, Dale, it’s great that you have your own place now.  It’s looking very nice.” 

Dale scratched his head.

“I’m actually a little surprised you would buy a house, though,” Sally said.  “You don’t seem like you’re ready to settle down yet.  It’s like you’re still secretly waiting to go on some adventure.  Not that it’s a bad thing.  I mean you can have a lot of adventures here.”

“Maybe,” said Dale.  “I don’t think I have quite settled down yet though.”

“Owning a house is a step in that direction,” said Robbie, cutting his chicken.

Dale cleared his throat. “I suppose I should mention now that I don’t really own this house.”

 “Oh, so you’re renting it?”  said Sally.

“Nah.”

“You stole it?”  said John, pouring himself a glass of ginger ale.

“The most accurate way to say it would be ‘I’m house sitting.’”

John burped.  “That’s it?”

Sally set down her multi-vegetable-piercing fork.  “Why didn’t you say so before?”

Dale pulled out his pocket notebook.  “It’s complicated.”  From his other pocket, he brought out a stack of folded sheets of paper.  “Would you believe me if I told you this house is owned by a quantum physicist?”

 “I hear a story coming on.”  John sat back in the recliner.  “It better be worth our time.”

“Well whether it is or isn’t, here goes.”

About two months ago, Dale had received an e-mail from a scientist named Max Guillory asking if Dale would be interested in house-and-cat-sitting for two weeks.  Dr. Guillory was looking for someone who worked at Pacific College, since it was in the neighborhood, and Dale, who taught linguistic anthropology there, had been recommended by the department assistant to Dr. Guillory, one of the reasons being that Dale didn’t have a family.  Since Dale’s car had broken down, it certainly didn’t hurt for him to live closer to work for the time being, so Dale accepted.

After a month, Dr. Guillory hadn’t returned.  (And, Dale realized early on, Dr. Guillory didn’t even own a cat.)  He hadn’t left any emergency contact numbers, so a week after Dr. Guillory was supposed to return, Dale considered calling the police.  The day he was considering it, a post-dated letter arrived in the mail from Dr. Guillory.  It told Dale that in the third cushion of the white sofa was a key, with which Dale was to open the garage door.  In the garage, Dale was to open the third drawer of the second desk and read the letter that would be sitting there. 

Dale opened the garage door to find the room as busy as a laundromat.  In the middle of the room was a kind of pyramid.  Its hexagonal base consisted of wooden beams almost as long as bumpers of compact cars.  At each corner of the hexagon rose two narrow steel planks leaning towards the center but not touching one another.  With blue, red, and green wires, the pyramid was connected to black computer towers reaching the roof by the left wall of the garage.  Beside these towers were bookshelves just as tall, full of books such as Riebelov’s Paradox, Gyration Theory, and Thrive and Survive:  The Happy Scientist’s Diet, as well as journals. 

By the opposite wall sat two desks.  The desk closest to the garage door was metallic and carried an old PC monitor, on which was running code.  The second desk was wooden and on it were a few sheets of blank paper weighted by a sleek, black pen.  Dale sat in the cushioned chair in front of this desk, opened the third drawer, and found a letter. 

Mr. Tuttle.

You’ve found my secret, the work on which I have spent nearly half my life.  My thoughts, my hands, my accidents and dead-end equations, and, ultimately, my rewarding surprises culminate in this room.  Two collaborators initially worked with me on this project, but they were incompetent and mischievous, so I abandoned them.  That makes you my only witness.

I have not returned within two weeks for one or more of a variety of reasons.  I obviously cannot conceive of them all, but here are three probable ones.

1. My return has been delayed.  There is no way to know this for sure, but is that not how most, if not all, things are? 
2. I am stranded.  I suppose there could be worse places to be.
3. I have perished!  If you somehow learn that I have perished, or if you decide to leave my house before discovering whether or not I have perished, then please find my children and give them the box that is in the first drawer of this desk.  The key to the drawer is in the third drawer of the desk to your right.

At this point, John got up to put his empty plate on the coffee table.  “This is pretty good.  I almost believe it.” 

The note went on to explain that Dr. Guillory was a quantum physicist who had hypothesized that the universe was a conglomeration of rotating spheres.  But rather than rotating in three dimensions of space, he believed these spheres rotated in at least four dimensions of space, so that objects on the spheres, such as planets and stars, consistently overlapped with other objects without actually touching—at least not the way three-dimensional objects normally touch.  In other words, it appeared, to whomever could see such an occurrence, that the objects occupied the same space at the same time.

Dr. Guillory believed that these orbits repeated predictably.  After 14 years, he discovered how to detect the presence of certain overlapping celestial bodies, and then actually found one.  Every five to six weeks, he observed, a celestial body of similar mass to Earth overlapped with Earth. 

“So he went to another planet?”  Sally said.

“If it worked out as planned, then yes,” Dale said.

If Dr. Guillory was indeed stranded on a parallel world, the note said, he would likely need Dale’s help to bring Dr. Guillory back.  For although he had constructed a passageway to the other world, Dr. Guillory had not known if, once he got there, he could replicate the passageway to bring himself home. 

Of all the professors I researched, Mr. Tuttle, you were the one who seemed most disposed to help me should need arise.  I am aware that this is an impossibly heavy burden for you.  I cannot make you help me, and you are not expected to.  If you decide not to help, I ask that you keep my machine hidden.  No one else must use it.  If you do choose to help, I ask that you remain in my house as long as you can.  I may find a way to send you a message indicating what kind of help I might need.

Beyond,

Max Guillory

By the time Dale finished reading the letter and telling the story to his friends, the sun had set, and it felt as though the sky were closing its eyes and breathing softly.  

“So,” said Robbie, “that’s what you’re doing here?  Waiting?”

Dale nodded. 

“Can we see the machine?” said Sally.

“I’ve been debating whether or not to show you.  But I’ve decided it’s too dangerous.  I can’t risk you—”

John laughed.  “Dangerous!”

“You’re not serious about all this—are you?” said Robbie.

“I’m not really trying to make you guys believe me,” said Dale.

“Then what are you trying to do?” said Sally.

“I guess I’m telling a story.”

“Maybe it’s not a story,” Sally said.  “Maybe it’s a test.”

“You could look at it that way, if you want to.”

“You want to know what I would do?” Sally said.  “I would live my own life and not be here waiting for someone’s message, even if he’s trapped on another planet.  You’ve been living here for two months, and you can’t even settle in because you never know when a secret message might come and tell you what to do next.  You have to decide for yourself what to do.  You get to decide.  You’re living in someone else’s story.  I would live my own story.”

“But what if you heard back from him?”  said John.  “What if tomorrow he sent a letter and said ‘The gateway is open and I need your help, and by the way, you get to go to a new planet?’  Would you go?”

Sally looked at the globe, and then out the window.  The sky was now fading from a blush on the horizon to a deep, wide pupil, behind the silhouettes of palm and eucalyptus trees framed by the shadows of a stage curtain.  In the garden outside the window stood a crooked juniper. 

“Maybe,” Sally said.  “But not because he needed my help.  I mean that might be part of it.  I would mostly go to see someplace new.”

“I wouldn’t,” said John.  “Too many papers to grade.  As much as I love traveling to new places, I like the thought that someday I’ll be coming back.  And when I return, I want a job to return to.  As for helping this scientist, he put himself in this situation.  He’s endangering you, Dale, if he asks you to join him.  That’s a big risk to take.”

“So Dale,” said Robbie, “what will you do?”

“Good question.  I wish I knew.  Let’s hope I don’t have to decide anytime soon!” 

Sally grunted.  Dale brought out a plate of ginger cookies and four mugs of tea.  John and Sally began talking about work—John taught theology at the college and Sally was a photographer—and about people important to them.  Dale stared around them and smiled or nodded occasionally.  When no trace of the sun remained in the sky, Robbie excused himself; it was time to put his children to bed.  Soon Sally and John left together. 

After cleaning the dishes, Dale sat at the living room desk to write.  While his story had seemed to momentarily engage all three friends, he wrote, it eventually appeared to serve mostly as an existential, unprecedented conversation warmer, at least for Sally and John, who said Dale had too much time on his hands to come up with such a tale.  Dale realized he had told them the story to get their advice, and while it was good to hear Sally and John’s thoughts, Dale was still confused. 

Robbie, though, hadn’t offered his own opinion.  For nearly the rest of the night, in fact, he had sat in silence.  Had the story touched him that deeply?  Robbie’s silence reminded Dale of the night Dale and his friends were stranded in Iowa City, Oklahoma, sitting in silence around a bonfire after their host Joe had told them a story.

That road trip had changed Dale’s life.  Dale was a sophomore in college, and when his friends invited him to join them on a spring break road trip to Kansas, he declined.

“I’ve got homework,” he said.

“You can bring it with you.”

“I can’t read in a car though.”

“We can read it out loud, then.”

“I can’t listen in a car, either.”

“Okay, so don’t do your homework.”

“Then what will I do?”

The week before his friends left, though, Dale surprisingly felt like he wanted to go.  It took him the week to decide, and he eventually said yes.  It was a lot of fun, and he finished most of his homework, and when they were driving home through Iowa City, the car broke down and they were stranded for a week. 

That is a story of its own, but the important part for this story is that an older man named Joe saw them stranded at the car shop and invited them to stay at his home until the car was fixed.  On the night before the car was fixed, Joe built a bonfire in his backyard, and as they ate roasted beans and home baked bread, Joe told them a story from the beginning of the world. 

“When the valleys were not yet carved and the dogwood trees were as tall as your pinky fingers,” Joe had said, “Hawk carried the world on his wings.  At first Hawk enjoyed this honor, but soon became tired, so Hawk set the world down and rested. 

“Tortoise saw that the world had been set to rest and that Hawk had become tired, so Tortoise said, ‘I have a shell on my back and strong legs to keep me going.  Why can I not help Hawk and carry the world?’  So Tortoise carried the world.

“When Hawk awoke, he flew down to where he had put the world, but it was not there.  He flew for many days but could not find the world.  Then the Good Wind said, ‘Hawk, what are you looking for?’ 

“‘I am looking for the world that you gave me to carry,’ Hawk said.

“‘I will give you a pair of sharp eyes to find the world,’ said the Good Wind.

“So the Good Wind gave Hawk sharp eyes, and Hawk saw the world from far away.  He flew to it faster than the waterfall and saw that Tortoise was carrying it. 

“‘Tortoise,’ said Hawk, ‘why have you taken the world from me?  It is my job to carry it.’

“‘I found it resting, and saw that you were tired.  The Good Wind gave me a shell and strong legs, so I thought I would help you by carrying the world.  Do you want to carry it again?’

“‘Yes,’ said Hawk.  But while Hawk had been resting, the world had changed.  Trees grew thick and spread their seeds.  Mountains now held up the sky.  Animals multiplied and people built weapons and houses.  Hawk tried lifting the world, but found that it was too heavy to carry.  That is why to this day Hawk circles in the sky.  Hawk follows the world, and with sharp eyes looks to see where Tortoise and the world are walking.”

The story of Hawk and Tortoise had awakened something in Dale.  He became curious about such stories, and the people who told them. He realized that he had had this curiosity for much of his life.  And that is how Dale decided he would study linguistic anthropology. 

The day after Joe had told them the story of Hawk and Tortoise, their car was fixed, they thanked Joe for his hospitality, and began their drive home.

“So are you glad you decided to come?”  Robbie asked Dale.

“Yep.  It’s been a good trip with you all.”

“If you hadn’t come, you wouldn’t have gotten stranded in Iowa City,” said Sally.

“Nope.  And I wouldn’t have heard Joe’s stories.”

“Well we’re not home yet,” said John, looking as far as he could down the highway.

Through the side window, Dale saw two hawks circling in the sky.  He wondered if, by the time he returned home, home would be too heavy for him to carry.

At the desk in Dr. Guillory’s living room, Dale had fallen asleep.  Suddenly, he heard a quick, light slap in the distance.  Dale went to the hallway, where he saw a soft light clapping along the floor like a bonfire, coming from the garage.  He unlocked the garage door.  The whole room was illuminated by sheets of light waving from the machine.  A gentle wind blew from the light, as if the light and wind were one, shuffling loose objects on the bookshelf and the papers and pen on the wooden desk.  At Dale’s feet lay a thick, round, black pen.  He pulled out his notebook.

Strange pen on floor. Could be from other--

While writing, Dale’s pen ran out of ink.  He picked up the pen on the ground and twisted it, but no tip emerged, only resistance.  He untwisted the pen and found a note rolled inside.

Mr. Tuttle.  If you’re still there, you’re a saint.  I need your help.  You have no more than 5 minutes to walk through.  Bring the box for my children.  It will be dangerous.  But there are people here you must meet.  MG

Dale stared into the planes of light and saw blurry shadows.  He looked down and saw that his own shadow filled half of the room.  Then he leapt to the wooden desk and wrote a note on one of the blank sheets of paper and left it there.  He opened the third drawer of the first desk, grabbed the key, unlocked the first drawer of the wooden desk, and lifted a wooden box the size of a dictionary.  Dale returned to where he picked up the pen from the ground and hurled the box into the light.  The box was swallowed in shining fog.  Then Dale walked into the shadows in the light, and the whole room vanished. 

                                                                  

Writing and ministry: Jesus the minister

The best example Christians have of ministry is Jesus' ministry.

Who was Jesus, and how did he minister?

Jesus’ ministry flowed out of his identity. Jesus was God’s son, whom God loved. After Jesus’ baptism, the Holy Spirit descended on him in the form of a dove and a voice spoke from heaven: “You are my Son, whom I love; with you I am well pleased” (Mark 1:11). 

Jesus was the promised messiah, or “anointed one,” heir to the throne of King David and long-expected savior of God’s people. The early Christian writers frequently showed how Jesus’ life, death and resurrection fulfilled the Hebrew scriptures, which they believed point to a person sent by God, through whom the Hebrews and the whole world would receive blessing, healing and peace; in a word, shalom.

Jesus’ ministry embodied this shalom. He taught us how to love God with all our mind, heart, soul and strength and how to love our neighbors, even our enemies, as ourselves. His miracles gave wholeness to people who were physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually and socially disabled. His words and deeds proclaimed the coming kingdom of God – a reign of justice and righteousness, in which God’s will is done, and in which people relate to one another in love and truth.

Jesus’ ministry spurred friction, and a collaboration of religious leaders, Roman authorities and one of Jesus’ closest friends plotted his crucifixion. But even this fulfilled the scriptures. Christians understand Jesus’ death to atone for humanity’s sins, reconciling us with God once and for all. Jesus also reconciles us with other people; all who confess Jesus as Lord are adopted into God’s family, making us siblings of one another.

Further, God raised Jesus from the dead, making him the “firstborn from the dead” (Colossians 1:18), the leader of many to follow in his resurrected life.

After ascending into heaven, Jesus sent his Holy Spirit to his disciples, accompanying and empowering them to be his witnesses throughout the world, and to be faithful citizens of God's kingdom. The following was his commission to them: “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age” (Matt. 28:18-20).

As far as we know, Jesus did not write as a form of ministry. But we wouldn’t know much about Jesus if the evangelists hadn’t written about him. And if we are to write as a form of Christian ministry, Jesus must be our inspiration.

Writing as ministry witnesses to Jesus: to his presence and work in the world today through his church and Spirit, to the good news that we receive eternal life and reconciliation with God through Jesus’ death and resurrection, to signs of the coming kingdom of God, to the shalom that Christ brings.

I work for a Christian charity called International China Concern, which partners with carers in China to give love and therapy to children who have disabilities and who have formerly been abandoned. I write updates about the children to their sponsors in various countries. I understand this to be a form of ministry because it connects the children with people who care for them, communicating the children’s needs and development. My writing establishes relationships and furthers ongoing support for the children. It also witnesses to their transformation as a result of the work of the caregivers, volunteers who serve them in the name of Christ and many others.

Beyond witnessing, writing as ministry can teach people the way of Christ, building people into Christian maturity, as the author of Ephesians encourages ministers to do (4:7-16).

But why writing? Couldn’t all of the above be done through the spoken word? What is writing’s contribution to ministry? These questions deserve attention, but as we are coming to the end of this post, I will simply say that writing is one of many forms of communication that comes with both unique gifts and limitations. God has used the written word to speak to people throughout history, and I believe God continues to do so today, connecting people across vast distances in space and time.

Jesus is our best example of a minister, and the Bible is our best example of writing as ministry.
The Bible employs a variety of genres, from plain writing (for example, epistles and chronologies) to poetry (the Psalms) to fiction (Jesus’ parables) to creative non-fiction and memoir (prophetic visions, like those of Ezekiel) and more.

Paul writes in his second letter to Timothy, “All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness, so that the servant of God may be thoroughly equipped for every good work” (3:16-17). This is also a helpful description of writing as ministry.