Find Out What It Means to Be in the World But Not of It
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Find Out What It Means to Be in the World But Not of It
You hear the word exile. You’re told that you’re in it. That you’re an exile and a foreigner in a strange land, on your way home (1 Pet. 1:1, 17; 2:11; Phil. 3:20; Heb. 13:14).
But what is your place and purpose in this God-created world that surrounds you? Should you don a helmet and hazmat suit (fortification), launch weapons in the culture wars (domination), or try to fit in with everyone else and go unnoticed (assimilation)?
Or is there another plan, another approach, another calling?
As the church in the world, we are not home … yet. We are called to good endeavors in the world, wherever we live (Eph. 2:10). We may want to create our own little Jerusalems, waiting out our exile in comfort and security, but Jesus calls us to be salt and light in the world, wrestling with decay and darkness. In the same way, we’re called to engage our cultural surroundings and have a faithful presence in our communities, in every sphere of culture—from work to education to government to the church. We’re simply called to be ready to share the hope we have in Christ and ready to love with Christ’s love by the power of the Holy Spirit in everything we do (Col. 3:23–24).
But perhaps we need a new, wider lens for understanding what it means to be in the world, not of it. So grab a glass of lemonade (and perhaps a few friends), and enjoy our short film series, For the Life of the World.
God tells us that we are exiles, strangers, and pilgrims on the earth. Our calling is to a better country, an eternal dwelling. And yet our calling is also for the life of the world.
That means that God isn’t calling us to a bunker mentality (fortification) or to dominate the culture around us (domination) or to simply blend in to get along (accommodation).
So how exactly are we supposed to engage the world? Watch this video to learn how God called Jeremiah to do it.
See Ps. 24:1–2; Jer. 29–33; Heb. 11:1, 13; Eph. 2:10; 1 Pet. 1:17
Multitudinous definitions for love, marriage, family, and community, in our culture pile up like options on a menu. But is there an original design or purpose for marriage? Why did God create the family?
Family is the economy of love. It’s the school of love. It’s where we learn our true nature, to be pointed outward—as individuals, pointed outward toward others, and sometimes toward the other of a spouse. And as spouses, pointed outward toward children and family, and as families pointed outward to our communities.
And as glorious a gift it is to be created, to need, to spring from love, the grand mystery is that family is often so unromantic, so everyday, so humble. We learn our nature of love not in grand gestures to save the world, but in the normal, everyday struggle to love, to encourage, to bless those beside us.
See Gen. 2:15–25; Ps. 68:6; Matt. 1; Mk. 10:6–9; Lk. 1:46–55
In giving us work (Gen. 1:26–2:25), God invites us to blend the creativity of our minds with the labor of our bodies, and then to share the products of this work with one another, to make real our communal nature, our gift nature.
We must never see our work as simply a way to gain. We must never see our labor as an impersonal force of efficiency. We must never see our work merely as a mechanism we might control with levers and switches of power. Work is always personal because work is always relational. Whether you’re a janitor, a CEO, or a programmer, work is creative service.
So let us cherish our work as the glorious gift that it is—the opportunity to join with others, literally millions of others, in a divine project of vast creativity, vast abundance, for the meeting of needs, for the flourishing of cities, for the life of the world.
See Ps. 104:24; Jer. 29:5; Lk. 12:22–23; Phil. 2:3–4; Col. 3:23
Hear the words of the prophet Isaiah: “Here is my servant whom I have chosen, the one I love, in whom I delight. I will put my spirit on him and he will proclaim justice to the nations” (Matt. 12:18 via Is. 42:1).
But how are we to operate as ambassadors of Christ in a world with so much hurt? We spurn justice, abundance dwindles, and dysfunction mars a once perfect creation. Paul tells us that creation groans (Rom. 8:19–23).
Here is they key: justice needs a face. Yes, God created the world to have order, and yes, in a broken world, we need curators of that order. But seeking justice must always be personal, which requires investment, vulnerability, and hospitality—not just to members of the household of faith, but to the stranger, too (Heb. 13).
For justice requires love. We won’t have justice unless we remember the image of God in each person—that God himself gives them dignity.
But we must do more than just remember their dignity; we must welcome them, especially strangers. We must make a space for them in our lives and at our tables. For Christ himself was a stranger among us and, as his church in exile, we are strangers, too.
See Lev. 19:33–34; Jer. 29:13–14; Is. 42:1; Lk. 14:12–14; Rom. 5:8; Heb. 13:2
This course is an exploration of current political positions and cultural challenges from a Christian perspective.
“Blessed are those who find wisdom, those who gain understanding, for she is more profitable than silver and yields better returns than gold” (Prov. 3:13–14).
Knowledge, education, research, science—they all provide some pretty great things. But in our age of technological wonder, it’s easy to forget that information is about more than just what it can do for us.
Knowledge is a gift and, like all gifts from God, it points us outside of ourselves. It helps us be more so that we can flourish, not just survive. It also helps us to serve more people more fully, to steward our gifts more faithfully. Our God-given insights help us discover new medicines, new means to feed more people, better ways to care for the world.
But knowledge alone is insufficient. We need wisdom, too. And when faced with God’s glory and our humanity, when we learn to fear the Lord, this is the beginning of wisdom (Ps. 111:10).
So we can plumb the depths of God’s mysteries in the world, the mysteries of his creation, without fear. We can build institutions of education, of research, of exploration, in the full confidence that what we learn will not contradict our faith, but will speak of his abundant majesty and grace. We can explore, that we may be more, that we may serve more, that we may know and love God more, that we may wonder at his magnificence.
See Ps. 139:14; Prov. 3:19; 4:4–7; Phil. 2:13; Jam. 1:5; 3:17
Have we lost our ability to wonder? Enclosed in a world with only mirrors of ourselves, solitude, silence, wonder, and awe, can be crushing.
Yet the Scriptures beckon us to wonder:
“Be still, and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations; I will be exalted in the earth!” (Ps. 46:10)
“Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world!” (Jn. 1:29)
But what does wonder require? What happens to your heart, mind, and body? Do you have to be somewhere, or is it a perspective that is possible anywhere?
Wonder and beauty can lead us beyond man-made control, beyond human imagination, to an infinitely creative God who calls us on a mysterious, adventurous quest to know him. Beauty and wonder surpass the confines of practicality and utility, beckoning us to behold the Lord and his good creation. It helps us develop a palate for what is truly good, as we “taste and see that the Lord is good” (Ps. 34:8).
See Gen. 1:31; Ps. 40:5; 27:4; Mk 14; Jn. 1:3
Christ’s body was beaten and bruised and offered as a gift for the life of the world. And this is where another mystery is revealed. In living this way, not only are we the body of Christ, not only are we preparing the way of the Lord into the world of exile, but we are preparing ourselves for him, the way the virgins prepared the way for the bridegroom.
Because at the end of all things, where does this all lead? What does this all look like when God pours himself out for us and we offer ourselves back to him? It looks like a marriage feast. It looks like a wedding party.
This is the mission of the church and the people of God. This is our song of Zion. Remembering, living, and rejoicing in the hope that is to come. This is our prayer—that, as a royal priesthood, we would be salt and light. In our daily tasks and creative collaborations, may we offer God’s gifts for the life of the world, and may God transform us and our surroundings through our labors in every sphere of culture.
See Ez. 36:33–36; Jer. 31:3–6; Is. 33:20; Col. 1:17–20; Rev. 21:1–5