Introduction
“I wish I had your job. It’s always been a dream of mine.” These were the flattering and encouraging words of a man quite a bit older than me whom I met for the first time over lunch recently. He’s a financial supporter of my wife and me, and he and his wife were excited and gracious hosts as we shared our vision for the campuses of New England. He’s an architect. His wife is a lawyer. We’re newlyweds. They have several children and grandchildren. Not too many people tell me that I have their dream job, especially not two successful professionals. (Ironically, I’ve always had this secret longing to be an architect!) But these were his words. They made me feel good. They made me feel important. But the more I thought about them, they also made me sad.

What did he mean by what he said? I couldn’t help but read between the lines: “I wish I had your job. You get to do real ministry.” Or, “You have my dream job. It must be so exciting to know that your work has eternal value.” Why was I sad? Because I wanted this man to know that his job – the thing God had called him to – was just as spiritually significant as the job God had called me to. I wanted him to know that the work he does is just as exciting and eternally valuable as mine. I was sad because in his words I heard a desire for something more – a desire for the kind of faith that brings fulfillment, joy, and meaning to all of life.

I often meet people who have this same desire. They cling to the hope that Jesus wasn’t kidding when he said that he came to bring real and full life to us. And yet their experience of Christianity seems to contradict this. The Christian faith seems boring. It’s been reduced to going to church on Sundays, two-issue politics, tithing, and avoiding certain sin lists. I can’t say I blame them. It’s not unusual for me to go to church, look around at all of the listless faces of the congregation, and wonder, “Isn’t there something more to it than this?” If the Gospel really is the “Good News” than why does it seem to inspire us so little?

And it’s not just professionals and stay-at-home parents who struggle with this. One of the greatest challenges I face as a campus pastor is trying to get young men excited about Jesus. For the past six years I worked with a campus ministry of over 400 students, yet the women, at times, seemed to outnumber the men by almost two to one. We tried all kinds of remedies for this problem. We had chili feeds, football games, and guest speakers who used slang words for male genitalia in the same sentence as Jesus. We did backpacking trips and cliff jumping. We gave them books to read that challenged them to fulfill their God-given call as men by shooting animals, pursuing relationships with beautiful women, and climbing mountains. We saw some growth, but it was never quite what we hoped for. As I’ve talked with pastors, our experience with young men in college was not all that different from many churches’ experience with older men. They’re bored.

All of this has gotten me thinking. It’s frustrated me, concerned me, and made me want to find some answers. I’m an idealist at heart, and if Jesus really did come to restore our humanity and to give us new life, than those of us who follow him should be discovering that the more we know him the richer and more meaningful the whole of our lives become. Growing in faith shouldn’t make us bored with the Sunday “schtick” of church, but instead should bring color to the black and white world of everyday life. I wonder if the answer doesn’t lie in more church programming. Perhaps another men’s retreat, women’s craft night, or spring break missions trip (as valuable as these are) won’t do the trick. I’ve begun to wonder if the problem isn’t so much about church style as it is about church amnesia. Maybe what we really need is to be woken up to and reminded what the purpose of all of this is in the first place. Maybe we need to be reminded of our story – the story – and what the implications of this story are right here in the present.

The Real Postmodern Dilemma
If you listen to some evangelicals, you’d think that we have now entered the great tribulation. The church is now facing its greatest challenge ever. We have seen the beast, and it’s called “postmodernism.” Postmodernism. The word ranks up there on the great list of Christian taboos with homosexual marriage, abortion, and removing “under God” from the pledge of allegiance. After all, it’s postmodernism that says there is no such thing as absolute truth. As the church we feel threatened by this cultural onslaught of relativism and skepticism. But I wonder if the real threat of postmodernism isn’t the loss of absolute truth, but instead something we the church have already conceded to in practice years ago. Let me explain.

Christianity is a story. It’s a grand, exciting, powerful, and epic narrative. It’s a narrative whose characters include God, the author of the story, and us. No matter where you live or the customs, myths, and traditions you follow, Christians assert that all people are part of this great story with its climax in the person, death, and resurrection of Jesus. But postmodernism rejects this central belief. The late Stanley Grenz wrote, “The postmodern outlook entails the end of the appeal to any central legitimating myth whatsoever. Not only have all the reigning master narratives lost their credibility, but the idea of a grand narrative is itself no longer credible. We have not only become aware of a plurality of conflicting legitimating stories but have moved into the age of the demise of the metanarrative.” This is the real threat of postmodernism to the Christian faith. We believe and trust in a person and in something that happened. We believe in a metanarrative. Without this metanarrative our faith is worthless, no matter how many propositional truth statements we set forth.

But most Christians aren’t aware of this threat. Part of the reason could be that many don’t know about “the demise of the metanarrative.” Part of the reason, though, is that many Christians don’t know the metanarrative. We face a sort of amnesia in the church, and the great story that God has written – and wants to continue writing through us! – has been forgotten.

Short-circuiting the Story
In most evangelical circles, the goal of the Christian life has become making it into heaven. It’s an individual experience. It’s personal. It’s punctiliar. There’s no mention of how one’s conversion and experience of Jesus’ grace fits into the bigger story of what God is doing in the world (other than to get more people into heaven), or the fact that there even is a bigger story to begin with. If we can somehow get people to “make a decision,” and then get them to live holy enough lives so as not to “lose their salvation,” we’ve accomplished our purpose in the world. Going back to my opening story, this is why my job as a campus missionary might be perceived by some Christians to be more meaningful or spiritually significant than being an architect. After all, the architect is just designing buildings, and his only hope of serving God in this arena is winning co-workers to Christ and giving money to missionaries like me so that I can get more people into heaven. One author described how most Christians see their lives this way: “We’ve started at the finish line. All that is left is to hold on and wait for the awards ceremony to begin. It’s like running a race with a continual backwards glance, wondering if somebody is going to catch us, rather than focusing on what is ahead.”

And what is ahead? This is the most important question that is so often left unanswered. But when we know the answer to this question everything else begins to make sense. When we begin to understand the story we’re a part of we’ll start to get the point of it all. We’ll still want to respond to God’s love, and we’ll still want to announce the good news of Jesus so that others will, too. But all of a sudden the whole of our lives will begin to make sense. The black and white will become color, and what we do on Sundays will have relevance for the other six days of the week. My architect friend will begin to recognize that he and I have the exact same vocation, even if the expression of that vocation in our jobs looks a bit different.

Remembering the Story
So what is ahead? We don’t have all the details, but we can be pretty sure of some things. And this is where our lives begin to get exciting. The conclusion of our story is not disembodied existence, our souls floating around in white robes on the clouds while we play harps. It’s not something surreal and other-worldly. No, it’s nothing less than the renewal of the entire cosmos. It’s new creation. It’s resurrection. It’s quite this-worldly, actually. And this is where we often get it wrong. Too many of us, if asked, would say the conclusion to our story – our great Christian hope – is that we go to heaven. And because of this we miss the whole point: that heaven comes to earth.

When we read the Scriptures through this lens, we can’t help but realize it’s simple message. The creator God made something good. Our sin messed things up. And now he has done everything, including dying on a cross, to put into effect an incredible rescue mission and program of renewal. The Psalms talk about it. The Prophets talk about it. Jesus taught us to pray for it. (“Thy Kingdom come on earth as it is in heaven.”) Revelation points us to it. It will mean peace and justice. It will mean beauty and joy. No more tears. No more war. No more suicide bombers and no more civilian casualties from the West’s response. The lion will lie down with the lamb. The blind will see and the lame will walk. The dead will be raised to new life. All creation, eagerly groaning for renewal in the present, will clap its hands with joy. God’s not going to destroy his creation. No, instead he’s going to make it new. In fact, he has already begun to do this. With the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, his future plans have broken into the present. New creation starts now. The New Testament theologian, N. T. Wright, says it perfectly: “The whole point of Jesus’s work was to bring heaven to earth and join them together forever, to bring God’s future into the present and make it stick there.”

Really ‘Missing the Mark’
How, then, are we to live now? How are we to respond to this great hope we have? Unfortunately, we often miss the point here. We think the point of this story is us. We think that if we can only make ourselves good enough, keep ourselves holy enough, and remain unspoiled by the decaying world around us, then we won’t be left behind when Jesus comes back. We think the point of the Christian life is to avoid sin. And so we decide that certain things that God created and called good are evil. We don’t drink. We don’t go to the movies. We don’t dance. We don’t live. And the watching world distances itself from us strange people. And so sadly we really miss the mark – we really sin. We’re not the first to think this way.

The Pharisees of Jesus’ day had similar ideas. You might call it “Torah intensification.” They thought that if they could only follow the Torah just so, then God would forgive their sins and rescue Israel. The point of the story was to be holy. And so they came up with all sorts of extra rules just to make sure they didn’t break Torah. For example, Torah said you should rest on the Sabbath. The Pharisees interpreted this as you shouldn’t work, and so the next question naturally becomes, “What is work?” Well, the Pharisees decided they needed to define what work is, and so they make up a whole bunch of rules about things you can’t do on the Sabbath, things like lifting an egg above your shoulder or walking around with one sandal on (don’t ask, it’s too bizarre).

You just know there’s going to be trouble when Jesus comes on the scene. John records one of these moments in the fifth chapter of his Gospel. He tells us of a man who had been crippled for 38 years. He’s lying by a pool called Bethesda, superstitiously hoping to be healed by angels stirring the water. Jesus comes along and heals this guy. No big deal, right? Jesus healed people all the time. This is a good thing. Wrong. There was something very different about this healing, and John unloads the big news on us in verse 16 with a sudden plot twist. Jesus healed this guy on the Sabbath! GASP!! The Pharisees are livid. Here they are trying to do everything they can to make sure that Yahweh will return, and Jesus is messing it all up. He’s working on the Sabbath. He’s healing people. It’s no wonder they get angry. He’s not following the program – he’s not doing his part to make sure God would come back. And Jesus has one simple reply for his critics: “My Father is always at his work to this very day, and I too am working.” (John 5:17; TNIV) In other words, “Why are you so upset? I’m just doing my father’s work.”

Jesus knows the end of the story. But his response is totally different. Jesus doesn’t heal this guy just to prove that he is God. He’s not trying to draw attention to himself or get more people to believe in him. No. He’s living out his father’s program of renewal. He’s doing God’s work, which is to rescue his world from the effects of sin and death. Rather than waiting around in a holy huddle, he lives in such a way to bring a taste of heaven – a taste of new creation – into the present. He understands that the calling of the people of God is and has always been to live in such a way that the watching world experiences his Father’s kingdom now. In fact, he even goes so far as to say that if the people of God, themselves given a taste of God’s kingdom, simply “bury it” or keep it to themselves, the little taste they have will be taken away. Or perhaps they have already lost it.

Becoming God’s Temples
One of my favorite passages in all of Scripture is found in the seventh chapter of John’s Gospel. Jesus goes to Jerusalem for the Festival of Tabernacles. This was one of the biggest celebrations for all of Israel. It was basically a giant barbecue. But on the final day of the feast, a remarkable and highly symbolic ritual would take place. The high priest would go up to the temple steps and pour out a large jar of water. No, he wasn’t washing the steps. He was anticipating. He was anticipating that great vision from Ezekiel when a river of life would flow from the steps of the restored temple. It was an action full of longing and hope. It was a cry to God for his justice, his healing, and his kingdom to come. John tells us that on this day – the last and greatest day of the festival – Jesus makes one of his most shocking statements yet. “Let anyone who is thirsty come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as Scripture has said, rivers of living water will flow from within them.” (John 7:37,38; TNIV) In other words, are you thirsty? Are you longing for new creation? Are you tired of injustice, oppression, famine, and war? Do you long for a new world full of peace and healing? Does your soul cry out for God to come and finally set things straight? Is your greatest desire for his presence to return to this temple and bless us with his grace and mercy? If you believe in me – if you trust and follow me – you can forget about this building. I’ll make you temples. Rivers of life-giving water will flow from your bellies, from your navels. You will become the place where heaven and earth are joined and God’s presence resides.

If we follow Jesus, his Spirit will fill us and make us the answer to our own prayers. We’ll become people from whom a taste of new creation flows. It will be our lives that anticipate the day when death is finally turned to life and the cosmos are redeemed.

Temple Life
The next question obviously becomes, “What does this mean for us practically?” This is a good and difficult question. But I want to make a few suggestions.

I was recently speaking at a church in northern New England. I was sharing about that temple passage from Ezekiel. I was telling them that we’re not all that different from Ezekiel and from the people of God in his day. I stopped for a minute and asked the church, “If this kind of river of life were to flow through your city, what changes would happen? What deserts would grow fruit? What salt water would be made fresh? What, or rather who, would be healed?” The people of this church had no problem answering this question. They talked about families being healed from abuse and divorce. Husband and wives would learn how to keep their marriage covenant. They talked of people being set free from alcohol and drugs.  The poor and homeless would be fed and have homes. Single moms would be given help. People would discover meaning in their lives and jobs.

My first suggestion is this: Start there. Maybe we can take a moment to imagine God’s new creation and the change it would bring. We can spend some time thinking about the places in our families, cities, and culture that most need God’s healing. And then we can become temples. By the power of his Spirit we can begin to allow God’s healing life and presence to flow through us. We can offer to baby-sit for the single mom who lives next door so she can have a night out with friends. We can volunteer with our local soup kitchens and homeless shelters. We can start a carpool at our office or organize a bike-to-work week. But most importantly, we can ask ourselves how the whole of our lives – including our jobs, our families, and our home – can be used to bring people a taste of God’s new creation.

A few disclaimers: First of all, this doesn’t necessarily mean we need to “do” more. Don’t be mistaken here. We’re not going to bring God’s Kingdom by our own will, determination, or power. In our passage from John 5, Jesus explains how he’s able to do it: “Very truly I tell you, the Son can do nothing by himself; he can only do what he sees his Father doing, because whatever the Father does the son also does. For the Father loves the Son, and shows him all he does.” (John 5:19,20; TNIV) This is apprentice language. The language of this passage picks up imagery of how a son would learn a craft or a trade from his father. If your father was a fisherman, guess what? You probably would be a fisherman, too. You would work alongside your father, imitating him and copying his every move. You would do only what he did, and you would learn from him until you had perfected your craft. Jesus is saying he is this apprentice son. He is only doing the works of his father. He’s doing his father’s trade. If we’re going to be apprentices to our Father, then we’re going to have spend time with him. We’re going to have to listen. We’re going to have to so know the heart and life of the Father that we can begin to mimic him.

Secondly, we’re going to have to let God use all of our lives in wonderful and creative ways. We like to compartmentalize our faith. We see it as sort of distinct from what we do with most of our days. But God wants to use all of our lives for his Kingdom. He wants to use us in every realm of life – in business, art, media, the classroom, politics, you name it. How might God want to use you in your field to bring a taste of heaven to earth? How does he want to infuse your career with meaning and adventure and purpose?

Finally, to do God’s work means we’re going to have to get dirty. Jesus said to his disciples, “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” Jesus was telling us the how of our mission – he was calling us to do what he did – to identify with the weak and the powerless, to be friends of sinners and the outcast, even to lose, to die. We must be willing to go where there is real pain and dehumanization. We must be willing to “get dirty” and to put ourselves at risk. This is the truth of the Incarnation, the truth of a God who enters the place of pain and brokenness to heal it. To be God’s people and to do God’s work means we’re going to have to be willing to go to the place of pain in the world. It means living and working and striving to bring a taste of the new creation to the people to whom this world is most cruel, whether it’s AIDS orphans in Africa, refugees from Sudan, child prostitutes from South Asia, your classmate from a broken family, or your neighbor who just had an abortion. How can you be one of God’s apprentice sons or daughters who uses your job, your influence, your money, or your time to help to bring about a taste of God’s new creation?

Are you bored with Christianity? Bored with church? Wondering what your faith has to do with most of your life? I’m convinced that the more we know our story, the more we know where we’re going, and the more we know the role that God has for us in it, the more rich and exciting and meaningful all of life will become. To my architect friend I would say this: I don’t have your dream job. You just need to learn to dream in your job. Design and build for God’s kingdom. Be an architect whose buildings give people a taste of the beauty of God’s coming Kingdom. Be an architect who uses design to bring a measure of justice to our fractured societies and ever increasingly damaged environment. Be a temple.