Tag: Great Commission

“Get off the beach!”

We just returned from a visit to France, where we spent a few days in the Normandy region – the site of the D-Day invasion on June 6, 1944. A couple of weeks ago, I reflected on that pivotal moment in a post called Fortitude.

We stayed at L’Ormel Manor – now a charming Airbnb – in Vierville-sur-Mer, just a mile from the English Channel and right in the heart of Omaha Beach. Sections of these now-serene beaches were once codenamed Utah, Omaha, Gold, Juno, and Sword as part of Operation Overlord. American troops landed at Omaha Beach, where the fighting was the fiercest and the casualty rate the highest.

After being dropped off by landing craft, soldiers had to cross a wide expanse of open beach under heavy German fire. A low seawall offered a degree of protection, along with a natural ridge of sand and pebbles known as a shingle bank. If a soldier made it to the seawall, he might have had a chance to survive – for a while.

But the protection was temporary

Thousands of soldiers clustered behind the seawall. It was better than open exposure, but it wasn’t a place to stay. German artillery could be repositioned at any time. The only way forward, the only chance at survival, and the only way for the invasion to succeed, was to get off the beach and push inland.

I remember reading The Longest Day as a 17-year-old, trying to imagine boys about my age crouched behind that seawall, knowing they couldn’t stay there. I wonder how many would’ve preferred to take their chances right where they were. It took bold leadership like that of Brigadier General Norm Cota to get them moving. But that was what had to take place. There was no Plan B.

The success of D-Day rested entirely on this reality: they had to get off the beach.

Once off the beach, they needed to drive inland and establish outposts from which to continue penetrating the enemy strongholds.

An Omaha Beach view from the bluff

In Fortitude, I reflected on another beachhead moment – when the Israelites crossed the Jordan and entered the land of Canaan. I suggested that this land wasn’t just a reward – it was a launching point. It was a beachhead for God’s people to re-engage in their calling: to be catalysts in the redemption and restoration of the world.

They were, in God’s words, a “kingdom of priests.” A people set apart to be agents of God’s presence and blessing. Their role wasn’t simply to enjoy the land, but to extend God’s goodness to the image-bearers around them. To bring God’s will to earth as it is in heaven. They were blessed to be a blessing.

At the time of their entry into Canaan (around 1400 BC), historians estimate the world population at 100–150 million. The Israelites? Maybe around three million, just 2–3% of the world’s population. For reference, Christians today make up about the same percentage of the population in Palestine.

The Israelites had a mission. But they didn’t follow through.

God’s original calling to Abraham couldn’t have been clearer:

2“I will make you into a great nation,
    and I will bless you;
I will make your name great,
    and you will be a blessing.
3 I will bless those who bless you,
    and whoever curses you I will curse;
and all peoples on earth
    will be blessed through you.” (Genesis 12)

They were blessed to be a blessing

But somewhere along the way, the people of Israel got stuck behind the seawall. They began to focus more on receiving God’s blessing than extending it. More on what God could do for them than on what God had called them to do through them. And if you know the story, you know it didn’t end well.

A Word for Us…

I wonder if we – particularly those of us in the Western Church – aren’t guilty of a similar hesitation. We talk a lot about God’s blessings, God’s provision, and God’s presence for us. And those things are real, but they aren’t the whole picture.

Jesus’ parting command wasn’t to bunker down and wait for heaven. It was this: “Go and make disciples of all nations…” (Matthew 28:19). In other words, get off the beach.

God didn’t save us so we could crouch behind a seawall of safety and spiritual satisfaction. He blessed us so we could move forward, take ground, and share that blessing with the world.

Something to think about.

The Great Omission

As I’ve watched the events of the past several years, and especially the past ten months or so, I have been confused and frustrated. But after the events in Washington DC last week and seeing the responses from much of the Christian community, I am deeply disturbed. When we discuss political and social needs of human beings in our country (human beings created in God’s image, by the way) it appears to me that we have left Jesus out of the equation. “Left out” would be an omission. I fear we have intentionally removed Jesus from important discussions and, worse, have figured out how to justify such actions. That’s not just an omission but a commission, as in “the action of committing [an] offense.”

Ironically, there is a passage in scripture known as the Great Commission (Matthew 28:16-20). Jesus to his disciples:

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.

A key element to this directive is disciple-making – inviting people to follow Jesus and teaching them to obey everything Jesus commanded. I remember reading this early in my Christian journey, wondering exactly what those commands were. It drove me to read the Gospels several times over. I even made a list of all his commands (which was daunting, by the way). My second or third time through the Gospels, I suddenly realized that all his commands (and in fact, all of scripture) hinged on just two:

Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind” (Deuteronomy 6:5). This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: “Love your neighbor as yourself” (Leviticus 19:18). All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments. (Matthew 22:36-40)

And who is my neighbor? That’s what the theologian asked Jesus in the narrative we know as the Good Samaritan story. In response to the question, Jesus told a story that didn’t fit the man’s ideology. Your neighbor, Jesus indicated, is likely the one you dislike (hate?) the most. It appears the guy didn’t decide to follow Jesus. Is there a chance our ideologies clash with Jesus?

Who is my neighbor? Former President Jimmy Carter tells the story of a Cuban immigrant pastor named Eloy Cruz, a man who focused his life and ministry on Puerto Rican immigrants to the United States, people who were among the poorest of the poor. President Carter asked this pastor about the secret of his success. Cruz responded in humility and with a certain measure of embarrassment. “Señor Jimmy, we only need to have two loves in life—for God and for the person who happens to be standing in front of us at any time” (Leif Anderson). My neighbor is whomever God places in my path even if I don’t like them, even if they are different than me.

How can people who claim to be Christ-followers be willing to set aside the tenets of Jesus? How can we, instead, seem to be okay with rhetoric that demonizes our neighbors and turns them into enemies (don’t miss the irony that Jesus also commanded us to love our enemies). Help me understand! To me, it appears we have been willing to set Jesus aside. (See also What the Right and Left Have in Common.)

How else can we explain the Christian community’s inability (and unwillingness?) to face, admit, and speak into the divisions and disparities so evident in our society?

As you can see, I’m mostly asking questions here. However, something is surely amiss and we, the Christian community, need to be willing to ask where we might have missed the mark. I am open to hearing your thoughts!