Ordinary: How to Turn the World Upside Down

business.

These men . . . have turned the world upside down . . . saying that there is another king—Jesus!

Acts 17:6–7 hcsb

How were these early Christians turning the world upside down? They had a different King, Jesus, who called them to a unique way of life. They weren’t impressive people, but they had an impressive King.

The book of Acts shows that the result of the early church’s efforts wasn’t due to their own gifting and wealth (though some were gifted and wealthy). When Peter and John were brought before the council they were called "unschooled, ordinary men" (Acts 4:13 niv, my emphasis). Not even the leaders were extraordinary!

But these ordinary people turned the world upside down.

By submitting to the lordship of Jesus, proclaiming His substitutionary death and bodily resurrection, and displaying good deeds that reflect the values of the Kingdom, God used these ordinary Christians to change lives—one conversation at a time, one meal at a time, one act of mercy at a time.

When Paul and his missionary team went to Philippi, they started the first church on European soil. That sounds amazing, but it actually started in a very humble way. There were no light shows. The mission team went down by a river, where some ordinary women were gathered together. It looked like nothing more than a picnic with some prayers. I bet many people walked right past these ladies. But as the team approached them, and as Paul taught the gospel, God worked in the heart of a lady named Lydia to understand and believe the gospel. (That is an extraordinary thing!) Afterward, some others believed in the city, and the church got established. It more than likely met in Lydia’s home initially—not a majestic sanctuary, but a home. God opened her heart, and she opened her home. Ordinary people, redeemed by the King, then set out to live on mission, like we are called to do.

A few years after the book of Acts, a man named Aristides commented on the reasons for the influence of Christianity. He wrote to Emperor Hadrian in AD 125, noting some very nonsensational, but truly beautiful acts of mercy. Here is what he said described these Christians:

Further, if one or other of them have bondmen and bondwomen or children, through love towards them they persuade them to become Christians, and when they have done so, they call them brethren without distinction. They do not worship strange gods, and they go their way in all modesty and cheerfulness. Falsehood is not found among them; and they love one another, and from widows they do not turn away their esteem; and they deliver the orphan from him who treats him harshly. And he, who has, gives to him who has not, without boasting. And when they see a stranger, they take him in to their homes and rejoice over him as a very brother; for they do not call them brethren after the flesh, but brethren after the spirit and in God. And whenever one of their poor passes from the world, each one of them according to his ability gives heed to him and carefully sees to his burial. And if they hear that one of their number is imprisoned or afflicted on account of the name of their Messiah, all of them anxiously minister to his necessity, and if it is possible to redeem him they set him free. And if there is among them any that is poor and needy, and if they have no spare food, they fast two or three days in order to supply to the needy their lack of food.¹

In other words, they lived as though there was another King.

In the following pages, I want to reflect on some of these types of acts described by Aristides. My prayer is that we would see a recovery of such movement, an ordinary movement, that involves ordinary Christians, not just the super Christians, who live on mission in the rhythms of everyday life. Ordinary Christians who proclaim an extraordinary message, and ordinary Christians who practice compelling acts of justice and mercy.

And I pray that we can see this movement happening not just with individual Christians, but with churches. We are called to live out our Christian life in community. The church is God’s primary mission strategy that seeks to live out the values of the King. The church is an outpost of the Kingdom. About ten years after Paul started the church in Philippi, he wrote a letter to them. He said their citizenship [was] in heaven (Phil. 3:20). Realize that no ancient city was more like Rome than Philippi. When you visited Philippi, you would say, This reminds me of Rome. That sort of thing happens today when you visit a U.S. Embassy in another country. Yet, Paul calls the church citizens of heaven. In other words, the church was a little embassy of the Kingdom; the church was an outpost of the Kingdom. When people look at your local church they should say, This way of life reminds me of the Kingdom to come.

That will happen only when we reject the prevailing philosophies of our day, and instead live as though there really is another King, Jesus, who reigns and is coming soon to establish His glorious Kingdom.

"I put on righteousness, and it clothed me;

my justice was like a robe and a turban."

Job 29:14

"Will you lead a Bible study focusing on the poor each morning?"

No problem, I thought. I’ll just survey the Bible, pull some passages together, tell a few stories, and it will be a fruitful week of student camp.

I don’t recall a ton of students testifying about the impact of this particular study, but one thing definitely happened: it wrecked me. Soon my wife and I would reorient our lives, adopt five children, begin fighting human trafficking, and seek to put into practice what you’re about to read in this book.

Ministries of mercy and justice weren’t very important to me until about six years ago. I became a follower of Christ in college. I soon surrendered to ministry, and went to New Orleans for seminary. I finished three degrees, pastored a church in New Orleans, and then went on faculty at the same seminary where I had been a student. While my wife had been doing inner-city ministry in New Orleans, I occasionally ministered to the poor. I never considered mercy and justice ministry central to my life. I was a preacher. A pastor. A professor.

Then I taught this Bible study.

As I began to survey the Scriptures, and considered the wisdom of other evangelical writers, I began to see afresh God’s concern for the poor. I was struck by texts on God’s mercy and justice. The psalmists write: "The King in his might loves justice"² and "The L

ord

works righteousness and justice for all who are oppressed."³ I began to see the repeated emphasis on the trio of the vulnerable: the widow, the orphan, and the sojourner.⁴ I marveled at God as father to the fatherless.⁵

As I turned to the New Testament, I grew more aware of Jesus’ life and teaching on caring for the weak, the vulnerable, and the outcasts. I was also impacted by Paul’s commitment to help the weak, and consider the poor, along with the other apostles.⁶ James’s words riveted me, Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to visit orphans and widows in their affliction.⁷ Jesus’ words to the religious hypocrites had the same effect: Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you tithe mint and dill and cumin, and have neglected the weightier matters of the law: justice and mercy and faithfulness.⁸ And we made T-shirts with Isaiah’s words: Cease to do evil, learn to do good; seek justice, correct oppression; bring justice to the fatherless, plead the widow’s cause.⁹

Please understand, I read these verses before. But I had every reason not to take them at face value. I excused them with theological arguments, like Liberal theologians do social justice. I don’t want to go down that slippery slope. Or, This is fine for some people to do, but it’s not at the heart of what it means to follow Jesus. Or, That’s the Old Testament. That was theocracy. But these pious arguments crumbled as God broke me with His hammer-like Word.

As I worked through these passages of Scripture each day at youth camp, my own preaching convicted me. It was miserable actually. I repented that week of this blind spot in my life and ministry, and vowed to make some changes. I decided as much as possible to simply submit to God’s Word, and live in light of it. This decision led me to some questions that would affect my everyday life.

If God is a father to the fatherless, and I am to reflect Him in every way, then doesn’t that mean I should care for the fatherless too? If true religion involves caring for orphans in their affliction, then what kind of religion am I practicing if it doesn’t involve some measure of orphan care? Am I neglecting the weightier matters of doing justice and mercy like the Pharisees? Have I turned into a polished professional pastor whose public life is far more impressive than my own personal life?

These questions haunted me. I began to see that in many ways the poorest of the poor were orphans, and there are millions of fatherless kids, not to mention the functionally fatherless in our neighborhoods. This reality, coupled with the weight of numerous passages on the subject, led me to repentance and some life-altering decisions.

Jesus and Justice

Let’s get back to Jesus. How did He demonstrate mercy and justice? One of my heroes, John Stott, points us in the right direction, saying:

What sort of person do we think Jesus Christ is? Have we ever seen him as described in John 11, where first he snorted with anger (v. 33, literally) in the face of death (an intrusion into God’s good world) and then wept (v. 35) over the bereaved? If only we could be like Jesus, indignant toward evil and compassionate toward its victims.¹⁰

I have written this book as a recovering Pharisee, who wants to be like Jesus, indignant toward evil and compassionate toward its victims. If you think you don’t need this book, then it’s especially for you. I didn’t think a study on the poor would impact me either. But maybe you’ll recognize some blind spots in your life, like I did.

I’m in an evangelical tribe that believes the Bible, plants churches, and spreads the gospel. I love and support these emphases wholeheartedly. In fact, I planted a church, support my friends serving among unreached people groups, and I teach expository preaching. But my own tribe struggles with applying the social aspects of the biblical text, a text they view to be inspired and sufficient. Justice ministry is often viewed as an extra credit option, a distraction, or something to ignore all together.¹¹ But those who have a high view of God, His Word, and justification by faith should be leading the way in such ministries. Stott poses some important questions:

What sort of God do we believe in? Is he concerned exclusively with individual salvation? Or does he have a social conscience? Is he (in the words of Dr. Carl Henry’s memorable phrase) the God of justice and of justification? How is it that so many of us staunch evangelical people have never seen, let alone faced, the barrage of biblical texts about justice?¹²

We need to face the barrage of biblical texts, and consider how we might practice a life of justice and mercy.

While I’m not a master of everything I’m writing about, it’s my desire to practice what I’m writing, not only by myself, but in a community of faith called Imago Dei Church. We planted Imago Dei in Raleigh, North Carolina, in 2011, a church that grew to six hundred in two years. From the beginning, we set out to incorporate mercy and justice ministries within our global missions strategy. Our PEACE Plan hangs in our foyer:

P – Plant Churches

E – Evangelize the World

A – Aid the Poor and the Sick

C – Care for the Orphan and the Oppressed

E – Equip Leaders

I don’t share this to impress with