A few years ago, I wrote an article about "non-random acts of kindness." The holiday season, which is nearly upon us (is upon us if you listen to the all-Christmas-music-all-the-time radio station), is a great time for specific acts of kindness.
The pinch I've felt this year and at various other times in my life (e.g., as a college student), is a lack of financial resources for giving. That's why it's great that many acts of kindness carry no price tag. Here are a few ideas:
Free babysitting. This weekend my husband and I are babysitting for our pastor and his wife. We had wanted to do something for them during Clergy Appreciation Month in October but were tight on funds. However, when I mentioned free babysitting, my pastor's face lit up. "We haven't been able to go on a date since September!" he said.
Gift cards. Each year I receive an assortment of gift cards. A grocery card from work. Multiple Starbucks cards (everyone knows about my habit). And various other cards to restaurants, movie theaters and stores. I'm not advocating re-gifting Mom's sole Christmas gift to you, but if an extra gift card comes your way, why not pass it on to someone who needs it more than you do?
Food. The holidays are a great time to make someone a meal or prepare plates of cookies for neighbors or shut-ins. My high school youth group used to spend an evening caroling to all the older people in our church and taking them plates of cookies.
Hospitality. Give the gift of your home. People love a warm, happy place to gather. Host a Thanksgiving or Christmas get-together. Serve Christmas treats, play some games and watch a holiday movie. I have a friend who loves to put on a "romantic dinner" at her house each time one of her friends gets engaged as her gift to the couple.
Nice stuff you don't need. Do you have extra items you're thinking of selling on craigslist? Why not give away quality items instead. When Kevin and I got married, we ended up with an extra king-sized bed. Kevin learned that one of his coworkers was six months pregnant and sharing a double bed with her husband. When we offered her the bed she was thrilled and offered to pick it up the next day!
The holidays are a great time to reach out to people, though opportunities to bless others with kindness exist year round:
Part of being a blessing to others is being alert to opportunities. If an affirming thought comes into your mind, say it. If you wonder if someone is in need, offer to help. If you find yourself thinking of a person, go a step further and act. A little deliberate kindness goes a long way.
And the great news is ... kindness is absolutely free.
But That Is Me by Heather Koerner on 11/19/2009 at 9:51 AM
"That drives me crazy," my husband commented on Sunday afternoon.
It was halftime of the football game we were watching. I, being not too interested in the halftime show, had retired to reading my paper. But hubbie's comments focused my attention to what the sports broadcasters were discussing: a recent video showing one college football player flagrantly attempting to eye gouge another player who was pinned in a pile.
The coach had decided to suspend the player for a half-game after viewing the video tape ("Oooo," hubbie commented. "Suspend him for a half game against Vanderbilt. That'll teach him."). But what got under hubbie's skin a little was this comment from the coach as he was interviewed:
"I don't condone that. I understand what goes on on the football field, but there's no place for that ... I spoke with him. That's not who he is ... He got caught up in emotion."
A female college soccer player, who was videoed repeatedly pulling hair, kicking, punching and elbowing opposing players in a recent match, is using the same type of language in her defense. She told the New York Times
"I look at it and I'm like, 'That is not me,'. I have so much regret. I can't believe I did that.
I think the way the video came out, it did make me look like a monster. That's not the type of player I am. I'm not just out there trying to hurt players. That's taking away from the beauty of the game. And I would never want to do that."
It's that language that was driving hubbie a little crazy on Sunday.
"Not who he is? Take a look at the video. If that's not who he is, he never would have done it, even with the emotion," hubbie said. "Better to say, 'That video showed me someone who I don't want to be. I apologize for my behavior. I've got some things to work on. I will be working on them.'"
Smart guy, that hubbie. As I thought about what he said, I thought about how exactly right he was. It's under pressure ... under intense emotion ... that my own ugly comes out bright and clear. Yep, I can hold the ugly in under most conditions. But it's when I'm frustrated with my family, or driving when I'm late to an appointment, or tired, or whatever, that Ugly Heather makes her entrance.
And it's so tempting to sweep UH under the rug. "That's not me," I protest. "I'm not like that." But, maybe, that's exactly who I am. That's exactly why I need a Savior. That's exactly why I continue to need to be sanctified.
My in-laws have a magnet on their refrigerator that reads, "Sports don't build character. They reveal it."
Perhaps for me it might read, "Life doesn't build character. It reveals it."
The next time Ugly Heather reveals herself (which, let's be honest, probably won't be that long from the time I end this post), I've got something to think about. Instead of protesting to God, "That's just not me!", I can say, "Please forgive me. Create in me a clean heart and a right spirit. Because that is me and it's not who I want to be."
Recently Gary Thomas gave us a taste of his new book Pure Pleasure in the article "Enjoying the Earth Without Loving the World." Now he's making the whole book available as a free download. See details at his Website.
Candice has almost finished the book, but she's let me interrupt her reading to knock out a couple of the chapters. I couldn't get enough of it -- especially as someone who grew up in a fairly legalistic church community and had some difficulty learning how to rightly enjoy God's good gifts.
I appreciate the great job Gary does of explaining how enjoying God's gifts properly is the best shield to resisting our enemy's counterfeits.
Don't miss this chance to read one of the best books of the year at the perfect price for Boundless readers ... free.
When I first met my friend Daniel (not his real name) four years ago, he was not yet divorced, though he had been separated from his wife for a year and a half. Because Daniel was my age and living a single lifestyle, I sometimes found it difficult to remember his marital situation. We never considered dating -- mainly because we didn't share a faith in Christ -- but I occasionally found myself in sketchy moral territory. For example, was it wrong for the two of us to have dinner alone since he was not technically single?
In today's featured article "Beware: Black Diamond," Christina Holder shares her own tale of being pursued by an unavailable man. Surprisingly, these kinds of pursuers (and on the female-side seducers) are more common than you might think -- even in Christian circles. I've known Christians who got involved in relationships where one or both of the individuals were married. These kinds of relationships severely stray from the course God has set for love.
Thankfully, the author was astute enough to see it quickly and her mind was protected by truth. She writes:
I knew that no matter how good-looking Paye was -- or how much I wanted to hear his words -- that I couldn't let my emotions make a decision for me. The only way to deal with my temptation was to loosen its grasp at the first chance I got -- even if that meant being as abrupt as the swift swing of a car door.
The night after our failed date, Paye's freshly deleted phone number flashed across my phone display. I knew my only way out was to continue on my own path of escape.
"No temptation has overtaken you but such is common to man; and God is faithful, who will not allow you to be tempted beyond what you are able, with the temptation will provide the way of escape also, so that you will be able to endure it," it says in 1 Corinthians 10:13.
I silenced the phone.
If you are flirting with the idea of a forbidden relationship, take Holder's advice and act swiftly to flee the temptation. Giving in to sin not only causes you to stray from God's best, it eternally impacts the lives of others.
Everyone loves a hero. We love to toast them. These days we even make heroes of people who are just doing their jobs well. But there’s a tendency at hero-making that bothers me, namely the penchant within the conservative Christian world to lionize people who later turn out to be something less than lions.
I first noticed this trend in 1997 after the school shooting in Paducah, Ky. A gunman opened fire on a prayer group at Heath High School, killing three and wounding five. Almost immediately, a hero emerged from that unthinkable carnage. A young, outspoken Christian student named Ben Strong stepped forward with a story that varied from time to time about how he boldly convinced the shooter to lay down his weapon. Ben was an instant hero, especially in Christian circles, an example of the supposed superior bravery of a Christian man. There was even a book and a CD called B.Strong released to quickly capitalize on Ben’s heroism. Except the story eventually turned out to be not quite what he suggested or allowed people to believe.
The next major incident happened after the Columbine shooting in 1999, where stories quickly circulated about the heroism of a young Christian lady, Cassie Bernall, with hoopla similar to that which surrounded Ben Strong. Except, once again, the story was notquite what we were led to believe.
Our latest hero is Miss California, Carrie Prejean. She was lauded for her courage in answering an unfair and loaded question during a beauty pageant. She was a hero, standing up for her faith and traditional marriage and being attacked and called horrible names for it. Except we are finding out in drips and drabs that Miss Prejean has done things that are less than flattering to someone claiming to be guided by her faith. She said it was a horrible mistake made when she was young (although 17 years old is not that young), but we’re now hearing another version of the story that calls into question her veracity on even that point. Suddenly this hero is getting the hot-potatotreatment.
Now let me stress that my purpose here is not to rag on Carrie Prejean, Ben Strong, or anyone else. I can’t speak for anyone else, but I know I’ve done things that I’m terribly ashamed of and would be mortified if they were to be splashed all over newspapers and TV screens.
No, my purpose is to call us out on our seeming need to create heroes as some sort of vindication of our faith. This is, I think, different from the natural human tendency to pull something positive out of a negative. My sense is that Ben Strong, Cassie Bernall, and Carrie Prejean were held up as sterling examples of the kinds of people who are Christians. It is a form of legalism, showing that somehow by our works we are justified — before the world, at least. Whether we intend it, this communicates to the world that this is what it means to be a Christian: bold, brave, squeaky clean.
I know I'm anything but, and I suspect most of you are not, either. We should be the first to tell the world this. I’m not a hero. I have nothing to boast about. I’m a wretched sinner who didn’t deserve the grace shown by God, and short of His indwelling strength, I’d be more wretched still. I can boast in only one thing.
Aside from being the truth, this message of sinners saved by grace instead of our own heroic works gives hope to those who are tired of trying to somehow justify themselves before God. It also cuts short the mockery that comes as an inevitable result of our still-fallen natures being, well ... part of our nature. We need to heed the apostle Paul’s rebuke: By failing to live up to our own standards — in this case, heroic, idealized Christianity — we cause God’s name to be mocked.
The Bible is full of flawed people who were still used powerfully in God’s plan of redemption, not because they were great or heroic, but because they were weak.
Let’s do away with Christian “heroes.” Let’s just be what we are and let our faith and our testimony to be the only evidence the world needs to see. In our weakness, God can do great things.
"If Jesus Christ were to come today, people would not even crucify him," wrote 19th-century author Thomas Carlyle. "They would ask him to dinner, and hear what he had to say, and make fun of it." Carlyle wasn't a Christian when he described that attitude, but he didn't think much of it regardless.
I thought of that quote when flipping channels today. The topic of the day was Sarah Palin, and her reported comments to a McCain aide last fall: Seems she was pressed by the aide to say she believed in evolution, and she refused to get on board. The TV host launched into jeering at her in a can-you-believe-she actually-thinks-that? sort of tone, and commenced to push his guests to either join him in the jeering or be jeered at themselves. You didn't have to be a Palin fan to find the treatment kinda repulsive. It was so high school.
I call that host's attitude strategic mockery. It's a kind of bullying we all recognize from childhood onward, and it doesn't go away when we enter the adult world: It just takes on new forms. It's a conscious intimidation tactic that substitutes embarrassment for argument: Come on, you're not one of them, are you?
Any Christian who takes his faith seriously can expect to run into this a lot: That's not news. So how do you deal with it?
I have a few personal rules: Don't resort to a "Christian" version of that attitude yourself; don't get mad; do be calm; do be good-humored. But let's hear what you do. Or perhaps what you try to do.
Pet Parents? by Heather Koerner on 11/14/2009 at 7:51 AM
During a recent drive, I was listening to the radio. I awoke from my typical "glazed over" demeanor as my ears perked up to a pet store commercial. Between the specials and sales, it urged all "pet parents" to bring their pets along to the store.
Did I hear that right, I wondered? Then it came again. Don't forget, pet parents, that your pets are always welcome at our store.
Pet ... parents? Really? It just sounded odd to me.
Now, I think (or am hoping) that I got their meaning. Maybe they didn't exactly mean "parents," as though pets were equivalent to children. I'm guessing that they probably just wanted words that were a little more endearing than the rather stark "pet owner" -- a phrase that better evoked the care and companionship we often feel for our pets.
I'm hopeful that neither the store nor its customers would equate parenting (the raising and shaping of an eternal soul, an image bearer of God) with the care of a pet. But I wondered, too, if that phrase was a small symbol of a growing fuzziness, even among Christians.
Dr. Albert Mohler writes about that on his blog, as he comments on a recent Associated Press article about the increase of church "special services" for believers and their dogs.
Pointing out that such services represent a "deep theological confusion," he writes:
...As Christians, we are to see the glory of God in the diversity and wonders of the animal kingdom. We are to respect all animals as intentional creations of God and to acknowledge the gifts that these creatures represent.
At the same time ...
As the image-bearers of God, humans alone have the capacity to know and to worship the Creator. Animals reflect the glory of God, but only human beings can see the glory of God and know the Creator. Animals may possess consciousness, but they do not have souls.
...America is a pet-centric culture, and this reveals much about us. We have the wealth to spend billions of dollars on pets. The ownership and enjoyment of pets is a sign of wealth and plenty. We are also a society that is trading human relationships for the companionship of pets. We cut off our elderly from extended family and leave them alone with their pets. We see increasing numbers of younger people who decide not to have children, but instead to pour themselves into relationships with their pets. Restaurants, malls, and hotels are asked to allow pets even as they allow children. Professor Hobgood-Oster points to the pet-centricity of our society as evidence of "the changing family structure, where pets are really central." The woman who brought her two dogs to the "Canines at Covenant" service said, "I don't have any kids, so my pets have always been my children." Postmodern Americans see these statements as evidence of new lifestyle choices. Christians should see these statements as tragic.
Do you think Americans, and those around the world, are "trading human relationships for the companionship of pets"?
Task Debt by Suzanne Hadley Gosselin on 11/13/2009 at 4:23 PM
With a weekend coming, it suddenly occurred to me today how much I have to do: Housecleaning projects to take care of, post-wedding thank-you notes to write, a garage to clean out, and, of course, that pesky book proposal to finish. I suddenly feel like I have task debt; the feeling is akin to realizing that you have debt on your credit card that you should have paid off months ago. Unfinished tasks upon unfinished tasks.
How did I accumulate this debt? Simple. I went to the movies when I should have been cleaning my house. I watched TV when I should have been writing thank-you notes. I slept in when I should have been getting the garage cleaned out. And I wasted time on Facebook when I should have been writing that book proposal.
And now I'm paying the price. Did I really need all those outings, TV episodes and morning sleep-ins. No. It was a discipline issue.
You've probably heard what the Bible says about those who sleep instead of work:
"A little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to rest—and poverty will come on you like a bandit and scarcity like an armed man." (Proverbs 6:10-11)
Well, there's more. For months, I've been saying that I'm going to take care of the aforementioned tasks. The Proverbs have a zinger for that one, too:
"All hard work brings a profit, but mere talk leads only to poverty." (Proverbs 14:23)
Uh oh. Interesting that both passages talk about poverty -- a financial condition. Debt, anyone? I don't know if I would be financially better off if I completed my work (maybe if I got that book deal), but I do know my soul would feel richer. As things stand, I'm constantly worried about when I'm going to get things done. I think this weekend, I'll get going on paying off that debt. Then some day, maybe I'll be able to pay "cash" for that Saturday sleep-in.
A few nights ago I was talking with a friend -- we'll call her Jenny -- who has been spending some time with a certain single guy. They have mutual friends. He's new to her small town and doesn't know many people. And they share some common interests. Now, under ordinary circumstances, you might think this friendship has the potential for more. The thing is, this guy -- we'll call him James -- though very nice, is not a believer.
Because they don't share their faith in common, Jenny has looked upon her relationship with James as just a good friendship. In fact, as far as I can tell, her emotions have not slipped into entertaining even an inkling of romantic inclination. However, as all good male-female friendships tend to go, Jenny and James recently reached a crossroads in their friendship.
Jenny called to tell me that James has recently been releasing little flirty comments into the text-o-sphere. For example, "My friends asked me where my 'girlfriend' was tonight." And that wasn't the first time he'd dropped the g-word (girlfriend). Jenny asked me how she should broach the subject with James of her personal conviction not to date unbelievers.
This made me think of the times I have handled -- sometimes badly -- this situation. One time, at a party, a friend of a friend asked me if I would like to go out on a date. Knowing that he wasn't a Christian, I unfortunately blasted him with my bluntness: "I'm flattered, but I only date Christians."
After an awkward, squirming moment, he uncomfortably said, "And I'm definitely not one." Then he made an excuse to exit stage right. I knew the moment the words left my mouth that I hadn't been a great testimony in my response. At the same time, I couldn't think of what else to say. I'd told the truth.
Several years later, I found myself in a similar situation. I had struck up a friendship with a guy who was not a Christian, and he began making it clear that he had dating on his mind. This time I sent an e-mail, explaining that I had picked up on his attentions toward me and that I took dating seriously and considered a shared faith the most important factor. He took it well, and our friendship continues to this day.
If you hold the conviction not to date unbelievers, how do you communicate this in a graceful way? (For a primer on why shared faith is a biblical principle for relationships, I recommend Carolyn McCulley's article "Same-Lord Relationships.")
Thankfully, the day after we spoke, Jenny had a great opportunity to talk about her faith and view on relationships with James before he even asked her on a date. "I think he understood where I'm coming from and won't ask me out," she said. Now she is excited about the opportunity to be a testimony to James of what it looks like to be a godly, intentional single. How have you handled romantic offers from those who don't share your faith? How can Christian singles express grace in the turndown?
The World Wide Web has become the hottest place to build a church. A growing number of congregations are creating Internet offshoots that go far beyond streaming weekly services.
The sites are fully interactive, with a dedicated Internet pastor, live chat in an online "lobby," Bible study, one-on-one prayer through IM and communion. (Viewers use their own bread and wine or water from home.) On one site, viewers can click on a tab during worship to accept Christ as their savior. Flamingo Road Church, based in Cooper City, Fla., twice conducted long-distance baptisms through the Internet.
Zoll writes that advocates feel that the internet is "just another neighborhood where real relationships can be built" and that they feel "a religious duty to harness this new way for reaching the spiritually lost."
"We live in a day and age and a culture where people go to school online, bank online, date online and do other things online," said Kurt Ervin, who oversees the Internet campus for Central Christian Church, based in Henderson, Nev. "Why not create a platform for them to go to church online?"
Still, the author writes, "the staunchest critics say that true Christian community ultimately requires in-person interaction."
One of those critics is Mark Olson who, over at Evangel, lists three features of worship that virtual churches lack, and why we should be concerned about them.
Sacrifice. Olson writes, "The service is our offering to God and part of that sacrifice to God is of our time and our presence. Reducing that sacrifice to sitting before your computer screen in your proverbial pajamas certainly severely diminishes if not eliminates the sacrifice involved."
Holiness. "For myself, I fail to see how participation and contact with the Holy can be done by wire."
Contact with the liturgy and with the community. "We have 5 senses. A virtual service may serve, poorly, two (hearing and sight) ... man, created in the image of God is not purely rational and the organism and the meat of us is part of that image."
I think Olson makes some good points. For me lately, though, I've found the importance of the side-by-side church in its messiness.
My church and I are just going through a rough period right now. We're disagreeing on decisions. We're on different pages on program priorities. We're, too often, misunderstanding each others intentions and motives. And, sometimes, we're just annoying each other.
So much so that a few times in the past year I've wondered where that church that I have loved and treasured so much for the last seven years has gone.
It hasn't been fun or easy. But it has forced me to ask some tough questions. Could it be that God is allowing this time to work out my sanctification? Have I taken for granted the easier times? Am I just too spoiled to stick with it during the "bear with one another" times? Is there some serious selfishness that needs shaving off of me that only reveals its head during frustration?
I don't know all the answers, of course. I just know that when I rub shoulders with my fellow believers I have gotten both blessings and blisters -- and it could be that God is using both to mold me.
It seems a bit strange to me that I would come to treasure my church for the, shall I say, just "yuck" that we're going through. Stranger still that I would argue for the side-by-side church because of the "yuck" we have to go through sometimes. Still, I know, that online I can be polished and edited and not be bothered. But it's the bothering me -- it's the blisters -- that God is using the most right now. And I don't get that virtually.
Last night I was chatting with a friend who is going through a painful break-up. As we talked about the loss he was feeling, he said, "I just don't want to be alone." None of us do.
I remember reading an article about loneliness a few years ago. The article talked about the decline of friendship in American society:
In Norman Rockwell's classic 1943 painting, "Freedom from Want," an extended family is gathered around the table to celebrate a holiday feast. Fast-forward 63 years to Thanksgiving [this year] and — while lack of food is still a problem for too many in this land of plenty — you are much more likely to find want of a different kind. More and more Americans are starving for significant relationships.
The article highlights a study published by the American Sociological Review that shows a "remarkable drop in the size of people's core network of confidants — those with whom they could talk about important matters." Twenty-five percent of Americans reported having no confidants at all — up from 10 percent in 1985. The article relates this trend to the decrease of marriage:
Perhaps the same thing that is sabotaging marriage is undermining friendship: our increasing unwillingness to commit to relationships that require sacrifice, mutual accountability, and a generous share of humility. That refusal is often not so much willful as fearful.
People may fear the commitment friendship entails, but they remain fascinated with it. The long-standing popularity of TV programs such as Cheers, Friends, and now Grey's Anatomy — which portray the lives of people in multilayered friendships — signals that fascination.
These types of friendships can be hard to come by in real life, but as followers of Jesus we have greater access to meaningful relationships through the body of believers. What would happen if we extended that family feeling to those who are suffocating from loneliness? Reaching the lost, the article points out, may be as simple as being a friend.
"God sets the lonely in families, he leads forth the prisoners with singing." —Psalm 68:6
In it, Chapman talks about the death of his 5-year-old daughter, Maria Sue (a year and a half ago), his grief and the challenges to his faith, and how those have affected the music on his latest album, Beauty Will Rise.
Here's an excerpt from that interview:
That has been an important process, the whole thing of taking every thought captive and saying, God, this is what I choose to believe. Because I've found myself, especially in the first few days and weeks after Maria went to heaven -- and there's still moments of this -- that I could almost feel myself being sucked into this black hole of doubt and despair. Of saying, "God, if I let myself keep going in this direction, there seems to be no bottom, no end to this, and I'll never be able to escape from it."
At the hospital at Vanderbilt, literally within an hour of knowing that my little girl was in heaven with Jesus, I found myself having to make a choice, when I would start to feel myself and everything in me being sucked into this place, this abyss. I would begin to say, "Blessed be the name of the Lord. You give. You take away. But, God, I trust you. I trust you. You are faithful. You are good. I trust you. I trust you." And as I would say that, literally just choose to make that declaration in the midst of this, I would almost physically feel myself being pulled back from that place. And I'd start to breathe again.
But it wouldn't be long before I would go, "But, God, what? How could this happen? How are we ever going to survive?" And it's like here I go back into that black, dark place.
[Interviewer]:But there was a grace to even recognize that you were falling into that place.
Yes. That is the grace and the gift of God to be able, in that process, to make that choice. That's the crazy theology of all that—to even be able to make that choice to say, "God, I trust you," that is a gift of grace. But we're making that choice over and over again.
I was struck by how similar Chapman's words were to Angie Smith's. Angie is a mom, wife of a Christian musician, former Boundlesspodcast guest, and blogger who has written extensively about the death of her newborn daughter. Here, she writes about the moments immediately following an ultrasound that revealed her in utero daughter had multiple lethal conditions:
Todd went to get his mother in the waiting room, and the kind Belgian man asked me what I was thinking. I don't know where these words came from (actually I do), and I said, "I think that my Jesus is the same as He was before I walked into this room." He stared at me, not comprehending, but possibly relieved that whatever these silly notions were in my mind, at least they were keeping me calm until he could get out of harm's way. As my mother-in-law came in, I kept repeating, "He's no different, it's okay, He's no different..."
To the world, I imagine that such experiences seem foolishness. Look at those Christians, trying to convince themselves in their most vulnerable moments that there is a benevolent God who cares about them.
But as I read Chapman's interview, I thought about how he wasn't necessarily trying to convince himself that God is good. Rather, he was reminding himself.
Like the day I was driving in a blinding snowstorm from my office in Colorado Springs to my home in Denver. A driver pulled a u-turn in the middle of the highway, right in front of me, so I found myself with brakes locked up, headed straight for a deep ravine.
Turn into the slide, Heather. Turn into it.
No, my panic fought, don't do it! You'll end up wrecked in that ravine!
Heather, remember. Remember. You have to turn into it.
And I did turn into the slide. And I did gain control of the car at the last minute. And I did survive. Because I reminded myself of the truth. Despite what my mind, emotions and panic were telling me. The truth was going to save me.
I think it's the same with us. There will come, or may have already come, times that will push us to the very edge. Times that we feel forgotten or betrayed or when we just don't understand. At that time, like Chapman, we have to choose. Choose to remind ourselves of the truth. Our God is good. He is strong and He is love.
I have to force myself to help friends move, show up early to church to set up chairs and make meals for people who need them. But I do ... force myself. Because it seems clear from Scripture that we're all on the hook to be the hands and feet of Jesus to others through acts of service.
Though I try not to hide behind it, I've never considered myself to have the "gift of helps." But Friday's post on "Stuff Christians Like" challenges the notion of this "gift:"
A couple years ago I got in a heated argument with a fairly well-known Christian author when he was guest speaking in our Sunday school class. He was talking about how we each have spiritual gifts, which is totally valid, but by way of example he happened to mention that you would never find him sweeping up the church because he didn’t have the “Gift of Helps.”
I suggested that the idea of a gift of “Helps” was invented by people who were too lazy to pitch in and help out around the church. I asked him if he was seriously suggesting that he couldn’t put a chair away because he didn’t have that spiritual gift. “I see that those chairs need to be put away, and I’m just standing here. I wish I could help, I really do. If only God had blessed me with the Gift of Helps!”
I think this concept has been abused. After all, aren't all believers called to help one another? I wrote about this in "Useful Christian:"
Everyone has something to contribute to God's work (Romans 12). Part of the challenge is just showing up. While the Bible doesn't come out and say, "Make yourself useful!" the concept is implied. The imagery of a body, in which each limb, organ and muscle does its part, reinforces the idea that you should be doing simply what you are able.
In a day of sophisticated spiritual gifts tests and leadership training, some Christians may feel like they have little to offer. Others may feel that pulling weeds, making peanut butter sandwiches or holding babies doesn't properly utilize their "gifts."
When I'm tempted to think certain tasks are not worth my time, I remember my pastor. Most Sundays I see him pushing carts of chairs long after service has ended. It's a task any able bodied person could do, but Pastor is quick to pitch in wherever there is need.
Spiritual gifts should not be used as excuses to abandon the more practical, daily offerings of the Christian life. Sometimes washing a sink of dishes speaks louder than preaching a sermon.
The Value of Rest by Suzanne Hadley Gosselin on 10/28/2009 at 1:19 PM
My first three years of college I was an achiever. I worked hard to do well in all my classes, became student newspaper editor and earned several scholarships. For me, everything seemed within grasp if I just worked hard enough ... including spiritual goals.
When I suddenly fell ill to Lyme disease as a senior, I began to see how warped my thinking was. All of a sudden, I wasn't able to work hard and accomplish things. I had to rely on the mercy of others to even manage 12 credit hours. Many times my energy felt like that Old Testament widow's jar ... it refilled just enough to get me through each day. This setback drastically altered my view of my worth. I had put a lot of stock in my ability to do things and even viewed my value to God in my performance. As a sick person with little to give, I came to discover my value came from who I was, not what I could do.
In today's featured article "Craving Crisis," Kara Schwab describes a similar epiphany:
Somehow I was letting what I was doing for God give me purpose, instead of simply being His child. I must have believed that by doing more, I could prove my love to God, earn His love and feel good about myself. The problem is, the older you get and the more your faith matures, the more you realize you're not a super hero or a super Christian, but just a big, worthless windbag of sin. And what pierces you is not the shame of it all, but the truth that even with all that wind, there's nothing you can do to further fan the flame of Christ's incredible and passionate love for you.
I would say I discovered I was more than a "worthless windbag of sin" trying to make up the difference through superhuman effort. No, I was far from worthless. But my worth came from the price Jesus paid to reconcile me to Himself. There was nothing I could do to render myself more or less valuable to Him. During that time, a professor said to me, "Sometimes God humbles those with gifts, because they find too much value in them." That was true for me. Through my illness God tore me down to my foundation and began rebuilding.
As Kara points out, some people get a buzz off of averting crises and doing it all. But eventually you will not be able to do it all, and what then?
Now, I find that what I crave is balance. And while I still enjoy a heart-thumping mountain-top experience as much as anyone else, I'm finding more meaning in the hike that gets me there. Balance is something I'll always have to actively pursue. Only now I know this pursuit begins by resting at the feet of Jesus.
That kind of rest can be a slippery thing to grasp. But there's power in recognizing your limitations and realizing that what you can or can't do matters less than we think. God does His thing regardless of our abilities. And He invites us to peace and satisfaction. Something far better than the crisis.
Good Pleasure by Candice Watters on 10/28/2009 at 9:00 AM
Getting married and making babies are such earthy activities, they sometimes make pious people uncomfortable. I love the earthiness of God's creation. Maybe it's the influence of my Jewish grandmother.
Whatever the reason, I'm excited about Gary Thomas's new book, Pure Pleasure. In it, he talks about God's gift of pleasure and the way godly pleasures protect us from sin. In Tuesday's featured Boundless article based on this book, "Enjoying the Earth without Loving the World," Gary writes,
... many Christian teachers persist in setting God's earth up against God's Kingdom — as if the two always oppose one another. We celebrate redemptive activities like prayer and worship, but then pit them against other human realities like marriage, exercise, traveling, reading for pleasure, and laughter.
God isn't just our redeemer, however; he is also our creator. He made us and He made this world. So when we participate in this world as He made it, we celebrate him every bit as much as we honor Him when we do things that reflect His redeeming work.
Redeemed by Jesus, I am finally set free to truly enjoy and participate in the things of this earth without becoming sinfully entangled by them.
How many times are singles told that they have to stop really "wanting" to get married before God will bring them a spouse? This stupidity not only depicts a taunting, teasing God (finally giving us something only after we've stopped wanting it), but it also undercuts the beauty of true marital intimacy, designed by God and generously given to us by God.
Keep in mind, Adam walked with God, enjoyed God, worshiped God, and talked with God far more intensely and directly than we do today. And yet it was God who said, "It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a helper suitable for him" (Gen. 2:18).
Catch this: God is literally telling Adam, "It is my opinion that the way you are living — just me and you — is not enough, at least not for now. It isn't good for you to be here with just me and no companion, so I'm creating someone else, a woman, with whom you can share your life and relate to me together."
Brothers and sisters, God told Adam, in one sense, "I'm not enough." Those aren't my words; they're His.
I keep seeing previews for this end-of-the-world movie 2012. What I didn't know till the other day, though, is that it's not just a movie: It's part of a whole craze that pinpoints the end of the world in that year, including some 200 books and countless Internet rumors. In other words, someone out there -- lots of someones -- is taking this seriously.
Why, why, why? That's not just an expression of exasperation. I really want to know. Especially since so many Christians don't seem to be immune from similar stuff -- notwithstanding Jesus' clear statements that trying to pinpoint when this world will end is a waste of our time.
I won't pretend to have the whole answer. But a big part of it, I think, is simply that these people are bored. They want a sense of excitement in their lives, and nothing's more exciting than the end of the world. Incidentally, I think this boredom also accounts for why many people get caught up in various media-hyped scare stories that seemingly have a more respectable pedigree.
Meet Your Pastor by Suzanne Hadley Gosselin on 10/22/2009 at 10:35 AM
My last published article "Quarantining a Generation" discussed the difficulty single young adults in their 20s and 30s have fitting into churches. Today's featured article, "Plugging Into the Church" gives practical ideas for making your church family feel like, well, family.
For me, feeling at home in the church has been a journey. One suggestion I give in the article is to get to know your pastor, something that I was hesitant to do for some time. Once I did make a move, the result was encouraging.
Last year, I made an effort to talk to my pastor almost every week after church. We graduated from the same small Bible college, so that gave us some common ground. Each week I would tell him something I liked about the sermon or share a story about my kids' Sunday school class. Soon he knew my name and would approach me and ask how I was doing.
When I became engaged to Kevin earlier this year, my pastor told me he had been praying for a godly spouse for me. This meant a lot, since I go to a church with 1,200 members. Most pastors want to get to know the people in their churches. But they may need you to take the first step.
October is Clergy Appreciation Month. What better time to take the first step to get to know your pastor? Invite he and his wife out for coffee. Introduce yourself after church. Invite your pastor's family over for dinner or invite them to join you for a special event. How have you connected with your church leadership?
I don't know. Maybe it's me. But the list of people boldly speaking out against Christians (and Christianity in general) seems to be growing. I guess it's to be expected. But c'mon, sportswriters complaining about the TimTebows of the world expressing their faith? Lame.
Urban Meyer, Tebow's coach at Florida, has praised his quarterback's faith-promoting ways as "good for college football ... good for young people ... good for everything." Such is the rhetoric usually heard from those who defend sports-world Christianity as wholesome and harmless.
But should we be pleased that the civic resource known as "our team" — a resource supported by the diverse whole through our ticket-buying, game-watching and tax-paying — is being leveraged by a one-truth evangelical campaign that has little appreciation for the beliefs of the rest of us?
Krattenmaker's article is meant to incite people against Christians and Christianity. For example, he exaggerates a conversation between a Baseball Chapel leader and a player about his concern that his former girlfriend's soul is in danger to write, "Witness the incident with the Washington Nationals baseball team in 2005, when the Christian chaplain was exposed as teaching that Jews go to hell." Please, do go witness. Read the whole thing. You'll see that the only thing that's "exposed" here is Krattenmaker offense at the claims of the gospel.
On his blog last Friday, Dr. Albert Mohler calls this type of anti-Christian sentiment "undoubtedly a sign of things to come."
The belief that Jesus is the only Savior and that salvation comes only to those who come to Christ by faith is essential to Biblical Christianity. As Krattenmaker rightly observes in his book, when it comes to historic Christianity this belief is "hardly fringe or half-baked." Yet, it is precisely this doctrine that is so odious and inconceivable to the postmodern mind.
Dr. Mohler goes on to warn that sports isn't the only arena we'll begin seeing such outrage at biblical expressions of the Christian faith.
You can count on seeing these same arguments appear anywhere evangelical Christians express their faith in public or within ear-shot of those who may be offended. The belief that faith in Jesus Christ is necessary for salvation is now at the very center of secular outrage.
I guess the question for us in this increasingly hostile world, are we ready to stand?
Like me, you may be looking forward to seeing the film Where the Wild Things Are. I remember the story well from my childhood. In "Deep Down, We're All Wild Things," Tyler Huckabee explores the redemptive themes of the story by comparing the plight of its main character, Max, to all of us.
In the story, Max gets in trouble. And so, as a means of dealing with what he views as unfairness, he gets mad and goes to the place where the wild things are. Huckabee writes:
We’re familiar with that. We’re in the same place that poor Max finds himself: a world that we just can’t quite seem to get the hang of. We’re being fired from our jobs. We’re being hassled by our landlords. We’re being dumped by our significant others. And then there’s God, and He’s the one I’ve sort of been leading up to.
God’s pretty easy to get mad at. The world’s gone all wrong, life is impossibly difficult, He seems to be the one to blame. Maybe you’ve given your all to Jesus, only to find that He wants a little bit more. Maybe you think you’ve got a better way figured out, one without all those pesky rules, but you just can’t shake the feeling that God’s sitting on your shoulder, insisting that His way is better. You’re mad, ready to run away, but it’s impossible.
Sometimes I've just been mad about the way life is going. I don't necessarily blame God, but I wonder why He's allowed certain things. Huckabee writes:
We’ve felt Max-like fury at the forces in our lives, be they personal, professional or divine. We fantasize about being in charge, and getting the unmitigated approval of our peers, bosses, professors, pastors and crushes. And, of course, our sometimes boundless rage at God, who deals out disappointment and discouragement so liberally. We snarl, like the Psalmist, “Why do the wicked prosper?” We pitch fits like prodigals, running away and indulging our wild sides.
It’s an act God probably expects from us, given how often it happens. He’s been dealing with His angry servants since the very beginning. In the Bible, God fields the rage of such giants as David, Job, Jonah and Moses with patience -- never shushing their complaints with any sniper-like lightning bolts from the sky. He listens; He lets them have their say. “The LORD is like a Father to His children,” the Psalmist says in Psalm 103:13-14, “tender and compassionate to those who fear Him. For He knows how weak we are, He remembers we are only dust.”
This article illuminates a truth: the propensity for us to run to something we can control when we don't like what God is doing. Just like Max runs from his mother's discipline because he believes she is being unfair, we sometimes run from God's way because we don't like it ... or trust that He has our best interest in mind. But as one friend told me, "the illusion that I'm in control or doing my own thing is just that ... an illusion." Ultimately the journey away from our loving Father yields emptiness. Sendak’s tale illustrates this.
Max doesn’t set up shop with the wild things. He tames them and goes home. Supper’s still hot, mom still loves him and everything’s the way he left it. His imagination has bled out the anger, and his fantasy world hasn’t lived up to the real thing. He’s had his tantrum, and he’s calling it a day. Max’s return journey is the most important point of his trip. He knows when it’s time to move on.
As the book says (its only words): "The king of all wild things was lonely and wanted to be where someone loved him best of all." And that's really what we all want.
Whom have I in heaven but you? And earth has nothing I desire besides you. —Psalm 73:25
I love fall: It's my favorite season. The leaves are starting to turn, and I never grow jaded with the sight. I just got back from a brisk walk where I savored everything around me -- the trees, the sky, the sun, the breeze. I just felt blessed. I get to live in this world!
This reaction isn't an October-only event. In all seasons, I'm struck by the beauty of creation. When I look around, one thought keeps recurring: God is an artist. He could have made a purely utilitarian universe, devoid of beauty and concerned only with function. But that's not Who He is. He pours forth His creative nature in colors, in shapes, in textures and dimensions. His signature strokes are all around us.
Even if I'd never read a word of Scripture, I wouldn't have it in me to imagine that all this awesome beauty just, somehow, evolved. Few people do. Individual atheists exist, but a truly atheistic society is just about unheard of. Even pagans, who don't know the Artist, can see that there is one. It takes an unusual degree of spiritual blindness to miss the signs. "The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of His hands."
As much as we may marvel at all we see, here's an even more marvelous thought. All the beauty of creation isn't God's best work. Great as it is, it's been vandalized: It's a fallen creation, with elements of ugliness in the mix, and its greatest beauty pales compared to what it used to be. How much more beautiful was Eden? And how much more beautiful will the new creation be? Just trying to imagine boggles the mind.
So don't try. Just wait. And while you wait, let the wonders you can see with your eyes drive you to know the Artist more deeply through His Word.
It seems that the Halloween decorating has been amping up in my little corner of the world for the past couple of years. What used to be the occasional skeleton or haybale with pumpkins seems to have morphed into the Fall Battle of the Griswolds.
For the most part, I have no problem with it. I like the elaborate fall decorations with the scarecrows, dried corn and garlands of fall leaves. I don't really mind the giant spiders, witches who have crash landed in the front yards and giant inflatable vampire Mickeys (okay, that's not true, vampire Mickey gives me the willies).
But there is one particular Halloween decoration in my neighborhood that just gives me the creeps. I've had my eye out to see if it was going up again this year and, this morning, it did.
Picture this: A group of five ghosts. They're little and cute and adorable, being held up by sticks. All the ghosts are holding hands (via their little sheets being connected at the edges) so that they appear to be circling around a tree together.
I know. Not that horrifying, right? In fact, I've spent some time this morning wondering, just what it is about this house that gets to me? The best guess I can muster is that it's the cute superimposed upon the creepy. That these sweet little things seem to be participating in something pretty ugly--some type of nature worship ritual.
In the midst of the good things that Christians are trying to do with the Halloween holiday (like show hospitality, remain true to our convictions, host Fall Festivals for the community or celebrate "Reformation Day"), there are still aspects of Halloween that, rightly, cause us concern (like this or this or this).
"Yes, I am well aware this is a controversial issue. In my opinion, it is often either overstated or understated. And yes, on Halloween we do give out candy generously, and we enjoy the kids' costumes. For some Halloween is harmless. But there is another side to be aware of, which sucks in others."
I think that may be it. Other believers probably drive by this ghosts-around-the-tree scene without batting an eye. But something about this particular decoration reminds me, in a pretty vivid way, that as much as we may try to redeem or reform or repurpose this holiday, there is a dark side to it. Demons are real. Satan prowls and he would pull our worship away from our Lord in any way that he could.
As Alcorn put it, I don't want to overstate it or understate it. But those little ghosts this morning reminded me that it should at least be stated.
For Jews demand signs and Greeks seek wisdom, but we preach Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and folly to Gentiles, but to those who are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God. (1 Cor. 1:22-24)
I found myself in Santa Fe a few weeks ago, touring restaurants and historic churches with my wife.
Every church had a series of "stations of the cross" -- depictions of Jesus' painful hours leading up to His crucifixion. Every church had depictions of a bloody and battered Jesus on the cross.
There was a time when I'd dismiss such depictions, saying rightly that Jesus is no longer on the cross, but has risen victorious over sin and death. At present, Jesus is fully alive, interceding on our behalf, free from the tortuous pain of the cross. He had said, "It is finished," and I believed that the entire Jesus-on-the-cross thing was finished and should be behind us.
But I've come to a place where it's helpful for me to reflect on Christ's agony on the cross. It's helpful to remind myself why He went to the cross: to take upon Himself not only the sins of the whole world, but of more personal relevance, to take upon Himself each one of my many sins.
When I meditated on the cross in that historic Santa Fe church, with Jesus hanging on it, I better saw the significance of my sin, the consequence of my sin, the weightiness of it, the reality of it, the gruesomeness of it. And I saw the sacrificial love of God that brings peace.
When I look upon crucifixes -- not mere crosses, but Jesus hanging on the cross -- I'm reminded that the crucifixion was a historical event, something that really took place some 2,000 years ago, and not merely an "ideal." The cross is not merely a symbol, but a real place in real time where the Lord changed history and demonstrated His greatest act of love.
It is by the wounds Jesus received on the cross that I am healed. If I share in Christ's suffering, then I will share His glory and His power and His comfort as well. Jesus suffered in order to sanctify me through His own blood. He suffered once for sins, the righteous for the unrighteous, that He might bring me to God. He canceled the record of debt that stood against me, nailing it to the cross. I am reconciled to God through the cross of Christ.
I am thankful for the cross. Too easily I forget, and so I'm also thankful for crucifixes, how they draw me back to the cross, how they draw me back to Jesus, the suffering servant and risen King.
Four years ago, I wrote an article called "Quarantining a Generation" (republished as today's feature article). I was shocked to receive more than 50 e-mails in response. Most were from 20-something singles like me who resonated with the article's premise that it is difficult for young adults to find community in churches. But a handful of letters were from pastors and ministry leaders asking how they could make their churches more hospitable to my generation. I was excited to see such a passionate response.
In the article, I talk about the model of the early church, which was obviously successful since thousands were being added to their numbers daily. A main strength I see is intergenerational community:
The church was established to glorify God and to provide a place for believers to challenge, encourage and support one another. Those who previously had little in common became one unit through belief in Christ. Paul explained it like this: "There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female," single nor married, young nor old, "for you are all one in Christ Jesus" (Galatians 3:28). I added those last two, but I believe they are in the spirit of Paul's intent.
This unity inspired people to share everything they had, to invite widows and orphans into their homes and to demonstrate a love and cooperation that drew non-believers like a magnet. Spending their time together in each other's homes, church members operated much like a family.
During my years as a single young adult, I have felt the power of the church best when this family element is present. Young families who have invited me into their homes for dinner. A pastor and his wife who initiated meeting me for coffee. Older women who stepped in as godly mentors. These people made me feel worthwhile, like I belonged. As much as I enjoy my peers, the deeper acceptance was felt in intergenerational connections. In response to the trend toward young adult services, I write:
In order for these relationships to take place, all ages must exist in community together. With the growing number of alternative services, young adults are missing out on relationships that provide wise counsel, build spiritual maturity and help bridge the gap to the next stage of life.
I have discovered that my generation is quick to point out all that is wrong with the church. However, I believe many of our core spiritual needs can be met within that very community. That is why Christ established the church in the first place.
Since I wrote this article, I have pressed on in seeking out intergenerational church fellowship (it has required some hard decisions). My ministry with children and interactions with volunteers who were not my peers ultimately led me into the path of my husband, who shares my heart for intergenerational church. And while I waited for a spouse, those rich relationships diminished loneliness and gave me a place to belong.
The ladies at the Girl Talk blog are running a great series on hospitality. I was recently having a conversation with my husband about wanting our home to be a hospitable place. One house I lived at several years ago was the kind of place that everyone loved to come to and hang out in. I grew up in a house like that, and I want my home to be that way.
If we have trusted in Jesus, we have found a home in God. We were once strangers, alienated from God because of our sin. But through the suffering of Jesus Christ, we have been brought near to God. We are not strangers anymore.
We have received the ultimate act of hospitality! How can we not, in turn, show grace and love to others by extending hospitality to strangers?
I'm trying to think of a single time I showed hospitality to a stranger. (I did bring a Swiss skateboarder home from the airport once and one of my guy friends showed him hospitality.) But hospitality can begin with the people we know. People from church and work. Bringing people into a welcoming home speaks of our welcoming God.
Obviously, it's important. Romans 12:13 says: "Share with God’s people who are in need. Practice hospitality."
How have you practiced hospitality? How can you cultivate this practice? What makes a home warm and welcoming to you?
When Josh Harris applies Proverbs 24:33-34 to new media it makes me want to stop blogging and ask God for wisdom. I'll finish this post so you can join me there.
"Okay," our devotion leader said. "Can anybody name any sins that they saw committed or discussed in that clip?"
He had just shown us a 5-minute clip of a popular sitcom. It took about a milli-second before the answers started coming. Fornication. Homosexual Behavior. Coveting. Cruelty. For just 5 minutes, the writers had certainly packed a punch.
"Any more?" he asked.
A few more answers popped out, though slower now.
"Anything else?" he asked. "I'm looking for something in particular."
There was silence for a good minute until someone offered, "They took the Lord's name in vain pretty often."
"That's it," he smiled. "Seven times to be exact."
I thought of that devotion while watching an ABC Nightline segment from last night's show. Nightline is currently doing a series on the Ten Commandments and last night's segment, titled "OMG! I Just Broke a Commandment!", focused on the third commandment. (Text story is here.)
Particularly, it focused on the increasing use of "OMG!" by Americans, both in text and verbal form. "They're just three letters of the alphabet ..." the voiceover guy says at the beginning of the segment, "... but they deliver an awfully big idea."
The segment then goes on to show a montage of "OMG" use from sitcoms, "reality" TV shows and even as a category on the game show Jeopardy. I've even seen it as a category on my Yahoo! homepage.
"I think when people use it," said one teenage girl being interviewed, "it's more to, convey, 'That's so exciting!' or 'How cool!' and instead of saying that, they said 'OMG!' instead."
"Most teens don't think about it," said another, "they just say it."
But that "not thinking" about the significance of those letters could be the problem. When asked whether "OMG!" represented a vain use of the Lord's name, Bob Miller, an Old Testament expert at Catholic University, said:
"I seriously do think it is a problem. I think that it shows a lack of belief that God is present or that there is any sort of reverence around what it is you're actually saying. I think the fact that it has become a casual thing that is thrown around in the language is just a symptom of that and that would never have happened in earlier centuries."
But isn't "OMG" just like all the other white-washed references to God's name that we've become accustomed to or that may even sound corny to us, Nightline asked? Golly, Gee, Jiminy Cricket (JC), Gadzooks, Jeepers, Oh Gosh. Are those taking the Lord's name in vain?
I've frequently said, "Oh, Criminy" and just now looked it up on Merriam-Webster. Great.
Th teenagers in the Nightline piece seemed to try to make that case: That "OMG!" simply is an exclamation of surprise, or amazement, or delight. That it has no religious significance.
But is that true? Or do they just not realize the religious significance that it has?
To that point, something really interesting happened at the end of the segment. Referring to "OMG," the Nightline interviewer asked the panel of teenagers, "Will those letters be different to you now, because we've talked about it so much?"
Almost all the teenagers nodded their heads and agreed that, yes, it would be different. "I think I'll be more conscious of it now," one girl said.
For me, I'm not so much concerned about where exactly the "vain" line is drawn. I just want to make sure that I'm nowhere close to it and that my language and my heart both exemplify a reverence for the Lord.
Maybe I'll just stick with Winnie the Pooh. "Oh, bother" should work just fine.
Have you ever been scared? No, not spooky-movie scared or even think-I-flunked-that-test scared. I mean absolute-terror, sure-that-you’re-about-to-die scared.
Christina Holder knows what I'm talking about. It happened when she was in Liberia to record the stories of the people who had lived for years in that West African country that was being ripped apart by civil war. She writes:
That night, I was thankful that I was sleeping. I was thankful that I didn't hear the back door lock pop, the quick shuffle of feet, the tinkering at my bedroom door. I was spared, in those few last minutes of peaceful slumber, the agony of wondering who was behind the door, what they would do to me, if I would die.
It didn't take long for them to enter.
Bam! Bam! Bam!
And suddenly they were there. A gang of five men … had swiftly broke down my door and gathered around my bed screaming.
As they busted down the door, I rose from sleep with only my underwear on. …
They held sharp machetes in their hands. Some of them lifted up the mattress I was still sitting upon. One of them flipped through my Bible. Another hit me across the forehead—a stinging slap of power—and put a gun near my head.
The assault was cut short when a quick-thinking man outside made it sound like the police were arriving. The cowardly thugs took off, sparing Christina from further physical harm.
But that, of course, would not be the end of it. She tells of the psychological effects of that assault. The lingering fear and paranoia. The flashbacks and jumpiness.
Christina knew that she could lean on the Lord during these times of trouble. But, she admits, the trauma is not completely gone.
And even as I write this column, the tears still come.
In those moments, I've realized that terror takes time to process—much like grief or heartbreak. We must let ourselves feel the deep emotions and process them. At the same time, we must remember that as Psalm 29:10 says, God sits “enthroned over the flood.”
If we continue to fear, then we let fear imprison us. And Satan wants nothing more than to be the warden on our cell block, keeping our hearts barred in desolation.
While this all certainly true, I’m going to offer a bit of advice to Christina—to anyone, in fact, who has suffered a severe trauma that may not have permanently harmed them physically but which still lingers around the edges of their psyche, a dark something that always seems to be there, just out of reach.
It can be triggered by anything: a smell, a sound, a glint of light in your peripheral vision. Or by nothing at all. And then—wham—the terror is there again. It can cause the tears to flow. Or it goes into slow smolder, throwing you into a deep, black funk, occasionally erupting into a volcanic rage.
No, you’re not sinning by continuing to live in fear. No, God is not punishing you. But there is something wrong, not in the sense of sin, but in the sense that you’ve been injured. I recognize the symptoms Christina describes. They’re classic PTSD: post-traumatic-stress disorder.
But wait: Isn’t PTSD something that happens only to wacked-out war veterans?
In short, no. While I stress that I’m not a doctor or psychiatrist, I do know something about PTSD. I’ve been doing a lot of research on it. It’s not a sign of weakness. It’s not a symptom of sin. It’s a healthy mind’s reaction to a traumatic event, whether it be a one-time trauma like Christina suffered or a continuous assault on the psyche that a soldier might experience.
Rape victims many times suffer PTSD. So do victims of assault. Sometimes it’s a natural disaster, such as tornado or earthquake. Or five thugs bursting into your room, rousting you from sound sleep to sheer terror in a split second.
The thing about PTSD is that it rarely heals on its own. It never really goes away. Sure, you might succeed for a while in stuffing it down, or maybe it’s been some time since it leapt unbidden from some dark recess of your mind. But it’s still there, waiting, lurking.
I assume you would see no shame or lack of faith in seeing a doctor for a physical ailment. Likewise, there’s no shame in seeking help for a bruised psyche. A trained Christian counselor or psychologist would certainly be a place to seek help. Maybe your pastor. But it has to be someone trained to recognize and help you work through this unique type of pain.
There is healing for PTSD. Yes, God is the God of all comfort and healing, but sometimes He chooses to work through his skilled servants. I’ll be praying for you, Christina.
I really enjoy the book of Genesis. A theme in the first few chapters that intrigues me has to do with water.
Genesis 1:6-7 explains that on Day #2, God separated the water into two parts: one part "above the expanse," and one part "under the expanse." The next day He gathered the waters "under the expanse" into seas, which allowed other areas "under the expanse" to be dry land.
From what follows, it seems that this water "above the expanse" is not a mere layer of clouds, but some sort of water canopy or layer of ice particles. Why do I think that? Because of a few reasons: first, there didn't seem to have been any rainfall prior to Noah's flood. Rain clouds didn't provide water for the plants, according to Genesis 2:6; instead, "a mist was going up from the land and was watering the whole face of the ground." There was also no record of rainbows until Noah's flood.
And how did Noah's flood come about? Not through mere rain, from mere rain clouds, but from the rupturing of this water canopy and from vast amounts of water stored beneath the dry land. Check out Genesis 7:11-12, which explains that "all the fountains of the great deep burst forth, and the windows of the heavens were opened." So, stuff from the earth is erupted into the atmosphere first, which causes the water "above the expanse" to fall. Either whatever was holding it up was punctured, or there were for the first time particles (volcanic ash?) in the air around which water vapor could now finally condense and fall.
Note that after 40 days, "the fountains of the deep and the windows of the heavens were closed, the rain from the heavens was restrained." For weeks, water had been pouring onto the earth from both below the land and above it. Whew, that's a lot of water!
I find it interesting that Methuselah, who lived 969 years, died the same year as the great flood. I find it interesting that before the flood, most people lived a very long time; after the flood, their lifespans diminished. Moses lived 120 years, but wrote that humans might typically live 70 or 80 years before dying.
Why the change in lifespan? Perhaps the water canopy kept out harmful solar rays and regulated the temperature of the earth; when it collapsed, our environment became less amenable to long life.
As I mentioned in the first paragraph above, I'm intrigued by all this. There seems to be an internal consistency here, an affirmation of scientific principles, and a hint at how our current geological topography has come about.
In "So Long to the Volcano," Mike Ensley takes a hard look at his relationship with God. Is it "sinner in the hands of an angry God," God's PR guy or loved child? Ensley writes:
I grow weary with God, not because His promises are false, but because I don't really know Him. I know some other god, this twisted amalgamation that is passed on through generations and given to each of us through bad theology, unhealthy relationships and the faultiness of our own understanding.
The author likens a common misconception about our relationship with God to walking a tightrope over a volcano. One wrong move, and you're toast. Many Christians live with this perception of God.
The motivation for seeking God and obeying Scripture has so seldom been His goodness and trustworthiness, and so often been about the angry hand He's supposedly saving for the day we step out of line.
I don't know all the ins and outs of salvation theology. I just can't believe, though, that the Son of God became man, died and rose again so that you and I could walk a tightrope over hell. I couldn't build a relationship with anybody who either gave up on me or made me start from scratch every time I screwed up.
I've wrestled with this myself. What is the meaning of my sin? I know the ideal is to live in daily obedience. But what about when I mess up? What if there is no evident consequence? Did I get away with it? Is God simply waiting for the perfect moment to lower the boom? How much restitution is necessary to get back to where I was? These questions, I suspect, give away a mixed-up view of salvation. Sometimes the tension between living a holy life and being a fallen human can feel like a game we're trying to master. Ensley offers a thought-provoking conclusion:
I'm starting to think God's first desire isn't for me to promote Him, but to enjoy Him. Just between you and me, I believe that's the real reason He made me: to taste and see that He is good. And I think that, if I know God was good, not because that's the image I'm supposed to project but because I'm making a lifestyle out of encountering that reality, I'll end up promoting Him, anyway.
I do believe Christianity is about the relationship. And it seems that when life is busy or stressful, default mode is to simply go through the motions. It is then, that I am more likely to feel the tightrope scenario. I like Ensley's challenge to leave the volcano altogether and set sail on a life-giving relationship with a loving God.
Last week, Tim Challies posted an excerpt from an 18th-century Presbyterian pastor and I haven't been able to get it out of my head since.
The pastor, James Russell Miller, is writing a book "chiefly for the young." In other words, chiefly for you. This chapter is called "Beautiful Old Age" and encourages you and I to keep the end in mind as we live today:
Old age is the harvest of all the years that have gone before. It is the barn into which all the sheaves are gathered. It is the sea into which all the rills and rivers of life flow from their springs in the hills and valleys of youth and manhood. We are each, in all our earlier years, building the house in which we shall have to live when we grow old. And we may make it a prison or a palace. ...
... The important practical question is, How can we so live that our old age, when it comes, shall be beautiful and happy? It will not do to adjourn this question until the evening shadows are upon us. It will be too late then to consider it. Consciously or unconsciously, we are every day helping to settle the question whether our old age shall be sweet and peaceful or bitter and wretched. It is worth our while, then, to think a little how to make sure of a happy old age.
How can our old age be beautiful and happy? Miller answers that question by advising that we concentrate on living a useful life ("nothing good ever comes out of idleness or out of selfishness"), cultivating relationships ("we must seek to make to ourselves loyal and faithful friends in the busy hours that come before") and living a pure and holy life.
On that last point, Miller writes:
Sin may seem pleasant to us now, but we must not forget how it will appear when we get past it and turn to look back upon it; especially must we keep in mind how it will seem from a dying pillow. Nothing brings such pure peace and quiet joy at the close as a well-lived past. We are every day laying up the food on which we must feed in the closing years. We are hanging up pictures about the walls of our hearts that we shall have to look at when we sit in the shadows.
How important that we live pure and holy lives! Even forgiven sins will mar the peace of old age, for the ugly scars will remain.
Miller summarizes his advice to us:
Summing all up in one word, only Christ can make any life, young or old, truly beautiful or truly happy. Only He can cure the heart’s restless fever and give quietness and calmness. Only He can purify that sinful fountain within us, our corrupt nature, and make us holy. To have a peaceful and blessed ending to life, we must live it with Christ. Such a life grows brighter even to its close. Its last days are the sunniest and the sweetest. The more earth’s joys fail, the nearer and the more satisfying do the comforts become.
I've tried to follow (emphasis on the tried) C.S. Lewis' advice to read at least one old book for every three new ones to, as he put it, "correct the characteristic mistakes of our own period." So, as I was reading this I wondered: What characteristic mistake of our time does this illuminate?
And I wondered if it wouldn't be "carpe diem." Seize the day. Live in the now.
For sure, I shouldn't "worry about tomorrow." But I should remember that there is a tomorrow, if God wills, and that the decisions I make today will affect tomorrow. My sin, or selfishness or idleness might seem pleasant right now. But when I look at it with an eye toward eternity, I start to get a bitter taste in my mouth.
Challies' post is here. Though Challies doesn't reference the name of Miller's book, I believe it can be found here. (32 chapters! I better get reading!)
I find myself in another of those conversations about what philosophers and theologians call The Problem of Evil. Follow me for a moment as I tell you how I got into it.
It started last week, when I wrote a blog post about how God used the invention of ultrasound in ways the inventor couldn't have imagined. One reader (BAC) wrote to say this post was a timely inspiration at a crucial point in his/her life. I wrote back and said the timing was a great example of how God works in His own timing.
No controversy so far. We Christians talk this way all the time: It's as natural to us as breathing. But it sounds odd to non-Christian ears. Another reader (Jethro) asked: How do you know God was at work? And I said: Because God is always at work in the lives of His people. And he said:
Does that mean God is at work when a someone rapes a child or murders another human being? Is God at work when an abortion takes place?
I'm not being facetious, it's a genuine question.
I could give a short answer along these lines: Yes, God is at work. That doesn't mean God caused it, because it's a fallen world full of sinful human beings. It means He is there, working through it all, to bring consolation, forgiveness or both.
But a short answer won't do here: We're getting deeper into the problem of evil, and that's never a short conversation. It's also important enough that it calls for a fresh post so the rest of you can weigh in.
Boundless writers have talked about this subject a lot, but not for a while. So let's start by suggesting a few articles. Robert Rivera talks about it here. J. Budziszewski talks about it here and here and here.
Besides the question of evil itself, there's another question: Why do we ask? There's more than one possible motive, and we should examine ourselves to discover our own. Gary Thomas reminds us that God's not a defendant we can put on trial here. And J. Budziszewski considers how to talk to others about the issue here.
I'd like to hear not just your comments, but even more, your personal stories. Have you wrestled with why God allows evil in the world -- or in your own life? How have you come to terms with it -- if you've come to terms with it?
I’ve become one of those people whose coffee order comes dangerously close to being a small novel. My newest order is the “Venti Iced Nonfat Half Chai Half Pumpkin Spice Latte.” Hey, one of the baristas recommended it recently and I have to say it’s actually really good.
It reminds me of a line from the movie You’ve Got Mail:
The whole purpose of places like Starbucks is for people with no decision-making ability whatsoever to make six decisions just to buy one cup of coffee. Short, tall, light, dark, caf, decaf, low-fat, non-fat, etc. So people who don't know what the [heck] they're doing or who on earth they are can, for only $2.95, get not just a cup of coffee but an absolutely defining sense of self.
Now, there are two things that stick out to me about that quote. First of all, the days when Starbucks charged only 2.95 for anything other than a standard coffee are long gone. Second, sadly the older I get, the more truth this statement seems to take on.
As life goes on, it seems there’s more and more at stake with every decision. It used to be where a decision could easily come down to what I wanted to do. Then suddenly there were pros and cons. And now I find myself frequently paralyzed by the “what if’s” that come to mind.
When we’re younger, the decisions don’t seem so monumental. If things didn’t go the way we hoped, it always felt like there would be plenty of time to recover. Now I’m 28, and I realize that the major decisions I’m facing will drastically affect the rest of my life.
I was thinking about this other day when suddenly Matthew 6:34 came to mind. And for the first time, it really made sense to me.
Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.
I used to wonder why Jesus told us that. Surely there’s nothing wrong with thinking about the future is there?
But at this stage of life I interpret those words in a different way. Sometimes the big picture is so intimidating that it becomes difficult to even focus on today. And I think that's what Jesus was warning us about.
It's a reminder I'm having to keep in mind each day as I move forward in life. All I can do is commit the process to Him and make the best decision possible based on the guidance He gives me. It's not always easy, but tomorrow is in no better set of hands than His.
How are you approaching the major decisions you're facing? Do you find the unknown of the future is causing you to struggle in the present?
Do you have any Bibles you could share? Next week, the Bible Foundation is kicking off their October Bible Drive (that they've held annually since 1992).
According to their press release, "People around the world are begging for Bibles. Even damaged and parts of old Bibles have use and value."
When I first saw the notice, I wondered what language barriers the Bible Foundation might run into trying to recycle English Bibles. I was encouraged to read that English is used widely enough around the world that the foundation has been able to send Bibles to over 75 countries. Within those countries, the Bibles "go to hospitals, nursing homes, inner city churches & ministries, rescue missions, ship ministries, prisons & jails, homeless shelters, street ministries, ethnic neighborhoods, migrant camps, individual ministries, remote villages around the world, homes, schools, bus stations, railway stations, small churches, halls and open air meetings, and refugee camps."
We have Bibles to spare at our house. If you do as well and want to contribute one or more to this great cause, then visit http://www.bibledrive.org for more information, including a list of collection centers.
Yesterday, Muslims across the world ended their holy month of fasting called Ramadan, a time of practicing self-restraint in order to draw close to Allah. What's interesting this time around is that prominent Christians like emergent church founder Brian McLaren joined them.
To McLaren and his Christian and Muslim fasting partners, it's a neighborly gesture of solidarity that deepens their respective faiths and sends a message about finding peace and common ground. ...
In announcing his Ramadan fast plans on his blog last month, McLaren wrote, "We are not doing so in order to become Muslims: we are deeply committed Christians. But as Christians, we want to come close to our Muslim neighbors and to share this important part of life with them." The goal is to join Muslims in the observance as "a God-honoring expression of peace, fellowship and neighborliness," he wrote.
So is fasting alongside Muslims who're doing it as an act of worship to Allah the, um, Christian thing to do? Or is it distinctly un-Christian?
More from USA Today:
Albert Mohler, president of Southern Baptist Theological Seminary in Louisville, said the idea of Christians fasting at Ramadan appears at first to be neighborly solidarity, but it's more than that.
"The logic of Islam is obedience and submission," Mohler said. "It's by following these practices that a Muslim demonstrates his obedience to the rule of the law through the Quran. For a Christian to do the same automatically implies a submission to the same rule. And beyond that, it's an explicit affirmation that this is a good and holy thing. From a New Testament perspective, it is not a good and holy thing."
Christians should have friendships with people of other faith, but engaging in other traditions' worship practices is problematic, said Mark Driscoll, lead preaching pastor at Mars Hill Church in Seattle. Driscoll said that in this case, Christians and Muslims fast for different purposes and do not worship the same God.
Christians observing a Ramadan fast is "insane at best ... Sad, tragic, horrific, misguided, dangerous, wrong," Driscoll said. "If Christians want to pray during Ramadan, they should pray not with Muslims but for Muslims — that Muslims would come to know Jesus. To pray with Muslims absolutely dishonors Jesus."
What Dr. Mohler and Mark Driscoll are saying is that religious practices mean something. Can you imagine a Muslim partaking of the Lord's supper for "neighborly solidarity"? No, it would be an abomination. Is Christians observing Ramadan much different?
... John T. Elson is. He's the religion reporter whose 1966 story in Time magazine — with an Easter season cover provocatively asking "Is God Dead?" — spiked sales and brought in unprecedented thousands of letters, mostly from Christians who felt their faith had been attacked.
It wasn't Elson's fault. The sensational cover notwithstanding, the actual story neither declared God's death nor challenged His existence. Rather, Elson (a practicing Catholic) wrote about a crisis of faith within society, including the church, which was dealing with "radical theologians" whom he termed, ironically, "Christian atheists." Far from attacking the church, he was warning the church: "The Christian atheists are waking the churches to the brutal reality that the basic premise of faith — the existence of a personal God, who created the world and sustains it with his love — is now subject to profound attack."
I'd heard about the piece but I'd never read it till just now. And I have to say, it's excellent. Elson was thoroughly versed in his subject. He talked to a wide range of sources. And he brought a host of insights which can equip Christians as we wrestle with a world where men seek false gods to replace the true Lord. For example:
Anglican Theologian David Jenkins points out that the prestige of science is so great that its standards have seeped into other areas of life; in effect, knowledge has become that which can be known by scientific study — and what cannot be known that way somehow seems uninteresting, unreal.
Not only is the story insightful, it's even, at points, surprisingly inspiring. Its closing line should leave no doubt of the author's sympathies:
Perhaps today, the Christian can do no better than echo the prayer of the worried father who pleaded with Christ to heal his spirit-possessed son: "I believe; help my unbelief."
Give the story a read if you've got a few minutes: In many ways, it's as relevant today as it was 43 years ago. If all religion reporting were on this level, believers would have no reason to complain.
I can't tell you how many books I've bought that I've never read. Put it this way: It's enough to make me feel guilty about buying any new ones. So it's rare that I actually read a book twice, let alone more than that.
Ah, but The Screwtape Letters -- now that's an exception. I must've read it half a dozen times. C.S. Lewis' tale of senior devil Screwtape's lessons in temptation to his nephew Wormwood changed my life. It awakened me to all kinds of ways Satan finds to make me stumble: Thirty years after I first read it, I still find myself starting to fall into one of those traps, then recognizing it, stepping back, smiling and saying "Nice try, Wormwood."
So when Ashley asked who wanted to promote the new Screwtape Letters audio drama from Focus on the Family, I stuck my hand up and said "Me! Me! Me!" Or words to that effect.
The broadcast won't be out for a few weeks yet, but check out a preview right now and see how much fun the Focus radio theater team had putting this together. Notice, BTW, that the actor playing Screwtape (Andy Serkis) is the same one who played Gollum in the Lord of the Rings movies.
This team always does top-notch work. See for yourself, and let's get a good buzz going.
Bob Kauflin, Boundless author and Director of Worship Development for Sovereign Grace Ministries, has been leading corporate worship for over 30 years. And he's never been more passionate about the cross of Christ.
In his most recent blog post, "Lessons Learned From Three Decades of Leading," Bob writes about "why the cross should play such a central role in our singing." He then goes on to reference his friend CJ Mahaney's thoughts on cross-centered worship. CJ give four reasons why "Cross-centered worship songs are vital to the life of the church":
First, since the cross is the storyline of Scripture, it should be the storyline of our corporate worship.
Second, we must never leave the impression during corporate worship that we do not need a mediator.
Third, cross-centered songs imitate the heavenly model.
There is no greater mystery, nothing that inspires more wonder, than the crucifixion of our Lord. It was the greatest act of both love and hate ever portrayed. It's a manifestation of both the stratospheric height of God's mercy and the grimy depth of our sin.
Paul boasted in but one thing: the cross. The hosts of heaven include Jesus' death in their continuous expression of praise, day and night. My sin, as the old hymn goes, not in part but the whole, is nailed to the cross and I bear it no more. We are reconciled to God through the cross of Christ.
You could ponder the cross for a lifetime and never fully explore its depth and significance. It's both simple and complex. It's seen as both foolishness and the pinnacle of wisdom. It illustrates both divine compassion and divine wrath. Christ the all-powerful was crucified in weakness. It's both glorious and shameful. It shows us both God's fierce anger and His lovingkindness.
So if the cross is central to our faith, and will be throughout eternity, why is it so little referenced in the songs we sing at church?
Why, indeed?
If you're a worship leader, I implore you: Please seek out songs about the cross of Christ for your congregation to sing. If you're not a worship leader, please consider sharing this blog post on Facebook, or directly with your pastor. I'd love to see a broader discussion of the relevance of the cross in congregational singing.
I typically go go go seven days a week. Sure, I'm not in the office on Saturday or Sunday, but I do publish blog comments or check my e-mail or work on a freelance project. Too few days in my month would I call "restful."
A couple of days ago we published an article by Elisabeth Adams, "Heart at Leisure," in which she explores the Sabbath. Here's a part from the middle:
The Bible says, "Six days you shall labor and do all your work." I know what my work is. That's what I'm supposed to stop.
But it's not just stopping -- it's stopping in order to.
In order to debrief and defrag from the busy week. In order to remember who I am, and who my Master is. (Not money. Not man. And not myself, thank God.) I stop in order to focus on the Center of my world. Reset my clock by atomic time. Reorient my compass to true north. Renew my mind, lest the insistent world squeeze me into its mold.
And be refreshed. After my Creator completed His work and saw that it was very good, He stopped. And in that pause, the Hebrew tells us, He was refreshed as if by a breath of air.
Later, Elisabeth confesses her personal struggle with rest, Sabbath or otherwise.
Often when it comes right down to it, I don't want quiet; I want distraction. I don't want to be awakened; I want to be amused. I don't want to address my needs; I want to drown them out. God wants me to savor time; I want to spend it, fill it, and even kill it.
At other times, I'm longing for Sabbath, but I can't seem to get inside it when it comes. My mind won't quit racing, my heart won't cease aching, and I'm completely unable to stop.
Yeah, I too am longing for Sabbath. Not distraction or amusement, but quiet and invigorating rest. Maybe I can squeeze that in this weekend.
Being in the final stages of planning a wedding (nine days, people!) has me longing for simplicity. I wrote about this several years ago in "A Search for Sanctuary":
Sanctuary. The word filled my mind and tugged at me. It pursued me. I had just rung in 2005, and longed to create a quiet space following the frantic holiday season. I craved a place of order where I could sit and think unhindered -- a place where I could clear my mind and feel at peace.
A natural "messy," my first response was to clean my room -- clear away all clutter. The pile of fashion magazines dating back more than a year had to go. I thought about installing crisp linen curtains and throw pillows for my floor-level window to create a pleasant spot of repose. Visions of Real Simple danced in my head as I pictured myself sitting there in endless hours of Bible study and meditation.
But as the word sanctuary continued to fill my mind, I wondered if changing my environment would reap the benefit I longed for: peace, tranquility and security. What was this sanctuary I craved?
Today a friend of mine texted me overwhelmed and discouraged. I sent him the article. He replied: "I used to be my own sanctuary. It's not a good thing to make a person your sanctuary." I couldn't agree more. Too often I have sought sanctuary within myself with dismal results. True sanctuary -- rest and peace -- is found in the place where God and man meet.
We have a hope that enters "the inner sanctuary behind the curtain, where Jesus, who went before us, has entered on our behalf" (Hebrews 6:19). The earthly sanctuary has been replaced in the person of Jesus Christ, who offers us access to the sacred space of God's very presence. I can choose to bring my struggles, worries and heartaches to Him daily, and, in those precious moments, find sanctuary.
God's sanctuary is always available. Even in stressful or overwhelming circumstances. A truth of which I constantly need to remind myself.
I was just reading an essay written by FW Boreham called “Dominoes.” Only he could find an application from the game of dominoes.
In it he talks about how he was struck by the two key elements of the game while he was playing with a friend. First, the goal is to match your opponent’s play. If they play a six, you play a six. If they play a four, so must you. If you can’t match their number, then you give up a turn. And that'll put you at a disadvantage because the second goal is to play your highest piece possible each turn. The first person to play all their pieces is the winner.
And then he makes this powerful observation:
It occurred to me whilst we were playing that life itself is but a game of dominoes. Its highest art lies in matching your companion’s pieces. Is he glad? It is a great thing to be able to rejoice with those who do rejoice. Is he sad? It is a great thing to be able to weep with those who weep. It means, of course, that if you answer the challenge every time, your pieces will soon be gone. But, as against that, it is worth remembering that victory lies not in accumulation, but in exhaustion. The player who is left with empty hands wins everything.
He goes on to say about his friend who had challenged him to a game:
I could scarcely imagine him playing dominoes! That is the pity of it. You never know how many people there are who are waiting for a chance of playing dominoes with you. The most unlikely people play at dominoes.
As I read through the examples he used to illustrate that point, I suddenly smiled as I thought of how I’ve experience that. Sometimes it’s the most unexpected response from the most unexpected person that can help give me the encouragement and empowerment that I need in that moment.
Being there for someone through all their hurts and joys is a tremendous gift to that person. But what does that mean for you? In the dominoes game of life can we be assured of having someone like that when we need them?
I’ll let Boreham explain the answer:
And surely this is the secret of the wonderful appeal that the Cross makes to me. It is divine sorrow exactly matching human sorrow.... He was crucified between two thieves as an emblem of the fact that He laid His anguish beside our human anguish, His heartache and heart-break beside our own. In matching our sorrows He poured out His own divinest treasure without stint and without reserve. He gave everything, and because He gave everything, He must win everything.
George Halitzka has written a powerful 2-parter, "Drinking Blood," that we've just published. Here are a few paragraphs:
In the 17th century, shed blood was not unique to voodoo rituals -- in fact, its stench had permeated all of life for millennia. Bloodletting was a common cure-all for various diseases. To treat a sick patient, a physician would simply withdraw the fluid of life from her veins -- sometimes until the patient fainted; sometimes with more dire results.
Wars and executions were almost routine. European battlefields were filled with bloody conflicts, and even without the hazards of war, there was always the executioner to contend with. Blasphemy, theft, slave-stealing and witchcraft were all capital crimes at one time. A thin red line ran through the brief, difficult lives of men.
Animal blood was also commonplace: Meat did not arrive on shrink-wrapped foam trays. A knife-wielding chef prepared dinner by spilling a beast's life on the ground, for in the supreme irony of fallen existence, it was only through a bloody death that one animal could give life to another. The trip to the slaughterhouse always preceded sustenance.
Blood was everywhere, from Biblical times until well into the 20th century. But in our modern, peaceful nation full of sanitized surgery and commercial slaughterhouses, we pale at the sight of blood, forgetting its spilling is still an everyday occurrence. It's become easy to ignore the reality that the chicken breasts in my freezer were recently covered in feathers.
Yet a few blocks from my house on the other side of the railroad tracks, rivers of warm gooey redness still pour from carcasses daily at a "meat processing plant." Pigs and poultry are brought in and rendered unconscious with an electric current or a sharp blow to the head. Then their primary blood vessels are cut as they bleed to death before their flesh is sliced into pieces. Their life spills onto the ground so I can have my pork chops.
In fact, almost any animal being used for food is slaughtered through a loss of blood. It keeps good meat from being damaged, and helps prevent bacteria from growing. But long before bacterial growth was understood, God forbade the ancient Israelites to eat flesh with blood left inside for another reason. "The life of every creature is in its blood," he pronounced.
Please trust me: These two articles are not as gruesome as you might think. I actually found them very moving. I suspect you may as well.
Some people lionized Ted Kennedy. Others demonized him. In the 1980s, I saw plenty of the latter. It landed regularly in my mailbox, with fundraising letters whose message boiled down to "Ted Kennedy will eat your children unless you send us money now." On August 26, 2009, the lionizing tone is dominant once again, for obvious reasons.
We're reminded that powerful men remain just men -- vulnerable to the ravages of an aggressive brain tumor. And men make poor angels or devils. I know something of Ted Kennedy's sins. (I know much more of my own.) And I have my own views of his legacy. But I'll leave it to others to hash over that, at least for now. There's something else to talk about.
The Kennedys have often been likened to the American royal family, a comparison that's come up again on TV today. Which reminds me of how British royal funerals used to be handled -- a tale I heard from my pastor in a sermon some years ago.
As best I recall, it went something like this. A man would portray the deceased king (let's call him Edward) approaching the gates of Heaven, where the guardian would ask him who he was and why he should be admitted. The king would respond with a long list of his regal titles and worldly honors, and he'd be denied entrance. He'd keep replying with more titles, and he'd keep getting denied.
Finally, the king would simply reply "I am Edward, a poor miserable sinner who needs to be saved by the blood of Christ." And then the word came back to him: "Enter, my son."
I hope that, in the end, Edward M. Kennedy was able to reply as that king did. And I hope you and I can do so as well.
You heard, perhaps, that the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA) held its convention in Minneapolis last week and passed some pro-gay resolutions, including one giving approval to clergy in monogamous, committed same-sex relationships. (My column on the subject here.)
You probably didn't hear that during the debate on the resolutions, something dramatic happened. A tornado popped up suddenly and hit both the convention hall and the ELCA church next door, which was helping to host the convention. No one was hurt, but the buildings were damaged and the cross atop the church steeple was destroyed.
OK, I know what you're thinking and you know what I'm thinking. And we all know what some of the people on the spot must have been thinking. So let's do our thinking out loud.
Was this a sign from God? We need to be really, really careful here. It's bad theology to assume a one-to-one correspondence between these sorts of things and particular human sins: The rain (as Scripture says) falls on the just and the unjust alike, and so do the hardships of life. Yet (as Scripture also says) there are particular times that God brings direct, physical consequences in response to specific sins. It's not the norm. But it's not unheard of either.
Theologian John Piper explores the question here. He points out that Jesus controls the winds. He also points out (in a passage too few people know) that Jesus refuted the idea that people who suffer are worse sinners than others. “Those 18 on whom the tower in Siloam fell and killed them: do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others who lived in Jerusalem? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all likewise perish.”
Here's Piper's wrap-up:
Conclusion: The tornado in Minneapolis was a gentle but firm warning to the ELCA and all of us: Turn from the approval of sin. Turn from the promotion of behaviors that lead to destruction. Reaffirm the great Lutheran heritage of allegiance to the truth and authority of Scripture. Turn back from distorting the grace of God into sensuality. Rejoice in the pardon of the cross of Christ and its power to transform left and right wing sinners.
I wouldn't use the word "conclusion" -- not because I think Piper's wrong about this tornado, but because I don't know that he's right. That said, there's no doubt we need the turn-from-sin warning Piper lays out. So let's put it this way: God may have chosen an unusually dramatic means to convey it this time. But He certainly conveys it all the time in His Word.
"Shall I tell you a lie? I do despise a liar as I do despise one that is false, or as I despise one that is not true." --The Merry Wives of Windsor – Act 1, Scene 1
I was going to blog on the Time magazine article on lying, but Heather beat me to the punch. I was going to leave it at that, but the comments on her entry have prompted me to weigh in, since I was going to go a slightly different direction with my blog anyway.
The subject of just what is and is not lying is far more complex than merely answering, “Just fine” to a morning greeting even though you’re not just fine. At it’s root, lying comes down to what you intend to communicate.
I have a friend who, every time she makes mistake, corrects herself by saying, “Oops, I lied ...” In fact, she hadn’t lied; she’d merely made a mistake. There was no intention to deceive.
But you can speak words that are 100 percent true and still lie because your intent is to deceive. One commenter to Heather’s blog cited the ten Boom family’s throwing Nazis off the trail by saying they were hiding Jews under the table. Technically true, since the hiding place was under the floor under the table, but her intent was to deceive those who would kill the Jews, since there was obviously no one under the table in the way she knew the Nazis would interpret her comment. I’m not saying she was wrong; I could only hope to be so quick on my feet were I in the same circumstances. But she did not tell the 100 percent truth. She deceived the Nazis, but did she lie?
Another commenter told of the Bible smuggler who threw off the authorities by telling them there were no Bibles in the car because they were in fact under the car. Again, I could only hope to be so clever, but this man’s intention was to deceive. So did he lie?
Anyone who has taken a public oath, such as for military service or public office, swears that he takes the oath “without mental reservation or purpose of evasion.” This is no accident of wording. A “mental reservation” is a theological doctrine developed during the Middle Ages to allow people to tell falsehoods, supposedly in good conscience and always for a good purpose.
Basically, to make a mental reservation means you use mental trickery to “tell the truth.” One example would be to resort to an equivocation, mentally using one meaning of word so that you could affirm something knowing full well that your listener would most likely assign a different meaning. (“It depends on what the meaning of is is.” “They’re under the table.”) Another way to do this would be to, say, throw the Nazis off the trail by saying, “I saw no Jews pass by this way” while surreptitiously or mentally pointing to your left even though you did see them heading to your right. In both cases, your intent was to deceive the person you were talking to. So did you lie? Was it wrong?
There are times where the words you speak are completely true but you still deceive because you purposely omitted a certain key fact that would change those words’ interpretation. To my mind, you have “lied” just as much as if you told an outright falsehood, since your listener is still deceived.
In short, the matter of lying really depends on the circumstances and your intent. That’s not moral relativism; it’s a recognition of reality in a fallen world. You can lie on a mortgage application or lie to save a life. One is quite clearly wrong and the other quite clearly justifiable. So is one a lie and the other not? Or is one an unjustifiable lie while the other is justifiable but still a lie?
Both the ten Booms and the Bible smuggler deceived their listeners, but does that really qualify as a "lie"? Sissela Bok has written an excellent book examining the many aspects of lying and other moral choices. And just recently Errol Morris wrote an excellent two-part series about lying and deception for The New York Times.
We live in a complex world. Yes, we too often resort to easy and glib lies to smooth our way through the world. (“Yes, I love your tie.”) But we cannot resort to an easy legalism that says that so long as the words you speak are true in and of themselves, regardless of context or regardless of their effect, then you have not lied. The Pharisees played logic games like that with the Word of God, but they did not fool the One who mattered. I recognize also that we so easily deceive ourselves, thinking we’re justified in just a little white lie, not to save a life, but to just smooth the way a little bit.
I praise God that His grace covers a multitude of sins, both sins of commission and sins of omission. I praise Him also because His wisdom is light years beyond mine, able to discern truth, falsehood and our heart’s intent and to judge justly in all cases.
Liar, Liar ... by Heather Koerner on 08/21/2009 at 12:32 PM
Robert Feldman, a University of Massachusetts professor of psychology, has spent most of his career studying liars. He recently talked with Time about some of his research and his new book.
Feldman has found that not only do we lie frequently, but most of us don't even realize how much:
"People lie while they are getting acquainted an average of three times in a 10-minute period. Participants in my studies actually are not aware that they are lying that much until they watch videos of their interactions."
How did people react when confronted with their lies? With apathy, Feldman says:
"...They very rarely display remorse. Lying is not seen as being morally reprehensible in any strong way. We are living in a time and culture in which it's easier to lie than it has been in the past. The message that pervades society is that it's O.K. to lie — you can get away with it."
Feldman describes the problems he sees with our lie-saturated society:
"You can make the assumption that because it often makes social interactions go more smoothly, lying is O.K. But there is a cost to even seemingly benign lies. If people are always telling you that you look terrific and you did a great job on that presentation, there's no way to have an accurate understanding of yourself. Lies put a smudge on an interaction, and if it's easy to lie to people in minor ways, it becomes easier to lie in bigger ways."
What's more, Feldman says, is that sometimes we don't care that we're being lied to.
"When we ask someone, "How are you doing?" and they say, "Fine," we really don't want to know what their aches and pains are. So we take "Fine" at face value."
That interview got me thinking ... Had I told a lie today? And I realized that, yes, I had. It was a stupid, insignificant, just-didn't-want-to-get-into-an-explanation lie, but it was a lie nonetheless. And I could try to justify it by saying that it didn't hurt anyone. But, didn't it hurt me? Did it, to use Feldman's term, put a "smudge" on that interaction with a friend?
The Word is clear about this. Proverbs tells me that the Lord detests lying lips, but He delights in men who are truthful. John tells me that the devil is a liar and then emphasizes that point by calling lies his "native language" and describing him as "the father of lies."
I don't want to speak Satan's language. I want to be one who embraces the Truth.
Feldman says: "We have to be the kind of people who don't tell white lies. We don't have to be cruel and totally blunt, but we have to convey information honestly." I think he's absolutely right.
Albert Mohler has a new blog post this week about the problem with prosperity preachers. You know, the "health and wealth" guys who say Jesus is just waiting for you to ask Him for more stuff. In "It Promises Far Too Little" he writes,
Prosperity theology is now preached by a wide assortment of televangelists and local figures who assure congregations that God promises to make them healthy and wealthy, if only they will possess and demonstrate adequate faith. A significant number of these preachers have departed from Christian orthodoxy altogether, adopting Trinitarian and Christological heresies. The entire movement presents the Gospel as a message that is primarily about earthly rewards — a theology that turns God into a heavenly banker who is obligated to invest His people with material riches if they possess adequate faith and claim these blessings for their own.
According to Mohler, the evidence simply doesn't support their claims.
Sincere believers in Christ are found among both the impoverished and the wealthy, but the vast multitude of Christian believers throughout the ages have experienced nothing that can be described as material wealth. Their hope was and is established in Christ, who accomplished their salvation from sin and secures their hopes for eternal life through His death and resurrection.
He concludes:
Prosperity theology is a False Gospel. Its message is unbiblical and its promises fail. God never assures his people of material abundance or physical health. Instead, Christians are promised the riches of Christ, the gift of eternal life, and the assurance of glory in the eternal presence of the living God.
This and more in the article gave me a lot to think about. It seems to me that certain prosperity preachers focus only on the "blessings" verses while their detractors fail to mention them. And then I read something that helped me make sense of the tension. In Russell Moore's book, Adopted for Life, he writes,
Our Father tells us that we too are unable to grasp what's waiting for us — and how glorious it really is. It's hard for us to long for an inheritance to come, a harmonious Christ-ruled universe, when we've never seen anything like it (46).
It's not that God doesn't bless us on earth, but that when He does, we undermine His plan by thinking this is as good as it gets. Blessings on earth are merely a shadow of what awaits us in heaven. And it's heaven that we should be longing for, not more of the stuff that "moths and rust decay."
A couple of weeks ago we received the following e-mail:
I was reading Jonathan Dodson's article, "Failed Disciple," and wondered if you could explain what he meant by, "I can tell people my sins because my identity doesn't hang on what they think of me."
Great question! I passed it along to Jonathan, who provided the following explanation:
When our identity is hung up on what people think of us, it becomes difficult to be honest with them. Some of us approach others from below, fearing their rejection or disapproval. In order to keep their approval intact, we refrain from allowing them to see the real, broken us. We may not lie to them (though we probably do), but we certainly don't confess our sin to them. Why? Because we treasure their approval more than we treasure Christ. We are afraid that, if they know the real us, then they will disapprove. We lose face and friendship when we confess our sin.
Living for Applause
Others of us approach others from above, not fearing their rejection but expecting their applause. In order to keep their applause, we refrain from showing any weakness or sin. We want to be perceived as a mature Christian, a strong leader. Therefore, we do not share our sin and brokenness with others. Our identity is bound up with the applause and opinions of others. We tell white lies to keep them thinking we are mature, intelligent, etc. We say we have read a book, seen a movie, or know a person that we have not read, seen or known. We continue to build our identity, not only on the applause of others, but on what we "think" they will clap for. We get further and further from our true identity in Jesus.
Living in Christ
However, if we stake our identity in the acceptance of Jesus, this frees us to be honest about who we are, about our sin and failure. The more I rest in Jesus perfect death and resurrection for me, to make me right, loved, and accepted by the perfect Father, the less I need to appease or impress others. Chasing the approval and applause of others takes a backseat to the vastly superior love and acceptance of God in Christ. As a result, we share our real selves more. We confess sin more. Not haphazardly but earnestly. We call others to fight sin and treasure Christ. Our identity goes deeper into Christ and further away from what others think of us. this is freeing. This is the gospel.
When I'm not living for approval or living for applause, what people think of my sins shouldn't affect my identity. Their opinions ultimately don't change the fact that I'm dearly loved by my Creator, and that He's completed all that's necessary for me to become a child of His.
May I find myself living in Christ, rather than in the fearful state of living for approval or applause.
It's so encouraging to read so many comments on the missions vs. marriage post. Thanks to all the readers actively participating in this conversation. I heard from two more women this morning who have words of hope for the author of the question.
The first wrote:
When I read your "Missions or Marriage", my first thought was "Hey, there was an obvious answer missing!". There are believers *all over the world*. If a young person feels called to serve in missions, particularly in a specific country, the consideration of a non-white, non-American believer as a spouse ought to be open. ;) Why must it be "marriage to an American or no marriage at all" for American missionaries?
Of course, there is a great deal to think about and be cautious of when thinking about cross cultural marriage, but there are also many benefits to having a spouse who is native to the culture in which you are called to minister. I might add that there is nothing Biblically wrong with marrying a believer who has a different skin color and/or different culture. ;)
I never, never thought about marrying cross-culturally, but I met my husband while serving as a helper to missionary doctors in East Africa. We are not currently serving as missonaries, but I see it as a valid and perhaps too-little considered possibility for young missionaries. If anything, with a more global culture, more tolerance of "mixing races", high-speed and high tech communication available, it's certainly a much more practical and workable situation than it would have been even 10 or 20 years ago.
Just a few thoughts!
The second said,
I want to thank you for your recent column and encourage the person who wrote. I am not a missionary , but I am teaching English in Shanghai, China and have been here for 6 months now. I am 27 years old and like my fellow reader, I deeply desire marriage. Yet, I feel the Lord has called me to Missions and that my current experience abroad is preparing me for that. It is realy hard for me to imagine a lifetime without a spouse and I have been more bold in my prayer life and have made my desire known to close Christian friends here and at home.
I choose to believe that if the Lord has called me Missions, he is preparing me to marry someone with the same burden ... maybe not missions in the traditional sense, but missions nonetheless, at least for a time. I will be here for a least 6 more months — possibly until 2011. It's not easy and sometimes is lonely, but I'm trusting that God will prepare me to be a godly wife for my future husband and is preparing my future husband for me. And as I wait, I will do what I can to be proactive.
Thanks again for the sound advice you provide regarding marriage and family. It means so much to those you touch.
We are strengthened as a body by those of you serving in far away places to bring the good news of the Gospel to people in need. Thank you for your ministry — we'll keep doing all we can here to serve you, even as you serve others.
I've heard that pride was once considered the worst of the deadly sins, but I had my doubts. Egged on by a culture that praises self-belief, I was impressed with all that I could accomplish ("honey, you can be anything!") Then I read this,
Pride is essentially self-worship: If I want it, that's all that matters, regardless of the consequences. Combine this spirit with sexual desire, and you have a recipe for abominable behavior. A humble heart is always going to be a chaste heart. That's why sexual sin is best fought not just by attacking lust, but also the pride that makes lust so hurtful to others.
Suddenly I'm not feeling so cavalier about this deadliest of deadly sins. And that's Gary Thomas's point in "Your Seven Greatest Enemies." He writes,
Without being fully aware of the enemies that seek to destroy us, they are allowed to do their damage under the cover of stealth.
What's more interesting is a sin that sounds like a funny zoo animal -- sloth -- is still potentially deadly. Thomas again,
Sloth is greatly ignored and very dangerous. In essence, sloth is the great spiritual assassin of our time. It kills our bodies; it kills our bank accounts; it kills marriages; it kills parenting and child relationships. It kills businesses, and governments. It kills vocations, and businesses. It kills everything it touches.
Is there any hope for us in our sin-as-virtue saturated culture? Thankfully, yes. Thomas writes,
Recognizing the breadth of sin and how it affects us spawns humility, which in turn assaults our pride.
Since pride is the foundation of the other sins, letting sin-struggles humble us (instead of ignoring them, or downplaying them, or pretending they're not really "serious" sins) is, ironically, one of the best ways to fight future sin.
...Knowing this list, and being humiliated by my feeble attempts to withstand the seven deadly sins' daily assault on my spiritual health, is actually a productive exercise, because it reminds me of my need for God's grace. That, in turn, grows humility, and humility builds up and fortifies every other virtue.
Back to Belief by Suzanne Hadley Gosselin on 08/13/2009 at 8:37 AM
Andrée Seu provides a thoughtful meditation at Worldmag.com. She begins by detailing a temper tantrum she had with God this morning. Her beef: His Word is confusing. He seems impossible to please. His will is ambiguous. I've been there. As Seu considers her alternatives to belief in God, she writes:
Then I am terrified because I see where this is leading. At the end of sulking you still have to make a decision, and the options are bleak. Islam is a nightmare, and Buddhism and Hinduism make no sense. And there is no such thing as not choosing, because despair is also a choice. One imagines that giving up on the faith will be a relief, but one finds there is no relief at all in unbelief; it is the frying pan exchanged for the fire.
The Bible says that God can do all things. But the only thing he cannot do is believe for you.
If God is a Father, he is a very strict one. He lavishes his gifts daily, even the very breath with which I rail against him, as I sit on his lap and swipe at his face. But when it comes to the terms he laid for relationship — “believe in the one he has sent” — he won’t budge at all. And so no matter what I say, Lord, no matter what I do, I always come back round to you.
Whom have I in heaven but you? And earth has nothing I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.
These words have pulled me through many dark moments. There is sweetness in belief, even during times of frustrations. I couldn't agree more with Seu's conclusion: "And so no matter what I say, Lord, no matter what I do, I always come back round to you."
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