That word... I do not think it means what you think it means.
Aficionados of the movie The Princess Bride will of course recognize this turn of phrase. In the movie, a man repeatedly exclaims, "Inconceivable!" It's his response to each new, unlikely, undesired and conceivable event which takes place. After hearing the word shouted out for maybe the fifth time, another character in the film throws out the aforementioned reflection...
That word... I do not think it means what you think it means.
The same goes for us Christians when we use the word hospitality. We know the word, but we have utterly forgotten its meaning. I am reading a great book right now (titled Making Room) which makes this point rather convincingly.
The book cannot be done justice in a short blog, but the author begins with a close review of a pivotal scene from the Old Testament: Genesis 18. In this passage Abraham entertains three strangers, only to discover that he is providing hospitality to God himself, along with two angels.
To reduce a 200-page book to a few sentences, the author proceeds to show convincingly that hospitality is tucked aware at the core of both Hebrew and Christian scriptures. Caring for the aliens and outsiders is core to the nature of who we are.
Or who we should be, anyway.
Romans 12:13
When God’s people are in need, be ready to help them. Always be eager to practice hospitality.
Hebrews 13:2
Don’t forget to show hospitality to strangers, for some who have done this have entertained angels without realizing it!
Hospitality does not exclude extending care to people we know. But as the passage from Hebrews reminds us, hospitality reaches its fullest expression when we extend it to people we don't know. Strangers.
Hospitality... this word.... it does not mean what we think it means.
We don't know anything about true hospitality. When we think about hospitality, about 99.99% of the time we are thinking about opening our home to friends and family. How many Christians in America have opened their homes to strangers any time in the last year? Ten years? Ever? The concept is so novel and freakishly bizarre, people gather to watch movies about it when it happens. (I have not seen The Blind Side but I hear it's great... a rare recorded moment of true hospitality in America.)
OK, it's really awkward to say this, but count me in that mix of people who have perhaps never done the real deal where hospitality is concerned. Our home is more open than most, but I cannot think of a single stranger we have housed for the night.
I noted earlier that in Genesis 18, Abraham extended hospitality to three utter strangers. Two of Abraham's guests move on to visit another city. Genesis 19 picks up the story...
Genesis 19
That evening the two angels came to the entrance of the city of Sodom. Lot was sitting there, and when he saw them, he stood up to meet them. Then he welcomed them and bowed with his face to the ground. “My lords,” he said, “come to my home to wash your feet, and be my guests for the night. You may then get up early in the morning and be on your way again.”
“Oh no,” they replied. “We’ll just spend the night out here in the city square.”
But Lot insisted, so at last they went home with him.
In case we didn't get it the first time around, both Lot and Abraham opened their homes to utter strangers. And this was perfectly normal back then. We don't like to think about it, but it's supposed to be perfectly normal now too. Christians have always been called to this outward posture toward the world.
Ah, but times have changed. We have a thousand reasons (or were they excuses) for our failure to practice true hospitality. When examined, however, these excuses boil down to nothing more than our basic desire for comfort and safety.
Comfort and safety: two of the great idols of our age. Idols? Yes, idols. It's always easy to mock the idols of another era or culture. How could anyone be so stupid as to worship a wood or stone figurine? But their idols made sense to them.
And our idols make sense to us. It's always been that way with idols. People may or may not be blind to the fact that they do worship idols but they are always blind to the fact that they shouldn't worship idols. We are never more blind than when confronted with our own idols. It always seems normal and good.
"Well then," we say, "The world isn't as safe as it used to be! I guess hospitality is just not practically possible anymore in America!"
But all we have proven is that we are not willing to sacrifice comfort and safety in order to entertain strangers. Instead, we sacrifice the care of strangers in order to worship comfort and safety.
In fact, most of us don't even live near unsafe people. In our search for comfort and safety, we move into rich ghettos so as to avoid living anywhere near really poor and needy people. Those kinds of people can be dangerous.
"Well then," we say, "None of my neighbors needs much help! So I guess hospitality is just not practically possible anymore in America!"
But all we have proven is that we have removed ourselves from any physical proximity to people in real need. There is no better place to worship comfort and safety than in a safe and comfortable place.
Hospitality is one of the first victims we sacrifice in the fire before the two great American idols of comfort and safety.
Count me guilty too.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Saturday, February 6, 2010
God Told Me To Kill My Son
Well, actually, he didn't.
If I meant what I said, however, the police, mental health officials, and a host of media hounds would converge on my house — hopefully before I accomplished the deed.
And yet this is our account from Abraham, the father of three faiths. Genesis 22 records the whole incident. God told Abraham to kill his son.
Those inclined to treat such scriptures as proof that they are not holy... well, they can do and say as they like. I, however, must grapple with why a holy God would put any man to a test like this, because I take these scriptures as holy.
One of the reasons I put so much trust in the Bible as God's story revealed among men is that the men are revealed so clearly to be.... men. Broken, ordinary humans. With rare exceptions, most everyone in the Bible is shown to be weak and frail, burdened with sin. Abraham. Isaac. Noah. Jacob. The twelve disciples. King David. Solomon. These are no whitewashed stories! These people screw up big time! David kills a man so as to cover up his adultery with the man's wife. The author of our Psalms?? Yes.
As for Abraham? He lies. He throws his wife under a bus. Serially. He abdicates responsibility. He is called the father of faith, but some of the accounts in Genesis show him very much lacking in faith. He doubts God repeatedly, as revealed in both words and deeds. But Abraham shows trust beyond measure at the moment of true reckoning. When God tells him to kill Isaac, he obeys.
Why did God ask him to do that? If the story had only to do with Abraham, I think the answer would be incomplete. By more than half. I'm out on my own limb here, with only my gut to justify this claim, but I think this incident has far more to do with Jesus than it has to do with either Abraham or Isaac. God was using this story to foreshadow the most glorious event in human history: the moment God did not withhold his son as a sacrifice for us.
God makes the foreshadowing painfully obvious. For starters, note this telling phrase, from the moment the boy Isaac and his father Abraham head up the mountain...
So Abraham placed the wood for the burnt offering on Isaac’s shoulders...
Jesus carried his wooden cross on his own shoulders too, and possibly up the same exact mountain. The two stories take place in close physical proximity. A few thousand years separate these stories, but not a whole lot of distance.
Returning to this Genesis account, we note that Isaac of course gets a bit perplexed.
“We have the fire and the wood,” the boy said, “but where is the sheep for the burnt offering?”
Abraham answers with perhaps the most heart-wrenching words a man can force from his mouth...
“God will provide a sheep for the burnt offering, my son,” Abraham answered. And they both walked on together.
I have tears in my eyes as I read that second sentence. I think of my own son Andrew and imagine such a walk with him. That would be the darkest day of my life. Times ten.
The walk comes to an end however, and Abraham takes his son Isaac and ties him up. He raises the knife...
And God steps in.
“Don’t lay a hand on the boy!” the angel said. “Do not hurt him in any way, for now I know that you truly fear God. You have not withheld from me even your son, your only son.”
Then Abraham looked up and saw a ram caught by its horns in a thicket. So he took the ram and sacrificed it as a burnt offering in place of his son. Abraham named the place Yahweh-Yireh (which means “the Lord will provide”). To this day, people still use that name as a proverb: “On the mountain of the Lord it will be provided.”
And yes, on the mountain God provided a sheep indeed. A ram for Abraham, and Jesus for us. As we wander back and forth between the two mountains, the two sons carrying wood, the two sacrifices... it seems quite clear that God was, through Abraham, giving the entire world a sneak preview of the most glorious event in human history which was yet to come.
As much as we feel for Abraham, let's stop for a moment and think about what his experience tells us about God and his sacrifice.
We grieve with Abraham that he should have to think for only a few days that his son would be taken from him. But God knew from eternity past that his son, Jesus, would be taken from him, brutalized, and killed.
We grieve for Isaac that he lay, panic stricken, bound on an altar, waiting for the knife to fall. But Jesus, the perfect son, went willingly. And Jesus knew the knife would not be held back, because (unlike Isaac) Jesus knew all along that he was the sheep. John the Baptist knew it too.
John 1:29
The next day John saw Jesus coming toward him and said, “Look! The Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!
Jesus knew all along that he was to be the lamb. And he went through with it.
The atheist sneers that only a sick religion would tell such stories. A simple google search of the words Dawkins Abraham and Isaac will show this to be true.
That brings us to the rub. Either God is not here, and our suffering is meaningless.... or God is here, and we are allowed to suffer for reasons which will eventually make sense. Richard Dawkins can have the former. I choose the latter.
Abraham surely never had a really good idea why God put him to such a test. In the glorious afterglow of Jesus' death and resurrection, I have a much better idea. But we'll all know better one day when the whole story of God is revealed.
Until then, I trust God with my rough days, my seemingly meaningless and pointless sorrows. All will make sense one day. God's story always makes sense, but as with every good book, some chapters end on a rough note.
1 Corinthians 13:12
Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.
If I meant what I said, however, the police, mental health officials, and a host of media hounds would converge on my house — hopefully before I accomplished the deed.
And yet this is our account from Abraham, the father of three faiths. Genesis 22 records the whole incident. God told Abraham to kill his son.
Those inclined to treat such scriptures as proof that they are not holy... well, they can do and say as they like. I, however, must grapple with why a holy God would put any man to a test like this, because I take these scriptures as holy.
One of the reasons I put so much trust in the Bible as God's story revealed among men is that the men are revealed so clearly to be.... men. Broken, ordinary humans. With rare exceptions, most everyone in the Bible is shown to be weak and frail, burdened with sin. Abraham. Isaac. Noah. Jacob. The twelve disciples. King David. Solomon. These are no whitewashed stories! These people screw up big time! David kills a man so as to cover up his adultery with the man's wife. The author of our Psalms?? Yes.
As for Abraham? He lies. He throws his wife under a bus. Serially. He abdicates responsibility. He is called the father of faith, but some of the accounts in Genesis show him very much lacking in faith. He doubts God repeatedly, as revealed in both words and deeds. But Abraham shows trust beyond measure at the moment of true reckoning. When God tells him to kill Isaac, he obeys.
Why did God ask him to do that? If the story had only to do with Abraham, I think the answer would be incomplete. By more than half. I'm out on my own limb here, with only my gut to justify this claim, but I think this incident has far more to do with Jesus than it has to do with either Abraham or Isaac. God was using this story to foreshadow the most glorious event in human history: the moment God did not withhold his son as a sacrifice for us.
God makes the foreshadowing painfully obvious. For starters, note this telling phrase, from the moment the boy Isaac and his father Abraham head up the mountain...
So Abraham placed the wood for the burnt offering on Isaac’s shoulders...
Jesus carried his wooden cross on his own shoulders too, and possibly up the same exact mountain. The two stories take place in close physical proximity. A few thousand years separate these stories, but not a whole lot of distance.
Returning to this Genesis account, we note that Isaac of course gets a bit perplexed.
“We have the fire and the wood,” the boy said, “but where is the sheep for the burnt offering?”
Abraham answers with perhaps the most heart-wrenching words a man can force from his mouth...
“God will provide a sheep for the burnt offering, my son,” Abraham answered. And they both walked on together.
I have tears in my eyes as I read that second sentence. I think of my own son Andrew and imagine such a walk with him. That would be the darkest day of my life. Times ten.
The walk comes to an end however, and Abraham takes his son Isaac and ties him up. He raises the knife...
And God steps in.
“Don’t lay a hand on the boy!” the angel said. “Do not hurt him in any way, for now I know that you truly fear God. You have not withheld from me even your son, your only son.”
Then Abraham looked up and saw a ram caught by its horns in a thicket. So he took the ram and sacrificed it as a burnt offering in place of his son. Abraham named the place Yahweh-Yireh (which means “the Lord will provide”). To this day, people still use that name as a proverb: “On the mountain of the Lord it will be provided.”
And yes, on the mountain God provided a sheep indeed. A ram for Abraham, and Jesus for us. As we wander back and forth between the two mountains, the two sons carrying wood, the two sacrifices... it seems quite clear that God was, through Abraham, giving the entire world a sneak preview of the most glorious event in human history which was yet to come.
As much as we feel for Abraham, let's stop for a moment and think about what his experience tells us about God and his sacrifice.
We grieve with Abraham that he should have to think for only a few days that his son would be taken from him. But God knew from eternity past that his son, Jesus, would be taken from him, brutalized, and killed.
We grieve for Isaac that he lay, panic stricken, bound on an altar, waiting for the knife to fall. But Jesus, the perfect son, went willingly. And Jesus knew the knife would not be held back, because (unlike Isaac) Jesus knew all along that he was the sheep. John the Baptist knew it too.
John 1:29
The next day John saw Jesus coming toward him and said, “Look! The Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!
Jesus knew all along that he was to be the lamb. And he went through with it.
The atheist sneers that only a sick religion would tell such stories. A simple google search of the words Dawkins Abraham and Isaac will show this to be true.
That brings us to the rub. Either God is not here, and our suffering is meaningless.... or God is here, and we are allowed to suffer for reasons which will eventually make sense. Richard Dawkins can have the former. I choose the latter.
Abraham surely never had a really good idea why God put him to such a test. In the glorious afterglow of Jesus' death and resurrection, I have a much better idea. But we'll all know better one day when the whole story of God is revealed.
Until then, I trust God with my rough days, my seemingly meaningless and pointless sorrows. All will make sense one day. God's story always makes sense, but as with every good book, some chapters end on a rough note.
1 Corinthians 13:12
Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Marital Arrangements: A Brief Biblical Tour
As I was reading Genesis 16 the other day, it struck me that verses 1-6 were virtually a once-over review on what works (or does not work) with various models of marriage. I lay them out here briefly. It's rather tongue-in-cheek, of course, despite the seriousness of the situation.
The Case For Bigamy
Now Sarai, Abram’s wife, had not been able to bear children for him. But she had an Egyptian servant named Hagar. So Sarai said to Abram, “The Lord has prevented me from having children. Go and sleep with my servant. Perhaps I can have children through her.” And Abram agreed with Sarai’s proposal. So Sarai, Abram’s wife, took Hagar the Egyptian servant and gave her to Abram as a wife. So Abram had sexual relations with Hagar...
Whether Abram thought this was a good idea or a bad idea, we'll never know, but he did comply with his wife's demands. Bigamy enters Abram's story. The fruits of this new marital arrangement (literal and figurative) were quite predictable, however...
The Case For Monogamy
...and she [Hagar] became pregnant. But when Hagar knew she was pregnant, she began to treat her mistress, Sarai, with contempt.
Things are heading south quickly. If Abram didn't get it before, this is perhaps the point at which he began to see potential flaws in the new family structure. Watching these two women grow in mutual hatred and scorn must have been a gut-wrenchingly unpleasant experience.
Monogamy, I humbly suggest, must at this point in the story have been starting to regain its allure for our friend Abram.
The Case For Celibacy
Then Sarai said to Abram, “This is all your fault! I put my servant into your arms, but now that she’s pregnant she treats me with contempt. The Lord will show who’s wrong—you or me!”
At this point, I can just hear Abraham muttering to himself, "And this is my fault because.... ??? ??? ???" The famous Jewish refrain suffices well here. "Why ME?"
Right about now, neither bigamy nor monogamy are necessarily looking like great options. I'm wondering if at this point Abram was beginning to wistfully remember the charms of celibacy. Ah yes, those glorious days of freedom before the browbeatings began.
But Abram was a man of integrity, so his options were limited. This leads us to another option, the last reserve for those committed to continue in marriage for the long haul, be it bigamous or monogamous...
The Case For Resignation
Abram replied, “Look, she is your servant, so deal with her as you see fit.”
The famous male response. I'm out of here. Do what you want. I'm going to go check on the camels. I'd lay high odds that after Abram uttered these words he quickly headed for the ancient near-east equivalent of the modern man's garage. Abram, of course, is a tremendously important biblical figure — the father, as they say, of three faiths. Here, however, he is just another guy who failed to protect a vulnerable woman.
God, in contrast, has always been the One who sees us, loves us, and protects us —which is what hapless Hagar discovers after Sarai lets loose all her fury upon her defenseless maidservant. It's wonderful to see how God never loses sight of anyone, least of all the underdogs in life, be they barren women, scorned maidservants, or wandering Jews in search of a home.
God comes out looking good in this messy story, even if nobody else does.
The Case For Bigamy
Now Sarai, Abram’s wife, had not been able to bear children for him. But she had an Egyptian servant named Hagar. So Sarai said to Abram, “The Lord has prevented me from having children. Go and sleep with my servant. Perhaps I can have children through her.” And Abram agreed with Sarai’s proposal. So Sarai, Abram’s wife, took Hagar the Egyptian servant and gave her to Abram as a wife. So Abram had sexual relations with Hagar...
Whether Abram thought this was a good idea or a bad idea, we'll never know, but he did comply with his wife's demands. Bigamy enters Abram's story. The fruits of this new marital arrangement (literal and figurative) were quite predictable, however...
The Case For Monogamy
...and she [Hagar] became pregnant. But when Hagar knew she was pregnant, she began to treat her mistress, Sarai, with contempt.
Things are heading south quickly. If Abram didn't get it before, this is perhaps the point at which he began to see potential flaws in the new family structure. Watching these two women grow in mutual hatred and scorn must have been a gut-wrenchingly unpleasant experience.
Monogamy, I humbly suggest, must at this point in the story have been starting to regain its allure for our friend Abram.
The Case For Celibacy
Then Sarai said to Abram, “This is all your fault! I put my servant into your arms, but now that she’s pregnant she treats me with contempt. The Lord will show who’s wrong—you or me!”
At this point, I can just hear Abraham muttering to himself, "And this is my fault because.... ??? ??? ???" The famous Jewish refrain suffices well here. "Why ME?"
Right about now, neither bigamy nor monogamy are necessarily looking like great options. I'm wondering if at this point Abram was beginning to wistfully remember the charms of celibacy. Ah yes, those glorious days of freedom before the browbeatings began.
But Abram was a man of integrity, so his options were limited. This leads us to another option, the last reserve for those committed to continue in marriage for the long haul, be it bigamous or monogamous...
The Case For Resignation
Abram replied, “Look, she is your servant, so deal with her as you see fit.”
The famous male response. I'm out of here. Do what you want. I'm going to go check on the camels. I'd lay high odds that after Abram uttered these words he quickly headed for the ancient near-east equivalent of the modern man's garage. Abram, of course, is a tremendously important biblical figure — the father, as they say, of three faiths. Here, however, he is just another guy who failed to protect a vulnerable woman.
God, in contrast, has always been the One who sees us, loves us, and protects us —which is what hapless Hagar discovers after Sarai lets loose all her fury upon her defenseless maidservant. It's wonderful to see how God never loses sight of anyone, least of all the underdogs in life, be they barren women, scorned maidservants, or wandering Jews in search of a home.
God comes out looking good in this messy story, even if nobody else does.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Run, Don't Walk...
I think I first heard this humorous turn of phrase while chatting with a divorced woman a few months ago. Her former husband had been a terribly, terribly abusive man. A good friend, upon perceiving the true state of the marriage, gave her this advice:
Run, don't walk, to the nearest divorce lawyer.
Divorce is ugly business — but the phrase, it must be said, was catchy and memorable.
A week ago a good friend of mine landed a very promising new job. His current employer tried to counter. Knowing just how dysfunctional his current workplace situation is, my advice to him was this:
Run, don't walk, to that new job.
This morning I had to get up early. Way early. As my befuddled mind tried to start the day aright, with greetings to my Lord, the attempt was rather meandering. As my thoughts wandered, I found myself thinking of that friend of mine who got a new job. A moment later I heard, as if from a distance, a voice saying...
Run, don't walk, to Jesus.
The voice of God? My imagination continuing to run its course? I suppose a bit of both. After all, God breaks into our own thoughts through our own minds! If you think about it, it's a tautological truth.
Divine promptings and mundane machinations — our thoughts are the playground of God and man. And, for completeness, I must sadly note that our thoughts are also the playground of the devil himself. Lord, help us to know the difference!
As for this particular thought, I'm inclined to treat it with a bit of reverence. I was befuddled and groggy! Eminently sane and sagacious advice arriving at that hour deserves the honor. So as the fog of sleep began to clear, I began to meditate on the words I'd heard.
Run, don't walk, to Jesus.
The more I think about it, the more I am struck by how insulting it is to God when I walk, don't run, to him. It implies... no... it indicates that I don't have a clue just how desperate my situation, nor how badly I need Jesus. God's advice to us is this:
Run, don't walk, to Jesus.
So each morning, dearest Lord, let me run, not walk, to you. And stay with you all day.
Run, don't walk, to the nearest divorce lawyer.
Divorce is ugly business — but the phrase, it must be said, was catchy and memorable.
A week ago a good friend of mine landed a very promising new job. His current employer tried to counter. Knowing just how dysfunctional his current workplace situation is, my advice to him was this:
Run, don't walk, to that new job.
This morning I had to get up early. Way early. As my befuddled mind tried to start the day aright, with greetings to my Lord, the attempt was rather meandering. As my thoughts wandered, I found myself thinking of that friend of mine who got a new job. A moment later I heard, as if from a distance, a voice saying...
Run, don't walk, to Jesus.
The voice of God? My imagination continuing to run its course? I suppose a bit of both. After all, God breaks into our own thoughts through our own minds! If you think about it, it's a tautological truth.
Divine promptings and mundane machinations — our thoughts are the playground of God and man. And, for completeness, I must sadly note that our thoughts are also the playground of the devil himself. Lord, help us to know the difference!
As for this particular thought, I'm inclined to treat it with a bit of reverence. I was befuddled and groggy! Eminently sane and sagacious advice arriving at that hour deserves the honor. So as the fog of sleep began to clear, I began to meditate on the words I'd heard.
Run, don't walk, to Jesus.
The more I think about it, the more I am struck by how insulting it is to God when I walk, don't run, to him. It implies... no... it indicates that I don't have a clue just how desperate my situation, nor how badly I need Jesus. God's advice to us is this:
Run, don't walk, to Jesus.
So each morning, dearest Lord, let me run, not walk, to you. And stay with you all day.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Labels Should Have a Shelf Life
I still cringe a bit inside when I remember the taunting I endured as a child, and a name I was given. A name I did not want. There are few things worse than being given an ugly name you don't want.
Yesterday I blogged that I no longer consider myself a Protestant, but rather a man who belongs to Christ. The earthquake in Haiti has been occasion for me to quickly move to the next step of discarding yet another label which is no longer a welcome name to wear: Evangelical.
Like food, religious labels tend to go bad with the passage of time. Meaning upon meaning gets heaped onto them, and as the layers get thicker, the whole thing can start to exude telltale fumes. Sometimes people's unsavory words and deeds get layered in too, adding toxic potency to the cocktail.
That's what happened for me today with the word Evangelical. I noted yesterday that a personal friend of mine drew a dotted (or solid) line between the earthquake in Haiti and (dubious history) a purported pact with the devil made some 200 years ago by slaves living there under French rule. Both Pat Robertson and this friend of mine would consider themselves evangelical Christians. This equally dubious dotted (or solid) line which I am hinting at here is not my own invention. Yesterday evening I read these words from a Chicago Tribune article focusing on the spiritual ramifications of the earthquake: "Evangelical Christians blame Voodoo for bringing on this ruin."
Really? If that is what evangelical Christians believe, then I must not be one, because I don't know why God allowed the earthquake to happen. And it sickens me to be lumped in with people who presume they do.
So....
Another birthday! Birthdays everywhere! If the 24th of January was the first day of my post-Protestant life, then January 25th was the first day of my post-Evangelical life.
This is not to say (I must re-iterate) that I have ceased to hold things in common with Protestant Evangelicals. Far from it! But I don't have to be an Evangelical. There's no law that says I do. Given the things people now associate with that name, I don't want to be one anymore. I'd rather explain those beliefs I hold in common with Evangelicals than have to explain why I am one.
But if beyond all these things I must still have a label, I would like it to be this: I am a follower of Jesus Christ. Whatever name he wants to give me I will keep.
Revelation 2:17, 3:12
...I will also give him a white stone with a new name written on it, known only to him who receives it.
...Him who overcomes I will make a pillar in the temple of my God. I will write on him the name of my God and the name of the city of my God, the new Jerusalem, which is coming down out of heaven from my God; and I will also write on him my new name.
Yesterday I blogged that I no longer consider myself a Protestant, but rather a man who belongs to Christ. The earthquake in Haiti has been occasion for me to quickly move to the next step of discarding yet another label which is no longer a welcome name to wear: Evangelical.
Like food, religious labels tend to go bad with the passage of time. Meaning upon meaning gets heaped onto them, and as the layers get thicker, the whole thing can start to exude telltale fumes. Sometimes people's unsavory words and deeds get layered in too, adding toxic potency to the cocktail.
That's what happened for me today with the word Evangelical. I noted yesterday that a personal friend of mine drew a dotted (or solid) line between the earthquake in Haiti and (dubious history) a purported pact with the devil made some 200 years ago by slaves living there under French rule. Both Pat Robertson and this friend of mine would consider themselves evangelical Christians. This equally dubious dotted (or solid) line which I am hinting at here is not my own invention. Yesterday evening I read these words from a Chicago Tribune article focusing on the spiritual ramifications of the earthquake: "Evangelical Christians blame Voodoo for bringing on this ruin."
Really? If that is what evangelical Christians believe, then I must not be one, because I don't know why God allowed the earthquake to happen. And it sickens me to be lumped in with people who presume they do.
So....
Another birthday! Birthdays everywhere! If the 24th of January was the first day of my post-Protestant life, then January 25th was the first day of my post-Evangelical life.
This is not to say (I must re-iterate) that I have ceased to hold things in common with Protestant Evangelicals. Far from it! But I don't have to be an Evangelical. There's no law that says I do. Given the things people now associate with that name, I don't want to be one anymore. I'd rather explain those beliefs I hold in common with Evangelicals than have to explain why I am one.
But if beyond all these things I must still have a label, I would like it to be this: I am a follower of Jesus Christ. Whatever name he wants to give me I will keep.
Revelation 2:17, 3:12
...I will also give him a white stone with a new name written on it, known only to him who receives it.
...Him who overcomes I will make a pillar in the temple of my God. I will write on him the name of my God and the name of the city of my God, the new Jerusalem, which is coming down out of heaven from my God; and I will also write on him my new name.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Haiti And Siloam
A few days ago a friend of mine informed me of the "fact" that Haitian slaves had made a deal with the devil (so as to escape slavery) some 200 years ago. The devil apparently agreed to the deal and has ruled over that land ever since.
Somehow, my friend insinuated, the earthquake was a direct consequence of this pact with the devil.
Needless to say, my heart grieves when friends speak this way. Some may wonder at the company I keep! But ignorance of this sort is not new. Jesus dealt with the same kind of blind depravity in his own disciples.
John 9:1-7
As [Jesus] went along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, "Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?"
"Neither this man nor his parents sinned," said Jesus, "but this happened so that the work of God might be displayed in his life. As long as it is day, we must do the work of him who sent me. Night is coming, when no one can work. While I am in the world, I am the light of the world."
Having said this, he spit on the ground, made some mud with the saliva, and put it on the man's eyes. "Go," he told him, "wash in the Pool of Siloam" (this word means Sent). So the man went and washed, and came home seeing.
Jesus' response is instructive. He didn't abandon his disciples, but he did firmly correct them without hatred or nastiness. Then he proceeded to do the true work of God, which has a lot more to do with healing the world than in condemning it. (Witness John 3:17....)
In this passage, there is only one person who sees clearly in every sense of the word. Jesus. Not by coincidence, I think, does John note that Jesus saw the man. As for the disciples, they were grievously blind in that they mistook an opportunity for grace as an opportunity for blame.
Jesus frequently called the Pharisees blind fools, but sadly all too often his disciples (then and now) are similarly stricken. The original disciples needed more time to understand Jesus and his radical message. What excuse do we as Christians have today for failing to understand?
Ironically, the reference to Siloam in this passage from John brings another passage to my mind. It is from Luke, and it is equally applicable, if not more so, to recent events in Haiti.
Luke 13:1-5
Now there were some present at that time who told Jesus about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mixed with their sacrifices. Jesus answered, "Do you think that these Galileans were worse sinners than all the other Galileans because they suffered this way? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish. Or those eighteen who died when the tower in Siloam fell on them—do you think they were more guilty than all the others living in Jerusalem? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish."
My friend got his dubious Haitian history from Pat Robertson, a spiritually blind televangelist. People interested in God's perspective on the situation in Haiti would do better to spend less time entertaining undocumented legends and more time studying these two passages from scripture which clearly show that Jesus took a dim view of our human tendency to draw dotted (or solid) lines between sin and people's suffering. Many towers fell in Haiti — are we so sure that those who died there were more guilty than we who live elsewhere? Jesus emphatically (can you hear his anger?) says the answer is No!
I don't know why God allowed so many Haitian people to die in one horrible minute. All I know with certainty is that God is sovereign and good — and that my job as a follower of Christ is to help alleviate the suffering that the earthquake left behind. If all followers of Christ step up to this task, the work of a sovereign and good God will indeed be displayed in our lives.
Somehow, my friend insinuated, the earthquake was a direct consequence of this pact with the devil.
Needless to say, my heart grieves when friends speak this way. Some may wonder at the company I keep! But ignorance of this sort is not new. Jesus dealt with the same kind of blind depravity in his own disciples.
John 9:1-7
As [Jesus] went along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, "Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?"
"Neither this man nor his parents sinned," said Jesus, "but this happened so that the work of God might be displayed in his life. As long as it is day, we must do the work of him who sent me. Night is coming, when no one can work. While I am in the world, I am the light of the world."
Having said this, he spit on the ground, made some mud with the saliva, and put it on the man's eyes. "Go," he told him, "wash in the Pool of Siloam" (this word means Sent). So the man went and washed, and came home seeing.
Jesus' response is instructive. He didn't abandon his disciples, but he did firmly correct them without hatred or nastiness. Then he proceeded to do the true work of God, which has a lot more to do with healing the world than in condemning it. (Witness John 3:17....)
In this passage, there is only one person who sees clearly in every sense of the word. Jesus. Not by coincidence, I think, does John note that Jesus saw the man. As for the disciples, they were grievously blind in that they mistook an opportunity for grace as an opportunity for blame.
Jesus frequently called the Pharisees blind fools, but sadly all too often his disciples (then and now) are similarly stricken. The original disciples needed more time to understand Jesus and his radical message. What excuse do we as Christians have today for failing to understand?
Ironically, the reference to Siloam in this passage from John brings another passage to my mind. It is from Luke, and it is equally applicable, if not more so, to recent events in Haiti.
Luke 13:1-5
Now there were some present at that time who told Jesus about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mixed with their sacrifices. Jesus answered, "Do you think that these Galileans were worse sinners than all the other Galileans because they suffered this way? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish. Or those eighteen who died when the tower in Siloam fell on them—do you think they were more guilty than all the others living in Jerusalem? I tell you, no! But unless you repent, you too will all perish."
My friend got his dubious Haitian history from Pat Robertson, a spiritually blind televangelist. People interested in God's perspective on the situation in Haiti would do better to spend less time entertaining undocumented legends and more time studying these two passages from scripture which clearly show that Jesus took a dim view of our human tendency to draw dotted (or solid) lines between sin and people's suffering. Many towers fell in Haiti — are we so sure that those who died there were more guilty than we who live elsewhere? Jesus emphatically (can you hear his anger?) says the answer is No!
I don't know why God allowed so many Haitian people to die in one horrible minute. All I know with certainty is that God is sovereign and good — and that my job as a follower of Christ is to help alleviate the suffering that the earthquake left behind. If all followers of Christ step up to this task, the work of a sovereign and good God will indeed be displayed in our lives.
Monday, January 25, 2010
A Modern Parable
There once were two men who disagreed over how best to keep a car running.
One man said that the key is gas. Gas alone will keep that engine running, he swore up and down. Everything else is trivial in comparison. Just pour gas in, and the running engine will clean itself.
Nonsense, the other replied. The engine cannot run for long without oil changes, regular system flushing, clean radiator fluid and the like. Don't worry about the gas, he assured the first man, as it is a natural by-product of a well-maintained engine. Provided the engine is kept running smoothly, gas will fill the tank as a matter of course.
Each man felt that the other was intolerably stupid and arrogant. Sadly, both men enjoyed debating. Publicly. So it came to pass that on most days these two souls could be found exchanging heated words outside the only cafe in town.
An abandoned car parked nearby proved the foil for most of their arguments. Year in and year out it sat there, unused except as a case in point for each man's claim. Each man swore he could go to the ends of the earth in it, but neither ever tried to actually drive it. As a result, their theories about car maintenance were never much put to the test. And the car they kept gesturing at continued to gather dust.
Then one day word came that a calamitous storm was heading in the direction of their town. Hoping for the best, both men chose to wait at the cafe and hopefully ride it out or watch it pass the town by. As luck would have it, however, the storm bore down on the town dead on, and grew in ferocity as it approached.
Leaving unprepared and in a hurry, the two men found themselves fleeing calamity, strangely, in the very same abandoned car they had been pointing at for so many years. Sitting down in it for the first time, they discovered keys in the ignition, a bit of gas in the tank, and an engine which ran — albeit a bit roughly. Miracles never cease. They drove off in a cloud of dust.
The storm pursued them. As if by design. Day after day they found themselves, yet again, on the move. Despite their best efforts, neither person could escape either the other or the storm. That car proved their only hope for escape, and each morning they found themselves together again in it, fleeing the wrath of God.
The car performed well, as things worked out, but the trip was intolerably unpleasant for quite a long time. In the early stages of travel each man did what he thought was most important, and spent no small amount of driving time ridiculing the habits of the other where car-care was concerned. "Pointless and unnecessary" were the most commonly uttered words for the first half of the trip, and they proceeded from both mouths. Sometimes simultaneously! On account of the rancor, they couldn't even enjoy music together, though they had common tastes in this regard.
As time passed, however, each man began, reluctantly, to share the performing of tasks the other felt important, if only to make pit-stops shorter in duration. Over time, however, a lurking question arose in the hearts of both men: If the other had not been in the car, would the trip have ended in disaster?
Days stretched into weeks, and weeks into months. Over the course of many years and countless miles of driving, the nature of their journey together changed. It was hard to say when exactly it happened, but the two men became inseparable friends. They still didn't agree on car maintenance, but their differences in opinion were now matters over which they shared laughter. And at some point along the way, they discovered that singing together with the radio was a great way to drown out the sounds of the weather.
Then one day, the unexpected happened. The road that day took them out of the storm to a mountain of such great height that both men were sure no storm could ever touch them again. At the top of the mountain they found a city of beauty beyond compare, safe and delightful in every way. Both men agreed it would be wonderful to get out of the car, stretch their legs, and look for a cafe whether they could perhaps relax a while.
They pulled the car into the parking lot of a nearby cafe, parked, and prepared to get out. The car had barely come to rest before a man ran up to speak with them. As it turned out, he was the master architect of the design and production of the very car the two travellers had been driving in for all those years.
The master designer was keen to hear details about their trip, and glad (though not surprised) to hear that the car had held up so well. He was very saddened, however, to hear about how disputes over the care of his car had proved a source of such great friction for the first portion of the long journey, to say nothing of the years prior to the arrival of the great storm.
Pulling the owner's manual from the glove compartment, he pointed out to both travellers that their understanding of car-care was pathetic. Woefully inadequate. How came it to be this way? Had they read the manual selectively? Or had they given full attention to the entire booklet?
Neither of the two travellers had good answers to these questions, but thankfully the conversation moved on quickly from there. On one point all three agreed. The calamitous storm, in all of its awfulness, was the best thing that ever happened in either traveller's life. Having settled that point in hearty agreement, the three wandered off to a local cafe to enjoy drinks in company.
On foot.
The end.
One man said that the key is gas. Gas alone will keep that engine running, he swore up and down. Everything else is trivial in comparison. Just pour gas in, and the running engine will clean itself.
Nonsense, the other replied. The engine cannot run for long without oil changes, regular system flushing, clean radiator fluid and the like. Don't worry about the gas, he assured the first man, as it is a natural by-product of a well-maintained engine. Provided the engine is kept running smoothly, gas will fill the tank as a matter of course.
Each man felt that the other was intolerably stupid and arrogant. Sadly, both men enjoyed debating. Publicly. So it came to pass that on most days these two souls could be found exchanging heated words outside the only cafe in town.
An abandoned car parked nearby proved the foil for most of their arguments. Year in and year out it sat there, unused except as a case in point for each man's claim. Each man swore he could go to the ends of the earth in it, but neither ever tried to actually drive it. As a result, their theories about car maintenance were never much put to the test. And the car they kept gesturing at continued to gather dust.
Then one day word came that a calamitous storm was heading in the direction of their town. Hoping for the best, both men chose to wait at the cafe and hopefully ride it out or watch it pass the town by. As luck would have it, however, the storm bore down on the town dead on, and grew in ferocity as it approached.
Leaving unprepared and in a hurry, the two men found themselves fleeing calamity, strangely, in the very same abandoned car they had been pointing at for so many years. Sitting down in it for the first time, they discovered keys in the ignition, a bit of gas in the tank, and an engine which ran — albeit a bit roughly. Miracles never cease. They drove off in a cloud of dust.
The storm pursued them. As if by design. Day after day they found themselves, yet again, on the move. Despite their best efforts, neither person could escape either the other or the storm. That car proved their only hope for escape, and each morning they found themselves together again in it, fleeing the wrath of God.
The car performed well, as things worked out, but the trip was intolerably unpleasant for quite a long time. In the early stages of travel each man did what he thought was most important, and spent no small amount of driving time ridiculing the habits of the other where car-care was concerned. "Pointless and unnecessary" were the most commonly uttered words for the first half of the trip, and they proceeded from both mouths. Sometimes simultaneously! On account of the rancor, they couldn't even enjoy music together, though they had common tastes in this regard.
As time passed, however, each man began, reluctantly, to share the performing of tasks the other felt important, if only to make pit-stops shorter in duration. Over time, however, a lurking question arose in the hearts of both men: If the other had not been in the car, would the trip have ended in disaster?
Days stretched into weeks, and weeks into months. Over the course of many years and countless miles of driving, the nature of their journey together changed. It was hard to say when exactly it happened, but the two men became inseparable friends. They still didn't agree on car maintenance, but their differences in opinion were now matters over which they shared laughter. And at some point along the way, they discovered that singing together with the radio was a great way to drown out the sounds of the weather.
Then one day, the unexpected happened. The road that day took them out of the storm to a mountain of such great height that both men were sure no storm could ever touch them again. At the top of the mountain they found a city of beauty beyond compare, safe and delightful in every way. Both men agreed it would be wonderful to get out of the car, stretch their legs, and look for a cafe whether they could perhaps relax a while.
They pulled the car into the parking lot of a nearby cafe, parked, and prepared to get out. The car had barely come to rest before a man ran up to speak with them. As it turned out, he was the master architect of the design and production of the very car the two travellers had been driving in for all those years.
The master designer was keen to hear details about their trip, and glad (though not surprised) to hear that the car had held up so well. He was very saddened, however, to hear about how disputes over the care of his car had proved a source of such great friction for the first portion of the long journey, to say nothing of the years prior to the arrival of the great storm.
Pulling the owner's manual from the glove compartment, he pointed out to both travellers that their understanding of car-care was pathetic. Woefully inadequate. How came it to be this way? Had they read the manual selectively? Or had they given full attention to the entire booklet?
Neither of the two travellers had good answers to these questions, but thankfully the conversation moved on quickly from there. On one point all three agreed. The calamitous storm, in all of its awfulness, was the best thing that ever happened in either traveller's life. Having settled that point in hearty agreement, the three wandered off to a local cafe to enjoy drinks in company.
On foot.
The end.
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