What Must I Do To Be Saved?

A good friend of mine was processing how to talk to another friend about salvation, and asked:

"How does one get saved, born again? Is it as simple as saying a prayer?"

That got me thinking... and I just thought I'd re-post my response.

"That's the exact question people humbly came to Jesus with. The rich young ruler, Nicodemus, etc. and Jesus answered them all differently... "Unless your righteousness exceeds that of the Pharisees...", "You must be born again", "Go, sell all that you have and give it to the poor, and then you'll find salvation", etc.

That doesn't give you a quick answer, but simply affirms that you're asking the right question. There is no formula.

That said, for me, part of it is believing God really loves and likes me, that He personally cares for and knows me and wants me to experience all the good things of being reunited with Him, and in that process, He MUST transform me from the inside out to make me capable of living a spiritual life, of participating in the new kingdom of redemption. It takes new eyes and a new heart, a completely new way of viewing and interacting with the world... So part of what being born again is, out of trust in God's good heart towards us, surrendering control, and giving Him access to our lives, to invite Him in to bring new life, and hope and peace. And it might happen in one monumental occasion, or it might be a slow process...

All of that is rooted in Jesus Christ. Which is ironic since I didn't mention Him. But He demonstrates and displays, as living "proof" of God's heart towards us, in dying for us for the forgiveness of our sins, but coming back to victorious resurrected life, to be in and through us, deliverance FROM sin and death.

How do we experience this? Saying a prayer? Getting baptized? I'm not sure. Praying is crucial, in my opinion. Not for the specific words, but simply the humility and openness that prayer requires—we're talking to the air! But that's the kind of faith that moves God. Even if we can't see Him, for us to call out to Him, in our need for true life, that is the heart He is after and rewards with disclosing Himself to us in ways we can handle..."

I've been studying the book of Romans with my small group from church. The first chapter launches into an in-depth discourse on the depravity of all humankind. Is that the correct place to start? Not for the Apostle Paul, obviously, because he wrote the book in a particular order for a reason. But for our culture today, and for the needs and perspective of individuals, is that a necessarily element to start with? Was I correct to assert that there is no formula?

Some of the questions I ask on this blog seem like they are really elementary. I think I'm questioning the method, not the truth. I do believe we are all sinful, flawed, broken, bent towards selfishness and self-reliance. On our own, we don't live our lives as an out-pouring of self-less love, participating with God in glorifying His name and being part of the answer to Jesus' famous prayer, "Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven." But where my question comes in, is when these truths are thrown around so grace-lessly. I hope there isn't a formula. It doesn't seem like there should be. Jesus didn't answer those questions with the same thing every time, nor did He heal people with the same means every time.

As Christians, I think it is imperative, for the sake of Jesus' name, that we learn to listen more, and understand the people we are communicating with, to know where they are coming from and to listen to God's Spirit, somehow, and determine how to best communicate the Good News to someone. And it takes constantly receiving the Good News in my own life if I'm to be a faithful, life-giving example of what the Good News really means.

God Told Me

An interesting article over on Relevant Magazine, about how people use the phrase "God told me" and what it means to hear from God or claim things in His name.

A thought-provoking quote from the article, by R.T. Kendall:

"How do we misuse God's name when we claim He told us something? With our intent. Most often we mention Him for one reason: to elevate our own credibility. It is not His name we are thinking of, it is our reputation. Adding the weight of God's name to our words gives us authority and respectability. But the truth is, we're not thinking of God's name and glory when we do this—we're thinking of our own."

Maybe that's not always true, but I'm sure it's true a lot.

Has God ever spoken clearly to you? What does it look like for you? Growing up in a Baptist church has meant a lot of unlearning when it comes to God speaking. There was a very deep us-versus-them mentality, and maybe there were good intentions, wanting to avoid extremes or abuses of certain, typically, charismatic gifts like prophecies, but for the most part, they succeeded in reducing "God's voice" to discerning principles from scripture that would give general wisdom in how to live. No personal revelation, no specific guidance, no unique movements in our spirits from God. Thankfully, I think I'm starting to see that there is something to the idea of God speaking to us. God repeatedly spoke to people in the Old Testament, in a variety of ways. He spoke audibly during Jesus' lifetime, and people in the New Testament had dreams, visions and heard God speaking to them. There's no biblical evidence to support the idea that God went mute or in His spite, refuses to talk to us individually, now that Jesus came and left, and we're "just" left with the Holy Spirit. I know I am only speaking from my experience, so I am not trying to condemn churches in general, or even any denominations, because I have only been a part of a handful of various churches, and I know my experiences are in some sense unique to me and the times and places I was in.

That said, it's been interesting to seek God in a way that allows for, hopes for and expects God to communicate with me personally. There have only been a handful of times where I felt like God "spoke" to me in my spirit, or impressed something very specific on my heart/mind. Those things were never contradicting to scripture and always resulted in peace, edification, encouragement, affirmation, etc. It is an odd thing—humbling, really—to imagine God's greatness, how transcendent and holy He is, and that in His love for us, for me, that He would lean close and whisper to our spirit what we need to hear.

I want to make more time to listen.

What is Christianity?

I've had a lot of questions rattling around in my brain lately about what Christianity is. There are so many caricatures and stereotypes of what Christians are or should be like. The holier-than-thou types and Bible-thumpers, the crazy street preachers, the stiff, boring type, the progressive champion of social justice causes, the über hip trendy kind, the sort that keep Christian bookstores in business by filling their wardrobe with cheesy bastardizations of corporate logos infused with Christian phrases, the fanatical right-wing political type blaming natural catastrophes God's wrath on a nation's past sins, the seeker-friendly type who tend to be really wishy-washy, etc. etc. I don't mean anything negative by calling out these stereotypes—just trying to illustrate the gamut of images that could come to someone's mind when they hear that someone is a Christian.

I know Jesus is important. In a way that is hard to describe or articulate, I know that Jesus Christ's life, death, resurrection and ascension are all ridiculously critical to wrestle with. In an equally difficult to communicate way, I feel as though I am genuinely interacting with God when I pray, sometimes. There's definitely something spiritual/supernatural to it. Other times, Christianity feels more like a system of principles—a worldview, as clever apologists would say. It's a proper understanding of reality and what the world is really like. At times in my life, Christianity was simply the ticket to avoid going to hell. It was believing the right things, saying the right things, doing the rights things, looking the right way, avoiding the wrong places, etc. And other times, it was simply a different set of friends who did more wholesome things with their time.

Right now, I feel like a lot of the theology that I've learned over the years in a Christian high school, Bible classes and chapel five days a week at a Christian liberal arts college, 20 years of listening to sermons on Sunday mornings (not every Sunday!), has become kind of hollow. Not very life-giving. Most of my Christianity, I confess, has been rooted in believing the right things. The more right things you could say that you believed, the closer to the center you got. The safer you were. If you amassed enough biblical knowledge, you could feel pretty confident that you were a good Christian. I mean, people looked to you for answers. And when you're an answer man, you can feel pretty secure in your standing.

Over the years, a lot of those answers have just started sounding empty. Telling someone that God allowed them to experience something deeply painful just to give them an opportunity to learn more about Him doesn't sound loving. Or when you slow down enough to listen to some honest questions from people outside the Christian bubble, you realize that you definitely have an answer, but that it's missing something and what made sense to you before, suddenly feels like it's missing a step in there. Like you took something for granted along the way. Of course, there was a talking snake in the garden... wasn't there?

I guess I feel free within God's love to let down my guard and be honest. Some of this doesn't make sense to me. I'm not asking for God to prove things, or using these questions as an excuse to live however I want and get out from under God's moralistic thumb. I believe with everything in me (I rarely doubt this) that Jesus had to have been from God and that His life, death and resurrection give ridiculously strong evidence—enough to cause me to commit to following Him—that Jesus was who He said He was... And that by believing in Him, trusting Him, committing to living my life like His, as best I know how and through the indwelling presence of His Spirit, that will lead to true Life, now and in the hereafter. All I know is to love people. To be merciful and kind, do what is right and live humbly in the presence of our loving God. I think that the specifics of doctrine and theology are important. They must be or people down the centuries would not have spent their lives studying and copying and dissecting them to find their meanings.

But maybe we've over-complicated it? Maybe Christianity is loving God and loving our neighbor as ourselves? Could it really be that simple? And yet, if it is, why is it so difficult to do that well?

Amendment to Post on March Madness

I really do enjoy watching sports and feel like that previous post was very condemning in its tone. It is important for us to examine our lives and see what we're spending our time on, but that will mean different things for different people.

As I thought about what I had typed, it got me thinking about the internet and why we blog. What is my purpose in blogging? I don't want to use blogging to critique the lives of other people. Something about it doesn't seem relational. And if questioning the way other people live, isn't done in the context of community and real friendships, I wonder if it is edifying. If not, it's not worth blogging about. That would be similar to me receiving an anonymous note, condemning things in my life and judging me, without knowing of any trust or love behind it.

Is March Madness Mad?

I read this article on Relevant Magazine today about March Madness college basketball. I was going to comment on it there, but couldn't be concise enough!

I applaud Brett McCracken's desire to see the divine in the mundane. We need to do that more, because I think we do miss out on a lot of that's REALLY going on, because we don't have eyes to see it...

However, some yellow flags were raised in me as I read this, simply because sports, like anything else that has the potential for subconscious addiction (i.e. Facebook, etc.) can be consuming. Even though it's difficult, we need to pay attention to those areas that we have a hard time imagining giving up.

And before I launch into a judgmental tirade about how people idolize sports, I want to check myself. I want to make sure I'm not trying to remove the speck of dust from someone else's eye, oblivious to the plank of wood in my own eye. My goal is not to condemn anyone. I have learned and am continually learning that we, as followers of Jesus Christ, are not called, asked or chosen to be the Holy Spirit for someone else. I am not your conscience, and I don't want to presume to be. So there are a lot of things in this post that I'm not saying. I'm not saying it is sinful to watch sports, or to enjoy sports, or loving to watch sports. I'm not saying someone who loves to watch sports is less spiritual or holy. And, to the point Brett made on the Relevant site, it is good for us as Christians to reclaim the mundane and look for God in all the areas of our lives, from natural beauty to art and yes, even to sports.

Now, I know it's not popular to question what the majority of the culture is doing. ESPECIALLY not as a Christian—that'll get you pegged as "judgmental". None of us want that, though it is inevitable to make judgments on what we see around us. (How we respond to those judgments we make is another issue entirely.) Despite that, I think Christians in America should carefully "examine themselves" and how they spend their time. Not to heap guilt on ourselves, not to live identical lives as the other Christians around us, but to actively engage our minds and hearts to make sure ALL of our lives are in step with how God is leading us.

One thing that stands out is to find balance with this critique of how and why we love sports and what should a Christian's appropriate relationship to it be. I don't want to simply condemn watching sports (or playing them) in some blanket, black-and-white statement, because that could misrepresent the truth of the gospel and what it means to be a Christian.

Is it possible, though, that sports can be an idol in our lives? It's clear that Americans in general love sports and spend a lot of time and money on them. Why is that? Why do so many of us so instinctively love to watch sports? It controls our lives, to some degree. Heaven forbid church goes over and we miss the kickoff of the big game, right? Especially during football season, March Madness, Stanley cup playoffs, the Olympics... we become temporary slaves to the t.v. Is our first response defensive? Hey, there's nothing wrong with watching the Olympics. Anytime someone points out something about the way we live, rebuking or cautioning us, do we listen? Their critique might be completely wrong or misguided, but do we listen? Do we respect the person enough to hear what they are saying and really pray about our actions and see if we're living with a clear conscience? I hope so. I hope I do that. I don't want to lock down on the way I like to live my life and make it impervious to outside critique or examination. If I am truly walking with God with a clear conscience, then I have nothing to fear. So all that is to say, if you love watching sports, please don't feel like I'm condemning you, but do feel like I'm encouraging you to even question and be honest with yourself about these things.

There is nothing sinful about watching sports in and of itself. I think where it can become unhealthy is the amount of time that gets spent on it. There might be other considerations, like the negative emotions that we might vicariously experience when "our" team loses an important game. But I think what makes me sad or makes me question this in general is how much time and energy Christians seem to spend on watching college basketball and playing fantasy football, etc.

Do we spend the same energy on things that make us more like Christ? Are we that enthusiastic about anything relating to church, faith or Jesus Christ, or just sports? Is it okay that our faith and relationship with God doesn't really move us that often, compared to how worked up we can get over a game? I'm legitimately asking—it might be apples to oranges. It might not be a healthy expectation to think they should be similar. But maybe it is. I want to be willing to ask those questions. And are we as disciplined with spending time with God regularly, however that works best for us, as we are with following the draft or following our fantasy football team?

I hope these aren't harsh questions. That's not my intention. I think, since I'm not a huge sports fan (aside from following the Boston Red Sox and enjoying watching football on Sundays whenever it's convenient), being on the "outside" makes me notice things that those who are die-hard fans probably take for granted or simply don't pay attention to.

All I'm saying is if Christians in America were as excited and passionate about following Jesus Christ and loving those around them as ardently as they love watching and participating in sports, I think we would have an entirely different reputation and I think the gospel would seem a lot more like life-giving good news, rather than life-draining morality. I mean, even in commenting on this, it makes me feel like I'm intentionally squelching something that people give a lot of their time to. If we have nothing life-giving to offer people in place of the things that typically fuel their lives, then yes, Christianity will sound like a hollow, boring religion. But in place of our addictions, whether to sports, climbing the corporate ladder, being liked or just feeling safe and comfortable providing for our family at the expense of relying on God more often, what if we really experienced the Life Jesus claimed to offer us? What if we had more joy, peace and patience in our lives? What if we had hope and optimism that supernaturally flowed in and through the good and bad experiences in our lives? What if we were people of courage and gentleness, rather than fear and defensiveness?

In the moments when Christians are so caught up in sports, it gets hard to see Jesus sometimes. Maybe for some people it isn't that way, and I genuinely hope so. Again, I don't want to say sports are sinful. I simply wonder at what my life would look like, and what the lives of the Christians around me would look like if our passion for Jesus Christ was as great as, or greater than, our passion for sports. I think that would change some things in this country.

Which would you rather attend—a 3-hour church service in a cathedral or a 3-hour football game in a stadium? I think most Christians in America would pick the football game. Maybe that's okay. Maybe they are different events that should elicit different emotions and it's unfair to compare the two. I still think the question is worth asking... And I still wonder what it would look like for Christians to be as passionate about faith as some are about sports...

*** UPDATED ***

I apologize for the back-handed condemning tone of this post...

Fire From Heaven

This excerpt from "Forgotten God" by Francis Chan:

We are made to be like Elijah, who did not question whether God would show His face that day. He prayed and asked for help, and God sent down fire from heaven in response.

Perhaps you don't need fire from heaven, but peace. Perhaps what you need is wisdom to know which decision to make. Or courage to do the right thing, even though you might lose your job. Or maybe you need love because you feel alone. Or you want people with a similar vision to journey with and support you along the way. Whatever you need, the point is that God is aware of you and your circumstances, and He knows what you really need. He is able to bring theses things, people, and circumstances into your life.

But God is not a coercive God. And though He desires for His children to know peace and love and to have wisdom, I have noticed that often He waits for us to ask.

He desires to do more than 'help out' a bit. He wants to completely transform us. He wants to take a timid heart and set it ablaze with strength and courage, so much so that people know something supernatural has taken place—life change just as miraculous as fire coming down from heaven. He wants to imbue us with His wisdom because He is the 'spirit of wisdom and revelation' (Eph. 1:17; see Isa. 11:2) Even as the Spirit works in us to make us more like Christ, to transform us, He is also patient. This work will not be complete until His kingdom comes in full, though this does not deter Him from working now." (emphasis added by me)

I know these are just Francis Chan's words about what He understands God to be like, but something about the idea that God wants to take my mostly timid heart and set it ablaze with strength and courage... It's easy to assume that God doesn't want the same things I do, or that His desire is less intense than mine... When the reality is that my desires for good, healthy things are weak compared to how strongly God wants the same things for me. And I think that's Chan's point... If I really, deep-down believe that God is good and has my best interest at heart, why don't I ask Him for those things more often? I'm not talking about asking for more stuff—a new car, better job, shorter commute, etc. I'm talking about coming to Him with the scary stuff. Coming to God with my fears and anxiety, asking Him to replace them with courage and peace. Coming to God with my weakness and cowardice, asking for strength and self-control. If I brought the big things, that are real desires for wholeness and a better life, maybe He would be eager to answer those kinds of prayers. Maybe I settle for the things that leave less room for disappointment. I mean, what if I pray for those things, and God doesn't come through and nothing changes? Then what? I think on some level, I don't want to put all those eggs in God's basket, because if God fails... that shatters my reality. That crushes the supporting beams of the whole structure and what would I be left with?

There is something risky about faith. And I wonder, in America especially, if we are so comfortable with our lives and content with adding Jesus into our lives, somewhat like a hobby or a country club membership, that we are afraid to really step out and ask God for the big scary things that will make or break our faith. We are afraid to really trust God with the stuff close to our hearts, so we half-heartedly limp through our Christianity, wishing God was a little more real, but at the same time, not being willing to risk relying on Him to come through for us in a supernatural way that we couldn't explain otherwise. I mean, do we really trust God if we know we have a good chunk of money in our savings account and a solid 401k plan? We can absolutely say we do, and even extol the virtues of what wise stewards we are being with our money, but when push comes to shove—I'm trusting in money, not God. I'm trusting that when calamity strikes and painful situations arise, I have things to fall back on. Sure, I'll pray about it—but not REALLY expecting anything from it. More than likely, I'll consult with friends, rack my brain for the best way to handle the situation and then grit my teeth and make it through. And on the other side of it, I will probably still sigh with slight disappointment, wondering why God wasn't more real to me.

I'm not saying to be stupid and burn your money or "put God to the test" by jumping off buildings or anything like that. I'm simply trying to be honest with the fact that part of why I don't see God's hand more active in my life is because often I simply refuse to cry out to Him in my desperation or need because I'm afraid that He won't answer, and His silence would be utterly devastating. At least when I don't ask, I can fool myself into thinking God is good and dependable, without ever really putting that to the test.

So, although it is ridiculously scary, I think that's the kind of faith God is looking for. He knows we're finite. He knows we can't see Him and it is hard to have faith. But God has given us the scriptures, and the teachings, life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ and the indwelling presence of the Holy Spirit of God Himself, as a witness to God's heart—He is good. He can be trusted. And maybe God is waiting for hearts that will believe that and where appropriate, step out and risk trusting in His goodness. Maybe God knows if we aren't really relying on Him, and He gave us the things we deeply desire anyway, we would be deeply confused about where they came from, because we never really mustered the courage to ask Him. I don't know...

All this from a deep longing within me to be less timid, to shake off the fear and trepidation that enslaves me to chase after affirmation and validation from the people around me. The deeply encouraging thought in this is that God wants that too. He wants to free me and transform me into the man He's created me to be. The same is true for those of you reading this.

So, that just leaves me face to face with whether or not I will admit these longings for wholeness to God, crying out to Him in a way that desperately needs Him to be there and come through.

Question: Is Christ the same thing as Christianity?

Does that seem like a weird question? Or perhaps too close to heresy?

Let me explain, slightly, and then open it up to biting condemnation and heart-felt prayers for my wandering soul!

Christians are taught that Jesus is the only way. It's in the book of John, Jesus Himself said, "I am the Way, the Truth and the Life, and no one comes to the Father except through me." And we've built our apologetic defenses and exclusive theology firmly on that and other passages.

But have we read into that verse a doctrine that exists outside of it? Eisegesis, reading into the text what we already think it means, says that Christianity is the only way. Have you ever stopped to consider how we define "Christianity"? And have you ever considered the possibility that someone could be saved by and through the grace of God in Jesus Christ, without knowingly practicing Christianity or even ever hearing the name of Jesus Christ?

I heard that question recently, and it definitely sent the wheels spinning. The speaker was emphatic that this idea was not the good news of the gospel, perhaps merely a loophole.

Jesus Christ is the salvation and hope for the world. I never really considered if there was any biblical evidence for an understanding of God's love and redemption extending outside of our modern understanding of the nearly-impossible-to-define term Christianity. I could go on and elaborate on everything the seminar involved, which would probably make this whole thought seem more Christ-centered and biblical, but I think it's good for us to listen to questions that rattle what we already assume and feel confident is the truth, if for no other reason than to be a little more settled internally that what we think is true has less doubt-inducing questions surrounding it.

What Could Resurrection Mean?

A quote from N.T. Wright's Surprised by Hope:

"...This [working for the kingdom of God in this present life] brings us back to I Corinthians 15:58 once more; what you do in the Lord is not in vain. You are not oiling the wheels of a machine that's about to roll over a cliff. You are not restoring a great painting that's shortly going to be thrown on the fire. You are not planting roses in a garden that's about to be dug up for a building site. You are—strange though it may seem, almost as hard to believe as the resurrection itself—accomplishing something that will become in due course part of God's new world. Every act of love, gratitude, and kindness; every work of art or music inspired by the love of God and delight in the beauty of his creation; every minute spent teaching a severely handicapped child to read or to walk; every act of care and nurture, of comfort and support, for one's fellow human beings and for that matter one's fellow nonhuman creatures; and of course every prayer, all Spirit-led teaching, every deed that spreads the gospel, builds up the church, embraces and embodies holiness rather than corruption, and makes the name of Jesus honored in the world—all of this will find its way, through the resurrecting power of God, into the new creation that God will one day make. That is the logic of the mission of God. God's recreation of this wonderful world, which began with the resurrection of Jesus and continues mysteriously as God's people live in the risen Christ and in the power of his Spirit, means that what we do in Christ and by the Spirit in the present is not wasted. It will last all the way into God's new world. In fact, it will be enhanced there."

I think if we considered that our actions matter for longer than this lifetime, we'd be more serious and intentional with the way we lived, and yet, at the same time, more joyful and free, believing that nothing we do in the name of love, for Jesus' sake and honor, will be wasted. It really is starting to be a quite radical concept for me, the resurrection. I haven't ever spent much time considering what it could and should mean for us, but as I've been reading Surprised by Hope, I'm really starting to see why the Apostle Paul said, "If Jesus did not rise from the dead, we should be pitied." The height of foolishness, something so ... un-natural. Supernatural. Death, for us, is the most sure thing about life. More than anything we could speculate about what our lives with contain or look like, we know they will end with death. Bodily resurrection flies in the face of the surest thing we know about the human experience.

And yet, if Jesus rose from the dead, that means something. That shatters something we thought to be true, to be final. Maybe death isn't the end? And, better than floating off to some spiritual haze of puffy clouds, babies with angel wings and halos, we will be resurrected, too, to new life. Maybe we aren't going to sit in a boring church service, singing hymns, for all eternity. Maybe we will be given new transformed physical bodies, just like the one that the Bible describes Jesus having, and maybe we will be reigning with Jesus over the new creation, God's re-creation, when He makes everything as it was meant to be. Redemption. Maybe it's true, that we will be learning, growing, exploring, naming, creating, loving, discovering and taking care of the new heaven and new earth, with physical bodies that have been glorified and transformed, never to decay or die, because sin, and disease and death have been conquered and destroyed, not simply passed through.

When I start imagining this way, I get really excited for the life after death... and for life before death.

And this idea gives me great hope, courage and motivation to love people even when it doesn't seem like it'll do anything. What can one vote do? What can a $25 donation to a charity do to help the aftermath of the earthquake in Haiti? What good does a 5 minute conversation with someone who looks a bit lonely do? God sees our hearts and knows our intentions and, by the grace of God and the redeeming power of the resurrection, these seemingly insignificant actions will somehow affect the life to come; they won't be wasted. So let's love each other in the name of Jesus Christ and for the sake of the coming Kingdom, especially those around us who are hungry, lonely, scared, homeless, unwanted, awkward, insecure, broken and unloved... even if it doesn't seem to have any immediate affect that we can see—the hope of the resurrection is that these actions will matter and somehow be realized fully when God re-creates and makes this good, but broken and hurting, world whole and beautiful again.

The Story of Our Lives

Do you believe our lives are stories?

This idea, that our individual lives are dramatic, important stories, each within a larger Story that means something, is somewhat foreign to me. I feel like I live day-to-day, without the perspective that believes all the moments, experiences and situations are all part of a story worth listening to and retelling. The idea that I have an important part to play in the grand Story of history, what I do believe is God's story, is shocking, almost too good to believe. It adds so much dignity and worth, to every moment, to believe that you and I are the characters in the midst of a drama, where choices we make start us down the path towards becoming a hero or becoming a villain. Don Miller's new book talks about this idea of being a part of a story. John Eldridge talks about it in the daily email newsletter he and the Ransomed Heart team send out. It keeps cropping up in conversations.

We connect so deeply when a movie has a good plot. A good story to it. And yet, we're slow to make any kind of connection that maybe we get that perception and appreciation for a good story from the Great Story-teller. That analogy probably breaks down in places, as all do, but it's a sobering, exciting and empowering thought:

God is telling a grand Story and you have a part to play in it that matters.

You are part of a Story in which you play a critical role. God is doing something amazing and redemptive in all of creation, and what we do with our experiences matters. Our character is being shaped and molded, just like in our favorite books, by the things we experience. Will we choose evil and revenge and be consumed? Will we display inner strength and suffer for the sake of goodness? Will we pursue a life that is worth retelling? Will we weigh the worth of a day, in all its ups and downs, and choose to make the most of each one?

I realize some could run with this and/or criticize this idea, claiming it's much too self-esteem oriented, too self-focused. While that may indeed be a danger for some, but for most of us, I think we're too used to believing that our lives aren't that important.

May we choose to rise above the urgent to-do items and consider what kind of life we're living and make it a story worth retelling.

Sin and Hell

I can't quote the whole chapter, incomplete as it is to give an exhaustive exploration of the subject of hell, but in Surprised by Hope, by N. T. Wright, there's a statement he makes in relation to hell, that stood out to me for other reasons. Wright was discussing the inconsistencies in various traditional and current views on hell and judgment, and as he was addressing aspects of the liberal annihilationist view, that says "non-believers" are annihilated at death, since they claim a good, loving God could not eternally torment an image-bearing human for a short lifetime of sin. Relaying to you Wright's conclusion on that would take too long, and, though interesting and thought-provoking, it wasn't what really grabbed my attention.

This is what stuck out to me:

Sin, we note, is not the breaking of arbitrary rules; rather, the rules are the thumbnail sketches of different types of dehumanizing behavior.

In a culture that is so politically correct and afraid of offending people, this quote does a great job of articulating the essence of sin, in relation to human interaction. We'd be remiss to neglect sin in relation to God—worshiping any created thing or idea over the Creator. We all know that there is right and wrong, justice and injustice. We tend to bend the rules for ourselves most times, conveniently reserving swift judgment for Hitlers, child rapists and those who commit genocide rather than pointing the finger at our own pride, impatience, vanity, laziness and consumerism. We sin. We have to face up to that. Yes, we absolutely need to acknowledge that we've sinned against God. But as a starting place to accepting that sin is a real concept, deserving our acknowledgment and a place in our vocabulary, we can admit that we sin against each other. We hold grudges. We steal from each other. We make fun of each other's weaknesses. We commit adultery with other people's spouses. We drive selfishly. We belittle and devalue those in our society that don't have the same standing as we do. We treat each other with impatience and rudeness.

So, all this to say is I think that it's good to own up to the fact we sin against each other and feel free to use the word "sin" in our normal conversations about things that matter. I think Wright's description of sin gives us the gracious and logical space to do that.

The REAL You

You are not your sin; sin is no longer the truest thing about the man who has come into union with Jesus. Your heart is good. “I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you” (Ezek. 36:26). The Big Lie in the church today is that you are nothing more than “a sinner saved by grace.” You are a lot more than that. You are a new creation in Christ. The New Testament calls you a saint, a holy one, a son of God. In the core of your being you are a good man. Yes, there is a war within us, but it is a civil war. The battle is not between us and God; no, there is a traitor within us who wars against our true heart fighting alongside the Spirit of God in us:

A new power is in operation. The Spirit of life in Christ, like a strong wind, has magnificently cleared the air, freeing you from a fated lifetime of brutal tyranny at the hands of sin and death . . . Anyone, of course, who has not welcomed this invisible but clearly present God, the Spirit of Christ, won’t know what we’re talking about. But for you who welcome him, in whom he dwells . . . if the alive-and-present God who raised Jesus from the dead moves into your life, he’ll do the same thing in you that he did in Jesus . . . When God lives and breathes in you (and he does, as surely as he did in Jesus), you are delivered from that dead life. (Rom. 8:2, 9–11 The Message)

The real you is on the side of God against the false self. Knowing this makes all the difference in the world. The man who wants to live valiantly will lose heart quickly if he believes that his heart is nothing but sin. Why fight?

(Wild at Heart , 144–45)

I know many people might not agree with everything John Eldridge has written, but I feel like this rings very true, both as the predominating misconception in the church and also as the life-giving truth, like shackles falling off or a moment of realization, that the world is not as you thought it was—in a good way.

When you read that excerpt, what do you think? How do you react to the idea that maybe you are not sinful at your core? That your flesh, your "sin nature" has been kicked off the throne of your heart and is now an enemy within the gates, trying to deceive and tempt you, but is not you? Does that give you a sense of hope, of freedom?

The yellow flag that many Christians might raise, is to caution against being prideful or thinking we are good apart from God. But that is precisely why I think Eldridge's statements are so needed. We are so afraid of being prideful, which is sinful, that we balk at the idea of saying we are "good". Jesus Himself reserved that for God, didn't He? (context, context, context! Jesus was God! He WAS good. If Jesus wasn't good, then He wasn't God, so that's clearly not the explicit point He was making. We have to be careful with stuff like that...) However, somehow, through being born again by the Spirit of God, of being united with Jesus in His death, resurrection and ascension, we are not the same as we were before. We are not unchanged. Being a Christian means precisely, in some intangible way, that the Spirit of the Living God has made its residence in us, and we are one with Him (not in a pantheistic way, in which we ARE God—we are no longer separated from communing with God because of our sin). So, it is not to say, Christ saved us from our sin, and now, on our own, we are good and are capable of earning entrance to heaven or anything like that. I think we need to process that they go together... If we truly believe that we have become a new creation in Christ, that the old has passed away, that we have been crucified with Christ and He now lives in us and through us, that the Living God has taken up residence in our hearts, our inner being, then in that union, if that has happened and cannot be arbitrarily turned on and off, then who we are has fundamentally and irreversibly changed. We are now beloved and adopted sons and daughters of God, capable of walking in unity with the Spirit of our Loving Father.

The biggest area that seems to be affected by this line of thinking is in the area of my thoughts. If I still believe, contrary to so much of what the New Testament clearly teaches about what happens in the conversion process of salvation and redemption, that I am sinful at my core, then suddenly the thoughts I have and the feelings I have are untrustworthy. I have no way of discerning internally what is from God, from me or the devil. It creates a never-ending self-contempt that keeps me in a prison of second-guessing every decision, every thought. Because even if I think a decision is good or wise, in that framework, I am deceitful and wicked and can't trust my own motivations. How can we live that way? How can we live by the Spirit or find the kind of life-giving freedom that brings hope, faith and love, if we believe our sinful core is so incapable of being good? The only way that could happen would be for God to absolutely override our actions and decisions, like He was controlling a puppet or robot, not a living human who He created with the freedom and capacity to love Him in return in the first place.

I think a lot of my experience in church growing up had this wrong, unfortunately. What are your thoughts, blog readers? Is there merit in clinging to a concept of inner depravity, even after becoming a Christian? Is there deep dangers in letting go of that idea?

God With Us

Tonight I went with my parents to their church's Christmas Eve service, which was beautiful. My mom played in the handbell choir and the music was angelic, really. The responsive readings were entrenched with the gospel message, of the true meaning of Christmas, of how God became man to dwell among us and save us from our sin. The songs—classic carols and other sacred choral arrangements—were played and sung with a sacred reverence, filling the dimly, candle-lit room. Everything was very well done. The Dramatic Contemplation (read "skit") was thought-provoking and humorous, a perfect segue into the pastor's Christmas sermon. It really was a nice Christmas Eve service.

I understand that different people have different tastes and preferences, when it comes to forms of worship and church services. Some prefer traditional liturgies while others prefer upbeat and modern expressions. As the Christmas Eve service was ending, though, I was less concerned about the mode of Christmas worship, and more fixated with wondering if, in the midst of all the beautiful tradition and call to celebrate Christmas for the right reasons, people were missing it. I'm not saying that in an accusatory way. I just wonder if the people attending the Christmas Eve service knew and believed that God likes them. That they are special to Him. And that that's why Christ came. Immanuel. God with us. God with us, because we are special to Him. It's easy to say God came to save us from our sin and the eternal consequences of that. That's true. But when we stop there, and only articulate our sinfulness and God's salvation, it can tend to leave us with a guilt-ridden obligation to feel thankful. It can make the "message of Christmas" one of guilt and shame and re-doubling our efforts to be more thankful and to sin less. This really isn't intended to point fingers or anything. I'm just becoming increasingly aware that in the midst of the way we communicate the gospel, we sometimes fail to articulate as faithfully as we do our sinfulness and God's great mercy, the deep love that God has for us, that motivated Him to set His redemption plan in motion in the Incarnation of His Son that Christmas morning two thousand years ago (or so) in the first place.

Jesus came to save us from our sin. Not because that's His job. Not because God is love and therefore had to save us even though He'd rather not. It was His deep enjoyment of us that motivated Him. The Father doting on His beloved children, to give them the best and make a way for them to be with Him, to enjoy His love unhindered forever. The Incarnation shows us that God wants to be with us, so He came to us, when our sin had kept us from Him. He loved us first, He initiated.

And so, to bring this back around, I just wonder and hope that, in the midst of the very beautifully performed and orchestrated Christmas Eve service, everyone there understands the deep reality behind this time of year. That the Christmas songs aren't just words, aren't just traditions for the month of December. That "Jesus is the Reason for the Season" is not just some secret code-phrase for the those of us not sucked into our culture's commercialization of the holiday.

May we pause tomorrow and remember that God is with us. May we take some time in the midst of the present-opening, carol-singing and family-visiting to consider with renewed focus what it really means that Jesus put on humanity to be with us. May we know deeply why He did it.

He did it because He loves us. God loves us. God loves me... God loves you. You are special to Him and He likes who you are. You bring a smile to His face.

May that thought make your Christmas very merry this year.

A Better World For Nothing

(from USA Today)

I have been reading "Surprised by Hope: Rethinking Heaven, Resurrection and the Mission of the Church" by theologian N.T. Wright. This cartoon illustrates a prevailing mindset in most evangelical Christians. I'm not commenting, yet, on the rightness or wrongness of this, simply noting, as Wright's book and this cartoon imply, that we as Christians are acutely affected in the way we live this life by our view of what comes in the after-life.

If we think we just go to heaven when we die, and eventually God will destroy this world with fire and start over, then it makes complete sense as to why evangelical Christians typically don't really get very passionate about environmental issues, social change or alleviating suffering with long-term solutions. I'm generalizing, I know—there are many evangelical Christians who do care about these things.

My point is that I'm wondering if, somewhere along the way, we Christians have begun to think incorrectly about heaven and the "end-times", causing us to ignore or throw aside parts of what it means to follow Jesus, in a way that drastically reduces the relevance and hope of the gospel and the significance behind what Jesus' resurrection really means for Christians.

I haven't finished the book, and so I haven't reached a point of digesting all that Wright is proposing in his book, but he definitely raises compelling questions that deserve to be asked and wrestled with, especially if we view this world as irrelevant and passing away. We need to have open eyes and ears to consider that maybe these questions are valid. Maybe we need to do some self-assessment as to why we believe the things we believe. Because if we can't articulate what might be motivating our beliefs, our apparent lack of concern, in the world's eyes, about climate issues, social justice and the like, we are going to get caught looking very selfish, uncaring and unconcerned about the needs of the people around us. And if they don't believe that we care about their needs, they won't care at all what we say when we try to tell them about what we believe.

I'm not saying we need to blindly jump on the band-wagon of climate issues or any other global cause. That would be equally counter-productive and intellectually irresponsible as well. We just need to question why we are doing things the way we are doing them, and make sure we can articulate well, without hostility compensating for poor logic, why we believe what we believe and have the humility to change the way we live in the face of inconsistent or false ideas that might be motivating our decisions.

Hope and Desire

Desire fulfilled seems to be more pleasurable than a disappointment avoided.

Disappointment experienced seems to be more painful than the lack of desire.

Pain and pleasure, I've heard, are two sides to the same coin. They are the positive and negative expression of sensation, of feeling.

As I've been sorting through a lot of things lately, I'm discovered that, for whatever reason, I've developed the habit of viewing life through the same lens as Vince Vaughn's character, Peter La Fleur, did at the beginning of the movie Dodgeball. He said,

"I found that if you have a goal, that you might not reach it. But if you don't have one, then you are never disappointed. And I gotta tell ya... it feels phenomenal."

It's a humorous spot in the movie, some of us relating to that mindset. But the reality of living that way is that it doesn't feel phenomenal. It doesn't cause much feeling at all. We resort to that way of thinking specifically so we don't feel, because like I referred to before, pain and pleasure are just two sides to the same coin. We can't avoid pain without cutting ourselves off from pleasure.

Some would argue that a lot of people use pleasure to numb pain. To some degree, that appears to work on the surface of things, and many people function in that mode, but that's just it. They are merely functioning. There's a wholeness that is involved in finding healthy pleasure in things. They might be masking pain, with the use of something that appears pleasurable, but it isn't an open-eyed pleasure. The instant-gratification employed to ease the current pain looks like pleasure wins out, but the reality of the situation as a whole is that most "pleasurable" behaviors that people resort to in order to numb pain tend to cause more pain to themselves and others down the road, as most of those lesser, immediate pleasures lead to addictions...

So, despite that argument, it still seems clear to me that, when we avoid pain, we intrinsically limit our ability to experience deep, lasting pleasure. And, I have unknowingly allowed myself to operate in this way. Whether it was not trying out for the baseball team in college, for fear of wanting to be on the team but potentially finding out I wasn't good enough, or not speaking up when friends ask where we should go for dinner, a deadly numbness has crept into my heart, attempting to insulate myself from disappointment.

So, acknowledging this is the first step to recovery, I suppose.

I'm not sure how to go about changing. I'd imagine starting small would be helpful. Speaking up when I want to eat somewhere in particular, and then, letting myself feel the disappointment involved if I get out-voted. Or even bigger, pursuing something that will bring me joy and fulfillment, and being willing to work to get there, risking some hard work and potential setbacks and even failure, in the hopes that I will eventually get to experience that joy and fulfillment, etc.

I think our capacity for joy is proportionate to the amount of desire or hope that goes into it. If we are constantly shielding ourselves from disappointment, cynical that the worst will happen anyway, when good things do happen, we are merely slightly surprised and marginally thankful, before slipping into our next bout of cynicism that it will probably be taken away, so don't hope to enjoy it for too long, etc. I think this is a destructive way to live.

And while I don't think it has a death-grip on my personality, I do see that I have not let my heart really experience desire and hope and longing in a long time. I haven't been excited about many things... and it's time for that to change.

I'm not exactly sure how to go about re-orienting the way my heart reacts to desires and what not, but seeing these things is a start.

Heaven Without You

"I was recently asked by a non-Christian friend if I thought he was going to hell. I said, 'I hope not. It will be hard to enjoy heaven without you.'"
—Shane Claiborne

I just finished reading this article by Shane Claiborne on Esquire and this quote stopped me in my tracks. I actually sensed love in Shane's response, rather than simply a theologically accurate answer to the friend's question or articulation of a formula to convert the friend from one eternal destination to another.

As I continually sort through the good and bad of what Christianity has become, clinging to what is good, and abhorring what is evil, things like this stand out. Do those around us, who may not understand the good news that Jesus is, feel loved by us? Speaking truth is obviously necessary, but what good is truth if we are blind to the blatant hypocrisy in what we're saying? Loving someone does not equal telling them about Jesus in some pre-packaged way. Loving people is unique. It takes effort, sacrifice. It takes time out of our busy schedules. It takes interruptions. It takes some soul-searching and good listening, to understand people better and know where their hearts are, what their needs are. I think that creates the fertile soil to speak truth into. But if we haven't gained the capacity to genuinely love and care for the people around us, without the agenda of trying to "steer the conversation towards the Lord", our words about God will fall flat in the face of our lack of sincere concern. People know when they are being loved. People know when they are being pitched to. The gospel is not a pitch. The gospel is supposed to be a radical revolution of selfless love, rooted in a deep experience of the love of God in Jesus Christ, that pours itself out in an upside way, disrupting the kingdom of this world, the constant in-break of heaven's kingdom into the earth's.

May we who profess to be Christians be more focused on genuinely loving our neighbor with no strings attached than converting them... Let's let love define us, not causes or agendas or political platforms...

Life Goals

"Most people live life as though they were trying to arrive at death as safely as possible."

—Francis Chan

This really captures the tension I feel, between well-intentioned people constantly cautioning against risk and wishing me safety and the general discontented feeling always running beneath my surface, like an underground stream eroding away the soil under the structure of the status quo.

As I sort through who I am and what I want, it's really hard to come out from underneath people's expectations for my life, without throwing the baby out with the bath water. Where is true wisdom? Who do we listen to? The church? The culture around us? Our parents? Our pastors? Our friends? Books?

The world seems to have a complete system of how to arrive safely at death. The mindset seems to be to insulate yourself from as much pain or suffering as possible, have contingency plans in place for the adversity you can't control or avoid, and try to survive through life the best you can without rocking the boat or risking too much.

There's a balance, for sure, between responsibilities and risk. I'm not sure how to find it, and I know that I am currently in a season of life without a lot of personal responsibilities (no wife, no children, no mortgage, etc.), but I live without any even calculated risks or adventure. I could understand that if certain responsibilities meant sacrificing that freedom and spontaneity. But without those current responsibilities, I'm constantly at a loss for why my life seems so planned and scheduled, and that discontentment eats at me.

Is that the point of life? Just getting to the end? Just making it safely to death at an old age?

Something about that just doesn't sit well with me at all. I can't put my finger on it...

Drinking Alcohol

This is the reply I sent back to the person whose confrontation prompted my previous post. I had to clean it up a bit for this post:

...I wanted to let you know that I've thought, studied and prayed about the drinking issue a lot over the years. I don't believe drinking is wrong. The Bible is VERY clear that being drunk is sinful, but it is also equally clear that A) drinking is not wrong at all in and of itself, B) as Christians, we are to be very sensitive and obedient to the Holy Spirit's prompting and convictions, and C) we are also to strive to live in freedom in Christ through walking by that same Spirit (Paul had a lot to say to the Galatians on this, esp. Gal. 5:1). So from that, because I do not believe that the Bible at all condemns drinking (except when, in excess, it becomes drunkenness), I also don't believe this in anyway damages my testimony for Christ. Having a drink, in my understanding, is no different from having a cup of coffee, a Twinkie, a piece of birthday cake or 12 oz. filet mignon—all of those things in excess would become sinful, showing a greater love for that thing than Christ, or showing an unhealthy reliance on that thing more than Christ.

I'm not at all trying to argue or seem rebellious or anything like that. I just wanted to convey that it IS deeply important to me what people think about God and Jesus based on how I live. And since I don't believe it is scriptural to say drinking is sinful, I also don't want to add that to the gospel. There's a VERY clear difference between having a drink socially and getting drunk (and the myriad of reasons people do that), and people know that! The only people, in my experience, who have been offended by drinking has been Christians. I've had several conversations about Jesus and what it means to be saved by grace through faith with friends who are not saved while having a beer with dinner, etc. I'm far from perfect, but I think everyone who knows me and knows that I am a follower of Christ and trying to walk with God, knows my heart and knows I don't encourage getting drunk or being dependent on alcohol, and that I drink responsibly [again, I've failed in this area before]. But since I also strongly believe it is not a sin to drink alcohol, I don't want to give the impression that to be a Christian means you aren't allowed to drink. Bottom-line, that's legalism. I grew up in a very mean-spirited, legalistic church and God rescued me from that and continues to break my heart with compassion for people whose understanding of God is so distorted by man-made rules and traditions that they want nothing to do with the love of Jesus... So, all that to say, I think, study and pray really hard about what is essential for what it means to follow Jesus and what God is really like, and THOSE are the things that I want to communicate very clearly. If someone, who wasn't a Christian, came up to me and said, "Hey, I thought you were a Christian, and I saw you drinking. I thought Christians aren't allowed to drink?" What an opportunity! "Yes, I am a Christian. And actually, the Bible doesn't say it's wrong to drink at all, it just says that it's wrong to get drunk, because we lose control of ourselves and lose our ability to walk with God by His Spirit that lives inside of those who have placed their faith in Jesus Christ..." That would spark such an open, honest conversation about God, Christianity and what the gospel really is, the Bible, etc.

This has gotten long. It's just because it's important to me that you know I don't take this lightly. I'm not trying to quench the Spirit or dodge my conscience. The Bible is very clear that we are supposed to live with a clear conscience before God and men. To have integrity and listen to the voice of God's Spirit working within us.

The issue of being a "stumbling block" is very important to me. That's something I'm still studying and praying about. This message would get very much longer if I went into my thoughts, understandings and questions about what that means, who our "weaker brothers" are, whose consciences are we supposed to abide by, etc. I'm still sorting that through... and I've found that honesty, gentleness, patience, etc. can go along way. If I had a new Christian friend who struggles with partying or getting drunk, I would be very hesitant to flippantly drink in front of them, but I would also be involved in their life and would be walking with them, encouraging them to stop the destructive, counter-productive behaviors that are keeping them from growing in Christ, with the goal that eventually, unless God gives them a firm conviction against drinking at all like my dad seemed to have for over 10 years after becoming a Christian, I would hope that they would grow in their love for God, that freedom and love, through walking by the Spirit would allow them to see that drinking isn't wrong. The goal of discipleship should not be more and more rules and stricter obedience of the will, but of life-giving freedom in the Spirit, where we can say with Paul, "All things ARE lawful for me, but not everything is beneficial", etc. Paul would eat meat offered to idols or not, depending on who he was with. Is that hypocritical? Or is that wisdom? I'm not sure... But Paul taught the churches this very thing: all things ARE lawful! So if they are lawful, it is immaturity and ignorance that says things are unlawful—and while that might be acceptable and understandable for someone who is new in their faith in Christ, that is not the goal! God wants us to grow in our relationship with Him, so we understand the freedom that exists in loving Christ and so that nothing—not alcohol, not food, not shopping, not caffeine, not exercise, not the praise of men—competes for our love for Christ, and yet can be enjoyed and appreciated as good gifts from a loving God. When we are mature in our faith, we should be able to enjoy these gifts, without being controlled by them, with the freedom to lay them down if it is causing a brother or sister, with a weaker, more sensitive conscience about that issue, to sin. But like I said, I am still learning and praying and studying to understand what it means to avoid being a stumbling block, because that's clearly something Jesus warned against.

What do you think? Was it too wishy-washy? Was any of it under-handed or passive aggressive? I hope not. I don't want to run from confrontation/conflict since that has been a weakness of mine over the years, so speaking what I think is true, in a loving way, in response was necessary for me to do.

When You Get "Confronted"...

How do you respond?

Have you ever had someone tell you that they felt obligated to confront you about something you had done? They call upon your ties as a fellow Christian. They appeal to the sake of your testimony for Christ. They express concern over possible missed "witnessing opportunities"... I'm sure all these are done with good (I hope), though misguided, intentions...

What is the appropriate response for a Christian who is confronted by another Christian concerned about a behavior the latter believes is wrong?

My initial reaction, because, yes, this just happened to me, is indignation. Something like passion rises up in me and I want to put the person in their place. I want to lambaste them for their judgmental heart, for the hypocritical application of personal holiness and for their incorrect assumptions and interpretations of scripture. I want to quote Jesus to them, with a venomous "Woe to you, Pharisees and teachers of religious law!"

Somehow, I'm checked by love's higher calling, doubting my own motives, wary of my own arrogance, and I opt for not responding right away. Truth may need to be spoken, but the medium is as important as the message.

The issue was that I was in a picture on Facebook with a beer stein in my hand, celebrating someone's birthday in a pub.

So, as a Christ follower, what do I do when I completely disagree with another Christian's interpretation and application of scripture? What is the loving thing to do?

Drinking alcohol is not wrong according to the Bible. To say that it is, is un-biblical and adds to the gospel something that isn't there. That's dangerous ground. Paul had some strong words for those who were doing that to the Galatians, in chapter 3 of that book, and also, in chapter 5, where he said:

"For freedom Christ has set us free; stand firm therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery."

Some people were trying to persuade the new Galatian believers that they needed to adhere to these particular Jewish laws in order to follow Jesus, to be Christians, to be part of the holy group, as it were. Paul vehemently spoke against this anti-grace mindset. He didn't give them license to do whatever they wanted, but admonished them to live by the Spirit of Christ in love, and don't let anyone force them to abide by a particular set of rules to measure spirituality by.

In our present context, we see this a lot. I saw it a lot in the Baptist church I grew up in. Christianity was defined, and still is in some cases, by external behaviors. A good Christian doesn't swear, drink, smoke, dance, listen to rock music, go to bars or clubs, watch R-rated movies, etc. This is actually directly counter-productive and antithetical to the argument against drinking that was used against me, claiming that drinking could "damage my testimony for Christ". Perhaps it damages the testimony of Christ and salvation by grace more when we make up rules that are not scriptural, enforce them without grace or mercy and cause division among believers (something the Bible says God hates)?

Even as I type this, I have to take a step back. I get pretty worked up over things like this. I don't mind so much that someone approached me and confronted me. There's an element of that that is motivated by love and concern, that speaks up when someone is doing something that is perceived to be harmful. That's a good thing. I do mind, however, that the nature of the confrontation is rooted in a completely un-biblical and illogical application of scripture, that simply upholds a particular tradition's rule.

As Christians, we are called to walk with a clear conscience before God and men. If we feel or know something to be wrong, we are responsible not to do it (and vice-versus for things that are right). We are told not to let anyone force us into bondage, instead, to pursue lives of freedom through walking by the Spirit of God. When we see someone blatantly sinning, we are first required to examine our own lives, to gain perspective and acknowledge our own sinfulness, hypocrisy and general disqualification in casting the first stone.

I could go on... I already have! This feels like a long post. I want to be grace-filled, to the hurting and to the arrogant. I want to show love to the guilty and the accusers. That's what I believe being a follower of Jesus Christ means. Jesus himself said, "They will know that you are My disciples by the way that you love each other".

He did not say, "They will know you are My disciples by how many rules you can come up with and faithfully adhere to."

I'm still not sure how to respond to the message I got. Is there value in trying to articulate to that person some of what I've typed here? Is there value in confronting their incorrect interpretation of scripture which has made a law out of something that the Bible in no way prohibits? If yes to either of those, how do I do that gently with love? Is it better to ignore it? Is this a situation of casting pearls before swine, not wasting words or energy on someone who is stuck in their ways? Are we stuck in our ways? Is there always hope for redemption and repentance? Should we always operate out of the faith and hope that people can and do change for the better?

I hope so.

You may have noticed, in reference to drinking, I didn't address the "stumbling block" issue, which needs another post all its own.

Conflict

"We are a conflict avoiding culture."
- Donald Miller, Interview with Relevant Magazine

How true is this. I want to think about this more and process how far-reaching its effects go. Everything in our culture is aimed at making life simpler, easier, quicker, less painful, etc. Every solution has to be advertised with phrases like, "For only $29.99" or "In just 3 weeks", catering to our aversion to conflict, hard-work and suffering.

What about my own life?

Are there things, habits or decisions that I choose based on avoiding conflict? I know in conversations that's a tendency I have. But what about other areas? Do I always choose the path of least resistance?

I wonder what it would do for our lives if we faced conflict head on, with strength and courage and humility and gentleness? I wonder what my life would look like...

All The Way From Michigan Not Mars

I just watched Rosie Thomas' All the Way From Michigan Not Mars DVD last night. It was pretty amazing, amusing and inspiring. I actually laughed out loud, literally. That was probably the only time I could've typed "LOL" and not been exaggerating. It made me want to go see her play, but she's only on the west coast currently. The movie, which was a mixture of documentary and live shows, did a great job of capturing Rosie Thomas' personality, which is wildly enigmatic to me. In person, in interviews, she is chatty, almost as if she has ADD. She's very bubbly and cheerful, in an artsy way. Once she starts singing, however, it's like time slows to a crawl, the audience falls silent and something beautiful happens. It's like a 180. Several times in the movie, she was on stage with Sufjan Stevens and Denison Witmer, joking around and laughing pretty hard, only to go into the next song and have the audience, and me for that matter, on the edge of their seats and a million miles away, feeling so deeply something that refused to be named or identified. I'm not sure if it's empathy, nostalgia or longing. Something in Rosie Thomas' music is pulling. It sucks you in and rolls you around and around and around, in the most mellow way you could imagine. And then, when the song was over, it was like coming up for air. And she makes that air very vulnerable, yet easy, and free from any pretension. It's like her music and personality strips away all the pretense, all the show, everything that tries to present itself in a better light, and leaves room for us to be ourselves and not feel alone or awkward.

I kept saying to myself as I watched... "I want to make music like this."

(I highly recommend getting the DVD. It comes with a vinyl, too.)