What makes Christianity right and Islam wrong?
At some point, everyone questions the difference between Christianity and other religions. And to say that other religions don't have things about them that are admirable is simply untrue -- many of them do have a very advanced morality and have done a lot of good for a lot of people. And to say that Christianity, as a religion, gets everything right, is also untrue, and a good look at church history, the documentary Jesus Camp, or yourself will tell you that Christianity, as lived out by Christians, doesn't get everything right.
But a lot of Christians really struggle sometimes when asked, what exactly is the difference between what you believe in and what anyone else believes? What does Christianity have that other religions can't offer? Many Christians, myself included, have fallen into the valid, but squirrelly and sometimes unsatisfactory arguments about the age of the Bible, the scientific truth of creation, the hard-to-describe, unfilled "void" we feel in our lives, or the Dead Sea Scrolls. The pursuit of these issues is important, but if those issues are our first defenses of Christianity being set apart from other religions of the world, we are merely preparing to scrap against relativism and nothing more.
What does Christianity offer that other religions can't offer?
Here's the simple answer. The answer is Jesus.
And any Christian who doesn't understand why Jesus is the real, important difference between what Christians follow and what everyone else subscribes to needs to take a time-out and re-evaluate what they understand the gospel to mean and who they understand Jesus to be.
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Support Groups
Have you ever been to a support group? The idea is a little bit laughable to most of us. The show Dexter, the movie Fight Club, and even the musical RENT feature them prominently and comically. (Maybe not RENT, but I sure laughed during that scene.) And of course, there's that horrible group of divorced women from Jerry Maguire that sat around in a circle cackling and crying incessantly about nonsense every time they were onscreen until Jerry's awesome "You complete me" speech finally shut them up.
Some of the small group bible studies I've gone to have felt like support groups. Some of the small group bible studies I've led have felt that way too. I think it's a pretty common Christian experience. You sit in a circle. You share your name, your age, where you're from. And, leaning on that common trust and vulnerability that Christians are supposed to have, you share your secret sins and struggles. And everyone in the circle leans inwards, in an understood choreographed gesture of support, and hands are clasped and prayers are prayed. Or it could happen during accountability. Sometimes in a coffee shop. Sometimes tears are involved, especially if girls are involved.
I was leading a bible study last night, and as we introduced ourselves around the circle, one of the guys said, "Hi, my name is Chad, and I'm not an alcoholic." And it was a pretty funny thing to say, but I wasn't sure what to make of our mens' study resembling a support group.
In a way, it's a beautiful thing. I was reading Don Miller's Searching for God Knows What, and he makes the point that man isn't meant to be alone -- that we need something or someone outside of ourselves to tell us who we are and that we are valued, and if we don't find God to meet that need, we'll go desperately to other people and to society. And I think that's very true, and since men have a tendency to isolate themselves and tough things out, it's a good thing to come together to encourage each other and expose what's going on in our lives. We are broken people, and we have messed ourselves up, and to recognize the commonality and extremity of our predicament is a necessary and good thing.
But the drama of our condition shouldn't be the overarching focus, and I think that's the thing I don't like about Christian gatherings that feel like support groups. In Alcoholics Anonymous, or any other classic, the approach is to "overcome" or "move beyond" a certain condition or disorder, and the means is usually a multi-step method. But there is no 7-step method to overcoming sin, or 3-step method to a great prayer life, or a 13-step method to forgiving-my-divorced-parents. And the war against sin and pain isn't one that we undertake on our own will, accord, or strength -- so there's no reason a bible study or small group should sound like a locker room pep talk, as players and coaches work each other up into an animalistic frenzy and rush out to take the field like warrior-poets and mortify sin. Seriously, you haven't been to Christian gatherings that looked a little like that?
Someone once told me about an accountability group where the guys agreed upon a euphemism for sexual sin, or masturbating: "going to McDonald's." And they would meet weekly and sit uncomfortably in a circle for a while, and then someone would say, "Well, I went to McDonald's four times this week." "Oh, man, isn't it awful. I didn't want to, but I went to McDonald's five times this week." And they'd conclude that sin is really awful, but it's clearly a very serious and attractive thing, and hopefully God can help them out, and I wonder, what really came out of that? Everyone basically told each other that they went to McDonald's. If anything, just the conclusion that if I sin, I have Christian brothers out there who sin too, so I'm not alone in my guilt and shame. I wonder how many accountability relationships are like that.
When the priests approached Jesus and asked Him why His disciples and He weren't fasting, Jesus replied that the wedding guests couldn't fast while the Bridegroom was with them, but they would surely fast and mourn when He was taken away. And I know that Jesus isn't physically here on this earth at this moment, but He has resurrected and defeated sin and death, and He has foreshadowed a reunion with God through our having the Holy Spirit and its fruits, and shouldn't that be a cause for some joy?
I'm not saying that we should fake the funk and put on a happy face. But we should embrace the truth that we tell people we believe. If Jesus has really overcome the world and taken our punishment, then that should be bigger news than our sin and struggle. If Jesus has resurrected, then it shouldn't be simply a question of whether sin can be excised from our lifestyles, but whether our lives can be reconciled with a loving, dynamic relationship with God like they were meant to be from the beginning. If Jesus is our victory, then we have no reason to go through life hanging our heads in shame and defeat. And if we believe that experiencing God is bigger than the story of our sinful condition, then our times of encouragement and support with one another shouldn't conclude with, "Well, I went to McDonald's too this week. Sure does suck, doesn't it."
Some of the small group bible studies I've gone to have felt like support groups. Some of the small group bible studies I've led have felt that way too. I think it's a pretty common Christian experience. You sit in a circle. You share your name, your age, where you're from. And, leaning on that common trust and vulnerability that Christians are supposed to have, you share your secret sins and struggles. And everyone in the circle leans inwards, in an understood choreographed gesture of support, and hands are clasped and prayers are prayed. Or it could happen during accountability. Sometimes in a coffee shop. Sometimes tears are involved, especially if girls are involved.
I was leading a bible study last night, and as we introduced ourselves around the circle, one of the guys said, "Hi, my name is Chad, and I'm not an alcoholic." And it was a pretty funny thing to say, but I wasn't sure what to make of our mens' study resembling a support group.
In a way, it's a beautiful thing. I was reading Don Miller's Searching for God Knows What, and he makes the point that man isn't meant to be alone -- that we need something or someone outside of ourselves to tell us who we are and that we are valued, and if we don't find God to meet that need, we'll go desperately to other people and to society. And I think that's very true, and since men have a tendency to isolate themselves and tough things out, it's a good thing to come together to encourage each other and expose what's going on in our lives. We are broken people, and we have messed ourselves up, and to recognize the commonality and extremity of our predicament is a necessary and good thing.
But the drama of our condition shouldn't be the overarching focus, and I think that's the thing I don't like about Christian gatherings that feel like support groups. In Alcoholics Anonymous, or any other classic, the approach is to "overcome" or "move beyond" a certain condition or disorder, and the means is usually a multi-step method. But there is no 7-step method to overcoming sin, or 3-step method to a great prayer life, or a 13-step method to forgiving-my-divorced-parents. And the war against sin and pain isn't one that we undertake on our own will, accord, or strength -- so there's no reason a bible study or small group should sound like a locker room pep talk, as players and coaches work each other up into an animalistic frenzy and rush out to take the field like warrior-poets and mortify sin. Seriously, you haven't been to Christian gatherings that looked a little like that?
Someone once told me about an accountability group where the guys agreed upon a euphemism for sexual sin, or masturbating: "going to McDonald's." And they would meet weekly and sit uncomfortably in a circle for a while, and then someone would say, "Well, I went to McDonald's four times this week." "Oh, man, isn't it awful. I didn't want to, but I went to McDonald's five times this week." And they'd conclude that sin is really awful, but it's clearly a very serious and attractive thing, and hopefully God can help them out, and I wonder, what really came out of that? Everyone basically told each other that they went to McDonald's. If anything, just the conclusion that if I sin, I have Christian brothers out there who sin too, so I'm not alone in my guilt and shame. I wonder how many accountability relationships are like that.
When the priests approached Jesus and asked Him why His disciples and He weren't fasting, Jesus replied that the wedding guests couldn't fast while the Bridegroom was with them, but they would surely fast and mourn when He was taken away. And I know that Jesus isn't physically here on this earth at this moment, but He has resurrected and defeated sin and death, and He has foreshadowed a reunion with God through our having the Holy Spirit and its fruits, and shouldn't that be a cause for some joy?
I'm not saying that we should fake the funk and put on a happy face. But we should embrace the truth that we tell people we believe. If Jesus has really overcome the world and taken our punishment, then that should be bigger news than our sin and struggle. If Jesus has resurrected, then it shouldn't be simply a question of whether sin can be excised from our lifestyles, but whether our lives can be reconciled with a loving, dynamic relationship with God like they were meant to be from the beginning. If Jesus is our victory, then we have no reason to go through life hanging our heads in shame and defeat. And if we believe that experiencing God is bigger than the story of our sinful condition, then our times of encouragement and support with one another shouldn't conclude with, "Well, I went to McDonald's too this week. Sure does suck, doesn't it."
Monday, August 18, 2008
Happiness is Coming Home Again
Matthew and Margaret are married. I think they'll be really happy together and I have great hopes for them. They've been an important couple for me for the simple reason that at first, I didn't think they were particularly compatible or complementary -- I think when they started dating, it was a shocker for a lot of us -- but the real truth is that they are two big-hearted, compassionate, earnest, selfless, and vulnerable people who love each other and love God very much, and that seems to have counted much more than anything eharmony or mattdunnthematchmaker could've produced. More than any other secondary traits, from what I've seen, their marriage is built on the fruits of the Spirit and their pursuit after God. That sort of perfect match, unpredicted by people like me, is literally ordained by God and His work in their hearts, and it was very cool to be there this past weekend and see that.
My favorite story with Margaret is from sophomore year when I had a ridiculous cold, and she gave me a hug and made me some tomato soup and some nice conversation, despite the fact that she was ridiculously busy. And I asked her in a head-achy, congested stupor when she was going to find a nice boy and settle down. I ask a lot of forward questions, but I got my answer to this one.
There is a musical called You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown that contains the line, "Happiness is coming home again," and that was incredibly true this weekend. I have never, ever been the type to get homesick, but if I were, I'm most homesick when I'm home on a brief visit and know I have to leave soon. There's a certain tragedy to coming back to a place and knowing that something, probably you, has changed. What ran through Moses's mind when he came back to Egypt after 40 years? Did he experience a heartbreaking divide in his soul between doing what God wanted him to and throwing down his stick and running back to the family he grew up with? What about Ruth -- was her break from Moab and the land of her family as clean and determined as she made it seem to Naomi, or was she acting out of deferent obedience to follow the people and ways of God? How did Jesus feel while He was here? He commented that he "had no place to lay His head," but also wept over Jerusalem, as if longing for a restoration over a dear relationship that had changed. Was Jesus longing for His return to the Father? Or was He at home on the earth, sharing good times and bad with His dear friends Mary and Martha and Lazarus?
The great comfort of believing in Christ and His game plan, at least as far as this topic is concerned, is that it's always "see you later" and never "goodbye" with dear friends in Christ. We rest assured to our reunion with God and with each other in heaven and eternal happiness, and for that reason, we endure with cheerfulness the mess and burden of our time on this earth. If God weren't real, if I didn't believe that, I don't think I'd be living responsibly -- I think I'd spend every waking moment with the people I love, doing the things I love. To go to work every day, to put in extra hours, to steal moments from friends and family and fulfillment in an unbearably finite existence is a severely depressing thought.
And when I think about the comfort and hope that God provides, I have a habit of falling into objectivist's guilt. Are my agnostic friends right? Was Pascale's Wager? Do I mainly believe because I like these prospects better than the hopelessness of the alternative ones? And I think a lot of Christians want to say, no, this hope that God provides is actually the verifiable truth, and not entirely feel-good, and as a result, sometimes guilt accompanies the receipt of God's comfort and goodness.
I do value apologetics, I do value critical thinking, and I do value the objective search for truth. But I think I also really, really want to believe. And if God were as good and as real as they say He is, then wouldn't that absolutely be my response to that incredible truth?
My favorite story with Margaret is from sophomore year when I had a ridiculous cold, and she gave me a hug and made me some tomato soup and some nice conversation, despite the fact that she was ridiculously busy. And I asked her in a head-achy, congested stupor when she was going to find a nice boy and settle down. I ask a lot of forward questions, but I got my answer to this one.
There is a musical called You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown that contains the line, "Happiness is coming home again," and that was incredibly true this weekend. I have never, ever been the type to get homesick, but if I were, I'm most homesick when I'm home on a brief visit and know I have to leave soon. There's a certain tragedy to coming back to a place and knowing that something, probably you, has changed. What ran through Moses's mind when he came back to Egypt after 40 years? Did he experience a heartbreaking divide in his soul between doing what God wanted him to and throwing down his stick and running back to the family he grew up with? What about Ruth -- was her break from Moab and the land of her family as clean and determined as she made it seem to Naomi, or was she acting out of deferent obedience to follow the people and ways of God? How did Jesus feel while He was here? He commented that he "had no place to lay His head," but also wept over Jerusalem, as if longing for a restoration over a dear relationship that had changed. Was Jesus longing for His return to the Father? Or was He at home on the earth, sharing good times and bad with His dear friends Mary and Martha and Lazarus?
The great comfort of believing in Christ and His game plan, at least as far as this topic is concerned, is that it's always "see you later" and never "goodbye" with dear friends in Christ. We rest assured to our reunion with God and with each other in heaven and eternal happiness, and for that reason, we endure with cheerfulness the mess and burden of our time on this earth. If God weren't real, if I didn't believe that, I don't think I'd be living responsibly -- I think I'd spend every waking moment with the people I love, doing the things I love. To go to work every day, to put in extra hours, to steal moments from friends and family and fulfillment in an unbearably finite existence is a severely depressing thought.
And when I think about the comfort and hope that God provides, I have a habit of falling into objectivist's guilt. Are my agnostic friends right? Was Pascale's Wager? Do I mainly believe because I like these prospects better than the hopelessness of the alternative ones? And I think a lot of Christians want to say, no, this hope that God provides is actually the verifiable truth, and not entirely feel-good, and as a result, sometimes guilt accompanies the receipt of God's comfort and goodness.
I do value apologetics, I do value critical thinking, and I do value the objective search for truth. But I think I also really, really want to believe. And if God were as good and as real as they say He is, then wouldn't that absolutely be my response to that incredible truth?
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
The Old Account
There are some cases where you can hear the truth a thousand times and not really understand how to act in light of that truth. I think for me, money is one of those bugbears. I understand that Jesus said to store up treasures in heaven and that Paul McCartney said that money can't buy me love. But I think I'm not alone in being hesitant to invest my money into something that won't return directly to me. I check my bank account every month or so and if I've spent more than I made, then I get this tight uneasiness in my stomach.
Why worry? Harrison Ford made the observation, here paraphrased, that money is never an issue, unless you don't have it. And I've realized that to be true. Blessed to have a solid lower-middle class job in America (yes, I looked up "middle class" on Wikipedia), in my day-to-day living, money is absolutely an abstract. I don't spend anything ridiculous. I don't own any jetskis or horses. Yet I squirm about spending too much on a movie ticket or a new pair of shorts. I forget that, at least for the time being, all money really, truly is to me is a set of numbers on a computer screen that I try to make go up instead of down. I forget that I'm not in control of my life, that I could lose everything tomorrow and still have everything important.
Sometimes I think we think that it's a race to have balanced living a good life and having a pretty decent net positive balance at the end of the road, but you know what Scripture calls for us to have in our accounts at the end of life? No more than zero. So I should really embrace the idea that not every month has to end with a positive net balance -- God gives us money to use for His Kingdom work and to sustain us, not to hoard. There might have been a parable about that.
It's important to stay out of debt -- we do have an obligation to be good, faithful stewards of everything Christ has provided for us in our redeemed, purpose-driven lives, be that money or time or family or relationships. And we do have an obligation to model values like hard-work and self-control, as a witness and encouragement to others. And in 2 Thessalonians, Paul remarks on the importance of not burdening others: "For you yourselves know how you ought to follow us, for we were not disorderly among you; nor did we eat anyone's bread free of charge, but worked with labor and toil night and day, that we might not be a burden to any of you, not because we do not have the authority, but to make ourselves an example of how you should follow us [...] For we hear that there are some who walk among you in a disorderly manner, not working at all, but are busybodies. Now those who are such, we command and exhort through our Lord Jesus Christ that they work in quietness and eat their own bread."
So yes, it's important to work and be faithful with the ledger. But I think I'm not the only Christian who really needs to let go of earthly treasures. I mean, it's come to the point where every time a ministry asks for money, they have to play some acoustic guitar music and a photo slideshow to guarantee donations. And I know that slideshows and acoustic guitar music are fine things, but I think ministries pretty much feel like they have to have those hooks to get Christians to donate. And there's a pretty well-known joke among waiters:
What's the difference between a Christian and a canoe? A canoe tips more.
Well, that's me, and it's a poor way of loving people who spend their days serving people like me. I think Christians should be big tippers. We should know how to take care of each other and how to show a little grace in practical ways.
I think people who read these thoughts will maybe think, that's a good thought, but it's not as if I should just shuffle off all my money to ease my guilty conscience. My problem is that I can't discern any good Kingdom investments or outlets for my money, so I'm saving it up. I don't think that's true at all -- I think every time you have an opportunity to give, whether it's to a homeless person, an international relief organization, a church, or your grandmother's birthday, your mind goes through two questions: should I give (yes or no) and do I want to give (yes or no)? And if our hearts say yes/no, then the cardial discrepancy depressurizes our stomach and gives us a tight, uneasy feeling. My biology might be a little off -- my point is that most of us probably experience no lack of opportunities for monetary investment in the Kingdom of God.
My other theory is that it's impossible to enjoy the reward of giving without doing it first. There are times where God grants us foresight of His blessing in something that we plan to do that makes us look forward to that particular endeavor -- marriage, children, joining a church, whatever. But it is so hard to want to give if we haven't started giving yet. Hence the camel and the eye of the needle. How can we see ourselves storing up treasures in heaven if we're sitting on a pile of earthly treasures? Isn't that the whole reason we haven't had our priorities straight to begin with?
Now I've done the easy part, which is write some words about something I should put into practice. I hope God grants me whatever it'll take for Step Two.
Why worry? Harrison Ford made the observation, here paraphrased, that money is never an issue, unless you don't have it. And I've realized that to be true. Blessed to have a solid lower-middle class job in America (yes, I looked up "middle class" on Wikipedia), in my day-to-day living, money is absolutely an abstract. I don't spend anything ridiculous. I don't own any jetskis or horses. Yet I squirm about spending too much on a movie ticket or a new pair of shorts. I forget that, at least for the time being, all money really, truly is to me is a set of numbers on a computer screen that I try to make go up instead of down. I forget that I'm not in control of my life, that I could lose everything tomorrow and still have everything important.
Sometimes I think we think that it's a race to have balanced living a good life and having a pretty decent net positive balance at the end of the road, but you know what Scripture calls for us to have in our accounts at the end of life? No more than zero. So I should really embrace the idea that not every month has to end with a positive net balance -- God gives us money to use for His Kingdom work and to sustain us, not to hoard. There might have been a parable about that.
It's important to stay out of debt -- we do have an obligation to be good, faithful stewards of everything Christ has provided for us in our redeemed, purpose-driven lives, be that money or time or family or relationships. And we do have an obligation to model values like hard-work and self-control, as a witness and encouragement to others. And in 2 Thessalonians, Paul remarks on the importance of not burdening others: "For you yourselves know how you ought to follow us, for we were not disorderly among you; nor did we eat anyone's bread free of charge, but worked with labor and toil night and day, that we might not be a burden to any of you, not because we do not have the authority, but to make ourselves an example of how you should follow us [...] For we hear that there are some who walk among you in a disorderly manner, not working at all, but are busybodies. Now those who are such, we command and exhort through our Lord Jesus Christ that they work in quietness and eat their own bread."
So yes, it's important to work and be faithful with the ledger. But I think I'm not the only Christian who really needs to let go of earthly treasures. I mean, it's come to the point where every time a ministry asks for money, they have to play some acoustic guitar music and a photo slideshow to guarantee donations. And I know that slideshows and acoustic guitar music are fine things, but I think ministries pretty much feel like they have to have those hooks to get Christians to donate. And there's a pretty well-known joke among waiters:
What's the difference between a Christian and a canoe? A canoe tips more.
Well, that's me, and it's a poor way of loving people who spend their days serving people like me. I think Christians should be big tippers. We should know how to take care of each other and how to show a little grace in practical ways.
I think people who read these thoughts will maybe think, that's a good thought, but it's not as if I should just shuffle off all my money to ease my guilty conscience. My problem is that I can't discern any good Kingdom investments or outlets for my money, so I'm saving it up. I don't think that's true at all -- I think every time you have an opportunity to give, whether it's to a homeless person, an international relief organization, a church, or your grandmother's birthday, your mind goes through two questions: should I give (yes or no) and do I want to give (yes or no)? And if our hearts say yes/no, then the cardial discrepancy depressurizes our stomach and gives us a tight, uneasy feeling. My biology might be a little off -- my point is that most of us probably experience no lack of opportunities for monetary investment in the Kingdom of God.
My other theory is that it's impossible to enjoy the reward of giving without doing it first. There are times where God grants us foresight of His blessing in something that we plan to do that makes us look forward to that particular endeavor -- marriage, children, joining a church, whatever. But it is so hard to want to give if we haven't started giving yet. Hence the camel and the eye of the needle. How can we see ourselves storing up treasures in heaven if we're sitting on a pile of earthly treasures? Isn't that the whole reason we haven't had our priorities straight to begin with?
Now I've done the easy part, which is write some words about something I should put into practice. I hope God grants me whatever it'll take for Step Two.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Watchmen
There is a movie called Watchmen coming out, based on the graphic novel by Frank Miller, and it looks like a lot of fun.
In Isaiah 62, God declares, "I have set watchmen on your walls, O Jerusalem."
In Ezekiel 33, God appoints Ezekiel to be a watchman for the house of Israel.
Ezekiel 26-32 summarily drives home the point that you don't want to be on God's bad side, whether you're the prince of Tyre (earthly ruler serving Satan), the king of Tyre (Satan), or anyone in Egypt or Sidon or Assyria or Edom or the surrounding regions. "Their iniquities will be on their bones ecause of the terror of the mighty in the land of the living. Yes, you shall be broken in the midst of the uncircumcised and lie with those slain by the sword." (32:27-28) Probably a good time if any to get out of the country, maybe take that long forestalled trip to the Yellowstone, and generally not be in the Middle East when God utterly and furiously decimates the kingdoms of the earth.
Reading these chapters by yourself at night is a pretty frightening reminder that God's Word was never meant to be boring.
Here's what Chapter 33 says:
"When I bring the sword upon a land, and the people of the land take a man from their territory and make him their watchman, when he sees the sword coming upon the land, if he blows the trumpet and warns the people, then whoever hears the sound of the trumpet and does not take warning, if the sword comes and takes him away, his blood shall be on his own head. He heard the sound of the trumpet, but did not take warning. But he who takes warning shall save himself.
"But if the watchman sees the sword coming and does not blow the trumpet, and the people are not warned, and the sword comes and takes any person from among them, he is taken away in his iniquity; but his blood I will require at the watchman's hand. So you, son of man: I have made you a watchman for the house of Israel.
"When I say to the wicked, 'O wicked man, you shall surely die!' and you do not speak to warn the wicked from his way, that wicked man shall die in his iniquity; but his blood I shall require at your hand. Nevertheless, if you warn the wicked to turn from his way, and he does not turn from his way, he shall die in his iniquity; but you have delivered your soul."
The chapter continues on to remark, in verses 17-20, that therein is God's justice: that the righteous-turned-wicked will die and the wicked-repented-righteous will live.
This passage offers a lot of insight towards a lot of questions we often ask about God's justice. What about those people who never hear about the gospel? If we don't take up the Great Commission, then won't God in His grace use someone else? If what the Bible says doesn't seem fair, does that mean we just have to believe that God's definition of fair supersedes our societal and otherwise derived notions of justice?
God's revelation to Ezekiel offers a few key points here. The first is that the wicked die in their own iniquity; in other words, nobody is unjustly or undeservedly punished. I think that idea is something we try to marginalize as Christians when we say that surely people need to hear the full four-law gospel before deciding to reject or accept salvation. Romans 1 makes the claim that "since the creation of the world, His invisible attributes are clearly seen [...] even His eternal power and Godhead, so that they are without excuse because although they knew God, they did not glorify Him as God." It's a big topic, but my point here is that this notion in Ezekiel 33 is certainly not without scriptural corroboration -- there is almost never such a thing as innocent, undeserving victims who are swept away by God's wrath. And I say "almost" because I'm not entirely sure what to do with Ezekiel's wife, from Chapter 24.
The second really cool thing about this passage is the role that watchmen play in the salvation (or at least possible salvation) of a people under siege. It's at least part of God's provision, part of His plan for grace, part of His justice. When people query, why doesn't God do something about those people who haven't heard of or been exposed to the goodness of His kingdom or the redemption of His gospel, they can forget in close-mindedness that watchmen are part of God's provision: watchmen who stand on the walls and warn people about the approach of destruction and help bring about the possibility of redemption and salvation.
I think it follows (as in, it's not a stretch) that Christians are called to be watchmen of sorts. Are we condemned (have we "failed to deliver our souls") if we tarry or fail in our appointment? Up until the point that "there is no condemnation in them who are in Christ Jesus." Over whom can we be called watchmen? Over those people who are facing destruction.
Whenever anyone makes a point, the immediate danger is that you can take it to an extreme. There's always the danger that someone will literally walk up to someone else and say, "O wicked man, you will surely die!" There's always the danger that we'll believe we are the only means God has for the salvation of a select number of people, and cut God out of the deal: how decisive our role is and exactly many degrees-of-freedom God gives things is also a big question and we'll never decidedly know during our earthly lifetimes. I'm not saying anything ridiculous here.
But I am saying something extreme, in that I am saying that Ezekiel 33 says something extreme: destruction is coming in a terrible way, and God has made you and I watchmen on the walls to warn people, and for this duty, we are accountable. How often we praise God that we are "saved" and forget that we are "saved" from a terrifying reality of destruction! How often we forget how many people are still without hope of salvation! And how much would God be glorified if His watchmen weren't so often asleep on the job.
In Isaiah 62, God declares, "I have set watchmen on your walls, O Jerusalem."
In Ezekiel 33, God appoints Ezekiel to be a watchman for the house of Israel.
Ezekiel 26-32 summarily drives home the point that you don't want to be on God's bad side, whether you're the prince of Tyre (earthly ruler serving Satan), the king of Tyre (Satan), or anyone in Egypt or Sidon or Assyria or Edom or the surrounding regions. "Their iniquities will be on their bones ecause of the terror of the mighty in the land of the living. Yes, you shall be broken in the midst of the uncircumcised and lie with those slain by the sword." (32:27-28) Probably a good time if any to get out of the country, maybe take that long forestalled trip to the Yellowstone, and generally not be in the Middle East when God utterly and furiously decimates the kingdoms of the earth.
Reading these chapters by yourself at night is a pretty frightening reminder that God's Word was never meant to be boring.
Here's what Chapter 33 says:
"When I bring the sword upon a land, and the people of the land take a man from their territory and make him their watchman, when he sees the sword coming upon the land, if he blows the trumpet and warns the people, then whoever hears the sound of the trumpet and does not take warning, if the sword comes and takes him away, his blood shall be on his own head. He heard the sound of the trumpet, but did not take warning. But he who takes warning shall save himself.
"But if the watchman sees the sword coming and does not blow the trumpet, and the people are not warned, and the sword comes and takes any person from among them, he is taken away in his iniquity; but his blood I will require at the watchman's hand. So you, son of man: I have made you a watchman for the house of Israel.
"When I say to the wicked, 'O wicked man, you shall surely die!' and you do not speak to warn the wicked from his way, that wicked man shall die in his iniquity; but his blood I shall require at your hand. Nevertheless, if you warn the wicked to turn from his way, and he does not turn from his way, he shall die in his iniquity; but you have delivered your soul."
The chapter continues on to remark, in verses 17-20, that therein is God's justice: that the righteous-turned-wicked will die and the wicked-repented-righteous will live.
This passage offers a lot of insight towards a lot of questions we often ask about God's justice. What about those people who never hear about the gospel? If we don't take up the Great Commission, then won't God in His grace use someone else? If what the Bible says doesn't seem fair, does that mean we just have to believe that God's definition of fair supersedes our societal and otherwise derived notions of justice?
God's revelation to Ezekiel offers a few key points here. The first is that the wicked die in their own iniquity; in other words, nobody is unjustly or undeservedly punished. I think that idea is something we try to marginalize as Christians when we say that surely people need to hear the full four-law gospel before deciding to reject or accept salvation. Romans 1 makes the claim that "since the creation of the world, His invisible attributes are clearly seen [...] even His eternal power and Godhead, so that they are without excuse because although they knew God, they did not glorify Him as God." It's a big topic, but my point here is that this notion in Ezekiel 33 is certainly not without scriptural corroboration -- there is almost never such a thing as innocent, undeserving victims who are swept away by God's wrath. And I say "almost" because I'm not entirely sure what to do with Ezekiel's wife, from Chapter 24.
The second really cool thing about this passage is the role that watchmen play in the salvation (or at least possible salvation) of a people under siege. It's at least part of God's provision, part of His plan for grace, part of His justice. When people query, why doesn't God do something about those people who haven't heard of or been exposed to the goodness of His kingdom or the redemption of His gospel, they can forget in close-mindedness that watchmen are part of God's provision: watchmen who stand on the walls and warn people about the approach of destruction and help bring about the possibility of redemption and salvation.
I think it follows (as in, it's not a stretch) that Christians are called to be watchmen of sorts. Are we condemned (have we "failed to deliver our souls") if we tarry or fail in our appointment? Up until the point that "there is no condemnation in them who are in Christ Jesus." Over whom can we be called watchmen? Over those people who are facing destruction.
Whenever anyone makes a point, the immediate danger is that you can take it to an extreme. There's always the danger that someone will literally walk up to someone else and say, "O wicked man, you will surely die!" There's always the danger that we'll believe we are the only means God has for the salvation of a select number of people, and cut God out of the deal: how decisive our role is and exactly many degrees-of-freedom God gives things is also a big question and we'll never decidedly know during our earthly lifetimes. I'm not saying anything ridiculous here.
But I am saying something extreme, in that I am saying that Ezekiel 33 says something extreme: destruction is coming in a terrible way, and God has made you and I watchmen on the walls to warn people, and for this duty, we are accountable. How often we praise God that we are "saved" and forget that we are "saved" from a terrifying reality of destruction! How often we forget how many people are still without hope of salvation! And how much would God be glorified if His watchmen weren't so often asleep on the job.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Useful
So I've seen Jenna's and Phil's photos from Africa, and I've seen people's photos from East Asia, and I guess I can't help but compare our experiences. Don't get me wrong -- I definitely believe in the value of the work I'm going into. And a lot of it is and will be dull, difficult, and repetitive, but that's the nature of a lot of meaningful endeavors. Every valuable experience will have its share of days without thrills or cheer.
There are just days when I want to feel like I'm making a difference.
Some days I want to go to Africa. Or the inner city. Some days I want to be Jerry Maguire. There's an exchange from the movie Platoon where one character mockingly calls another one a "crusader," and I think that sentiment often appeals to me.
Which is why I've thought about the Peace Corps and third world aid, I've thought about becoming a high school teacher, I've thought about joining the staff of Campus Crusade for Christ, I've thought about seminary, I've thought about a lot of things. The best times of my life have been volunteering to make a difference. The Boy Scouts was the most valuable experience I had growing up, and the reason I loved it was that I was having fun and doing something meaningful every time I did something with the Boy Scouts, be it teaching leadership or showing boys how to perform first aid, or organizing community service, or helping promote nature conservation. Church in the Park and ministry with Houston's homeless was one of the best experiences I had at Rice. I had a terrific time in El Salvador because we were really doing some good work for the small village of El Pital. I like being a tourist, but I've always loved doing things more than watching them.
I wonder sometimes how much of that is me needing to feel useful. Because that would be selfish. People in other countries and cultures didn't sign up to be an "experience" for me. Any profession offers the chance to do meaningful work. I don't want to be an engineer, but engineers do invaluable work to make our cars safer, our buildings sturdier, our water cleaner, our infrastructure more efficient, and our society better supported by improved technologies. That's certainly no less important than helping put together some concrete bricks in Central America, and if it were, I couldn't really be the judge of that.
After some thought, though, I don't think I really need to feel useful. I think I really just want to be useful, and I want to be sure that my life is being spent to good use. The distinction is subtle, but it's there.
Is it ironic to think about this issue so much while employed in a profession that most people by default associate with value and purpose? Yes, and no. That discussion probably won't go online, but you can ask me about it.
I think if you're like me, you've wanted to go to Africa before. But if you're going to be honest about it, even the people in Africa probably want to go to Africa at some point too.
ADDENDUM:
The Grace Bible Church sermon for this week, "The Glory of the Routine" actually helped a lot. God is faithful, and I'm glad He sometimes gives immediate answers when we feel like we need them.
There are just days when I want to feel like I'm making a difference.
Some days I want to go to Africa. Or the inner city. Some days I want to be Jerry Maguire. There's an exchange from the movie Platoon where one character mockingly calls another one a "crusader," and I think that sentiment often appeals to me.
Which is why I've thought about the Peace Corps and third world aid, I've thought about becoming a high school teacher, I've thought about joining the staff of Campus Crusade for Christ, I've thought about seminary, I've thought about a lot of things. The best times of my life have been volunteering to make a difference. The Boy Scouts was the most valuable experience I had growing up, and the reason I loved it was that I was having fun and doing something meaningful every time I did something with the Boy Scouts, be it teaching leadership or showing boys how to perform first aid, or organizing community service, or helping promote nature conservation. Church in the Park and ministry with Houston's homeless was one of the best experiences I had at Rice. I had a terrific time in El Salvador because we were really doing some good work for the small village of El Pital. I like being a tourist, but I've always loved doing things more than watching them.
I wonder sometimes how much of that is me needing to feel useful. Because that would be selfish. People in other countries and cultures didn't sign up to be an "experience" for me. Any profession offers the chance to do meaningful work. I don't want to be an engineer, but engineers do invaluable work to make our cars safer, our buildings sturdier, our water cleaner, our infrastructure more efficient, and our society better supported by improved technologies. That's certainly no less important than helping put together some concrete bricks in Central America, and if it were, I couldn't really be the judge of that.
After some thought, though, I don't think I really need to feel useful. I think I really just want to be useful, and I want to be sure that my life is being spent to good use. The distinction is subtle, but it's there.
Is it ironic to think about this issue so much while employed in a profession that most people by default associate with value and purpose? Yes, and no. That discussion probably won't go online, but you can ask me about it.
I think if you're like me, you've wanted to go to Africa before. But if you're going to be honest about it, even the people in Africa probably want to go to Africa at some point too.
ADDENDUM:
The Grace Bible Church sermon for this week, "The Glory of the Routine" actually helped a lot. God is faithful, and I'm glad He sometimes gives immediate answers when we feel like we need them.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Ezekiel 20
First thing, recently I was challenged by the most serious spiritual discussion available online.
Ezekiel is a really trippy book to read as a whole. It's not like Ecclesiastes where it's tough because it seems to have a unilateral depressing message. It's tough because there's a lot of bizarre and seemingly contradictory stuff in here, and I think it's important to realize that it's perhaps not so much a delineated doctrinal exposition as a series of communiques from God to His people. Much of the book is written in repetitive verse, almost as if the verses were hymns or psalms, and in Chapter 19, the text explicitly says, "This is a lamentation and has become a lamentation." To me, that's important because it demonstrates the personage of God -- the fact that He has emotions and passions, and isn't the lifeless thing we always forget He isn't.
In Ezekiel 20, the following stood out to me:
The chapter opens with God telling Zeke in verse 4 to "make known to [the elders of Israel] the abominations of their fathers." Which is interesting because a good chunk of the previous book was about how people were going to be judged for their own sin or righteousness, rather than the inheritance of their predecessors. My inference is that God has a good sense of using family history as a close-to-home cautionary device.
Verses 3-4: "Son of man, speak to the elders of Israel, and say to them, 'Thus says the Lord God: "Have you come to inquire of Me? As I live," says the Lord God, "I will not be inquired of by you."'" And then in Verses 36-37: "'And I will bring you into the wilderness of the peoples, and there I will plead My case with you face to face. Just as I pleaded My case with your fathers in the land of Egypt, so I will plead My case to you,' says the Lord God."
I think that's crazy. The first description is God basically saying that He's above our questioning, and the second is Him saying that He pleads His case with us, as if to persuade us to come back to Him. Yet both are true: God is far beyond our comprehension, our righteousness, and our judgment, so who are we to say, as Israel's leaders did, "Where is God?" And at the same time, God's mercy pleads with us and humbles itself to come to us to bring us back home. If I wanted to, I could probably make up some statement to make the two thoughts more consistent, but why bother? It's awesome the way it is. I think we try too hard sometimes to make God more "consistent" so He'll make sense to us, but you always lose important details when you force linear models of nonlinear truths. (Thank you, Rice engineering.)
(By the way, in case you weren't completely aware, you got RICKROLLED!)
And here's something God says three times in Ezekiel 20: "Then I said, 'I will pour out my Fury on them and fulfill My anger against them in the wilderness.' But I acted for My name's sake, that it should not be profaned before the Gentiles, in whose sight I brought [the Israelite out of Egypt].
How would the Gentiles have seen God, based on the history of Israel? Certainly, they would've been pretty cued in to His power and strength as Israel was blessed to their miraculous exodus from Egypt and equally miraculous conquest of Canaan. What if God had destroyed Israel for her rebellion? Would some Gentiles have said, "That's what happens to those who disobey the wrath of a terrible and awesome God?" Were those the same Gentiles who might have seen God's mercy and said, "So apparently you can defy God and get away with little or no consequences?" And to the unbiased observer, that might be a reasonable thing to say, except that there were definitely consequences -- Israel was defeated by her enemies, her people led into captivity many times, and God never abandoned her.
But an important point here is that God says he acted for His name's sake. That His name would be glorified. For anyone who agrees with anything John Piper says, that's critical, since the chief end of man is supposed to be the glory of God. One thing I think God had in mind here was the salvation of the Gentiles -- that the nations around Israel would marvel at both God's power and His faithfulness and be inexorably drawn to Him. Sure, God wouldn't be any less powerful if He had said, "Earmuffs!" to the Gentiles and poured out His fury on Israel. He could've redeemed the Gentiles any other way He'd wanted to. But that's not the way He did it. In a sense, He acts for His glory, and in another sense, He acts compassionately for His people. How awesome that "God's glory" and His redemption of the nations go hand in hand!
I still wrestle with what it means to be zealous and passionate for God's glory, and it's an important issue since that's supposed to be the driving focus of our lives. Are we supposed to be like David, who couldn't stomach the Philistines mocking the name of God? How do you react when someone cracks a joke about the Christian faith? They go from obscene ("Why did Jesus get all the ladies? Because He was hung like this!") to the milder variety that pastors tell to start off Sunday sermons, but they all make light of the things of God. I've called people out on that sort of thing before. On the other hand, there's a point of self-righteousness where frowning on other people reflects a prideful, judgmental attitude more than a pure passion for God's glory. Maybe we're supposed to be more patient and loving and smile and forgive until God provides an opening on His timing, rather than hotheads that try to force the magic of the gospel on our own.
There's definitely danger in making it a selfish endeavor. Sometimes in conversation, I've told people not to make light of God, and I think they walk away thinking more about my Christian sensitivity, rather than their own thoughts about an eternal God. But sometimes, I've said nothing and let things go, and I think people sometimes conclude that we don't take our faith seriously if we're not ready to answer for it. Sometimes we can get to the point where we're think we're actually producing God's glory through our glory-filled actions, rather than realizing that everything we do should point to the cross of Jesus Christ.
Appropriately, Ezekiel 20 concludes with the response of Ezekiel: "Then I said, 'Ah, Lord God! They say of me, "Does he not speak in parables?"'"
Ezekiel is a really trippy book to read as a whole. It's not like Ecclesiastes where it's tough because it seems to have a unilateral depressing message. It's tough because there's a lot of bizarre and seemingly contradictory stuff in here, and I think it's important to realize that it's perhaps not so much a delineated doctrinal exposition as a series of communiques from God to His people. Much of the book is written in repetitive verse, almost as if the verses were hymns or psalms, and in Chapter 19, the text explicitly says, "This is a lamentation and has become a lamentation." To me, that's important because it demonstrates the personage of God -- the fact that He has emotions and passions, and isn't the lifeless thing we always forget He isn't.
In Ezekiel 20, the following stood out to me:
The chapter opens with God telling Zeke in verse 4 to "make known to [the elders of Israel] the abominations of their fathers." Which is interesting because a good chunk of the previous book was about how people were going to be judged for their own sin or righteousness, rather than the inheritance of their predecessors. My inference is that God has a good sense of using family history as a close-to-home cautionary device.
Verses 3-4: "Son of man, speak to the elders of Israel, and say to them, 'Thus says the Lord God: "Have you come to inquire of Me? As I live," says the Lord God, "I will not be inquired of by you."'" And then in Verses 36-37: "'And I will bring you into the wilderness of the peoples, and there I will plead My case with you face to face. Just as I pleaded My case with your fathers in the land of Egypt, so I will plead My case to you,' says the Lord God."
I think that's crazy. The first description is God basically saying that He's above our questioning, and the second is Him saying that He pleads His case with us, as if to persuade us to come back to Him. Yet both are true: God is far beyond our comprehension, our righteousness, and our judgment, so who are we to say, as Israel's leaders did, "Where is God?" And at the same time, God's mercy pleads with us and humbles itself to come to us to bring us back home. If I wanted to, I could probably make up some statement to make the two thoughts more consistent, but why bother? It's awesome the way it is. I think we try too hard sometimes to make God more "consistent" so He'll make sense to us, but you always lose important details when you force linear models of nonlinear truths. (Thank you, Rice engineering.)
(By the way, in case you weren't completely aware, you got RICKROLLED!)
And here's something God says three times in Ezekiel 20: "Then I said, 'I will pour out my Fury on them and fulfill My anger against them in the wilderness.' But I acted for My name's sake, that it should not be profaned before the Gentiles, in whose sight I brought [the Israelite out of Egypt].
How would the Gentiles have seen God, based on the history of Israel? Certainly, they would've been pretty cued in to His power and strength as Israel was blessed to their miraculous exodus from Egypt and equally miraculous conquest of Canaan. What if God had destroyed Israel for her rebellion? Would some Gentiles have said, "That's what happens to those who disobey the wrath of a terrible and awesome God?" Were those the same Gentiles who might have seen God's mercy and said, "So apparently you can defy God and get away with little or no consequences?" And to the unbiased observer, that might be a reasonable thing to say, except that there were definitely consequences -- Israel was defeated by her enemies, her people led into captivity many times, and God never abandoned her.
But an important point here is that God says he acted for His name's sake. That His name would be glorified. For anyone who agrees with anything John Piper says, that's critical, since the chief end of man is supposed to be the glory of God. One thing I think God had in mind here was the salvation of the Gentiles -- that the nations around Israel would marvel at both God's power and His faithfulness and be inexorably drawn to Him. Sure, God wouldn't be any less powerful if He had said, "Earmuffs!" to the Gentiles and poured out His fury on Israel. He could've redeemed the Gentiles any other way He'd wanted to. But that's not the way He did it. In a sense, He acts for His glory, and in another sense, He acts compassionately for His people. How awesome that "God's glory" and His redemption of the nations go hand in hand!
I still wrestle with what it means to be zealous and passionate for God's glory, and it's an important issue since that's supposed to be the driving focus of our lives. Are we supposed to be like David, who couldn't stomach the Philistines mocking the name of God? How do you react when someone cracks a joke about the Christian faith? They go from obscene ("Why did Jesus get all the ladies? Because He was hung like this!") to the milder variety that pastors tell to start off Sunday sermons, but they all make light of the things of God. I've called people out on that sort of thing before. On the other hand, there's a point of self-righteousness where frowning on other people reflects a prideful, judgmental attitude more than a pure passion for God's glory. Maybe we're supposed to be more patient and loving and smile and forgive until God provides an opening on His timing, rather than hotheads that try to force the magic of the gospel on our own.
There's definitely danger in making it a selfish endeavor. Sometimes in conversation, I've told people not to make light of God, and I think they walk away thinking more about my Christian sensitivity, rather than their own thoughts about an eternal God. But sometimes, I've said nothing and let things go, and I think people sometimes conclude that we don't take our faith seriously if we're not ready to answer for it. Sometimes we can get to the point where we're think we're actually producing God's glory through our glory-filled actions, rather than realizing that everything we do should point to the cross of Jesus Christ.
Appropriately, Ezekiel 20 concludes with the response of Ezekiel: "Then I said, 'Ah, Lord God! They say of me, "Does he not speak in parables?"'"
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