Pedestal Perching

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One of the commonest causes of failure in Christian life is found in the attempt to follow some good man whom we greatly admire. No man and no woman, no matter how good, can be safely followed. If we follow any man or woman, we are bound to go astray. There has been but one absolutely perfect Man on this earth-the Man Christ Jesus. If we try to follow any other man we are surer to imitate his faults than his excellencies. Look to Jesus and Jesus only as your Guide.
– R. A. Torrey

I am so grateful for the opportunity to learn from great heroes of the faith from the early church fathers to contemporary writers, podcasters, preachers and conference speakers. I honour them. I quote them. I pass on what I have learned from them. But I don’t put them on a pedestal or follow only one person. That’s not fair to them, and it would be dangerous to me.

When I quote someone it does not mean that I accept everything they have ever said or written. The freedom to exercise the discernment Christ gives everyone in whom he lives is far too precious to surrender, but I do value truth when I hear it.

We all need to learn and sometimes that means living with incomplete concepts and trusting that more mature people may have a grasp on paradox and aspects of Christian living for which we do not yet have a grid. There is grace for that, and humility makes room for trust. Sometimes, however, we are prone to looking to public figures instead of looking to Jesus Christ for our answers.

For many years people, especially women, were given the impression they were not educated enough or spiritual enough or had enough authority to respectfully ask questions. Many have not been in a position to reject teachings or practices that didn’t line up with what the Holy Spirit and the scriptures were revealing to them. If they dared they found themselves rejected.

No one knows the perfect truth but God, but even if they did they still wouldn’t lord it over anyone. That would attract attention to themselves and distract their audience from being Christ-centered.

If you are coerced into obeying a church leader who doesn’t permit honest questions or any thoughtful disagreement, that’s not the mutual submission the Bible talks about. It might be time to get your eyes back on the One who sets you free. It might require you to forgive, bless, and move on.

Christmas? It’s Complicated

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My relationship with Christmas is complicated.

I’ve been in four car accidents in my life. Two were on Christmas Eve and one was on Christmas Day. The first one left a lasting impression as a man stepped into the icy street in front of a vehicle my father was following. Neither could stop in time and drove over him. Years later I learned the investigation showed the man chose this method to commit suicide. (I wrote about it here in The Sorrow of Christmas.) I was very young, but I never bought “the magic of Christmas” after that.

On the other hand I was a singer and some of the best music in the world, especially choral music, is performed at Christmas.

On the other hand I love food. Cooking for her family and friends was how my mother expressed affection and she dished out the love at Christmas. I enjoy making cookies and Santa Claus pie with my grandchildren. Even though I can’t eat  it anymore shortbread in the oven still smells like love.

On the other hand I love art and crafts and creativity and pretty baubles that serve no purpose whatsoever other than to say “Here I am in all my sparkly Modge Podge glory.” Where’s my glue gun?

Christmas Eve at our house always included a decorated tree. It always included hot chocolate and new slippers and pajamas. Christmas Day always included an over-heated house full of relatives and the smell of roasting turkey. Aunt Jessie always brought her pineapple marshmallow whipped cream salad. Uncle Joe always piled his plate so high there ought to have been avalanche hazard warnings posted. Christmas afternoon always included a crokinole tournament for the men and a card table with bits of a thousand piece puzzle scattered on it for the women. It always included a plate of Aunt Doris’ maple fudge and a bowl of nuts still in the shell with dangerous-looking implements sticking out that little kids weren’t supposed to touch, but did. It always included a political rant or two from opinionated patriarchs-in-training.

Frantic cleaning and cranky words usually bracketed the arrival and departure of guests. That was a tradition too.

When we married and had our own home we always honoured the Christmas season script with tree and lights and presents and turkey. The season included weeks of shopping on a tight budget whilst dressed up like a sweating Eskimo in a store with yuletide carols [badly sung] piped into every aisle. (Let’s just say it’s a good thing it’s not a Canadian tradition to carry guns into Walmart or there might be one less looped tape of Santa Baby and Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree in the office.)

Christmas included saying no to kids who saw far too many commercials on TV. It often included travelling long distances in horrid weather on icy roads. It involved little kids in emotional melt-down Christmas Day because the tradition on one side of the family said gifts must be opened at midnight. Sometimes it included cancelled flights and sleeping in airports and midnight rides on Greyhound buses because one simply did not risk breaking with tradition. Christmas frequently included Kleenex and cough drops and aspirin. Flu is also a Canadian seasonal tradition.

Christmas included shopping in a town with only two stores for white shirts so kids could sing in the school choir (and bringing baked “goodies’), obligatory parties for every club or group anyone in the family attended (and bringing baked goodies) and finding dates for student concerts and recitals that didn’t conflict with all the other events (and bringing baked goodies).

Christmas makes me feel emotional, but it doesn’t always bring thoughts devotional. Man-made traditions tend to accumulate and open branch offices. Don’t blame the old stodgy churches for being mired in ritual. Sometimes it takes only one repetition to create a tradition.

One thing I have learned is that you can discuss theology until the Arminian/Calvinist debate is actually settled amicably but you don’t mess with people’s traditions. Neglect to take part in the Lord’s Table for weeks and folks will hardly notice. Accidentally double book the hall for the third annual mother/daughter Christmas tea and someone may question whether your name is actually written in the Lamb’s book of life.

Christmas for me has always included stress -good stress, bad stress. Stress is the most consistent tradition. It wasn’t until the year that baby Jesus, or parts of him, went missing from the nativity scene for who knows how long (puppy?) that I noticed the disappearance of Jesus as the center of the creche looked a lot like the absence of Christ at the center of many of our traditions and rituals. I had to ask, “Is this actually “Christian?”

Tradition can be a memorial stone that helps us remember important experiences, but rituals can also become a burdens that miss the original point entirely. There is a difference between the traditions of God and the traditions of man.

Some ancient traditions started with spontaneous expressions of joy or sorrow around certain events. Jeremiah wrote songs of mourning when King Josiah died. They became traditional laments in the Jewish culture. The people in exile  inaugurated the feast of Purim to memorialize the victory told in the book of Esther. Man-made tradition and rituals can help us to remember and to teach our children. I love liturgy for the same reason. The church calendar can be like a lesson plan that reminds us to examine the whole of scripture and not merely our favourite bits. But forms without flexibility to follow the Holy Spirit’s lead can also become a burden.

Some ancient traditions are God-ordained. Moses said to the people:
“This annual festival will be a visible sign to you, like a mark branded on your hand or your forehead. Let it remind you always to recite this teaching of the Lord: ‘With a strong hand, the Lord rescued you from Egypt.” (Exodus 13:9 NLT)

The protectors of an established way of life that came from extrapolations on the law of Moses said to Jesus: “Why do your disciples disobey our age-old tradition? For they ignore our tradition of ceremonial hand washing before they eat.”

Jesus replied, “And why do you, by your traditions, violate the direct commandments of God? For instance, God says, ‘Honor your father and mother,’ and ‘Anyone who speaks disrespectfully of father or mother must be put to death.’ But you say it is all right for people to say to their parents, ‘Sorry, I can’t help you. For I have vowed to give to God what I would have given to you.’ In this way, you say they don’t need to honor their parents. And so you cancel the word of God for the sake of your own tradition. You hypocrites! Isaiah was right when he prophesied about you, for he wrote,
‘These people honor me with their lips,
but their hearts are far from me.
Their worship is a farce,
for they teach man-made ideas as commands from God.’ “(Matthew 15:2-9 NLT)

I’ve made progress in neutralizing my acid pen in the past few years, but I lost it in November. The nasty protests on social media against commercial outlets that don’t follow “Christian traditions” started up again. (Has no one noticed that holidays is just the traditional spelling of Holy Days?). There is no command in the Bible to celebrate Jesus’ birth on an arbitrary day with holly on a coffee cup or nativity scenes on city hall property. How can we demand that people who do not know the Lord honour our man-made traditions when we ignore what He actually demonstrated? How did it get to be alright to demand protection for “our way of life” when that act itself violates a command of God to love your neighbour and treat those in authority with respect?

How is it alright for our car full of Christmas traditions to run over the lonely, the depressed, the oppressed, the sick, the grieving, the desperate as we rush home to celebrate the birth of the One who showed us what love is? How is it alright to lay burdens on ourselves that resist the message that Christ came to set us free?

Jesus Himself said that if we love him we will obey His commandments which are simply to love others as we love ourselves.

I’ve had to apologize for attacking people for attacking people and for being intolerant of the intolerant. I’m not one who says you mustn’t celebrate Jesus’ birth on December 25th. I’m saying don’t make this season of worship a farce.

I’m saying it is for freedom that Christ came to set us free and we need to be careful not to take on another yoke of bondage.

I’m saying God loved the world so much that he gave his only Son so that anyone who believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life. That is joy. That is love.

Anything else is unplugged tangled Christmas tree lights that bring no light at all.

When Messages Conflict

Call Jan

I couldn’t attend the meeting. Icy roads, time pressure – the reason doesn’t matter – but the outcome of the meeting did matter. Decisions made there affect decisions made here. I asked three people what happened. They gave me three different versions and three different interpretations of the implications they each took away from the discussion. Had I not known these three people I would have thrown my hands up in frustration, but knowing their strengths and biases I actually had a fuller picture, even though they sometimes contradicted each other.

I thought about the way believers in Jesus Christ interpret their experiences and how they deliver messages. Of course, they are going to relate things differently. Take this phone conversation for example:

“Hello. This is Jan. Is Michael there, please?”
“No. I’m sorry, he just stepped out. Can I take a message?”
“Oh dear. I need some information from him. Well, just tell him to give me a dingle.”
“Okay.”

When Michael comes back I will probably say something like, “Jan called. She sounded a little stressed. You had better call her.”

I may add to the message because I heard something in her tone of voice that makes me feel she needs to know someone cares. I tend to interpret events through the lens of a mercy gift. But that’s just me.

Another person, who has a gift for administration or even prophecy might be more blunt, “Call Jan. She needs those numbers now! Let’s get this show on the road!”

An encourager might say, “Wow. You’ve been busy. I hope you had a refreshing break. I love the way you keep things running so smoothly. By the way, Jan called. I think she could use your expertise about now. Give her a call when you can. Your information is vital and we all appreciate it.”

A helpful, somewhat literal message-taker would be more precise. “Jan called. She needs some information – and she wants you to give her a dingle. What’s a dingle? Is it a candy? Because I can run down to the shops on my break and try to pick her up one, or however many come in a package, unless it’s a computer part, but if you give me the information I can order that online for you…”

The message can also be filtered through another person’s experiences or emotions:
“Jan called. Again. I was in the middle of something and now I have to start all over. Maybe you should consider putting someone who can work more independently in that position.”

“Jan called. Hey, is she seeing anyone?”

“Jan called. She sounded so sad. I know what it’s like to lose your cat. My little Pookie was so sweet…pass the tissue.”

“Jan called. She’s probably tired of waiting for you to get your act together too. Are we going to make the deadlines? What if we don’t? Will we lose everything?”

“So what’d you think of the game last night? Oh, there’s a message on your desk. That second half was crazy, eh?”

“Hello, Jan? He just came back from lunch.”
“Here. Talk to her.”

“I didn’t know you had eco-freak friends. What does bleeding-heart Jan want now?”

 

I wonder if some of our difficulties in communication derive from the assumption that our views should be the same without considering that our points of view may be quite different.

On my social media yesterday a post comparing a certain politician to Winston Churchill was immediately followed by another comparing the same person to Adolf Hitler. They are both my friends (the posters, I mean, not Winston and Adolf. I’m not that old.) Frankly, I thought both writers made good points.

Another friend, a tell-it-like-I-see-it communicator, charged into a discussion rather like a bull in a china shop who resented the porcelain figurines  for being so *#&*#ing fragile.

Yet another was in tears over a video of a grandfather who announced his own death so the family would gather together. I didn’t say anything to her but I can tell you from experience there are limits on the number of times a person can get away with playing that trump card and then using the captured time to criticize, complain and spread gloom and misery everywhere. I’m not hard-hearted but, you know, my history is different from hers. I’m going to see that video commercial through a dusty lens.

Some people who  hear God’s communication with them (through scripture verses that stand out to them in virtual neon lights, or dreams, or an internal or even external voice, or through other circumstances) have a message to either pray about or deliver to others for the purposes of building people up and expressing God’s love and concern. But they also have lenses.

Would to God we all started out mature enough to see through Jesus’ eyes without any of our own stuff getting in the way. Some are more capable of this than others, but nearly everyone needs to learn to quiet their own heart so they can hear and repeat the message more clearly.

Besides interpreting what we believe the Lord is telling us from the viewpoint of motivational giftings he has placed inside us (e.g. mercy, encouragement, prophecy, teaching, serving, giving, administering) most of us will interpret through lenses that still contain residue from past disappointment, or perhaps fear, or fatigue, or guilty self-defence. We are also affected by geography, ethnicity, denominational leanings, and political or educational history. Sometimes there is a lot to un-learn. That’s why we need each other.

We need more than one perspective and we need to help each other heal so our perception is more accurate and our hurts and assumptions do not taint the message so much. We also need humility to realize that we may only have part of the picture and that someone who sees things quite differently may not be entirely wrong but could have another crucial part that adds dimension. Paradox and all that. (Or one of us could be missing it by a mile. It happens. Humility and all that.)

Yesterday I had lunch with an insightful friend.

“How do we find a point of connection with all this confusion and disagreement going on lately? “ I asked her.

“Stories,” she said. “There’s a reason why most of the Bible is a narrative. We learn from stories. We need to listen to each others stories. We connect through stories – and everybody has a story.”

I realized the reason I found the three different versions of the meeting helpful is because I knew each one of these people’s stories. They knew mine. We understood each other because we have spent time listening to each other. I knew where they were coming from and why they interpreted events as they did. We have connection.

The same exact facts and interpretation repeated over and over do not necessarily represent unity. Hearts connecting? That’s unity.

It’s a journey.

Useful or Loved

Thomas and his friend

My grandson and I cuddled on the couch watching his favourite video. I listened to the theme of Thomas the Train and watched his train friends’ adventures for what seemed like the fiftieth time. Maybe it took that many views for me to notice how many times the word “useful” was used to describe the little engines’ motivation for his adventures. He wanted to be a really useful little engine.

I remembered another conversation on the couch, with a friend this time. Her daughter, and the entire family, was suffering terribly. The girl had not told them, until her methods of coping landed her in a psychiatric hospital, that for some time she had been molested by a trusted member of their church. Like so many other victims she blamed herself and was drowning in shame.

“I try to tell her it will be okay, “ her mother whispered. “God can still use her. But that just seems to make her shut off even more.”

“Maybe ‘God can still use her’ is not the best choice of words,” I tried to explain gently. “She has already been ‘used’ and it has not turned out well.”

“I never thought of it that way,” she said. “Anyway, she knows God still loves her.”

“Does she? Right now she feels such shame she can’t even look her earthly Dad in the face. Her ability to trust authority figures has been thoroughly shaken. It’s going to take a while for her to sort out who God is and especially who God is not. We need to demonstrate to her the same kind of grace and love God does. She needs to know that she does not have to do anything to receive your love. Love and accept her just as she is, with all her dysfunction. She does not need to be an honour student, or a perfect weight, or a junior missionary with a “testimony of victory.”

As I recalled this conversation I had to ask myself, “Who is God for me now? Do I still carry vestiges of the message that I am more acceptable if I am useful?

I have never made friends easily. Acquaintances, yes. Close friends I felt safe with and in whom I could confide, not so much. There have been a few who have been tremendous blessings, but even though much improved, I still have trust issues myself. My pattern over the years was to keep friends by making myself really useful like the little train. It’s been hard to believe I could be loved otherwise. Usefulness was my insurance against rejection.

I’ve been going through a time when the Lord has asked me to set “workin’ fo’ da kingdom” aside to learn, on a deeper level, that I don’t have to earn his approval. This goes deep. It’s not about the importance of engaging in activities like teaching, or providing music, feeding the poor, or even meeting with friends to pray for various excellent ministries. It’s about motivation. Can I admit this is tough? I question this action all the time. What will people think? What is the measure of my faithfulness now?

When the son who demanded his inheritance early – and blew it all – returned to the Father, it was with a sense of shame. He thought if he made himself useful, like the other servants, he could earn a place in the household. The Father not only accepted him back without asking first for any pledge of behaving better in future, he honoured him as a son, in the stinky pig state he was in, without a two-year disciplinary period to prove he was worthy of acceptance. The son’s shame was met with unexpected honour.

That’s grace. Amazing, shocking grace. Hard to believe, hard to receive, but that is the fine robe God wraps us in when we turn to him, empty-handed.

The elder son didn’t believe it. He took off in a huff. The Father went out to him and assured him that he had access to everything in the house, but jealousy kept him from sharing the Father’s joy. The eldest demanded to know how anyone who was not useful could be a part of this family.

When people first come into the household of faith they come as orphans, grateful for food and shelter. They long for, but don’t really expect – or know how to handle – the Father’s affection. They focus on learning the rules in the orphanage, lest they do something to offend and face rejection.

Some people, longing for friendship with God, move on to become voluntary servants, hoping to secure a place by becoming essential workers and ingratiating themselves with the Father’s favour. One of the signs that they see themselves as servants and not sons is competition and flare-ups of jealousy toward others.

A son, however, knows he is held in the Father’s embrace by nothing more than the Father’s love. He learns, just by remaining there, that bond of love is so strong he can feel the Father’s heartbeat. Not until a sense of shame and unworthiness is washed away by a flood of grace upon grace can he afford to extend that same love to others.

We can try to use God to supply our wants. We can try to earn his approval by being used by God. But we don’t realize that we are sons of God until we come humbly as orphans and bond servants and discover, much to our surprise, that He simply loves us because He loves us, because He loves us, because He loves us…

Then we find joy and fulfillment in being who he made us to be – His workmanship, created for great things, partners in the Father’s plan.

For from his fullness we have all received grace upon grace. (John 1:16 ESV)

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Dinosaurs of the Plasticine Era

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A new Facebook friend made a comment this week about how she, as a sensitive person, cannot watch horror movies. I can’t either.

I liked it better when the dinosaurs looked like they were from the Plasticine Era. This CGI stuff is just getting too real. Horror movies with their detailed scales and teeth, gallons of fake blood, strings of artificial mucous, creepy music and over-the-shoulder shots are abhorrent enough, but what really unsettles me is psychological thrillers. The grandmother/therapist/best-friend/baby did it? You can’t trust anybody! Paranoia on a stick. Why would anybody feed themselves this stuff?

Well, I did, or used to. My brother and I snuck out of our rooms after our parents were asleep to watch “The Outer Limits” or “The Twilight Zone.” We kept the volume on the TV so low we had to lean in to hear. The buzz of the old set added to the flickering light ambiance of tension — and the fear of being caught. After the show I would tiptoe back to bed and lie awake all night, planning what I would do if aliens landed in the backyard. For months I ran past lamp posts or neon signs that made that same buzzing noise, fearing I was being followed by something equipped with a death ray.

tv 1968 time

Nowadays, if the boys ask me to watch a horror or action flick with them I usually turn them down. I think even chick-flicks should come with emotional content warnings. My empathic tendencies have been traumatized by too many.

You see, I’ve discovered prayer doesn’t work in a movie (except to mercifully let the thing end or break the projector or something.) If I was running from a monster, scaled or coifed, I would be praying, “HELP!” or at the very least “OhGodOhGodOhGodOhGod…” (How do people cope without being able to call on him?)

But God doesn’t respond to lies. He’s not afraid of computer-generated dinosaurs. He never falls for clay or cartoon creatures. He knows the hunter never shot Bambi’s mother because Bambi’s mother was never in danger. She was not real. Bambi was not real. Godzilla is no threat to Bambi either. Asking God to respond and save us from imminent hypothetical danger is like my two-year old granddaughter hiding behind my legs and squealing that her brother is going to gobble her up – with a plasticine monster.

“You’re okay honey,” I assure her. “It’s only a pretend monster.”

This got me thinking about how the Holy Spirit responds to fears that have us quivering behind locked doors as we read scary predictions in the media, both broadcast and social.

He doesn’t.

Sometimes I cry out for deliverance and there is silence. Sometimes, when I join Chicken Little’s persuasive campaign and yell, “The sky is falling,” the Lord hands me an umbrella.

“Will this protect me from the falling sky?” I ask.

“No. But there will be rain later – the same kind of rain that has been falling off and on for centuries. Get a grip, girl.”

I have noticed that Jesus never allowed himself to be caught up in hypothetical questions. “What if…” His answer? “I will never leave you.”

It’s not that bad stuff never happens to good people. The devil still prowls around messing things up. You still reap what you sow. Corrie Ten Boom told the story of how, as a child, her father never burdened her with the responsibility of carrying a train ticket until it was time to get on the train. I think grace for trials is like that. The Lord will hand us our grace ticket when we need it. There is no provision in advance for “what if” questions because there doesn’t need to be. Jesus came to destroy the works of the devil, but there is no provision of supernatural intervention in a situation that we created in our own fear-based mind.

“Lord! Help me! I am under attack! The devil’s got me in his sights! What’s that strange buzzing sound?”

“You’re okay, honey. Shut the TV off and go back to bed. And quit watching that junk. It’s time to rest.”

dinaosaur fashion

What Were We Thinking?

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We are doing renovations to the lower level of our house. “Renovations,” I have learned, is builder-speak for “Prepare for nasty surprises.”

In the process of tearing walls down and throwing stuff out we discovered we have been harbouring things we knew not of: beetles in the insulation, an axe in the ceiling — and this wallpaper. It was hiding behind the wainscoting in the hallway.

Seriously? Psychedelic orange and gold swastikas? Someone spent money on rolls of this and then went to the effort of pasting it to the walls? What were they thinking?

Here’s the thing: they were probably thinking this design fit with the concept of fashionable home decorations of the day. (I’m guessing late 70’s. What do you think?) The truth is, that even though we lived in another city at the time I may have applied some burnished orange and harvest gold and avocado green striped paper in our old kitchen myself. Just adding some “pop” to a feature wall, you know. (No wonder our adult kids all head for “neutrals.” They grew up with enough “popping colours” in their lives to require a greige sedation treatment program for years.)

But hey, it was trendy. Everyone was sticking those colours up. They matched the new fridge and stove – and bathtub.

I’m old enough now that I watch fashion trends with amusement. I’ve seen the demise and return of shapes and colours and lengths so many times I figured I would just hang on to my bell-bottom jeans to see if the trend swings by again like a 20-year comet. But my family and friends were helping me purge this week and they wouldn’t hear of it. (How can you deprive a lady of a certain age of the hope that the next time the bell-bottom comet shoots across her horizon her backside will have shrunk to 1970 proportions?)

“Ain’t gonna happen, Mom,” said one of them, stuffing frayed denim into a green plastic bag full of other formerly precious stuff. “Get over it.”

The hard part of purging is realizing how much I wanted that stuff and how much it cost me back in the day when a secretary made $1.98 an hour. That wallpaper felt like a necessity. Now I see young people going into debt to buy granite counter-tops and stainless steel appliances that are going to be a pain to remove when they become “dated.” And they will become dated. The industry depends on us despising the things it once insisted we absolutely loved. We believed and strove to attain. Five years later we were ready for fashion divorce court with a new trendy item in the wings attracting our covetous attention.

Fashion is fickle. But it’s a good example of the power of propaganda to sway the minds of whole swaths of people.

I began to think about trendiness in the way society thinks and how some ideas appear to be as bright and fun and full of potential as psychedelic orange and gold swastika wallpaper. Some ideas appear to be solid and wise in terms of long-term planning, like a one-child policy (with forced abortions) in an over-crowded country. But what happens when parents still value boys over girls? Now, for this generation coming into adulthood in a China with millions of missing women, there is no girl for every boy, nor are there siblings or cousins or aunts or uncles to practise social skills on. Who knows how this is going to play out?

How does a society reach a point where killing or harassing people of a certain gender or race or ethnic group, or age, or philosophy, or religion, or lifestyle (declaring them “non-persons” and thus undeserving of honour) seems like a good idea? I’ve watched some of the Facebook lynch mobs go after people with different ideas lately. These people don’t show mere disgust for taste in wallpaper. They want to hurt folks who think differently.

No one is free from the effects of the trendy-thought terrorism of propaganda. Your wallpaper is now ugly. Get rid of it. Those people are not acceptable. Get rid of them.

Without the solid foundation of “in God we trust” morals are determined by the whims of whoever holds power at the moment. At various times in history a lot of people have been considered to be of too little value to legally protect, First Nations people, African slaves,  women, people descended from nationalities with whom the country is at war, prisoners, members of religious groups, members of a former ruling class, viable humans in the womb…

I wonder, if in twenty years time, when the consequences of riding the wrecking ball pendulum of trendy fashionable ideas that persecute others play out, if we will suddenly open our eyes and say, “What were we thinking?”

I bet there will be tears. A lot of tears.

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Moralism and Grace

 

Black and White
Black and White

“Postmodern people have been rejecting Christianity for years, thinking that it was indistinguishable from moralism.”
– Timothy Keller

It made grammatical sense to me. When I was little, I added an “er” to the word bug when referring to my even littler brother, because he was bugging me.

Mom washed my mouth out with soap for my efforts to extend my understanding of linguistic principles. I didn’t know it was a bad word. That event made such an impact on me that I remember it all these years later. I resolved as a three year old that when I was a grownup I would explain the rules to my kids before dishing out consequences for violating them. Unfair! It was a justice issue for me then. It still is.

My husband and I were discussing the question of how to teach the principle of grace to young children in a Christian education setting. We both taught Sunday School for years and became frustrated with pre-packaged lesson plans that required every Bible story to have a moral. Nearly every one of them was a moral about behaviour — shoulds and should-nots. A lot of them were stories from the Old Testament that did not take New Covenant grace into consideration. Be like the good guys. Don’t be like the bad guys, because God is watching. (How do we explain that everyone, except Jesus, was both good and bad without glossing over the embarrassing details the Bible does not gloss over?)

What we truly believe becomes evident when we distill it down to concepts we try to teach to little ones. But how do we teach the concepts of grace and forgiveness to children (or others) who don’t yet know the difference between right and wrong?

Grace is not a laissez faire message that sin has no consequences. Skipping that truth is really unfair. Sin is not okay. Never has been. Never will be. I do think there is a difference between sin (defying God’s principles) and un-wise actions though. Sometimes even though you have been working at a job for 32 years, and know it inside out and backwards, a boss will require you to do something that you know is stupid. It will cost you great inconvenience later to clean up the mess, but the boss is in authority, so you do it. It’s not a sin; it’s just un-wise on the boss’s part. If the boss asks you to eliminate a competitor in the back alley, however, there is no question. That is sin. You refuse to submit, no matter the cost.

Sometimes we choose unwise actions of our own volition. When we come to our senses it involves changing our minds and policies, and probably offering some apologies, but it’s not the same as deliberately choosing to disobey Jesus’ command to love your neighbour, for example.

The Pharisees asked Jesus what the greatest commandment was. Children need to be taught what he said: “And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.’ The second is this: ‘You shall love your neighbour as yourself.’ There is no other commandment greater than these.” (Luke 12: 30-31 ESV).

Four times in his final charge to his disciples Jesus said loving him and being his friend meant keeping his commandments. Then this: “This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.” (John15:12).

Sometimes love means being quiet and leading by example. Sometimes love means letting children learn the discipline of natural consequences. Sometimes love means tackling a kid who is big for his age before he hurts himself or somebody else. How this plays out in your life depends on the wisdom God gives you when you ask Him.

By the time a child can think for himself he knows he has missed the mark. Holy Spirit speaks to them too. Even as a child I knew that labeling my brother according to his on-going temptation to bug me was not loving him — even if I didn’t use the right word.

When I was depressed and in the midst of burn-out from trying to earn God’s approval a counselor asked me, “What does grace feel like?” I gave him the Bible school definition. He said, “No. I asked what grace feels like.”

I had no idea. I was a product of moralism. After a search in which I asked many other people this question – including some joyless Christians I did not admire – I came to an understanding. Grace to me now is climbing up on the lap of the Creator of the universe, (someone who has the power to annihilate me in a flash), resting my head on his chest and knowing I am perfectly safe because he loves me. Grace lets me know I am forgiven and enables me to change because he whispers encouraging words and tells me who I really am in his eyes. He loves me because he loves me because he loves me. The Creator sent his son, who lived as a man, who both accepted and spoke the truth to those caught in sin, chose to die at the hands of those he came to save, and conquered death just to prove it.

How do we teach children (and others) about grace? By demonstrating it. By speaking the truth about the way God sees them -as lovable. By loving them the way we are loved, including setting wise boundaries, teaching them to base their choices on love (and not mere tolerance) and becoming who they are meant to be. We teach by extending a grace that costs everything the way Jesus extended grace to us.

Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends. – Jesus Christ

Save

Save

Time After Time

pocket watch IMG_0156

My son proudly showed me the pocket watch his mother-in-law gave him for Christmas. It’s a family heirloom that is nearly a hundred years old. The biggest surprise to him was that after he wound it, it still works. The parts that have seen the passing of time are so fine and yet continue to mark the moments, time after time.

I don’t know how many seconds have passed in all that time, but I know that God is worthy of praise for every one of them. No matter the times, no matter the circumstances, he makes our future glisten with hope – time after time.

I will praise the Lord at all times.
I will constantly speak his praises.
I will boast only in the Lord;
let all who are helpless take heart.

Come, let us tell of the Lord’s greatness;
let us exalt his name together!

I prayed to the Lord, and he answered me.
He freed me from all my fears.

Those who look to him for help will be radiant with joy;
no shadow of shame will darken their faces.
(Psalm 34:1-5)

May this New Year glisten with hope.

May you be radiant with joy

time after time.

Thanks for the Memories

 

Bar U Ranch

“...The Lord showed me the reason I didn’t think he answered my prayers. It was simply that I was not thankful when He did. Without an attitude of thanksgiving those memories were lost to me.” -Lara Merz

The new book While He Lay Dying is touching some sore spots for some people. I understand. The story hit a lot of mine as well -sore spots that God was putting pressure on, like a kind doctor who looked into my eyes while asking, “Does that hurt?”

The intent of the doctor is not to torment you, but to heal you, but first he needs to identify the source of the pain by having you acknowledge it.

I do believe that prayer is more about learning to listen to God than handing him my Christmas wish list, or a job description of my design with expectations I think he needs to meet. Still he invites us to come to him with all our cares and needs and with prayers and petitions – with thanksgiving – and present our requests. The thanksgiving is actually for our sakes, because being grateful for the things he has done for us already helps us remember and come in faith.

I met a woman a few years ago who, like I had been, was mired in chronic depression. Healing from depression can involve more than one avenue since this wretched condition affects every part of our lives – mental, physical, spiritual, emotional, relational. But one of the glimmers of light in that cave of darkness begins to shine when we are willing to be thankful for one thing. Thanking God for just one thing is like picking up the first crumb that leads to a trail of crumbs -more things to be thankful for. The trail leads to the exit of the dark cave. I asked her to tell God one thing she was thankful for. She refused. She could think of nothing -as she sat in a large warm house, in a free country, with a good meal, and all her expenses cared for by a generous family member, comforted by friends who constantly tried to reach out to her. “My life is too bitter,” she said.

Another person said, “Sure. God healed your son-in-law. How nice for you. But why be thankful? There is no guarantee he’ll be here next Christmas. He could be hit by a bus, or another tragedy could strike your family. It happens all the time. Where was God when this happened and that happened? Look at the news this week and what about the time I prayed and he didn’t give me the answer I wanted?”

Do you see how quickly we can lose the memory of a miraculous response to prayer and forget God’s goodness when we refuse to be grateful and choose to focus on disappointment? It was like turning away from the spot of light in a dark cave and saying, “So you saw something that might point to a light, or maybe even an exit of some sort. How nice for you. But my experience is that it is dark in this cave. Look at all the places where there is no light. Don’t remind me of my pain. There is no hope.”

Of course we all die. Miracles are not about having perfect circumstances and a care-free life. Signs point to something -or Someone. Signs are not the destination. Don’t park there. Keep moving.

A friend reminded me yesterday that those of us born in the 50’s have lived in two centuries and two millennium -and people we knew in our youth had been born in the 1800’s. He made me think. One of the most influential people in my life, my grandmother, was born in 1909. My granddaughter was born in 2009 -100 years later, and yet these two people are central in my memories. I am so thankful for them. I am especially thankful that my grandmother told me the stories of God’s provision, even through the most horrible experiences -from the death of her kitten as a wee girl to the death of her two children as a young mother. Yes, she found herself in dark places sometimes, but she always came out singing, because she remembered her answered prayers, and thankfulness pinned those memories down for her. She knew the God she appealed to, and the longer she knew him, the more she loved him. A few weeks before she died she told me, “Death holds no fear for me. It is a wide-open door to the light. And my dear Jesus is standing there, arms open, waiting to wipe away all my tears.”