Don’t Be an Idiot!

Ever been called an idiot?  Ever called someone else an idiot?
Do you actually know what that means?  If not, your use of the term may be rather ironic.

Check out these Greek words:

“Now when they saw the boldness of Peter and John, and perceived that they were uneducated, common men, they were astonished. And they recognized that they had been with Jesus” (Acts 4:13).

The first of these two descriptive terms is the adjective agrammatos, literally, “unlettered.”  The second is the noun idiōtēs (pronounced id-ee-OH-tace), the fourth of the five terms listed in the box above.  Yes, the Jewish leaders in Jerusalem saw Peter and John as idiots, unlearned men.  But they had been with Jesus and, therefore, had a biblical and theological education far beyond anyone in the history of the Sanhedrin.  Whatever else they may have been, they were emphatically not idiots.

The basic idea in the idio— root is that of “one’s own.”  This comes out clearly when we speak of someone’s idiosyncrasies, that is, the peculiar characteristics, habits, or manners that are their own.

The idiot, it turns out, is someone who has not benefited from the wisdom and knowledge of others and has only his own with which to work.  In antiquity it was a word to describe someone who was uneducated in general or untrained in a given area.  This is its use in Acts 4:13, which is shaded from the author Luke’s perspective in a basic way and from the perspective of the Jewish leaders in a more pejorative way.

Clearly, an idiot is not something one would aspire to be.  Yet many people manage to achieve it.

“How I have hated instruction,
And my heart spurned correction!
I have not listened to the voice of my teachers,
Nor inclined my ear to my instructors!”  (Prov. 5:11-12)

Like this fool, many people are going through life armed only with whatever intellectual and sapiential powers they can muster from within themselves.  Rather than learn from others, they must do all their thinking and learning and opinion-forming on their own.  In other words, they are idiots.

In fact, we have now become a society of idiots.  It is an everyday phenomenon to see man-on-the-street interviews in which a TV news reporter sticks a microphone in the face of some idiot to ask him or her what he or she thinks on practically any issue under the sun.  Often it is clear that the person has never before put a moment’s thought into the idea under consideration.  But that doesn’t matter.  All that matters is he or she has a voice.

This is why we must pay careful attention to the “I think” language of ourselves and others.  Sometimes it is appropriate to begin a sentence with “I think.”  Many times, however, the need to begin that way may betray the fact that we probably do not know enough to comment intelligently and should perhaps refrain from the attempt.

Nowadays, it is common to hear people thinking out loud for the first time about something but doing so with utter boldness and a shocking lack of embarrassment.  They have a brain and a mouth and a whole bunch of “rights” to free thought and speech, et cetera; and this, it seems, qualifies them to weigh in on practically anything.  “I think…”  And off they go.

Yet there is a semi-conscious awareness of many people under, say, the age of thirty that neither they nor their peers are generally qualified to opine about most things.  This awareness does not deter them from doing so, but it is there nonetheless.  You can hear it in the new popular formula for introducing one’s idiotic thoughts: “I feel like…” or “I mean, I feel like…”  Many sentences are now begun with these words, sentences which are not meant to convey feelings at all, but rather opinions:  “I feel like the press has pushed this Trump-Russia thing for long enough.  I mean, I feel like it’s time to move on.”

Sometimes people even use this rhetorical formula to introduce statements of ostensible fact.  “I feel like Oslo is the capital of Norway.”  This always freaks me out a little.

And, of course, what troubles me is that we are now getting to hear from idiot theologians in the church.  “I think my relationship with God is between Him and me.”
“I mean, I feel like it’s all about relationships.”  And so on.

How often do you find yourself responding to questions and concepts of theological significance with the language of “I think”?  If I’m honest, I must admit I do it too much.  At the very least, there are numerous times when my contribution should be either a sentence that begins “Scripture says…” or just silence; but instead, I say, “Well, I think…”  And off I go.

[Sighhhhhhhhhhhhh…]
Lord, save me from the wisdom of idiots!…  Including the one I too often am.

A Taxonomy of Christian Political Stances

In this country, there seem to be five basic types of political stances taken by Christians.  Many American Christians, however, lack the understanding or imagination to see all five.  Some can see only two or three.  Most will easily understand four.  But the fifth remains an elusive, incomprehensible mystery to them.  The reason for this is that it is wholly different from the other four in character and worldview.  The four stem from some form of worldview inherited from modernism; and generally, they share in the great worldview bath of modern Enlightenment Liberalism.  The fifth kind of Christian politics is not rooted in modernism—or at least, it consciously seeks not to be.  For that reason, it is a breed apart from the other four, and so adherents of the four find it difficult to imagine or understand.

Let us have a brief look at these five views:

First, there is left-oriented Christianity.  This may range from basic blue-state Democratic leanings all the way to Christian versions of Marxism.  If you are a Christian who voted for Hillary Clinton in the election of 2016, whether from a place of general approval or as the lesser of two evils, you are probably a good example of someone this kind of political stance.

Second, of course, there is right-oriented Christianity.  Here again is a range, but these Christians tend to believe that right-wing, “conservative” politics best match the teachings of the Bible.  If you are a Christian and have supported Donald Trump in any way or to any degree, and certainly if you voted for him even as the lesser evil, it is rather likely you are in this group.

Third, there are many Christians who are “moderate” whether on purpose or on accident.  That is, they may intentionally try to stay in the middle, not adopting the planks of any platform to the right or to the left.  Or they may, simply out of confusion, end up somewhat tenuously in such a position. If you spread your vote and your political critique around because you don’t want to get tied to one party or another, this might be you.

Fourth, many Christians try to be apolitical.  These brothers and sisters are interested in keeping their focus on the things of God.  They want to work in and through a church that stays out of politics.  If this is your political stance, perhaps you didn’t vote at all.  Or if you did, you would never talk about it to anyone, and you wish no Christians would talk about their vote publically.  You see Jesus as having a kingdom “not of this world” and believe He would not want His church to get bogged down in the mess of earthly politics.  We should just be about the business of winning souls and building up the body of Christ.

Well, those are the four.  What could possibly remain?  We have covered leftward, rightward, centrist and noninvolvement political stances.  All parts of the political spectrum are accounted for, and so is disengagement from it.  Thinking spatially, it is difficult to picture any other option.  How could there be a fifth kind?

The fifth kind is a radical commitment to the kingdom of God under the Lordship of Jesus Christ.  Of course, Christians of all kinds will think of themselves and their politically like-minded fellows as having such a commitment.  But they believe that the kingdom of God is manifested in this time and place on earth in a commitment to right, left or centrist political ideas.  Or in the case of the apolitical type, it is believed that the kingdom of God is manifested in a church that remains unsullied by the muck of worldly politics.

Christians who have the fifth kind of political stance share a commitment to the kingdom of God which, at once, transcends the political spectrum and actively engages it.  They understand—really understand!—that God is neither a Republican nor a Democrat.  They understand, furthermore, that He is not even a modern Enlightenment liberal.  His kingdom is both transcendent and immanent, both not of this world and deeply involved in this world.

Commitment to the kingdom of God, then, is extremely political and it will necessitate political involvement in this world, mostly through faithful testimony, but also through social action.  Sometimes that testimony and action will sound to those whose imaginations are trapped within the modern worldview as though it were left-leaning (perhaps when advocating for the poor against the ugly side of capitalism) or right-leaning (perhaps when advocating for the pre-born against the selfishness of “reproductive rights”).

When Jesus told Pilate that His kingdom was not of this world, He was not saying that it was located on Mars or even in heaven.  He was not saying that His kingdom had nothing to do with this world.  He was saying that it was qualitatively different from anything this world has seen or can understand.  That it is of another realm refers to its essence, not its location.  Indeed, King Jesus is very interested in this world and has bled to claim it for His own.  This world is in rebellion against its true King, but it will not always be so (Rev. 11:15).

The church is here in the world as a colony of heaven.  And her mission is to be a picture and a foretaste of the kingdom of the One who has already conquered the world but who is patiently letting it go its way for the time being.  This is what James Davison Hunter has called “Faithful Presence.”

Perhaps you are reading this and thinking, ‘Well, duh!  Of course!’  But if you think this understanding of Christian politics is clear or easy to understand, you are probably either not an American or are one of the many who only think they get it.  I, for one, have been reading, thinking, talking about this kingdom politic for many years.  I have been actively trying to let it frame my worldview, and I continue to struggle, finding myself drawn into modernist modes of thought.

So in general, if you would be one who is committed to the kingdom of God with this fifth kind of political stance, I would suggest starting by cultivating a healthy suspicion of your own sense of already having it.  A second step, for some, might be to trade your diet of either right or left-oriented media faucets for more Scripture.

Explicable Me

“I feel ya, Bro!” says one guy to another. What he means, it seems, is that he apprehends a given situation or idea the same way the other guy does. But the expression suggests something deeper, more empathetic than a mere shared understanding of something. “I think and feel the same way you do about that,” is the apparent message. And the really incredible implication is that the first guy can give this assurance because he actually knows the very thoughts and feelings of the other.

1 + 1 = …1?
Henry Craik was evidently George Müller’s best friend for many years as they served together in Bristol, England as ministers of the gospel of Jesus Christ. When Craik died, Müller described their years of friendship as being “without a jar.” Amazingly, these two close friends never fought. But that does not mean that they always saw things the exact same way. Even less does it mean that either of them knew and understood the other down to the depths of his soul. The apostle Paul writes, “For who among men knows the thoughts of a man except the spirit of the man which is in him?…” (I Cor. 2:11)

On the other hand, C.S. Lewis has famously written that “Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: ‘What! You too? I thought I was the only one.’” He is right, of course. And the experience is one of the great pleasures of life—one of the few which gives an undeniable foretaste of heaven. Which is probably why it is so elusive and rare. The truth is, even when two people really find that they are on the same wavelength, really mutually simpatico, their unity is never total.

Each of us is so different from every one of the others that, to be honest, I sometimes despair of ever truly communicating with another human being in this world. The simpatico soul moments are so few and far between and as fleeting as a snowflake on the tongue. Moments of annoying and even painful misunderstanding are much more easily and often come by.

Like so many other people (all others?), I yearn deeply to be known and understood. And I dread the opposite. Without claiming to be “just a soul whose intentions are good,” I echo the prayer of The Animals: “Oh Lord, please don’t let me be misunderstood!”

Lack of Communication
Recently, I had an unpleasant phone conversation in which it seemed that my dialogue partner was bent on misperceiving me while making repeated claims to ‘totally understand where I was coming from.’ It was awful, really. Leading up to the conversation and following from it, I have had the horrible self-doubts about whether it was wise even to have it. Back and forth I go from ‘why in the world did I even say anything?!’ to ‘I had to say that! And they needed to hear it!’

This last year, I worked at yet another Christian high school where I was not retained and where my departure was attended by copious amounts of relational misunderstanding. The truth is, my desire to work there was not that strong. The work was far too difficult (impossible, really) and the material rewards too minimal for it to have a naturally strong draw for me.

Among other things in my experience at this place was the constant awareness that I just didn’t fit. Like most Christian schools, it is a bastion of what I have often called, on this blog and elsewhere, God-and-Country-Evangelicalism. For the past ten years or so, my affinity for that mentality has eroded almost to nothing. Though I grew up in it and championed it myself for many years, it couldn’t survive my study of Scripture and church history.
So each week, as the school would gather on Monday morning for “Opening,” and the pledge of allegiance would be chanted to both the American flag and the “Christian flag,” I would do my best to step back into the shadows and just stand with my head down. While I, unlike Olympic gymnast Gabby Douglas, never received any direct opprobrium for failing to put my hand over my heart, I always felt very foreign.

On one occasion, around the beginning of November, I did actually engage some 11th and 12th graders on the question of Christian non-violence, and the backlash was astonishing—almost like something out of a cheesy movie. Apparently, the superintendent’s phone lit up all afternoon and evening.
He did tell me, though, that a few of the calls were in support of my challenging the kids to think critically about the subject. And I did have a visit from a kind dad who came just to let me know he appreciated it. And while many of the students freaked out, there were a few who bravely defended me. I thank the Lord for all of these things. Still, they are the silver lining to what is undeniably a very large dark cloud of misfit experience.

It Only Hurts when I Relate
What bothers me about losing the position at the school the relational part. For one thing, I truly did come to love and enjoy the students; and I will miss them. But also, I hate the thought that the people of the school—the students, parents, my colleagues— might have wrong ideas about me. The official/unofficial story of why I am no longer there is likely to be that, though I was a good guy in a lot of ways, I couldn’t cut it as an English teacher, that I should just stick to Bible, etc. And that is simply not true.
What is true is that teaching all of the English classes for the entire high school is a job for at least two people. It cannot be done by just one person, especially if that one person is a real teacher. My understanding of what it means to be a Christian educator did not fit the school. I am not one for keeping things simple and shallow and just making the grades run on time.

But it is not a question of being misunderstood by robots. These are people. And what they think of me matters to me—no doubt, more than it should. I still live in the same city. I still see people from the school community around town. I’ve been bumping into them all summer. And each time, I want to run up to them and tell them that the official story is not true and that what happened to me there is not fair. But having been in similar spots before, I have learned how well such efforts turn out. It’s not pretty. As it is, writing this post probably means I will be seen as some kind of pathetic sore loser who doesn’t know how to just move on.

A Friend in the Valley
One of the most prevalent feelings I felt during the year—maybe the most significant of all—was loneliness. At times, the sense that no one else understood my heart or shared my view of things was almost oppressive. The Lord was with me, true. I knew He was present with me through the ache, and sometimes throbbing pain, of loneliness. But it was as much the presence of a wrestling opponent as of a loving friend.

Nevertheless, in the midst of the great trial that was this school year, the Lord blessed me with one really good friend among my colleagues. Mike, the Math teacher(!) from across the way, was also new to the school. That was probably what began our friendship—that, and our mutual love of coffee. But then it was sustained by a pretty good measure of shared understanding. With Mike, in the context of that place, I experienced something a little like what Frederick Buechner wrote of his childhood friend: “It was Jimmy who became my great friend, and it was through coming to know him that I discovered that perhaps I was not, as I had always suspected, alone in the universe and the only one of my kind. He was another who saw the world enough as I saw it to make me believe that maybe it was the way the world really was.”

Despite our mutual hopes of getting together, I have not seen Mike this summer. I hope we will get opportunities to hang out again. But whatever the case, I am deeply thankful to the Lord for his friendship through the last school year. He has my deep gratitude and respect.

Finding Kinship in a Book
“The author who benefits you most is not the one who tells you something you did not know before, but the one who gives expression to the truth that has been dumbly struggling in you for utterance,” writes Oswald Chambers. While it may be a bit too absolute, his point gets at something very real. Once in a while, you read a book and feel like the author knows you. Earlier this summer, I picked up a wonderful little paperback by Daniel Taylor titled The Myth of Certainty: The Reflective Christian and the Risk of Commitment.

Having just finished it, I can say that it is one of those rare gems. It is only about 150 pages in length, but it took me about six weeks to reach the end. This is partly because I have had to set it aside for several days on a number of occasions since I began. But it is also because it is so rich and important that I really needed to take it slow as I chewed on each page.

In the afterword of the edition I have, Taylor mentions the nature of some of the letters he has received in response to the book. Some have expressed gratitude: “If there is a common theme to their letters it is a sense of relief at finding they are not alone…. It is no small thing to find that there are others in the world who share your experience.” Indeed.
One of the praise quotes on the back cover is from poet Luci Shaw who says, “I recognize myself on every page.” I must say that I do too—or very nearly so.

Taylor examines the plight of the reflective Christian with an insightful honesty that is downright soothing. In almost every chapter, he takes the reader on a little narrative aside in which he shows us the life of a character named Alex Adamson. Alex is a fairly young reflective Christian in his first year as a professor of English (Taylor’s actual position) at a Christian college which is steeped in unreflective fundamentalist traditionalism (hopefully not Taylor’s actual position). Poor Alex is both drawn to and repelled by two separate subcultures: the church and Christian circles on the one hand, and the secular intellectual subculture on the other.

Surrounding these narrative vignettes, Taylor deftly guides the reader in thinking through, not only the difficulties of being someone like this, but also the rightness and importance of going ahead and plunging into the risky enterprise of living a life of active faith in Christ. Here are a few excerpts which elicited from me the tearful response of ‘Oh my goodness, this guy knows me!’:

The life of a reflective person is more likely to be interesting, less likely to be serene; more likely to be contemplative, less likely to be active; more likely to be marked by the pursuit of answers, less by the finding of them. The result is a high potential for creativity, curiosity, and discovery, but also for paralyzing ambivalence, alienation, and melancholy.

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Reflective Christians are, as they have always been, a great gift from God with important tasks to do. They cannot do them if mired in endless cycles of reflection without action. They also cannot do them, however, if they forfeit the life of the mind for mindless parroting of simplistic, culturally determined socio-religious agendas.

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Thinking, as many have discovered, can be dangerous. It can get us in trouble—with others, but also with ourselves. And the suspicion lingers in religious circles that it can also, if we are not very careful, get us in trouble with God.

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Like everyone, reflective Christians want to be accepted, to be valued, to be liked—ultimately to be secure. We are afraid of looking stupid, especially if we have an intellectual bent, but even more afraid, I hope, of being stupid. That is, I am willing, reluctantly, to be out of sync in either or both subcultures—to appear alternately naïve or rebellious, outdated or backslidden—if I am convinced that my stand is the right one.
Ah, there’s the rub. Will reflection ever give one peace about “the right” position? Intellectual orthodoxy will allow at best “a right” position, though even that is suspect. “How,” the ever-inquiring mind asks, “can I know that what I believe is right? Contrary forces witness to conflicting truths. I think I have the courage to take a stand, if only I could be sure where that stand should be.

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That many people still believe that every “question” can and must be neatly linked to an “answer” illustrates exactly why the church is so often an inhospitable place for the reflective Christian.

But as I said, Taylor is not only good at articulating the problem. He gives a clear description of the way forward.

Faith is a quality and a choice consistent with the human condition. It is an appropriate response to the world as I find it. It is a superior response to cynicism or despair which use the genuine difficulty of life to deny the very real opportunity for discovering meaning in it.

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There is one thing about which I do feel certain. I feel certain that the commitment to faith is a risk worth taking. I am more interested in finding a ground for commitment than I am in emphasizing the lack of certainty.

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As a belief system, the Christian religion is subject to the many ills of all belief systems; as an encounter with God, it transforms individual lives and human history. God does not give us primarily a belief system; he gives us Himself, most clearly in the person of Jesus Christ, so that truth and meaning can be ours through a commitment to that love with which He first loved us. The risk is great, but the reward is infinite.

The Paralysis of Uncertainty and Gospel Ministry
My own struggles with doubt and certainty do not have much to do with the question of God’s existence. For the most part, the struggles Taylor has in view seem to be on that line. But that is not what hounds me. As it turns out, I am just no good at doubting God’s existence. He has always been too palpably real for me.

I have, however, tasted something of the bitterness of which Lewis writes in A Grief Observed: “Not that I am (I think) in much danger of ceasing to believe in God. the real danger is of coming to believe such dreadful things about Him. The conclusion I dread is not ‘So there’s not God after all,’ but ‘So this is what God’s really like. Deceiver yourself no longer.’”

Even this, however, has only been seasonal. Thank God for that!
Mostly, I find I am plagued by doubts about certain Christian beliefs, some of them pretty central to Christian living and ministry.

For example, the debate between exclusive soteriology and universal reconciliation continues to roil around in my mind and heart. I hear an exclusivist say that there is no salvation apart from a decision of faith in Jesus Christ, that those who do not put their faith in Him will go to hell forever—I hear this, and I sense that there is truth in it. It is what I was taught from my earliest childhood, and it seems to be consistent with biblical on God’s judgment. Yet I cannot escape the opposing sense that the love of God and the greatness of His sovereign grace will likely surprise us in heaven by including many people we thought were beyond its reach. So I find myself saying to the exclusivist, ‘I do not feel at all comfortable speaking for God like that.’

On the other hand, I hear a universal reconciliationist say that God’s love trumps judgment. I hear him say that He will not actually send anyone to hell, at least not for eternity. I hear him say that Christ died for the sins of the whole world. I hear Him say that the many, many millions of people all over the world who do not believe in Christ but whom I do not want to think of as perishing apart from Him forever will, in the end, somehow be okay. I hear all this, and my heart feels that it must somehow be true. It too seems to accord with much of what Scripture has to say. Yet I cannot escape the sense that this idea is as much a violation of God’s holiness as it is a confidence in His love. Scripture is utterly clear that there is something called “destruction,” some kind of fiery judgment, coming for those who are not in Christ by faith. So I find myself saying to the universal reconciliationist, ‘I do not feel at all comfortable speaking for God like that.’

Now maybe one would say that this dilemma is fine. Maybe I don’t need to resolve it. Just let it be. But I know the Lord has made me for the teaching and preaching of His word. I know I am meant to proclaim His truth to people and to do so from an unapologetically prophetic stance. But how can I do that if I am, as Taylor puts it, “mired in endless cycles of reflection without action?” He speaks for me when he says, “I think I have the courage to take a stand, if only I could be sure where that stand should be.”

I cannot rest in the tension. For one thing, what if the tension between the biblical ideas of the exclusivity of the gospel and the universality of God’s grace means that the two ideas are to be synthesized? Such a synthesis could very well mean that I am among those who will face the fiery judgment of God. In Matthew 25, the Lord Jesus characterizes the “goats” as those who thought they knew Him but who failed to follow Him as they should. And in II Thessalonians 1, Paul says the fiery judgment to come is for those who do not know God and those who do not obey the gospel. Not believe, obey! Do I obey the gospel?!

I cannot seem to resolve the issue, but I cannot just leave it alone! I am truly in a quandary!

This is part of why I have stepped down, for a time, from the preaching team at my church. It is also why I decided not to speak at Junior High Boys’ Camp this summer. If I am conflicted about these things, how can I do the work of an evangelist?

And yet, the call is there. Like Jeremiah, I feel that if I do not speak in the LORD’s name, His words will be like a burning fire in my bones. I cannot hold them in. I am a man most perplexed if not altogether despairing.

Gospel Commitment and Relationships
My prayer now is that the Lord will graciously help me find a way forward as Taylor shows in his excellent book. His formula involves memory, community and perseverance. But will that help me know how to serve God and people in gospel proclamation? I am hoping so.
I am, at least, committed to stay in the game. If the Lord will, I want Him to use me to draw people toward Christ, whichever side of an inside/outside line they might be on in terms of salvation.

Meanwhile, I wonder how many people will even understand all this.
How many will even have the time or patience to read such a long post?! Probably none.
No doubt, for many people, this is all just so much navel-gazing self-absorption.  Mea culpa!
Nevertheless, I do hope that, in and through the community of the body of Christ, the Lord will help me to know what He wants me to believe and proclaim for Him. And I appreciate any help that anyone might have.

I close with the words of Pete Townshend:

“See me, feel me, touch me, heal me…
On you, I see the glory
From you, I get opinions
From you, I get the story.”

Announcing the Launch of a New Blog!

I am excited to announce the launch of my new blog, GEBEROLOGY!
(That’s pronounced ‘GHEH-bur-AH-luh-jee,’ NOT “Gerber”ology, for those comedians out there who will want to make wisecracks about how I’ve taken up the study of hunting knives or baby food.)
It has been in the beta phase for a while, but I think it is now ready enough to be unveiled for my millions of blog followers. 😉
Right now, there is only one post, a “welcome” post, on the main page. But a second post will show up within the hour, and more will be coming shortly.

Why a second blog?
I decided I needed to have a site that was more centered around my decades-long work of studying heroism, manhood, power, greatness and the great biblical truths about these things which run directly against the world’s ideas about them.
For the past six years or so, I have used this present blog, The Long War, as a way to focus on those sorts of topics as well as a myriad other things.
Now this blog will be where I write about most things which are not necessarily related to the issues involved in Geberology. To be sure, there is quite a bit of overlap between the two—the notion of “the long war,” after all, comes from my recognizing the centrality of the theme of heroism in the biblical narrative (II Samuel 3:1). But the distinction of focus between the two blogs will be helpful to me, and pretty quickly, to anyone who cares to follow either or both of them.

So without any further ado, here is the link to visit “GEBEROLOGY!”
Once there, you can use the “FOLLOW” apparatus in the side column to subscribe, if you are so inclined.

Thanks, in advance, to any who stop by and leave any feedback of any sort.
Grace and peace from the Hero of Heroes,
— KC/Talmid

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Most people believe the things they believe because they believe most people believe them.

“Sonnet of Waiting”

Quoth Milton in a sonnet old and grand,
“They also serve who only stand and waite.”
For me it feels, at best, to hibernate
To simply wait or turn aside to stand
If only I could hear His clear command
It would this grief and pain attenuate
Which lasts so long and runs so very late
And hardly seems by Mercy to be planned
But as it is, I don’t know what He wants
And so uncertain through my days I go
One hour and then another, on and on
Each day I’m forced to say, “It’s for the nonce”
Until He deigns a path to me to show
A course anew embarking thereupon

Best Thing I’ve seen So Far on the Issue

Since the Supreme Court decision last week, I have seen and heard a lot of good stuff helping to sort out the issues.
But this is perhaps the best thing I’ve seen. It’s simple and to the point. Whoever you are, do yourself a favor, and check it out.

The only thing I would say is the that, as good as this is, it still will not convince many people who disagree. But the real power of it, I think, is not its ability to win those folks over, but rather the great way it reminds people like me of what is really true.

This little message is what’s in my heart. Really.
Now the part that I need to work on is living and loving well so that people can see it.
Lord Jesus, forgive and help me…

Some Progressives Will Be Coming Back

This morning, I read a very interesting post by Kevin DeYoung. I would encourage anyone at all interested in the church’s response to the recent SCOTUS decision to check it out.

It got me thinking about another wrinkle in this whole thing.  Like many other Christians, I believe the Lord is going to use this whole turn of events in some pretty wonderful ways. In a lot of ways, this will be very good for the church in America. And in this connection, another realization has come to mind:  Some Christians who already were or are now becoming progressive on the so-called “same-sex marriage” issue will end up coming back to a more biblical point of view.

Years ago, I heard Os Guinness tell a story about a man who was shaken from his atheism when he went to a movie theatre in New York during the early years of WWII (I think he said it was W. H. Auden). The United States was not yet in the war, but newsreels were being shown as pre-feature trailers in movie theatres here. This theatre was in a largely German area of New York, and when the newsreel showed the persecution of Jews in Germany and Poland, the crowd cheered and yelled hateful, anti-Semitic epithets. The man left the theatre stunned. As he walked around thinking about what he had just seen, he found he could not deny that human beings were evil. It was the death of his atheism.

Over the next few years, there will certainly be a huge rise in the venomous vitriol, social ostracism and legal persecution of evangelicals who stand by a traditional, biblical understanding of marriage and sexuality. And some heretofore progressive Christians will find themselves so revolted by it that they will come to see the whole thing in a different light.

These progressive-minded folks are currently embracing the popular ‘rainbow flag’ revolution, but that embrace is largely based on the feeling that this is mostly about good people finally winning the right to live like other good people. But when they see the bare-toothed attack—and be assured, it will come—of those good people upon Christians who do not agree with them, they will experience a revulsion in the pit of their stomachs. And some of them, like the man in the movie theatre, will find themselves awakening to a reality that there are great, dark spiritual forces at work here.  (BTW, I am not equating homosexual people with Nazis or anti-Semites. If you think that’s what I’m doing, you’ve misunderstood me.)

Undoubtedly, in the coming heat-tests, many traditional Christians will defect to the secular, progressive camp.  But there will also be some who go the other way.  I think it will be very interesting, then, to hear from them.

The Drawn-Out Knight Rises

So, apparently, Moses is now a violent revolutionary.

I haven’t seen the new movie Exodus: Gods & Kings. But I’ve seen the commercials. Christian Bale plays Moses in the latest Bible-character-action-hero blend. And from all I can see, he is a version of Moses that looks more like Muhammed than the shepherd from Midian. Once again, we see that problems are solved by faith and prayer …plus the sword!

The same thing was done with the movie A Beautiful Mind 2… er… uhhhh… I mean… Noah. (Sorry. I sometimes get confused between movies where Jennifer Connelly plays the loyal and patient wife of a driven psychotic played by Russell Crowe.) The whole idea of a man of faith who quietly obeys and sees GOD do the amazing is lost amid the noise and chaos of “good” violence.

One of the most fascinating aspects to this whole thing is the lack of intelligence and imagination it betrays. Movie-makers obviously can no longer deliver an epic plot that doesn’t involve explosive action scenes and in which evil is only overcome by force. Which means, of course, that movie audiences can no longer handle such plots.

My chief complaint about Peter Jackson’s Hobbit movies is the sad pandering to moronic audiences who need every film to be louder and more explosive than the last. He had a perfect opportunity to show a quieter, slower, more considered story from Middle-Earth (all he would have had to do is stay within two or three miles of the book), and he forsook it for a comparatively insipid cash cow. But this is apparently what movie-goers now expect for their ticket money. Give us shows that go BOOOOM! I wonder when they’ll make a new movie about Gandhi which shows him as a violent revolutionary. If they did, people would probably pay big money to see it… provided a sufficient amount of bullets and bombs making carnage in the streets of Calcutta.

I shudder at the thought that many Christians will probably think it’s cool that Moses is portrayed as a warrior—the same Christians who seem to think that the point of the temple-cleansing scenes in the gospels is to show that Jesus was a manly, muscular butt-kicker who got in people’s faces and said, “Oh no, you ditn’t! Not in MY house!”

In all of the commercials and pictures from the Exodus movie that I have seen so far, Moses looks grim and angry while Pharaoh looks thoughtful, painfully concerned, and a little taken aback by the rage of Moses. I wonder what that is supposed to signify. Maybe that the prophetic types who hear from God tend to need to get the job done by going a little over the top, and so those who represent the system will likely feel attacked by mean-spirited jerks?… I don’t know.

At any rate, without having seen the movie yet, it is already clear that we will be treated to another colossal study in missing the point. Sure, Moses did the good violence thing once. He smote and killed an Egyptian who was beating a Hebrew. And the narrative of Exodus is written to show us that this did not succeed in bringing about God’s good end. As James puts it, “the anger of man does not achieve the righteousness of God” (1:20). Following Moses’ attempt to use violent means to address injustice, God brought him out into the wilderness to tend sheep for forty years. Then he sent him back to Egypt to draw out Israel, not to draw out a sword. (“Drawn-Out” is the meaning of the name “Moses.”)

In the great scene in which the newly free Israelites find themselves caught between Pharaoh and the deep Red Sea, it is not violence which secures their deliverance. It is not ANY human machination whatsoever. Here is what Moses actually says to Israel at that moment:

It is not our weapons, nor even our courage, nor even our faith in God which delivers us. It is GOD who delivers us! All by Himself, without any help from us, He will bring us His Yeshua (salvation). He wants all the credit for Himself.

Maybe this new Exodus movie will feature a scene like this:

Moses: “Let my people go!”
Pharaoh: “I will. I swear to God!”
Moses: “Swear to ME!”

[Rolled eyes and tired sigh go here.]

Okay. So here is the good news.
Christians, this is our time to shine like stars in the world, holding out the word of life. This is exactly how we should be different from the world around us. It’s not that the world is violent and we are non-violent. That is the outward sign of the Truth. The point is that world cannot imagine a faith that does not need to secure the good by force. But we can show them that… Can’t we?…

I mean it when I say this is the good news. The good news we share with the world is about how we were powerless to do anything about our plight and God stepped in, sending His Yeshua to save us. And now, amid the scariness of a world wherein the violent threaten us, financial security is a vanishing dream and our own sins threaten to destroy us, we can, by faith, stand still and watch the salvation of the Lord!

Liberalism as Atmosphere

Liberalism brings a complicated mixture of good truths, deeply embedded assumptions, and attractive dangers. And since it does, in fact, offer some good truths, it can be difficult to see its assumptions and dangers. (N.B. As always, I use the term “liberalism” in its original sense, the sense in which Reagan, Bush, Limbaugh and Beck are all liberals along with Clinton, Obama, etc.)

The problem is that here in America, we are all brought up inside liberalism the same way a deep ocean fish lives its whole life in the sea. Such a fish has no concept of anything other than the watery world it knows. The water is its very atmosphere. In fact, as CS Lewis pointed out, fish don’t feel wet. Such a fish does not think, “I love being under water.” It only thinks, “This is the world.” Imagine the fish was intelligent and could understand human speech. If one were to try to explain life out here in the air and on land, the fish would find it very difficult to understand. And if it ever ends up out of the water, it will have no categories for understanding the experience–it’ll just freak out.

That’s what it’s like sometimes, trying to get liberals to imagine a good world beyond liberalism. Of course, they can imagine things outside of liberalism, but only evil, Mordor-like regimes. The only good world they can envision is one where “peace” comes through the protection of superior force, capitalism blesses the industrious with material prosperity, and so on. And since that is the height of their imagination of the good life in a good world, they reason that it must be what God wants. And so the Bible is made to read as a formula for a modern, western, liberal society.

But what if the good world the Bible pictures is not like any of those concocted by the men of this world? What if the kingdom of God really is something wholly different (John 18:36)? Perhaps Isaiah 2:2-5 might give us a better picture:

Now it will come about that
In the last days
The mountain of the house of the Lord
Will be established as the chief of the mountains,
And will be raised above the hills;
And all the nations will stream to it.
And many peoples will come and say,
“Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord,
To the house of the God of Jacob;
That He may teach us concerning His ways
And that we may walk in His paths.”
For the law will go forth from Zion
And the word of the Lord from Jerusalem.
And He will judge between the nations,
And will render decisions for many peoples;
And they will hammer their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks.
Nation will not lift up sword against nation,
And never again will they learn war.
Come, house of Jacob, and let us walk in the light of the Lord.

‘Ahhhhh,’ says the liberal Christian, ‘But this is talking about the future (millennial?) reign of God over the earth, and does not address our present world. For now, it just makes for a nice inscription on a wall at the UN.’
Fine. Let us say that this Isaiah passage describes the future kingdom to be realized when the Lord returns and sets the world aright. The question is: What is the church to do and to be NOW? Is she to settle for choosing the “best” option among those currently made available by the powers of this world? (This, it seems to me, is what liberal Christians do.) Or is she to be a foretaste of the kingdom to come?

I would suggest that the difference between this world and the world to come is not that the kingdom of God is only to be found in the latter. The difference is that, for now, the kingdom of God is to be found only with the people of God, but in the world to come it will be the whole world. This means that, in the present world, the church becomes an advance outpost of the kingdom that is coming. We are a “colony of heaven,” to use the phrase of Hauerwas and Willimon.

This may be difficult to understand or to envision in precise detail. But the first step is this: Christians in the West have got to stop breathing the atmosphere of liberalism and start letting the Spirit of God’s kingdom fill our lungs. Who knows what kind of pure oxygen might get to our brains, if we did?