Church for Liars

Kenny has always loved church, attending with his grandmother as a child and even going on his own during his teenage years.  During college, his church attendance was sporadic, but now that he’s out on his own he’s trying to find a church to really become a part of.

The churches he’s tried so far, though, just won’t accept him.  Really.  It’s all on them.  He doesn’t care about worship style or length of service or any of that.  Couldn’t care less whether the demographic of the congregation skews old, young, rich, poor, black, white or plaid.  He’ll dress up if that’s what’s called for or wear jeans and a T if that’s the style.  He just wants a congregation who will accept him for who he is.

But they won’t.  As soon as they find out that Kenny is a liar, they immediately start to trying to change him.  They quote Old Testament Scriptures at him like “Thou shalt not bear false witness” even though they claim to be a New Testament church.  They quote NT verses to him about truthfulness and honesty, sometimes quite harshly.  Some of them are really mean about it.

Kenny has read many scholars, after all, who say that the New Testament has been mistranslated for almost two thousand years and verses like Ephesians 4:25 don’t actually mean that a person should never lie but that they shouldn’t be vicious in their lies.  And, as is obvious to anyone of a modern, enlightened, mind, John 7:18 is saying that Jesus never lies, not that any of us never do.  Of course, we all lie now and then, so it would be hypocritical to get on to someone who lies more frequently.

Kenny has also found scholars to tell him that John 8:44 was mistranslated in saying that Satan is the father of liars and of lies, though he can’t remember what those phrases actually mean in Greek.  And so what if Titus 1:2 says God never lies, it’s not like God is built in such a way to lie.  He doesn’t have the same urges or needs as we do.

So it has really galled Kenny when he’s attended church and been a part of ministry teams and taught Sunday school—and even played on the softball team side-by-side with the minister, for gosh sakes!—and then, as soon as he’s honest with them and tells them he’s a liar, they want to change him.  Some of them shout and call him names, which certainly didn’t make him want to worship with people like that!  But the worst ones are those that try to pretend they “love him in the Lord” and just want to help him overcome his sin.  Bunch of hypocrites.

The thing is, Kenny was born a liar.  When it comes to telling the truth or telling a lie, Kenny has no more control over his actions than a male dog has around a female dog in heat.  He just has to lie.  He was created that way and he is absolutely certain God wouldn’t create someone one way then tell them to be something else.  Being a liar is who he is and no one has any right at all to change him.

No, the ones who are even worse than that are the ones who have tried to reach out to him from a sense of their own brokenness.  That one church, he remembers with a wry chuckle, seemed like everyone in it was always telling him about the sins they were battling.  Lust, idolatry, covetousness, anger, you name it.  And then they’d try to tell Kenny that they would like to come alongside him in his journey and pray for the Holy Spirit to help him overcome the sin in his life.

Those people were the worst, because it was clear to Kenny that—ever since that day in college when he admitted to himself that he was a liar—such a peace had come over him that his status as a liar had to not be a sin, but a gift from God.  Why couldn’t all these Christians see that?  They claimed to want a revelation from God, but here was someone giving them a clear one and all they were doing was rebelling and clinging to their old-fashioned notions of Scriptural revelation.

Kenny’s thinking about heading into the city because he’s heard there’s a church there made up almost entirely of liars.  The preacher and his wife are self-proclaimed liars and so are all the elders and deacons.  You can walk right in, they say, and no one will think any the less of you if the way you signed in and the name you put on your nametag don’t match.  They’ll even applaud you for your boldness.

“That’s the way churches ought to be,” Kenny thinks to himself as he walks out of one more failure of a local church.  One more place where the people think they’re sinners in need of grace instead of realizing that God is nothing but love and doesn’t really care what you do so long as your heart’s in the right place.  Kenny, who lies to everyone but himself, knows this is true because his heart tells him so.

[P.S.  My apologies to everyone I know named Kenny.]

Judgment Day

I must confess: I don’t get Judgment Day.

Oh, I have read the Scriptures.  I’ve read in Matthew 25 of how all the nations of the earth (presumably past and present) will gather before Jesus’s throne and everyone will be divided into sheep and goats.  Sheep get eternal life in heaven, goats get eternal punishment.

I’ve also read about how the people of the Old Testament, especially the Psalmists, seem to view judgment day differently from the Christian mindset.  Whereas I tend to view Judgment Day as me being the defendant with Jesus as my attorney, the Psalmist’s mindset seems to be one of a plaintiff arguing before God against those who “done him wrong”.  [Note: the phrase “done him wrong” rarely appears in Scripture, I just threw it in here because it’s how I talk/think.]

I understand all that.  It makes me shudder at times, but I understand it.

What I’m confused about—and this is probably all me—is why there will be a Judgment Day at all.  And I realize that I (and others, if I read them right) may have been preaching—especially at funerals—as if there won’t be a Judgment Day.

Think about it: how many times have you been to a funeral and heard the minister (maybe even me) proclaim that the person who has passed away, because Jesus was their Lord and savior, is now happily ensconced in heaven?  I’ve heard that.  I’ve said that.

If it’s true, what happened to the Judgment Day?

Auntie Mae passes away on Wednesday.  We have the funeral on Friday, wherein we proclaim her happily rejoicing with the angels.  Was Judgment Day on Thursday and the rest of us missed it?  Is Auntie Mae rejoicing in Purgatory (not the ski area)?  Is there a purgatory?  (The ski area is called “Durango Mountain” now, which really bugs me.)

I actually have an answer to these questions—which I will get to in another blog—but my question I’m trying to address here is why there needs to be a “Judgment Day” (possibly all-caps) at all.  Couldn’t God just take me from my death bed straight into heaven?  He knows whether I’ve trusted my life to his Son or not.  Why is the (from my perspective) rigmarole of Judgment Day necessary?  To that person who hasn’t trusted in him, who has chosen to be a goat, God knows that, too.

Don’t get me wrong.  I’m not arguing against Judgment Day.  Scripture says there will be one, so I trust there will be.  And I am confident I won’t be confused there, or afraid of the outcome.  I just don’t get it.

Thankfully, knowing why God does what he does is not a criteria for salvation!

Putting the Fleece Out

In Judges chapter 6, Gideon isn’t entirely sure that what the angel has told him to do (throw down the false gods, upend the country) is what he’s really supposed to do.  So he asks God for a favor.

Gideon puts some fleece out on the threshing floor and says, “If I wake up and the fleece has dew on it but the ground is dry, I’ll know this is your will, God.”  God does just that.  So, the next day, Gideon makes one more deal with God, “Make the ground wet and the fleece dry.”  God does that, too, so Gideon does what God asked.

From that event, many people even today will use the phrase “putting the fleece out”, meaning (usually) that they are taking some time to determine what God wants for them to do in some given situation.  The guy with the middlin’ job tells the headhunter he might be interested in entertaining offers, the woman in the small apartment submits a bargain-basement bid on a house to see if the door to it opens for her.

While some people use the phrase “putting the fleece out” without being aware that it has a Biblical background, I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that most people have a vague idea of the Sunday School edition of the story.  I’m also going to go out on another limb here and surmise that most Christians who use the phrase are also accompanying their fleece with prayers.  I know I have done that before, offering prayers along the lines of, “God, please clearly open the door you want me to go through and clearly close the ones I shouldn’t go through.”  I think God has answered that prayer on more than one occasion.

But I have never actually put out fleece.  I could blame it on being allergic to wool, but the reality is probably doubt.  Not a doubt that God could still work in that way, but a doubt that he does.  I mean really, Gideon was being called to turn his whole culture on its head … and not only that, God approached Gideon first.  That’s a little different than me asking God whether I should go for the car with the low price or the one with the low payments.

Still, I was recently at a long-building decision point in my life.  Literally, years and years of praying for something to happen that had not happened (and showed no signs of happening) in my life.  I knew—and know—I cannot control God.  And, to tell the truth, I don’t want to.  That wouldn’t be the “blind leading the blind”, that would be the “blind, deaf and dumb leading the person with all his faculties completely intact”!

Approaching the target of my prayers honestly, I had to admit that there was the possibility that God’s answer to my prayer was “no”.  It obviously hadn’t been “yes” and there was no indication that it might be “wait”.  That left “no”.

So, in the month of March (2014) I determined to put the fleece out.  While I didn’t use actual fleece, I—like Gideon—asked God for a sign.  Not just any sign, but a specific sign.  And I prayed and prayed, even more than I had been for the previous 30+ years, about the matter.  I spelled out not only my desire, but also my vow that, should the answer be “no”, I would accept that answer with thanksgiving.

I am convinced God answered me and that the answer was no.  I am keeping my word and praising God for slamming that door shut.  And you know what?  It’s not “grudging praise”.  I prayed and God answered.  How wonderful is that?  Did I get the answer I wanted?  Before March 31 I would have looked at an answer of “no” and said, “That’s not what I want.”  Now, I am grateful for it and realize it is the answer I wanted because it is God’s answer.  Not only that, but the time previously spent in pursuing my desire can be better applied to pursuing the things of God.

[If you keep watching this blog, maybe I’ll eventually tell those of you who haven’t already figured out what I’m talking about what I was praying about.]

Do All Things Really Work Together for Good?

I had gone to the hospital to pray with a couple I knew whose young child was facing serious medical problems.  As we stood around the bed after praying, the child’s mother said, “I know the Bible says all things work together for good and that’s what I’m holding on to.”

Politely, I asked if I could read the passage to her and the child’s father and they nodded appreciatively.  So I read Romans 8:28 to them, “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”

That’s really quite different from what she quoted to me.  It is also quite different from what she wanted.  She wanted God to work things out according to her conception of “good” on her conception of “when” with no responsibility for either herself or the child’s father.

Can God do that?  Sure.  Has God worked miracles for people who weren’t following him?  Yes, he has.

I’m not here to argue that.  This blog just concerns things that are on my mind and something I have been thinking about in relation to this event—and others like it before and since—is when people try to “claim” only the portion of God’s promise they want to claim.

Look at the verse (and, better yet, go back and look at the whole passage).  For whom does it say God works everything together for good?  Is it a blanket statement for all mankind?  No.  It is for those who love him and are called according to his purpose.

The woman in question was not married to the baby’s father, nor did she have any intention of marrying him.  She didn’t have—as far I could tell—any sort of formal relationship with God.  I had known them for quite a while, had been in their home, and had learned that they owned a Bible but didn’t know where it was, “prayed, but not regularly” and yet here they wanted to claim a promise of God’s that seemed convenient to them.

Remember cereal box top offers?  “Send in 8 box tops and get the Captain Midnight decoder ring!”  What did they send you if you sent in 7 box tops and a good intention?  (Hint: not the ring!)

I’m not saying God works like the promotions department of a breakfast cereal corporation, but I am wondering why we expect the cereal company to live up to their stated bargain but expect less from God.

“Well, God knows my heart!”  Yes, he does.  He knows you invoke his name but don’t pursue him.  He knows you have his word in your possession but take no effort to read it.  He knows you claim love and fidelity but aren’t committed enough to the idea to call up the Justice of the Peace.  If God were the cereal company, don’t you think he’d be saying, “Um, you only have four of the eight box tops and two of them are from the wrong cereal”?

On the other hand, I firmly believe the promise is still valid.  If we love him and accept his calling on our lives, he really will work all things together for our good.

(Does this mean I'll never get sick again, no more flat tires, no leaky roofs?  No.  We live in a broken world.  But we don't have to stay in a broken world.  We have the promise held out of an eternal, good world.)

To Judge or Not to Judge, that is the Question

Ever had this happen to you?  You see a brother who appears to be engaged in some sort of sinful activity.  You approach them with concern, only to be told, “Judge not, lest ye be judged!”

Never mind the fact that this person would never use the words “lest” or “ye” in any other context, and that they only partially quoted a Scripture and couldn’t narrow down it’s location to anything more than “somewhere in the Bible”, it shut you up, didn’t it?  Because you know, whether the person quoting knew it or not, that Jesus really did say that.

Look at the actual passage.  I’m sure you know where it is, but just in case, it’s at Matthew 7:1-2, “Do not judge, or you too will be judged.  For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.”

That seems pretty straightforward, doesn’t it?  Unless … we read these verses from Paul: 1 Corinthians 6:1-3, “When one of you has a grievance against another, does he dare go to law before the unrighteous instead of the saints?  Or do you not know that the saints will judge the world? And if the world is to be judged by you, are you incompetent to try trivial cases?  Do you not know that we are to judge angels? How much more, then, matters pertaining to this life!”

Wait a minute, did Paul just contradict Jesus?  Are we supposed to judge or not?  Or, maybe it’s OK to judge angels but not people?

Before we answer that question, let’s look back at what Jesus said next back there in Matthew 7:3-5, “Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?  How can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when all the time there is a plank in your own eye?  You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye.”

Now, if I see a speck of sawdust in my brother’s eye, I’m just supposed to ignore it, right?  No, that’s not what it says, is it?  What I’m supposed to do is take the plank out of my own eye, and then I’m supposed to remove the speck in my brother’s eye.  (i.e., my problem is bigger than his!)

Go back to my first paragraph.  This brother (or sister) I have seen engaged in sin, how did I approach them?  With a purity of heart or self-righteousness?  Years ago, Joe Martin drew a cartoon depicting the “lowest level of authority”.  A guy in a jail cell is looking out a window and shouting at someone (we can’t see), “Hey, you!  Get away from there!”  Is my approach to my brother the same?  Is he going to look at me and see the log in my eye (or the jail of my sins surrounding me) and think, “Who’s this guy to tell me anything?”

Or, will he—or she—see someone who, as Paul admonishes elsewhere, speaks the truth in love?

See, what our world wants to object to—and we Christians have let them set the standard here—is to eliminate both judging and judgment.  What’s the difference?  It’s a poor illustration, but maybe I know from previous conversations that you are a recovering alcoholic and I see you going into the liquor store.  Judgment, informed by a heart that is given over to God, sees that and reaches out in love to give you a hand.  To give you a friendly and helpful reminder to stay on the wagon.

Judging, on the other hand (and this is what’s condemned), sees you entering that liquor store and pronounces, “Well, that guy’s lost!  He’s off the wagon and drinking again.  No point in wasting any more time on him!”  The self-righteous log in my own eye has made this pronouncement because I am seeing myself as God’s judge, jury and executioner.

Judgment, which is encouraged, combined with love, means I approach you.  Maybe I find out you’re not off the wagon, you’re just needing a lot of boxes to help a friend move and everyone knows the best place for boxes is a liquor store.  Or, maybe you were just about to jump off the wagon.  If I have approached in love, as a brother, you might be a little embarrassed or even chagrined, but you’re eventually thankful.

And see, within this, is another element that is often left out of this equation: brother.  (Or sister.)  Both Jesus and Paul are talking about our relationships with people who are in the kingdom of God with us.  You know, elsewhere, Paul says the first piece of godly armor we are to put on is the “belt of truth”.  I am convinced this is not just the belt of “telling the truth” but of also “hearing the truth”.  I don’t like having my faults and sins pointed out to me, but then again, I know it needs to be done.  Sometimes, I don’t take the correction too well at first, but if I’m letting the Holy Spirit work on me, I come to see its value.

The world (or Satan, who’s leading this charge) doesn’t want us to think this way.  If I see a brother or sister in Christ doing something questionable, I’m just supposed to shut up and not say anything because “who am I to judge?”  Where does that attitude get us, though?  “Little” sins that grow into big problems because they were never addressed.  I’m not saying we take after the Enemy and prowl around like a roaring lion, looking for someone to devour, but in our dealings with our brothers and sisters in Christ, let’s hold each other up to a loving, Godly standard.  Use the judgment he has given us.  And when the logs are out of our own eyes, he says we’ll be able to see the speck in our brother’s eye better.

Flying Buttresses and Empty Pews

If you haven’t been there yourself, you’ve probably seen the pictures: enormous, beautiful cathedrals built to hold hundreds of worshipers that, now, will see maybe twenty people occupy the pews on a Sunday morning.  The great worship houses of Europe, which once overflowed with people, now sit empty and the people who live in the surrounding villages (and cities) look disdainfully on the buildings and have little patience for anyone who calls themselves a Christian.

“Been there, done that” describes their attitude pretty well.

Could it happen here?

We have, at most recent count, 47 churches in our little town of Dumas.  [Or, one church for every two Mexican food restaurants.]  On any given Sunday morning, an average of less than 10% of our population attends one of those churches.  An interesting topic for discussion could be: “In one hundred years, what will the church scene of Dumas look like?”  Will any of the congregations that now meet still be here a century hence (should Christ tarry)?

There is, of course, no way of knowing.  We are notoriously bad at predicting the future.  For instance, it being 2014, we’re supposed to have flying cars and hoverboards and an American League team in Miami by next year.

On the negative side, it would be easy to prognosticate that, ten decades from now, the churches of Dumas and America will be just as empty and ineffectual as the churches of Europe and England.  We have compromised where we should have stood firm and argued with each other when we should have been united and preserved what should have been abandoned and set fire to what we should have kept.  We’re seen as wishy-washy, old-fashioned, and irrelevant.  We’ve been hoping Huey Lewis was a prophet and it would one day be hip to be square but we just keep getting more square (in the world’s eyes) while we have a sort of hip dysplasia that keeps us anchored to our pews.

On the other hand, praise God that our God is greater than we are!  When Elijah sulked in a cave, wishing for death and whining that he was the last faithful man in Israel, God came to him and said there were still seven thousand people in Israel who were faithful to the one true God.  Not only that, there was still work for Elijah to do!

Elijah did the work he was called to do.  He established a school of the prophets and appointed Elisha to take his place.

And you know what happened?  Israel continued to decline, the people continued to abandon God, and eventually the kingdom fell and everyone went into captivity.

But God used Elijah to sow the seeds of faithfulness in those who would listen.  Eventually, God sent Jesus, the Messiah he had long promised.  Those seeds Gods planted through Elijah helped to make the soil ready for Christ’s incarnation.

So, I keep asking myself: what about me?  Am I going to keep fighting a rear-guard action, just waiting for the church to collapse, or am I going to let God use me like an Elijah: to prepare the people around me for the word of God?

Speculation about what the church might look like in a hundred years may have a place, but what is even more important is this: how will I let God use me today?

Handouts Welcome, Help … Not So Much

Man shows up at the church office saying he needs help with gas money so he can get the kids to school.  Says he used to attend the church “years ago”.  I invite him in and try to engage him in conversation but he’s not interested.  “Can I get help or not?” he asks, with breath that smells like tobacco and clothes to match.

He’s in his own car, so I ask him to follow me to a nearby gas station, where I put twenty dollars in his tank and invite him to come and worship with us on Sunday.  He says he’ll be there, with his kids, and smiles in a friendly way as he drives off.

Six months later, the same guy shows up with the same story.  I almost hate to belabor the point of the smell, but it’s going to come up again.  And, for the record, I help a lot of people and some of them have had distinctive odors and some have not.  My nose doesn’t make the call of whether to help or not, but with this person it’s a detail that’s worth some comment … in a moment.

I talked to the man a bit, got no further than his need for gas to get the kids to school because the ex still isn’t paying child support.  Eventually, I ask him to follow me to the gas station and I put twenty dollars into the tank and invite him to worship with us and get the same semi-appreciative wave.  Oh well.  As stated, I—and the church where I serve—help a lot of people in this way.

As a church and as an individual, we help several people.  The family that shows up one Sunday morning saying they need some food for the kids, I ask them if they could stick around through church and then I’ll take them to get some food.  They do and I do.  The guy who’s coming through town on his way to his mother’s funeral and needs gas, we help.  Man shows up with his gas bill in hand and asking if we can help pay it, I go over to the gas company with him and pay his bill.  A couple shows up asking if there is some job they could do around the church to earn some money—they’re adamant they don’t want a handout—seemed like a godsend because we had a whole stack of tile that needed laying in the new bathroom and they know how to lay tile.  An hour later they’ve done an excellent job and won’t let me pay them—it’s their idea to go to the gas station and let me fill up their tank.  I buy them food and drinks, too, which they try to turn down.

It’s only a month later than our last encounter when the same guy from earlier calls up.  I’ve learned his name from previous “visits”.  He says his ex isn’t paying child support and he needs some food.  I invited him to church but he tells me he’s going to another church in town.  I say that’s great and tell him what time I’ll be by with food.  Right on time, I and one of the deacons show up with some grocery sacks full of staples (milk, bread, PB&J, cereal, cheese, etc.).  He opens the door and a] doesn’t invite us in and 2] we are hit by a wall cloud of tobacco smoke.  He takes the bags of food and hastily darts back inside as we invite him to church.  We can hear the lock being thrown.

Between talking to him on the phone and showing up with the food, I made a phone call.  I know the minister at the church where the man says he has been going.  I talk to the minister and he does indeed know the man.  The man came to church a couple times and always hit them up for food or gas then stopped coming to church but kept hitting them up for food or gas.

The last few times he’s called and asked for food or gas, I tell him to come to church on Sunday and, after church, we’ll set him up with what he needs.  I was worried at first that he might just show up when we’re getting out of service, but he hasn’t.  In fact, I haven’t seen him in several months except for one time when I passed him going into another ministry in town—on a weekday—where he hit them up for food and gas.

I’m not sure how to help this guy.  This is a small town and I have come to learn this man has a decent income and his house is paid for.  However, he’s spending several hundred dollars a month of that income on tobacco, which leaves him little for his gas and food needs.  [Don’t misunderstand me: I am not saying that tobacco use is, in and of itself, sinful.  However, if your choice is between feeding your family and tobacco and you choose tobacco, it’s clear to me that tobacco is your god.]

I don’t deny that this man needs help, but the help he needs, he’s not willing to accept.  Do I continue to subsidize his tobacco habit in hopes he’ll finally listen to the gospel?

Religion or Relationship?

“No more religion for me, I want a relationship!”  I’ve seen a post to that effect on several occasions lately on Facebook, posted by different people.

I get it.  The poster (one who posts, not the thing on the wall) is tired of unfulfilling rules and regulations and wants a two-way street and conversation with their Creator.  I firmly believe that’s what God wants with us, too.

I just don’t like the saying because, of the two words, which one is advocated for all believers in Scripture?  I’ll give you a hint: it’s not “relationship”.*

When we think of “religion”, though, what do we think of?  Rules and regulation.  Forms that are more important than the function they were (supposedly) instituted to serve.  Pomp and circumstance signifying nothing (if I may mangle the Bard).

How does the Bible describe religion?  “If anyone thinks he is religious and does not bridle his tongue but deceives his heart, this person's religion is worthless.  Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to visit orphans and widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself unstained from the world.”  (James 1:26-27 English Standard Version)

Two things strike me right off.  First, God doesn’t think any more highly of useless religions than we do.  People who tell themselves—and anyone else—that they are religious but still act and talk like the unsaved have a worthless religion.

Second, there is a religion God likes, and advocates: taking care of people who need taking care of and keeping ourselves pure.

Let me take that inside-out for a moment and stress “keeping ourselves pure.”  One of the bad connotations that comes to mind when thinking of “religion” in a negative light is the guy in the cowl (or Armani suit, clothing intended to indicate his authority and superiority) shouting out “Thou shalt not!!”  In other words, someone else telling us how to live.  James—writing, as I firmly believe, with the authority of the Holy Spirit—wants us to monitor ourselves.

Now, back to the first part of that directive: taking care of orphans and widows.  Most of our churches (another word I don’t like) are known, first of all, for size and worship style.  Sometimes for doctrine.  These all have their place and it’s stupid to claim we aren’t swayed by them, but wouldn’t it be great to be known first and foremost as an assembly or individual who takes care of the needy?  “2^nd Church?  Yeah, I’ve heard of them.  Aren’t they the one that has the clothes drive for kids?”

Unfortunately, we’ve let the world co-opt the word “religion”.  We’re visiting with someone and they say, “You’re pretty religious, aren’t you?”  We mumble and hem and haw because we’re pretty sure they just insulted us.  Or we’re thinking that what they’re thinking of is “religion” defined by rules and regulations and meaningless things.  Wouldn’t it be great if someone said, “You’re pretty religious” because they saw us building a handicapped ramp on a widow’s house or taking her to her doctor’s appointment?

I want a relationship with God.  I pursue one every day in prayer and in Bible study, but having read the Bible I realize that God, like us, telegraphs how he wants to be related to.  It took me a while to learn that as a husband but I eventually learned that the way my wife wanted to be loved was not always intuitive to me.  I had to finally ask her what she wanted, what I could do to show her that I loved her?

David realized this—to his own surprise—that God didn’t want sacrifices.  “Sacrifice and offering you did not desire—but my ears you have opened—burnt offerings and sin offerings  you did not require. Then I said, ‘Here I am, I have come—it is written about me in the scroll. I desire to do your will, my God; your law is within my heart.’”  (Psalm 40:6-8 New International Version)

God seeks a relationship with us and one of the primary ways he wants us to show him love is by showing love to other people—especially those who are downtrodden.  It’s why he spends so much of his word in telling us how to treat other people.  In other words, he doesn’t want us to reject religion, he wants us to find it!  But not the world’s definition of religion, his!

The next time someone tells me they want a relationship instead of religion, I think I’ll tell them I want both.  I want a relationship built on the religion God is looking for and I want a religion that strengthens my relationship to my God.

One without the other is useless.

* OK, if you went and looked up “relationship” in your concordance, you found that it shows up 6 times in the NIV.  But look at those 6.  4 of them refer to relationships with other people.  One speaks of the relationship between Jesus and God and one indicates that Solomon’s life was such that it indicated a relationship existed between him and God.

Little Things?

The appeal goes out.  2^nd National Church is doing something they would like to have the other churches in town involved in.  Sounds good!

Somewhere in the appeal, though, is a statement like, “Let’s gather around what unites us rather than what divides us!”  That sounds like a good idea, but what does it mean?

In theory, it means that what unites us—one God, one Jesus who is our savior—is bigger than all the things we tend to squabble about.  It’s a wonderful thought and one we (speaking as Christian) ascribe to happily, whole-heartedly even.

Too often, though, what either the person saying it means or the person hearing it hears is, “Unite around what’s important to me rather than what’s important to you.  (Because what’s important to you isn’t very important and, really, is kinda stupid.)"  Of course, no one is crass enough to say that, but …

I was part of a ministerial alliance once wherein someone proposed that we—the churches of the town—get together and put on a “Christian parade.”  The route was going to be from 1^st Methodist to 1^st Baptist—which would wend throughout downtown—and the floats were to be presented by the churches of the town.  It was going to be a chance for Christians to show off that we can a] have fun and 2] come together.  At the church where the parade was to end, there would be a picnic and all the churches would get together and fellowship and maybe sing and it’d be a great thing.

The ministers were on board, until …

It started to unravel when someone suggested that, in the parking lot where the parade was to end, they were going to put up a horse trough and baptize anyone who wanted to be baptized.  Someone objected to this because they believed that no one should be baptized without extensive counseling.  Another person objected because the church he represented sprinkled rather than immersed.

The parade never happened.

To the person(s) who doesn’t see baptism as that big a deal, it probably seems like a silly thing to torpedo an idea over.  Maybe it was, but the people on both sides of the issue saw baptism as part of the larger picture of salvation.  Some said it was necessary for salvation, some said it wasn’t, but they all had a definite opinion on the matter.

Baptism.  Immersion.  Sprinkling.  Wine.  Grape juice.  Hymns.  Praise music.  Preaching.  Teaching.  Prophesying.  Gifts.  Tongues.  Healings.  Women.  Men.  Children.

I agree that the Lordship of Jesus Christ, and the fact of his being the only begotten Son of God, is bigger than any of these issues.  But can we at least stop pretending that what someone else believes about these things isn’t a big deal?  Maybe it’s not as important as Jesus (I can guarantee it’s not as important as Jesus) but it’s important to whoever brought it up.  Instead of an elephant in the room, maybe we’re elephants and we need to deal with the mice in the room.