Tag Archives: Christian

Anti-Trump Trumpeting

Caricature Blog HWCMI did not vote for either of the two major party candidates in last November’s presidential election.

I could not vote for Donald Trump. He was so egregious in his remarks and evident attitude toward women that I could not countenance showing support for him by checking his name on the ballot. I have a wife and a daughter and granddaughters and nieces (and many, many women in my life–friends and ministry partners) who deserve better. I have a son and grandsons who need to know that they are to never disrespect women–ever. In addition, while it is likely that many of our presidents have been closet narcissists, Donald Trump seems desperately in need of personal approval in a way not even assuaged by actually winning the presidency. His conduct on the campaign trail; his apparent lack of grasp of public policy issues; his failure to analyze any of those issues (beyond either, “It’s terrible!” or, “It’s great!”), gutted any potential I may have had to mark a ballot for him.

I could not vote for Hilary Clinton. She was, in my view, deeply flawed as a candidate in many ways but–and this was the key point for me–the Democrats’ migration over the last couple of decades from being euphemistically “pro-choice” to being aggressively “pro-abortion” was one I could not countenance. There is simply no room in the Democratic Party (at least at the national level) for pro-life persons. This, despite recurring and reflexive references to “children” as the rationale for policy proposals. We have many stains on the national fabric: 50 million (and counting) aborted babies is, in my view, the deepest crimson stain.

So, I didn’t vote for either of the major party candidates. In my state, a ballot write in was not available–a vote for a third-party candidate as a way to say “none of the above” was my only option. I cast my “none of the above” vote, even while realizing that one of the two major party candidates would be the winner on November 8th.

Given Trump’s Electoral College victory, there are at least three realities in the face of his presidency: He gets to try to govern. The opposition gets to oppose. And the public (in support or opposition) gets to protest. Those three realities have been at the heart of our republic since its inception.

By now I have likely lost or incensed many who read this. That’s fine. But a more pressing issue, for those who embrace Christ, is: how do those three realities play themselves out now that Donald Trump is president? For those willing to venture on, I offer these thoughts.

As Christians, we have multiple responsibilities: preach the Gospel, disciple those who come to faith, deepen our relationship with Christ, tend to the marginalized, pray for our leaders. And, in a democratic republic like ours, we also have a stewardship responsibility for our government–we get to vote for those who make our local, state, and national decisions. We must listen, engage, vote, protest. But having entered into the arena, we also have a responsibility to accept the outcome–win or lose. If we win, we celebrate magnanimously. If we lose, we lose graciously. If the other side wins, we give them the chance to govern.

However, there is another issue. Sometimes the civic responsibilities of governance collide with the compassion responsibilities of Christians. Biblically, the first responsibility of governance is the safety of a nation’s citizens (Rom. 13:1-7). Biblically, the first (but binary) responsibility of Christians is to love God and love people (Matt. 22:37-40). Sometimes our efforts to love people–particularly people “in the ditch” (Luke 10:30)–will run counter to (or at least complicate) the government’s responsibility for safety.

We must, in those cases of conflict, speak the truth of biblical compassion to those in authority and encourage them to continue to enable the American model as the refuge for the teeming masses who need protection and a place to launch their lives afresh. We must hear and speak truth. We must know that refugees coming to this country through the legal channels are among the most thoroughly vetted people to ever land on our shores. I am heartened by statements from evangelical leaders in support of compassionate refugee and immigration policies.

When we protest (and this president seems on a path to prompt much protest), we owe it to our neighbors to “speak the truth in love” (Eph. 4:15, 29). Truth is the content of our speech; love is the manner in which we speak that truth. Failure to be people of truth belies the essential content of Jesus’ message. Failure to be people of love betrays the very nature of God’s relationship with us and our call to reflect His love in our relationship with Him and with others.

If our sympathies lie with those in opposition to this chief executive, then we get to (must) oppose. But this is not opposition for the mere sake of opposition. This is a call to measure each and every proposal against biblical standards for truth and justice and oppose, in principle and by any lawful means, those policy proposals that run counter to biblical standards.

Christians should not, in my view, be people characterized by sore losing. We’re not to be the player who kicks dirt at the umpire or “rushes the mound” because we think the call at the plate was wrong. Baseball fisticuffs can be fun to watch, but Christians should be trying to break up the fight–not get in a few discreet punches of our own (Matt. 5:9).

Because–and here is, I think, a key point–this president gets to try to govern. The Christian call to pray for those in authority (1 Tim. 2:2) is an important element here. If the Roman Emperor Nero was a worthy prayer focus, a democratically elected leader can be no less. National success is in everyone’s best interests. Certainly, there are debates about the elements of national success. But to hold that each and every element of the president’s agenda is intrinsically evil, just because he is the person proposing the agenda items, is simplistic and runs counter to Christians’ biblical warrant to be persons of discernment (Phil. 1:9,10).

So, there is anti-Trump trumpeting. As, I am sure, there would have been anti-Clinton caterwauling had she been the Electoral College victor last November. But perhaps the trumpeting can be tempered by some appreciation for the three realities mentioned above.

Besides, there is the primary means of protest in our democracy coming in 2018–the midterm elections. Not happy with President Trump? Energize your congressional district to empower the democrats. Happy with President Trump? Continue to empower the republicans with the possibility of national governance.

© 2017, All Rights Reserved.


The Case of the Missing Leg

I am a leg man…always have been.  The way the leg reaches up to the thigh, succulent and firm and is, all at once, gone.  Man, I love legs–especially when they’re fried.  I know they’re bad for me…dark meat…fried.  But they are delicious.

Wait.  When I said I was a “leg man,” where did your mind go?  We both know–and you should confess.

Anyway…I had stopped by the grocery store where they make the best fried chicken.   I asked the guy behind the counter for six legs and four wings (if you can’t have a leg, a couple of wings will do).  And there was the onset of tragedy.  He couldn’t find six legs.  With tear-drenched cheeks, I said, “That’s OK, I’ll just take a couple more wings.”  As he wrapped up the box, he said, “There’s four legs and six wings.”  I know his grammar wasn’t perfect, but I had chicken!

I made my way to the cashier–my heart was heavy, but at least there were four legs.

Now, the chicken packer, in an efficiency exercise, had put the legs and wings in the same box, with a price sticker for each of the two different chicken cuts on top of the one box.

As the cashier rang up my chicken, she scanned just one of the price stickers.  When I realized this, I said, “I think you missed one of the stickers.”  After she confirmed the miss, she scanned the other sticker and I paid full price for my meal.  As I was swiping my debit card, I waited for the words…but they never came.

I had expected her to say, “Thanks for being honest,” or, “I appreciate you being honest.”  But…nothing.  I had done the right thing and naturally expected some affirmation for my $5.31, chicken-based honesty (the $5.31 sticker is the one she had missed).  But, no…there was no praise for me.  No commendation of my sterling character.  Nothing.  Nada.  Zippo.

Trudging to my car, I tried to put my finger on what irked me.  Sure, the cashier hadn’t acknowledged my honesty but it was, in fact, only $5.31.  Then I realized that the cashier’s failure to take notice of my exemplary behavior had swatted my most sensitive spot: my pride.  I had done something I thought worthy of praise and glory (or at least a little gratitude) and there had been none.  My ego had been poised for a little stroking but stroked it was not.  Pride had waylaid me once more.

God’s ongoing project with me is this matter of pride.  C.S. Lewis called pride “The Great Sin.”  In Mere Christianity, he said, “Pride leads to every other vice: it is the complete anti-God state of mind,” and Lewis was right.  At least in my case, it is indeed pride that does me in.

I can find so many ways to feel slighted because people don’t know me or recognize my gifts or use me or listen to me or agree with me or marvel at my wisdom.  I marvel at my wisdom.  Why doesn’t anyone else seem to see it? The world I inhabit is so “me” intensive–so selfie centric.  In everything, it seems, I am prone to ask why there is no spotlight on me, rather than directing the spotlight toward God.

I am in what feels like an extended period of uselessness…waiting to see what (if anything) God has next in store on the teaching/pastoring front.  And, because I am sidelined, I am getting an intensive in pride awareness.  Every time I see or hear or read about someone else’s ministry efforts, pride tells me to envy.  Each issue of every Christian publication I read is pride’s sucker punch–raising my awareness that I am not as wonderful as I think I am–that I am (apparently) completely unnecessary in the Kingdom.  While I have written elsewhere that “we are all just penciled in,” it is a comeuppance to realize that the “we” includes “me.”

Because even though my “awareness quotient” is way up, my ability to hold my pride in check is still flat lined on the spiritual heart monitor.  Pride paralyzes my desire to see God at work in others and then pulverizes my capacity to celebrate His wonderful work in them.  From the sidelines, it is oh so easy for prideful me to say, “I could do that better.”  Pride excludes the idea that celebration of God’s work (through whomever He chooses), is part of the joy of Christian living.  Pride crowds out my very consciousness of God.

“In his pride the wicked man does not seek Him; in all his thoughts there is no room for God” (Psalm 10:4).

Pride is the seedbed of so many other sins.  Once pride takes hold, other sins are poised to go viral in my soul.  Holding pride in check is such a slippery proposition.  Once I think I’ve put it in its place, I then pride myself on having put it in its place.

It has occurred to me that this awareness exercise may be a purposeful part of the reason for this ministry “timeout”–that perhaps God is intentionally using this period to wring the pride from my soul.  It does not seem to be working.  I know, for example, that some kindhearted soul will likely commend me for this blog post.  I will say (to them), “Aw shucks; thanks,” I will say (to myself), “It was quite good, wasn’t it.”  Sigh…back under pride’s sway once more.

“Lord, lead me to the place of genuine humility…not self-noticing false humility…but other-celebrating and Christ-glorifying genuine humility.  Lead me to the place where the only opinion that matters to me is that of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.”

Oh…and by the way, the chicken packer had missed packing one of the four promised chicken legs–there were only three legs.  So I actually paid for more chicken than I got.  Does God have a sense of humor or what?

© 2015, All rights reserved.  Scriptures from the New International Version (Zondervan).


Despicable Me and the Vitriolaters

DESPICABLE-ME-21

I love the Despicable Me movies.  The minions crack me up.  And Gru–you have to love a guy who works so hard to be so bad only to find out that he can love his adopted daughters with a heart-melting kind of love.

But Gru is the focus of the “despicableness” of the Despicable Me movies.  In fact, I would go so far as to say the recent Minions movie (without Gru for 99.9 percent of the screen time) just didn’t quite reach the same level of, well, despicableness.

As opposed to, say, me: because while Gru tries so hard to be bad without being able to pull it off, I try so hard to be good, but I cannot even get close.

That brings me to this:

I have been in and out of pastoral ministry for a couple of decades.  I have had my share of high intensity disagreements with folks who thought ministry should be done differently or who disagreed with me about something I had done…or hadn’t done…or had done but hadn’t done to their satisfaction, etc.  Once or twice the accusations rose to the level of acrimony.  But, in most every case, on the other side of the acrimony, there was usually a level of reengagement and forgiveness and reconciliation.

But I have reached a new level in my pastoral career–it turns out that I am now–wait for it–“despicable.”  It was the actual word used in an actual email from an actual person to describe the actual me.

Don’t believe me?  Here’s some sample (unedited) verbiage:

Yea, thats right, your gutless! I think youre so gutless, in fact, that you wont even have the nerve to read this through without cutting me off again. Thats how much of a gutless coward I think you really are.

And this,

Its Pastors like you who expect high pay to fulfill positions of sacrifice and who make me want to puke. Youre ability to bring the worst out in people is real and that should tell you that youre not fit to be called Pastor.

And this,

You’re a despicable Pastor.

That’s right, Despicable Me.

Now, I have written elsewhere about recognition of not just my tendency toward, but my regular wallowing in, my own sin.  My spirit echoes the Apostle Paul’s angst:  “For, I have the desire to do what is good,” Paul says, “but I cannot carry it out.  For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do–this I keep on doing…What a wretched man I am!  Who will rescue me from this bondage to sin and death?” (Romans 7:19 & 24).

I must find my rescue in exactly the same place that Paul found his rescue, “Thanks be to God, who delivers me through Jesus Christ our Lord” (Romans 7:25).  It is there (and only there), accessing the full resources of the Trinity, that I begin to wade my way through and out of the muck and spray of sin that I exude on a regular basis.

So there is some truth in the “despicable” label.  But not the kind of truth spewed by the above “Vitriolater” (yes, I made up a word to describe those who spew vitriol).  So the Vitriolaters are often right…just not in the ways they think they are.

Many others, much wiser than I (if you’d humor me by accepting the premise that I might be, in some small way, “wise”–and not in the “wise guy” way of being wise), have attempted to ferret out why intensity of faith can result in the venomous spew of the Vitriolaters.

Marshall Shelley wrote Well Intentioned Dragons (in 1985) about people who are extraordinarily critical but who, at their core, genuinely seem to want the best for the Kingdom and its people.  But Vitriolaters are not “well-intentioned.”  They aim to destroy.

The trouble with the Vitriolators?  They think they’re right…about everything…all the time.  And they may sometimes be right in seeing the sin; but they are always oh so wrong in their thinking that they have been deputized as “Assistant Holy Spirits” to so flagrantly berate us sinners.

Is there need for genuine accountability in the Body of Christ?  Absolutely.  But it is “wounds from a friend that can be trusted” (Proverbs 27:6), not improvised explosive devices from the Vitriolaters.

Vitriolaters elevate their opinions to orthodoxy.  “Speaking the truth in love” seems to be beyond them.  Hungry to hear their own voice and hungry to have their voices validated by others, the Vitriolaters develop a streak of viciousness that seems to relish the prospect of proving themselves right at another’s expense.

Vitriolaters, it seems, eventually become idolaters–they worship their own “truth” instead of the One who is Truth.

And–please hear me–this is not a cry for sympathy.  I am not in the hunt for blogosphere shoulders upon which to cry.  I am genuinely puzzled by this phenomenon.  I am genuinely puzzled about how recipients of a Gospel fueled by the sacrificial love of Christ can wind up spawning so much hate.

What do we do about Vitriolaters?  Forgive them?  Pray for them?  Turn the other cheek?  Go the extra mile?  Give them our cloak too?  Yes, all of those things.  But beyond those things, as stewards of Christ’s Church, we must also do what the Bible also says about tending to the health of His Church, “Warn a divisive person once, and then warn them a second time.  After that, have nothing to do with them” (Titus 3:10).

Carefully, in the company of seasoned, spiritually deep church leaders, we must warn them and warn them again and then we must let them go.  Just as Gru would do anything to protect his girls, we must do everything we can to protect the integrity of Jesus’ first love: His Church.

Yep…I am despicable.  Now, if I only had some minions.

© 2015, All rights reserved.  Scriptures from the New International Version (Zondervan).


Under the Dome and Other Closed Systems

oxpecker on zebra

I only saw two episodes of the TV series.  But I had read the book:  Stephen King’s Under the Dome.

It’s a crazy story about an impenetrable and transparent semi-sphere that appears in the sky and surrounds a New England town–the bubble (funny typing moment: spell check turned my initial attempt at “bubble” to “Buble” as in singer of songs–my spell check is likely on some controlled substance) is quickly labeled, “The Dome.”

As the Dome materializes, it carves cattle in half (giving new meaning to the phrase, “thinly sliced roast beef”); planes abruptly disintegrate in the sky and the air is filled with a blood-and-body-parts kind of rain.  Birds splat and slide to the ground.  Trucks experience full-powered disintegration as they encounter the Dome at highway speed.

Then, as the Dome is completely formed, the people inside realize they are trapped.  They hammer and they pound and they scream and they pound some more, but they cannot get out.

Outside the Dome, emergency crews bring explosive and military might to bear as they attempt to bust in.  They can’t and they don’t–not for lack of trying, but for lack of ability to break into this completely closed system.

Interested in the story’s end?  Read the book…binge watch the series…ask someone…Google away…I am not a spoiler…you have no need of an alert about me (at least not for this)…

Meanwhile…

I was at someone else’s family celebration in the not-too-distant past.  The celebration was both well-deserved and well-attended.  And…most of the people attending were Christians (in the they’ve-told-me-so-and-I’m-taking-their-word-for-it kind of way).  I attended for two reasons: (1) I genuinely appreciated those being celebrated (they are loveable and huggable and kind and laden with been-around-a-long-time wisdom) and (2) their life achievement was a rarity in our day.  I also sort of “had to” attend by virtue of my connection with those being celebrated.

In the military we used to call that kind of attendance requirement, “mandatory fun.”  In this case, the sweet nature of those being celebrated genuinely made seeing them fun–even if it was semi-mandatory.

But, since I wasn’t part of the main family group that comprised this celebration, I was able to (read, again: had to) stand to the side.  From my vantage point, I got to see an extended family system at work.  It was the sort of observational opportunity that makes family systems theorists salivate.

Now, these family members seemed to enjoy each other very much; they seemed to extend genuine welcome and affection toward each other.  There were lots of smiles and hugs and pats on the back and bantering remarks tossed about.  Many “How have you beens?” peppered the conversation.

But one thing was very, very, very (yes, three “verys”) clear from the outset: this was a tightly closed system.  The Dome had nothing on this group.  I don’t think the folks inside were concerned about getting out.  But those on the outside could not get in…at all…in any way…for any reason… (again) at all.

Because, not only was this system tightly closed, those inside seemed oblivious to the presence of those outside…maybe it wasn’t actual obliviousness…maybe it was obliviousness’s more informed cousin: indifference.

Like yellow-billed oxpeckers riding the backs of indifferent zebras, the outsiders were barely noticed by the insiders.  The outsiders’ presence was tolerated but they were not taken in.

Another non-family system member, also consigned to outlier land, leaned toward me and said, “Now I know what a church visitor feels like.”  I sighed internally (in my position you must master the internal sigh) and thought, “He’s absolutely, heartbreakingly, incontrovertibly, right.”

We need to do something about the reality of “insider” versus “outsider”–we need to realize that, except for God’s grace through Christ, we are all “outsiders” and we’d best cast our loving embrace toward all the outsiders who come our way.

“I was a stranger and you did not invite me in” (Matthew 25:43).

© 2015, All rights reserved.  Scripture from the NIV.


I Am an Orphan Now

I am an orphan now.

Dad has left us…following Mom by just under two years.  He barely made it past what would have been their 61st wedding anniversary.  I had seen him a mere week before on a two-day “drive by” enroute to new jobs for me and my wife.

I usually associate the word “orphan” with youngsters.  Images of Dickensian waifs from 19th Century novels waft through my mind.  I am by no means minimizing the trauma of growing up without parents in the picture–or the loss of parents at tender ages.  But when I tried to label the dagger of feelings that sliced through my heart as I heard the words, “Dad’s dead,” this idea slapped my mind: I am an orphan now.

It seems a child’s orphanhood must be filled with “I don’t know what I’ve missed.”  Adult orphanhood, at least for me, is filled with, “I really miss what I’ve had.”  And I really miss what I’ve had.

I am not alone in this, of course.  My two brothers and so many millions of adults who have lost both parents share this orphanhood with me.

It feels like the stake has been finally driven into the heart of “kid-dom.”  Though I haven’t doubted since I was a smart aleck 16-year old (with a shiny, new driving license) that I was an adult, I don’t have parents around anymore.  Mom’s caring attention was always there; Dad’s wisdom was always there, even if I didn’t think I needed it.

Dad and Mom had pulled beautiful lives together from what could have been disaster.  Dad’s own mother purportedly committed suicide when he was a very small boy (though Dad was increasingly skeptical about the suicide story).  Dad was fostered out and only reunited with his own father and brother after a new stepmother insisted that it be so.

Mom suffered from crude attempts at mental health treatment as a young girl.  When they found each other, Mom and Dad brought together a rarely spoken but driven commitment to nurturing their own family such that my brothers and I were blessed (in the most profound way) by their love and presence.  What could have become gross dysfunction turned into an environment of health and care and love.

Mom’s and Dad’s spirits first intertwined at an old-fashioned, drug store soda fountain.  Dad was the “jerk” (no, not that kind of jerk–the milkshake-making kind of jerk).  Mom came in with two of her friends and she caught Dad’s eye.  Up until the very end, whenever Dad talked with me about how he and Mom had met, he bragged about putting extra ice cream into Mom’s coffee-flavored milkshake.

Norman Rockwell did a painting of them–ok, it’s not them but, when Dad saw Rockwell’s rendering of kids hanging over the soda fountain counter, he got tears in his eyes.  He hung the print in his dining area and it became a mental time machine–dissolving the decades and transporting him right back to when his and Mom’s eyes first locked.

soda fountain

He wasn’t the same after Mom passed on to the presence of the Lord.  The two really had become one (in that Genesis 2:24 kind of way) and Dad seemed both adrift and alone in ways that I could see and hear but could not fathom.  Encouragement from his kids to get out and about, to do something (anything) with his time, was met with indifference (and sometimes grumpiness).  It seems now, at least to me, that he was hungering to be with Mom, longing for the Mom-shaped hole in his life to be filled once more–and that nothing here could do that.  The two had become one; so now he was just half.

I think he did try a bit…he learned to text with a semi-smart phone and, at age 81, took his first selfies.  Texting was often better for him as his jet-engine-noise (and increasingly) impaired hearing from his Air Force days made conversations more and more difficult.  He texted with his kids and grandkids and great grandkids.

But Dad is now gone from this life.

He won’t vote in the 2016 election.  Like many, he had been bemused by the ever growing, rampaging horde of candidates.  He won’t be watching O’Reilly faithfully every evening at 8:00 p.m. Eastern Time. (If I accidentally called during that “sacred hour,” he would hurry me along off the call.). He won’t be the occasional “Correspondent of the Week” with his letters to the Editor of the local paper.

He won’t be scrupulously attending to Mom’s silly little dog anymore (he had promised her that he would…and he kept that promise till his last breath)–the doggy maintenance will fall to someone else.  And he won’t be experimenting with Roku or searching for Foyle’s War on Netflix.  He won’t be gathering with my more proximate brothers for Friday night movies and pizza (I am so thankful for them being physically present with Dad when I couldn’t).

He won’t be there when I call; I have deleted my daily calendar reminder to “Call Dad.”

He just won’t…be around, that is.  I am an orphan now.

“Sing to God, sing in praise of his name, extol him who rides on the clouds; rejoice before him–his name is the Lord. 5 A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling” (Psalm 68:4,5).

© 2015, All rights reserved.  Scriptures from the New International Version (Biblia).


Six Things I Hate

1.  Wisest Kid Commercials. Really? Now adults are so pathetic that we can’t even pick out something for lunch or dinner?  Someone, somewhere needs to put a stop to this cultural craze that has us believing that younger is wiser.  Sometimes kids stumble upon charm…but wiser?  Honestly, we need some adults with the intestinal fortitude to step up and say, “Knock it off.  If I want wisdom, I’ll ask someone who has a few more laps around the track than I do; not someone with a fake beard who can’t even tie their shoes.”  Wise-guy kid maybe (yes, I initially thought to use another word there, but this blog is rated “G”).

2.  Donut Ditherers. You know, patrons at the local donut shop who, after waiting in line for at least ten minutes, start to think about what they want WHEN THEY GET TO THE REGISTER.  “I’d like a dozen donuts please.  One…ummm…one chocolate frosted, one glazed…no, wait, ummm…”  Fifteen minutes later (note: more than a minute per donut), the Ditherers finally leave–oblivious to the charm fest they’ve left in their wake.

3.  Movie Seat Clusterers (yes, I made up a word). You’ve experienced this.  You get to the movie a few minutes early (so that you can get some popcorn and be seated in time for the trailers).  The theater is practically empty.  But, no matter where you sit, the boneheads who come in after you, decide to SIT RIGHT BEHIND YOU!  Dozens, nay hundreds of empty seats, and they decide to SIT RIGHT BEHIND YOU!  Honestly, I know I am neither charming nor popular nor, well, any of those things that would attract a crowd.  Why oh why oh why?  And, if you decide to sit right behind me, do not compound your lack of grace by ENGAGING IN CONVERSATION WITH THE CHARACTERS ON THE SCREEN.  The people in the audience with you can hear you, and are annoyed by you, BUT THE CHARACTERS ON THE SCREEN IN THE FILM CANNOT HEAR YOU!

4.  Stoplight Micro-Millisecond Timers. It happened again today.  I was first in line at the stoplight; it turned green; before my brain (which I admit is sometimes on the “slow cycle”) could process the change in color, the Uber Intenser (yes, another made up word) behind me HONKED HIS HORN.  Trust me, nowhere in the arctic wind chill of this winter wonderland is a destination worth the stress that comes with constant horn honking and pedals to the metal.  I could understand if I’d taken to reading War and Peace at each stoplight.  But honestly, a micro-millisecond?

5.  That I hate these stupid, minor things and that I let them get to me so often. Where in the world is my perspective?  The Apostle Paul said that the travails of this world are “light and momentary” (2 Cor. 4:17).  Since he was talking about things more egregious than traffic honkers or movie squatters, I have to wonder why it is that I let the “light and momentary” become so weighty and permanent in my mind.

6.  That I do not hate the things that God hates. “Hate evil, love good,” Amos says (5:15).  Why is it that I don’t hate the injustice that plagues our world?  Why is it that so many people without Christ doesn’t bother me enough to be more purposeful in my relationships?

Perhaps you have a similar list; perhaps you don’t.  If you do, maybe we should give the trivial over to God and let Him fuel our spirits with His own concerns.  Maybe.

© All Rights Reserved. Scripture Quotations from the NIV.


Maybe Gene was Right and Failure is Not an Option; I’m Still Not Sure (Part 2)

I have had lots of input since my last post (link here).  Many, many folks have been insistent that, in Christ, failure is not an option–if (and this, I think, is a big IF) we are honoring His call and committing ourselves to His purposes.  They have said (as I noted last time) that we do, indeed, live by faith and not by sight.  They have reminded me that human perceptions and evaluations are inevitably incomplete…handicapped by a lack of data and obscured by the sinful nature that continues to blur the plans and purposes of God.

So maybe Gene Kranz was right (or, at least, the Apollo 13 screenwriter who had Kranz’s character say), “Failure is not an option.”  I’m still not sure.

Perhaps it’s just vocational or existential angst.  [Don’t you love the onomatopoeia of “angst”?  Don’t you love the onomatopoeia of “onomatopoeia”?]

Anyway, perhaps it’s just vocational or existential or even life stage angst.  I don’t know.  I do know that the feeling of failure still hovers–faintly whispering like the revolving rotary wings of a black ops helicopter–just waiting to touch down with its rapid assault team to confirm my fears.

But I have been deeply appreciative of the encouragement.  And that is definitely something.  Really, definitely, something.

And I have been prompted to do what I have encouraged so many others to do when faced with hard questions for which there seem to be no easy answers.  When faced with what I don’t know about the Christian life, I hearken back to what I do know.

I know this: God is good all the time (go ahead, you can toss back the response, “And all the time, God is good”).  It’s worth reminding myself that the God we worship is not arbitrary nor capricious nor tantrum tossing nor ignorant of our circumstances and peccadillos.  His goodness is who He is; His goodness is what He does; His goodness flows from His love; and His love is deeper, wider, and higher than we can comprehend.

I know this: God has resources–has them all, in fact. And, though those resources are most often arrayed just beyond our sight sense, that doesn’t mean they’re not there.  It simply means that we don’t always get to see them.  Sometimes we hardly ever get to see them.  And maybe it’s the “hardly ever” that makes it seem, well, hard.

It was panic time.  The ancient city of Dothan was surrounded by an Aramean army which had snuck in overnight.  It was a manhunt…more accurately a prophet hunt.  Elisha kept derailing the King of Aram and his plans to destroy the Israelites.  The King thought he had a double agent among his people; but Elisha was giving the Israelites divine intel about Aramean troop movements.  Aram’s King wanted Elisha…badly.

So Aram surrounded Dothan in the night.  Not a good next morning for Dothanites (Dothanians?).  Elisha’s servant was mess-your-pants scared. Elisha prays and asks God to show nervous servant boy what’s really there.  Massed in the hills–masked to normal human sight–the Lord’s horses and chariots of fire surround the Aramean army.

That time, a servant of God got to see all that God had at His disposal.

I have to confess that I’m envious of Elisha’s servant.  Not envious of his era with its lack of indoor plumbing and all things “i” (Phone, Pad, Pod, etc.).  I am envious of that real time get-to-see-it experience in the middle of what looked like failure.  Man, what a day!

But part of what marks that day as spectacular is that it was not the norm.  To be sure, hanging around with Elisha heightened the probability that supercalifragilistic things would happen.  But even by God’s-prophet-is-in-town standards (see ax, floating), the vision of the Army of God for the servant of God was blockbuster stuff.

But it was not the norm.  The norm: we live by faith, not sight.  Right?

And I highlight that on the list of things I have known about God and this Christian life.  I live in the tension between what I know to be true about God and what I see happening around me.  So, maybe Gene was right, “Failure is not an option.”  But I have to confess I still hear the whispering blades of that black ops chopper.  Sigh…

“Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed” (John 20:29).

© All rights reserved.  Scripture from the NIV.


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