"My Christianity Sucks!"

“My Christianity sucks!”

It was a moment of supreme transparency, and I couldn't help but feel a kinship with my friend's sentiments. Several years have passed since that conversation, and that’s the only sentence I recall from it, but those words sunk down deep. Though I'm reasonably sure I've never expressed it quite that way, there have many days when translating my soul’s spirituality into electric impulses would have transmitted the weakest of vital signs. If there had been some device to electronically connect my heart to the keyboard of my laptop, Microsoft Word would have received very little communication. In fact, it probably would have typed just one sentence: My Christianity sucks!

Perhaps you've never felt that way, but I would be bold enough to guess that at some point, during some spiritual dry spell in your life, you were tempted to doubt the validity of your whole experience as a Christian. You know the time. Maybe you put on your church face and no one was the wiser, but when you peeled it off in the mirror at home after the sermon there was that vacuous stare from the eyes on your soul. You didn’t think your prayers would get past the ceiling, even if you could think of anything else to say. You didn’t voice, “My Christianity sucks.” But you felt it.

If you’re hoping for some cushy, feel-good , “this too shall pass” dénouement for the “My Christianity sucks” crisis, you will have to look farther than my blog. I don’t have that kind of solution to write for you because, when you are in that valley, some glib, poetic, philosophical resolution is almost entirely useless. “My Christianity sucks” rarely resolves with beautiful, dramatic closure.

One thing kept coming back to me, though, as I pondered my friend’s exclamation: “My Christianity sucks!” The word my. Is it your Christianity? Could that be the problem? My brand of Christianity could be lacking if I acquired, designed, and fitted it on my own. No wonder it sucks—I suck at creating beautiful things out of the unlovely. But wouldn’t you know…God doesn’t. He’s a master at that.

Does your Christianity suck? Maybe it’s time to exchange it for Christ’s brand of Christianity. Throw out all your failures to attain, all your notions of what you must do, and be an empty vessel for Christ to fill. After all, that’s what He is waiting on anyway.

Yes, it’s harder to do than it sounds. It’s humbling to plead with David through the darkness “Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me. Cast me not away from Thy presence; and take not Thy Holy Spirit from me.” (Psalm 51:10) But it’s certainly better than wearing the façade of your Christianity, hiding behind some past spiritual high and hoping you can revitalize it before it withers. Just let go of it, and ask Christ to give you a new Christianity—His version of Christianity. It may actually be more demanding than yours was, but it will also be more rewarding and less fickle. Take His yoke upon you…and you will find rest for your soul.

Pages!

In a brief departure from my usual blog posts, I wanted to point out that I now have pages listed across the top of the blog to link you to pages including About Me, Quotes, Recipes, Contact Me, Fainting Robins, and Know the Song. "Recipes" has been recently updated with a recipe for Blackberry Cream Cheese Coffee Cake (and a picture ;-) Please check them out at your leisure...Hope you enjoy!

The Way...sans maps or GPS

In general, I have a distinct aversion to using a GPS. The invention was possibly the summit of brilliance and annoyance all rolled into one fantastic and pricey package that offers the opportunity to get given incorrect directions in a voice that conveys less personality than the slam of my car door. Personally, I'd much rather just go the old fashioned way and use a map when necessary.

Bad directions aren't unique to using a GPS, however. In fact, there are times when I might prefer to capitulate to popular choice and use a GPS rather than attempt to follow people's directions. Case in point...

Scenario: Meeting a friend at the Battlefield Mall. Texting upon arrival.

Me: Hey, where are you?

Friend: The mall.

I shook my head and tried to quell the responses coming to mind.

Me: Yeah, you're also in Springfield, MO, but I could use something a bit more specific.

Friend: Macy's

In my experience, department stores like Macy’s on the mall have only slightly fewer entrances than the catacombs. There are dozens of departments, entrances in the mall, out of the mall, upstairs, downstairs.

Macy’s. Really?!

I finally got enough clues in the hunt to locate my friend, and by the time we were going to meet to leave I got a text asking where to pick me up. The golden opportunity to reply "outside the mall" fleetingly danced around in my brain, but I resisted the urge and answered, "Could you just pick me up on the east side at the north end by Hu Hot restaurant? I will be outside on the sidewalk."

Am I asking too much to request reasonable, detailed directions? Probably so. It’s probably why I can identify with Thomas’ question to Jesus in John 14. Right after one of Jesus’ most beautiful promises of going to prepare mansions, a place for each us, Thomas has to pipe up. Listen to the dialogue:

“And where I go you know, and the way you know,” Jesus tells the disciples.

“Thomas said to Him, ‘Lord, we do not know where You are going, and how can we know the way?’” 

“Jesus said to him, ‘I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me.’”

The sad part—I can just hear myself asking the same question Thomas did. I want to know exactly where we are going and how we are getting there; is that so unreasonable? Do you have a map, Lord? I’d really like to know the ETA…What about a GPS? I know you know the latitude and longitude coordinates, so just plug those in and I’ll be ready to go.

I can see Jesus smiling sadly. They missed it. He had been showing them The Way and telling them where He was going for three and a half years, ever since His initial command “Follow Me,” recorded in eleven different places throughout the Gospels.

You see, if there is one thing better than detailed directions, it’s having someone lead you directly to your destination. No worries about taking a wrong turn, confusing one exit for another, or accidently entering the wrong end of a mall’s department store. Just follow the one who knows the way already.

When Jesus asked anyone to follow Him, it wasn’t merely “Let’s go this way today and see what we can find to do.” It was a calling that went far deeper. As they followed Him literally and figuratively He was showing them The Way; they saw it each day, like a map written in the dust of Capernaum or Nazareth or Jerusalem, and so, as Christ’s ministry drew to a close, He knew they had seen where He was going…and they knew The Way. It was simple—all they had to do was keep following Him.

So long after the days of the Apostles, I have a little Thomas inside me persistently wanting further directions. Lord, don’t you know I could get lost if I don’t have step by step instructions? Where are you going, and what is the way? Maybe you, like me, find yourself demanding detailed directions from God for your life.

I can just see Jesus smiling sadly. You missed it. Where I go you know, and the way you know. Remember that I said to follow Me? Just follow the One Who knows the way already.

Remember Me

I pulled into a parking space at Springfield's botanical gardens Sabbath afternoon, and Daniel roared his motorcycle into a spot a couple spaces over. Since we had both driven into church that morning and were planning to attend the evening program, we decided to save the gas expense of a trip home and back again. The somewhat less gas efficient alternative to simply waiting at the church was my idea--spending the afternoon at an awesome park.

We wandered down the paths toward the lake which separated us from a couple in wedding attire being posed and photographed by two zealous photographers. The paths divided trees and carefully chosen plant life until they led into a clearing centered with a figure on a bench. At first glance I thought it was a woman watching the geese at the edge of the lake, but the plaque on the back of her bench revealed that it was a statue, a memorial to a lady I had never heard of before.

Photo Credit to M. Daniel W. Wilson

For a while we sat on the bench with her, took a few pictures, and moved on. Down the path was a spread of plants and flowers framing another bench with the inscription, "Sit Awhile With John and Mary." I was beginning to understand why the botanical gardens were also collectively referred to as the Memorial Park. It was an odd sight, all the life humming and growing around silent memorials to individuals who had passed away, all of them complete strangers to me.

The lesson I have been discussing for the last couple weeks with the youth class that I lead at church has been about the Lord's Supper, and somehow I found Christ's choice of words oddly striking--"This do in remembrance of Me." (Luke 22:19) Never was there a life of more significance than Jesus' life, and the same is true of His death, so it makes perfect sense that there should be a memorial to Him of equivalent significance. So I wondered how it was that He chose the memorial that He did...the observance of His final supper, from the foot washing before to the exact meal that followed.

It's not the typical memorial, to be sure. Lincoln has his memorial, Washington his monument, and Sojourner Truth has a statue to commemorate her as well. I've seen them all. Historically, even the Babylonian king, Nebuchadnezzar, chose a massive golden statue as a tribute to his achievements. When Jesus chose a memorial He might have had any kind of monument He wished; if He wanted a statue of Himself calming the waves, or a crucifix, a nativity scene--perhaps made of gold or marble or pearls--He could have commanded it to be. But instead He gave us something alive: an experience. It's an experience involving emblems of sacrifice, a living testimony to His undying love. Every time we observe the Lord's Supper we can experience His love and forgiveness in a new way, which is infinitely more moving than a statue and far more meaningful than a plaque, picture, or commemorative phrase.

"This do in remembrance of Me," Jesus said. And then He led His disciples from the upper room to a garden...If it had been the botanical gardens instead of Gethsemane perhaps there would be a bench under some trees inscribed with the Savior's plea, "Tarry ye here, and watch with me." (Matthew 26:38)

False Advertising

I get so annoyed by things that are advertised as something they are not.

My scotch tape dispenser proclaims “invisible” tape...and I always thought invisible meant “not able to be seen.”  I would suggest they try terming it translucent, but they are probably still working on making it invisible so renaming it might put a damper on progress.

Then there is the beauty parlor that offers a permanent for my hair. Oddly, I've had close to ten of those permanents and none of them were. Seriously, isn't that false advertising?

I must be the only one who has stared at a wrinkle in a purportedly “wrinkle-free” shirt and said, “Okay, what are we going to name you since you're not supposed to be a wrinkle?” Actually, I haven't said that, but it seems like a fair question for a wrinkle-free shirt that has more wrinkles than a pug.

While we're talking about calling things what they're not I am not going into Taco Bell's “Mexican” food offerings, but only out of respect to my friends who oddly enjoy its...er, hmm...fine cuisine. Or Chinese restaurants that serve French fries and play country music (yes, I have had the misfortune of encountering numerous such establishments). The list of false advertising that I’m not going to address could go on and on. And on.

I wonder if God has the same annoyance. Does it bother Him to see things and people stamped with the description of “Christian” when, in reality, they don't merit the title? If the performance doesn't validate the claims, it sounds suspiciously like false advertising to me. And I think I might be guilty at times—sometimes I might be more of an invisible Christian than Scotch can make their tape. And hair permanents are really no worse than I am about maintaining a lasting transformation. As for Taco Bell's scrumptious “Mexican” food...well, can I complain if it's not authentic? After all, I call myself a Christian—but there are times when I am sadly unlike Christ.

This seems to be a primary complaint of many who object to Christianity—it’s the hypocrisy, our religious word for “false advertising.” I’ve heard many people say, with some sort of accomplishment, that they are bad—but at least they don’t hide it under some veneer. In fact, there seems to be a lot of virtue associated with accepting your inadequacies instead of trying to alter them.

I beg to differ. That makes about as much sense as applauding those clothing companies for shifting their advertising to “We Will Not Lie—Our Shirts Wrinkle Stupendously!” or “Wrinkle-Free is for Wimps—Get the Ones That Wrinkle!”

Instead of renaming wrinkles maybe it would be better to just actually be “wrinkle-free.” The solution isn't to call myself what I am, but to become what I call myself. In life we can either pretend to be something we’re not, just accept what we are and demand accolades for the virtue of being transparent, or start producing products to match the description, so that the advertisement is justified. Sadly, too many of us, Christians included, find the first two options more appealing because they seem to require less effort.

Let’s not forget, though, that we don’t have to do the work alone. It is Christ working through us to transform us, and He promises that “He who has begun a good work in you will complete it” (Philippians 1:6). I’m glad to know that not only do I not have to settle for my weaknesses, but Christ doesn’t leave you or I to do the work alone. He will transform our characters into authentically wrinkle-free Christianity. 

He Saved Others

In honor of Mother's Day, just around the corner, and Easter Sunday that is just behind us, I thought this story would be appropriate. Quotes that I have italicized are verses directly from the Bible, but all other references in the story are accurate to the Biblical location and time frame, though I've put my own imaginative spin on it...Hope you enjoy.

The woman stood on Calvary’s hill, transfixed by the scene before her. It was not the first time she had witnessed a crucifixion, but it was the first time someone she loved had been the victim of this brutal punishment.  She more than loved the dying man—she had given life to him, and in all his growing up years she had believed in his potential. He had a good heart and she cherished the thought that he would be a great leader.

            However, his life did not meet the plans a fond mother’s heart had laid out. Despite her attention and concern, he drifted with the wrong crowd, slowly losing respect for Jehovah, the religious ceremonies and traditions, and at last even ignoring the civil laws imposed by the Romans.

            As reports filtered back to her of debauchery, thievery, and riotous living, her heart ached for her son. Often she searched herself for some explanation, some mistake that she could attribute his actions to. Where in his upbringing had she failed?

In spite of the accounts of his wickedness, she who knew him best could not believe that the boy, who even now occasionally displayed affection for his aging mother, was entirely beyond hope. Her discerning heart saw in him opportunity for reform.

But all reflections on the past seemed meaningless now—this was the end. Her son had been condemned to death in the most degrading and cruel fashion of the day by the civil authorities who were anxious to crush all lawlessness and rebelliousness in their subjects.

What could she tell them? That her sweet boy was merely a misguided youth? That he had fallen in with the wrong company, but was not beyond hope? Never could she persuade them that an apparently hardened criminal was not as callous as they supposed. It was true that he had stolen, murdered, and committed a host of other hideous crimes that left her aghast. Nevertheless, she felt he needed a second chance—if he were given a clean slate, surely her boy would never again sully it with another wrong act.

 That was purely wishful thinking, she realized bitterly, for it was obvious that even God had rejected her son. The Pharisees’ and Sadducee’s teachings offered no hope for one who led a life apart from Jewish beliefs and customs, and even she could not defend his lack of interest in the synagogue. The lack of Divine intervention in this case could only mean that her son’s conduct had pushed him beyond the limits of God’s mercy. Her son was doomed, and she had no recourse but to resign herself to his fate—and her own. For what could she blame his decisions on, but the upbringing he had received in her home? The mother knew that the dark cloud already weighing on her soul would stay with her until her grieving heart was stilled by death.

Her thoughts were interrupted by an outburst of jeers by the priests and rulers nearby. “He saved others; let Him save Himself, if He be Christ, the chosen of God.”

The mother turned her eyes for a moment from her son to the Man beside him, the object of the priests’ and rulers’ mockery. With a start, she recognized Him as the Galilean teacher—purported healer and miracle worker. Many had even said Jesus might be the Messiah, and in spite of His hopeless circumstances, some onlookers were even now whispering His deeds and words among themselves as if unwilling to accept the finality of His situation. Was He not being murdered in the same ruthless fashion as her son? What made His condition any different from that of her son?

Watching Jesus, however, the mother knew immediately that there was something different about Him. He was not angry or rebellious; He did not curse the guards, priests or rulers that were taunting Him. His face expressed pity and concern for…could it be for those who were tormenting Him?

“Does Jesus truly not hate these people who so obviously are reveling in their brutality?” She asked almost unconsciously.

“No, he doesn’t,” a tense voice beside her spoke. It trailed off thoughtfully, “Did you hear Him say, ‘Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do…’”

She turned to see the speaker, an older woman who was obviously agonized by the scene. Forgetting her own grief for a moment, the mother put her arm around the other woman in an attempt to console her.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t be here, watching this spectacle,” the thief’s mother whispered. “I can see it is upsetting you.”

“Why is life so harsh?” Tears formed little rivulets down the older woman’s wrinkled cheek.

As her own pain rose to the forefront, the mother sobbed, “My son is the young man dying on the right, and my heart breaks to watch him suffering. Is your anguish even a portion of mine? I cannot expect you to sympathize, but if you only understood…”

She fell silent, her tears flowing unchecked. The older woman at last replied, “I do understand. You see, my son hangs in the middle. His sign reads “The King of the Jews” in mockery, but I believed with all my heart that He is the king, the Messiah we have been seeking.”

Mary’s dim eyes glazed over with a thousand question marks as she looked up at the other mother. “Why then is He on the cross? If only I knew the explanation. I do not know why He is being crucified. What I do know is that He has given sight to the blind, healed the broken hearted, brought the dead to life and preached deliverance from sin. He does not deserve to die this death, but somehow it is as if He knew all the time that this day would come.”

She looked away from her son’s tortured face, and gestured toward the temple gleaming in the light of the setting sun. “Thirty-three years ago I stood in that temple to give an offering for my newborn son, and a holy prophet gave a blessing, spoke of my son’s great destiny, yet warned that a sword would pierce my heart. When Jesus stood in that same temple twenty-one years ago and said that He must be about His Father’s business, I never would have thought this would be part of it.”

The old woman tearfully looked back at the thief’s mother and reached for her hand. “I wish I could be back in the temple with Him, watching Him preach and heal…but Jesus has done nothing except be about His Father’s business. I believe somehow this is a part of the plan…though I do not understand it at all.”

The mother looked in amazement at the Man on the center cross. Could it be that Jesus’ mother was right—or was she only a biased, grieving mother? Was He the promised Savior, or only another false Messiah?

Her thoughts were again interrupted by another taunt, this time by the thief hanging on the left. “If thou be Christ, save thyself and us.”

She ached for Jesus' mother beside her. The jest seemed so cruel to a dying man.

Suddenly she was astonished to see her son struggle to speak, “Dost not thou fear God, seeing thou art in the same condemnation? And we indeed justly; for we receive the due reward of our deeds: but this man hath done nothing amiss.”

Her heart leapt at his words. He was the same soft hearted son she knew and loved, but more than that, he recognized the folly of his ways and was repentant. If only she had the power to offer him another chance!

She also wondered at his statement, “…this man hath done nothing amiss.” Even her son recognized that this Man, this Jesus of Nazareth, was a good and just man. Perhaps the woman beside her was right…

Her boy was speaking again, “Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom.”

A dying Man to return with a kingdom? Hope burned in her heart as the ancient prophecies came to mind. This gentle, calm Man might truly be divine—the Son of God.

Now Jesus was responding to her dying son’s request, “Verily I say unto thee today, thou shalt be with me in paradise.”

Suddenly, darkness enveloped the throng on Golgotha as an earthquake shook the scene of execution, but a light brighter than any she had ever known glowed in the mother’s heart. A beam from heaven itself had shone from the cross into her despairing soul to say that her son was not lost. He had strayed, but God had never forgotten him. In his darkest hour, her son had received the promise of eternal life from a Man who was dying, but still was divine.

Tears of relief mingled with the tears of sorrow as the mother looked at the older woman beside her. Even in the gloom, she could see the other mother’s face glow with the light of peace. Her Jesus had come for this purpose, not to save Himself, but to save others in darkness.

The Insurance Policy

The promised second installment to the Theodicy post...

During my time as a Bible worker I spent a considerable amount of time giving surveys to gauge the religious interest in different communities. Among the questions I routinely asked was: "Have you ever wondered, if God is so good, why does He allow so much suffering?" That one in particular generated a plethora of engaging responses, and I often found myself choking back the urge to respond too adamantly.

That temptation came most strongly when the person answering my survey would stare off blankly toward some distant horizon and say, "No, I think we really just bring it on ourselves, you know. I mean, it's the choices we make." Or perhaps, "It's just part of life--it's how we appreciate what is good."

It's a fairly common sentiment, the idea that some sort of bad is a good thing--that it keeps things in balance. I never did really see much value in that concept. I don't have to have food poisoning in order to know how delicious cake and ice cream are. It isn't necessary to have the bad before you can enjoy the good.

Newsflash: There is bad evil in this world. By bad, I mean that you can't always define some cause and then isolate the effect to the perpetrator alone. I completely agree that humanity has brought evil upon itself, but don't pretend that you can take every instance of evil and tell those involved that they brought it on themselves. There are children starving in Africa who are no more at fault for being born into famine than your child in America, England, or Australia was prudent for choosing to be born in a more developed nation.

So deal with the question. Why does God allow bad bad? The kind of bad that doesn't invoke some good moral lesson. The kind of bad that won't be dismissed with "just give it time." The kind of bad that leaves damaged people and damaged places. The kind of bad that demands to be called evil and nothing else. It does exist. But why?

I've asked that question, though I know I haven't seen a fraction of the bad bad in existence on Planet Earth. I've seen enough to know I don't need to see the rest. Somewhere along the line I discovered that bad is really bad. There is nothing good about it.

That's when I realized why God allows bad bad. When He pressed that long term plan "stop evil button," He knew it would never be effective if He filtered out all the serious evil that comes along with sin. Giving us the watered down version would merely teach us that the devil's alternative wasn't so bad after all. If He sheltered us from all the consequences of living in a world where sin permitted evil to mar perfection, we might have some mistaken illusion that bad wasn't really so bad.

However, that can never be the case with Solution X's insurance policy. After thousands of years with unabashed evil acting out in the worst of its nature, humans finally have the knowledge of good and evil that Adam and Eve so unfortunately bestowed upon our race. And that is the only thing that ensures that when God finally eradicates evil forever...it will be forever. There will be no resurgence because humans have known bad bad. Sin will finally have no attraction for them because they were, mercifully, not shielded from its very worst effects.

It's a very expensive insurance policy, but at least it will never expire. Besides, what price can you really put on a perfect eternity?