Good Samaritan, Take Two

So, I've known the story of The Good Samaritan probably all my life. It's one of those Bible stories that even the non-believers know and like because it's about being good to people, regardless of who they are. At least, that's what we all thought it was about.

Yesterday morning, we had a guest preacher, and he gave us a new twist on the story (a phrase which, I will say, I am always a bit cautious of when we're referring to the Bible . . . I generally have a hard time believing that a couple millenia of Spirit-filled, serious Bible scholars and teachers might have TOTALLY missed the point of a passage . . . but fresh eyes are always good, so carry on).

Our speaker emphasized that correct interpretation of scripture always requires reading in context (very true). And he made note of the context in which this story is told: 1) Jesus has just set his course toward Jerusalem for the final week of his life, so the whole dying-for-the-world business was on his mind, and 2) he has just been asked, "What must I do to inherit eternal life?" So, this story, he proposed, is about how to inherit eternal life -- a remark that initially sent some alarms off in my brain because, as mentioned earlier, we read this as a story about being good . . . and being good is not how you get eternal life.

However, that was not his take on it, much to my relief. He started with identifying who each of these characters must represent, because this is a parable and symbolism is inherent in the genre.

So, if we're talking about how to inherit eternal life, who must the beaten up person on the road be? The needy person? The desperate person who requires assistance? Well, obviously, he is one who is in need of eternal life. Beaten and bruised by the ravages of sin. Ah . . . and then everything else clearly falls into place.

The priest and the Levite -- obvious representatives of the Jewish law -- pass the man by because they either can't help him or won't.

The one who stops, and picks him up, and takes him to shelter, and cares for his needs, and pays the price it takes for him to be healed -- that's the Samaritan. The Unlikely Savior. The person one would least expect. The one scorned by the establishment religious folks . . . the one who "came to his own, but his own would not receive him."

Because THIS is how one inherits eternal life: our Unlikely Savior pays the price for our healing.

Well. How have I lived in Christian circles, attended church all my life, studied scripture and Bible teaching for years and years, and never heard that take on the story?

I'm still going to need to think about it, because as he said, context is important, and the immediate context of that story is Jesus' interrogator asking him, "And who is my neighbor?" which is where we get our traditional interpretation of what Jesus is trying to teach us here. Then again, scripture is a multi-layered thing, and there's no reason the story can't have both meanings. Both meanings are consistent with the rest of the Word.

But I have to say, I like this new interpretation . . . if for no other reason, because it pulls us away from the "Do Good Things" interpretation. Not that we shouldn't do good things. Not that we shouldn't show love to our neighbor. Not that there's anything wrong with that take on the story. But as I said, even the non-believers love that one -- there's nothing distinctly Christian in the call to Do Good Things. It can be a slippery slope from there to a very worldly gospel of works that deceives many into thinking they are earning their way into heaven.

So, I'll meditate on this one for a while. After all, we can never meditate on the gospel story too much.

My Social Justice Problem

I realized something in Sunday School yesterday that I'm not happy about. The word "justice" -- especially the phrase "social justice" -- when it is used by fellow Christians sets alarms off in my brain.

I'm not happy at that discovery. It shouldn't be so. And yet it is.

"Justice" is one of the attributes of God. God is just; even more, God IS justice. Our only conception of the idea of justice comes from God's interaction with us through the law. It's not like it's a cuss word or anything.

But it has seemed to become a buzzword for a certain segment of the Christian world, a segment that I have unfortunately often disagreed with on a variety of issues, issues that those brothers and sisters promoted in the name of "social justice." I sat yesterday and tried to pinpoint for myself again what all it was I disagreed with them on . . . and I had a hard time doing so. The biggest differences were political, I think. My social-justice-loving Christian friends seem to also want to use the government as a means to achieve this social justice, which I often question the wisdom of.

Ah . . . and now I think I remember the big culprit in this: Obamacare.

It was when Obamacare was being debated that I found myself mentally setting apart a camp of people (Christian and nonChristian) who seemed to be all about "social justice" and seemed to be getting it all wrong.

It went like this: As much as I am concerned about making good health care available to all who need it, I was very reluctant about Obamacare (and still am). Admittedly, the people on "my side" of the argument had not approached the problem which much sense of urgency, to their shame. But Obamacare didn't seem to be the answer. I saw too many problems with the proposed system. It just didn't seem to be the best way to do this; it seemed to be an emotional, rushed reaction to the problem.

But the real stunner was the reaction I got from social-justice-touting friends when I expressed my concerns. Rarely were those concerns addressed in a reasonable manner. I was called selfish. Completely uncompassionate. Unchristian. Clearly unchristian. I was told I obviously hated poor people. Obviously. I was called a spoiled rich girl who had never had to suffer in my life and so my opinion had no validity in this debate.

Yes. Those very things were said to me. Often implied, but sometimes directly and bluntly. And it hurt me and angered me.

And so, my social-justice-promoting Christian friends got put in a mental box in my mind: they are WRONG. They are wrong about me, they are wrong about Obamacare, they are wrong, wrong, wrong about so many, many things. It was an emotional reaction, and it kept me from seeing what they were right about.

Which, I imagine, is exactly what they did to me, too.

I still get alarms up when my Christian friends start talking "justice" too much . . . partly because I think in the fight for justice, they often forget the need for "justification" (as we eventually got to in our Sunday School lesson). And I acknowledge that in my corner, the pendulum often swings too far in one direction, too. But I was reminded yesterday of how past wounds and personal feelings can color our "theology" and make us haughty. And wrong.

God gave us emotions, and they motivate us to act, which is good. But even our emotions are fallen and cannot be trusted alone. The heart is deceitful above all things, Jeremiah tells us. We would all do well to remember that. I'm trying to, at least.

On Saying No to God

It's a sad thing when you are convicted by your own words.

In Sunday School last weekend, I made a brilliant and insightful remark that everyone ooh'd and aah'd over. (At least, that's my recollection of the moment.) We were discussing how we distinguish the Holy Spirit's communication with us from our own self-promoting desires speaking to us. And I mentioned a lesson I learned many years ago: if I really want to hear clearly from God on a matter, I have to put myself in a neutral stance on that matter. I have to get myself to the point that I am genuinely willing to obey God in whatever He says -- even if it is the complete opposite of what I want, even if it makes my life difficult or possibly downright miserable, even if I lose friends and loved ones as a result -- whatever you want, Lord, that's what I want. I am in complete submission. Once I'm there, I usually find God's will is quite clear, because my own baggage has been removed from the picture.

My words came back to haunt me as I was eating my fourth or fifth hot-from-the-oven chocolate chip cookie later that evening because the thought suddenly came to my mind:

I am NOT neutral on sweets.

I would NOT be willing to give up sweets if God asked it of me.

Never again bake another chocolate chip cookie? No. Never again enjoy a cup of custard or froyo out with the family? Wrong. No more candy corn at Halloween, caramel popcorn at Christmas, jelly beans at Easter, caramel apples in the fall? Watch everyone else at the table enjoy the gooey chocolate cake without ever again indulging myself? That is not going to happen.

Oh, I talk a good game about it, believe me, especially to God's face. And God and I have had this very conversation on a regular basis for the last few years because I have often wondered if . . . no, suspected that . . . no, feared that God was asking that very thing of me. Give them up. All of them. They affect your mind and body and stand in the way of our relationship. You use them to meet needs in your life that I'm supposed to meet. They are an idol. They have to go.

But, you know, that just doesn't sound like God, does it? "Give it up forever"? Give it up for Lent, maybe. Or for the week. Maybe just turn down this dessert. Or at least the second serving of it. But God wouldn't really want me to give them all up -- at least I've been able to successfully convince myself of this questionable fact.

However, with that half-eaten cookie in my hand, and with the full knowledge that I expected to eat more before the evening was over (and lick out the cookie dough bowl before it went into the dishwasher), I was suddenly driven (by the Holy Spirit, I'm sure) to face the facts.

It doesn't matter whether God would ask me to give them up. It matters that, deep down in my heart, I know I wouldn't willingly obey even if He did.

Ouch.

Now, some of you may find that ridiculous that I am so attached to my sweets, especially those of you who have already been forced to give them up for health reasons and your life continues quite swimmingly. But I challenge you to examine your own life: what are YOU not neutral on? What's the thing that -- if God said, "That has to go." -- you would flat-out refuse? Because I'm convinced we all have something. Some of us have less things . . . some of us have less obvious things . . . for some of us, our things are things that don't seem necessary to give up so the question has never arisen.

But we all, I'm guessing, have something that we refuse to submit to God's authority over.

So, I'll pray for you if you pray for me. Jesus isn't Lord over me if he isn't also Lord over my chocolate chip cookies. And establishing him as Lord is the first step to everything that matters.

Slamming Doors with That Look

Our pastor told a story last week that I'm sure is common to most pastors. A friend of his describes how every time he makes a new acquaintance and they've spent some time talking, as soon as he has cause to mention that he is a pastor, the new acquaintance immediately apologizes for his language. (This particular pastor decided to head off such encounters and put people at ease by using some mild curse words in his own speech before the question of his occupation ever arises . . . not sure that's a good solution, but that's beside my point here . . . )

Interesting, he noted, how this is one of the defining characteristics of Christians to non-Christians: they don't cuss. Unfortunately, this shouldn't be one of the defining characteristics.

Our pastor brought this up in relation to the scripture we were examining in Matthew 23: "Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You shut the door of the kingdom of heaven in men's faces."

Let's be blunt. Cussing has nothing to do with entering the kingdom of heaven. It really doesn't. Using the "H-word" doesn't make you ineligible for salvation. The fact that you don't use the "S-word" doesn't make you any more fit for heaven than the next guy. Not using the "D-word" doesn't mark someone as a believer, and using the "F-word" does not mark someone as a heretic or hypocrite. These are the facts.

Now, I'm not saying we should feel free to run around talking like the proverbial salty sailor. There are plenty of other reasons for tempering our language that I could expound on in another post on another day.

But this needs to be very clear: cussing has nothing to do with entering the kingdom of heaven.

Given that, those of us that were raised in environment where such behavior WAS treated as something that would strike you from the Book of Life need to pay close attention to how we react to this behavior in others, lest we end up "shutting the door of the kingdom of heaven in men's faces."

As the story of this pastor demonstrates, the unbelieving crowd seems to have gotten the impression that the kingdom of heaven is about our behavior -- and not only that, it is about petty details of our behavior like whether you say "hell" or "heck." And they got that impression from us, folks. Because we treat them like they are going to hell because they use the word inappropriately. They are not. They may be going to hell, but not because of that. And the problem is, they will NEVER understand why they are going to hell because they won't get past our immediate reaction to their language to ever explore the heart issues and relationship status that is the problem. And it's not just about cussing. It's about all the other external "sins" that are obvious and out there for the world to see and react to.

Sometimes, our outrage over a person's observable sin is self-righteous indulgence more than it is an expression of respect for God's holiness. We tell ourselves we react to someone's "F-word" because it is offensive to God . . . but no. We are really just reacting to something that makes us uncomfortable, that reminds us that the world does not behave or structure itself the way we want -- and of course, the way we want is right.

And our reaction is very likely to shut the door of heaven in men's faces. I'm sure first century Jews had their versions of the "F-word," and I'm sure Jesus heard it from people on occasion -- most certainly at those dinners he had with the tax collectors and sinners of the community, the dinners the Pharisees criticized him for even attending. But folks, I'm pretty certain that if he reacted to their "F-words" the way some of us do -- with the jolt, the shocked expression, the look of contempt -- the sinners he was eating with would never have invited him over, never have listened to him, never have heard truth, never had gotten "saved" at all.

And we might need to consider whether that's why our neighbors and loved ones are not getting "saved" either.

Breaking Baptist

I grew up in a Southern Baptist church (in fact, I tell people I was a Southern Baptist nine or ten months before I was born). My husband grew up in an American Baptist church (for my unchurched friends, yes, there is a difference). Over the course of our married life, we've attended an Evangelical Free church, a Methodist church, a Reformed church . . .

But we've always been Baptists at heart, and now we're officially Baptists again. Our family joined Woodland Baptist Church earlier in the summer. And a lot of this feels like coming home. Partly, that's because it's a very traditional church: hymnals, robed choir, Wednesday night dinner and prayer meeting . . . it feels a lot like the church I grew up in.

But we're also coming back to a few things that are Baptist in practice. Such as the monthly business meeting. Baptist congregations are run by the congregation. No bishops and denominational overseers who assign leadership and set rules. No elder boards making decisions on behalf of the congregation. Baptists vote. On everything.

I have "fond" memories of the monthly business meetings at my church. Robert's rules of order. Accepting the minutes from the last meeting. Approving the budget statement for the last month. Acknowledging the change of wording in this and that . . . I move we accept the minutes as revised . . . I second that motion . . . Boring stuff, except when punctuated by the occasional fun controversy. I remember once when a youth leader I respected stood up to protest the amount of money we were spending on lawn maintenance. "I mean, green grass is nice, but it don't save souls!" I thought he had a good point. His motion did not carry.

Another Baptist distinctive: committees. Baptists committee everything to death. Within three days of coming forward to join Woodland -- in fact, about forty minutes before we were officially voted in as members at the monthly business meeting -- we were already invited to be on a committee. In our Welcome to Woodland packet was a printout of the committees and their members: the finance committee, the building and grounds committee, the outreach committee, the personnel committee, the missions committee . . . there is even a Committee on Committees, and no, I am not exaggerating, people. (At my home church, that was called the nominating committee -- same dif.)

And then there was the list of Ministries, which are essentially sub-committees of the committees, in a lot of cases. The prayer ministry, the flower ministry, the kitchen ministry, the ushers and greeters ministry, the handyman ministry. There is no lack of places to plug in.

Yesterday, hubby and I had a meeting with the Young Families and Singles committee to finalize plans for a retreat happening in a couple weeks. (No jokes about that "young families" thing; we questioned whether we still qualified for that label as well, but it seems to be broadly applied.) And while I enjoyed spending time with these people, the meeting reminded me of what I learned as a young person in my home church: running things by committee, while very democratic and safe and fair, is also very inefficient.

I had offered to help two ladies plan a teaching session they are in charge of. They wanted to hang around after the meeting and talk about it in more detail. But here was the thing: I knew what they wanted to do, and being a teacher and a writer, I knew exactly how to set it up. I knew I could whip this out at home on my own in a fourth of the time it would take to talk it through with them -- and if I had something wrong, they could point it out and I could fix it. So, I told them that. They said, "Are you sure?" . . . and I know their concern was that they were dumping all the work on me when they were supposed to be sharing the load, as committees do.

But as I said, the effort to share the load this way in a committee is usually inefficient. God set up the church (and the world, to a degree) as a Body with many parts. Each part is gifted to do particular jobs. If we find the job we are supposed to do and do it, it all works out well. If we try to do jobs we aren't good at, or try to spread the load out in awkward ways, we may look like nice people but we don't work effectively.

The Baptist church is very American in how it runs things. And while I'm quite cognizant of the need to "share the load" (or rather share the power) on a national level to maintain our earthly political liberties, my Baptist heritage has also taught me the advantages of a benevolent, wise dictatorship. Which is good, because the Kingdom that my real citizenship is in is essentially that.

The Old-Time Pentecostal Power

For all my Baptist and/or Evangelical friends, let me fill you in. Yesterday was Pentecost Sunday. And last Sunday was Ascension Sunday. Yeah, that never meant much to me either.

And for my non-Christian friends, you may not realize the differences between the Christian denominations and how we practice our faith on Sundays. I grew up Southern Baptist. That means that a lot of the traditions that you may hear about from your Christian friends -- Advent, Ash Wednesday, Lent, Mardi Gras, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Christening, Confirmation -- never did those. Didn't even know what some of them were about for a long time.

But I'm now attending a Baptist church where the pastors wear robes and they follow the liturgical calendar. That means they have been wearing white . . . what do you call those things? stoles? . . . since Easter because it's been Eastertide (another new term for me) and yesterday they flipped those over to the red side in honor of the Holy Spirit coming at Pentecost and birth of the Church (birth of the Church? I never thought of it that way, but yeah, I suppose it was).

The Lutheran Church we met in for our homeschool drama program in Sioux City did the color thing -- they had banners that they changed for the different "seasons" of the liturgical year (our church here does that, too). I merely found that interesting at the time. I'm now finding it more meaningful.

I decided I like the idea of having a Sunday set aside every year to remember the coming of the Holy Spirit. It's an important event. I mean, not as important as Jesus's birth (Christmas) and resurrection (Easter). But still worth pausing to celebrate.

I found myself wanting to sing an old song from my Baptist Hymnal I grew up with:

Lord, send the old time power -- 
The Pentecostal power!
That sinners be converted
And thy name glorified!

And then I found myself rankling at the term "converted." Some older Christian writers I've been reading use that term often, too, and I always rankle at it then, too. I'm not quite sure why. To talk about converting someone almost sounds offensive -- although it shouldn't, I'm sure. "Conversion" is what you do with measurements; you convert from miles to kilometers, from pounds to kilograms. It's changing from one thing to another. So, in our modern minds, conversion implies talking someone into changing from their religious beliefs to my religious beliefs. Proselytizing.

I don't know why we find that offensive these days. We have no problem trying to convert people's beliefs about a political party, or economic policy, or exercise habits, or purchasing choices . . . but religion is off-limits. We're not allowed to tell anyone that we think what they think about God is off-base. Forget that what they think about God is of much greater consequence than any other of their "thinks." Don't touch my religion.

But I think I don't like the term because it doesn't seem quite accurate. I mean, yes, the change I seek in people involves a change in beliefs. But more primarily, it involves a new relationship. It's about becoming acquainted with God. Once you're acquainted with Him, your beliefs about Him will necessarily change (just like we'd all -- Republican and Democrat alike -- think differently about Obama if we suddenly became personally and intimately acquainted with him). But the important thing is not thinking differently . . . or even behaving differently . . . it's relating differently.

And it's the coming of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost that allows us the opportunity to know God personally and intimately. So, yes, the event is worth celebrating once a year. The idea of being indwelled by the Spirit of God is another one that I didn't learn much about growing up. Praise God, I know about it now!

Mainstreams and Margins

Our Sunday School teacher used that phrase yesterday. Mainstreams and margins. Our society tends to refer to "majorities" and "minorities," but I think these terms are more accurate. You can be a statistical majority and still be on the margins of society. It's not about the numbers.

In the context of our discussion, the teacher asked us to consider situations in our lives when we have been in either camp. When have you been in the margins? And when you were, what were your thoughts and feelings about those in the mainstream? Conversely, when you've been in the mainstream, how did you think and feel about those in the margins?

We were examining passages in Acts about conflict resolution -- specifically Acts 15, when the Council in Jerusalem had to make a decision about circumcision. Do Gentiles who trust in Christ have to become Jews before they become Christians? Is Christianity just a new branch of Judaism, or is it something else entirely?

At that time, the Jewish Christians were the mainstream. Gentile Christians were the margins. Kind of interesting, when you think about it.

In the United States, Christianity has been the mainstream since Europeans began settling the land. And most people will insist that it still is. Look at all our churches. Look at all the Christian holidays we celebrate. Look at all the surveys indicating how many people identify as Christians, believe in God, attend Christian worship services, etc.

But you see, that's about majority. I'm talking about mainstream. And I contend the national waters are started to flow down a different stream.

Oh, I don't think churches are going to start disappearing right away. Blatant atheism isn't going to be running rampant around here anytime soon. But I'm convinced we're headed the direction Europe has gone. I haven't ever been to Europe, but from what I understand, churches are mostly historical artifacts around there. Very few active members. And very few churches that are serving as salt and light in the dark worlds around them.

John Piper said in a recent sermon, "The Christian Church in America suffers from about 350 years of dominance and prosperity. . . this has deeply ingrained in us a massively unbiblical mindset, namely, a mindset of at-homeness in this world and in this age." It has been easy to be a Christian in America, and that easiness has created a feebleness that will be our downfall.

I vividly remember the words a couple decades ago of a missionary from a country in the Eastern block that had been freed from Soviet control and was experiencing new religious freedoms. His believing friends in that nation were bemoaning to him, "Why did God take away the blessing of persecution?" Easy Christianity was making for weak Christianity. Ineffective Christianity. Faux Christianity. What makes us think our faith was supposed to be easy?

The blessing of persecution. Dare we ask God for that blessing upon our nation? I'm coming to suspect that the Church was always meant to stand in the margins rather than float in the mainstream.

Traditional

Our family has been attending a very traditional Baptist church for the past couple months. We're not quite ready to commit as members -- still have some questions about things -- but it has been a good experience.

As I said, it's very traditional. Huge choir for a small church, and a good choir. A fabulous organist and a great pianist. The pastors wear robes and they follow the liturgical calendar, which is very unusual for a Baptist church. They sing hymns -- some of them very new hymns, but still always hymns. No "praise band" here. 

I'm finding that my worship is very different in this setting. And I'm enjoying it right now.

There are a few times in the service when the musicians are just playing instrumental music for meditation or preparing your hearts. And I've started actually trying to use those musical interludes for that purpose, rather than looking through the bulletin or around at fellow worshippers. It's kind of nice to see how much more readily you hear the voice of God when you're intentionally making a point of listening for it, rather than expecting it to knock you over the head to get your attention.

I've often caught myself thinking of my parents during service (the woman in the choir with my mother's hairdo often prompts that). My parents, and others from their generation. And then I think of other generations before that. Many, many generations of believers who all sang hymns like this, sat in services like this, prayed to God like this, heard the Word like this . . . I find myself feeling a connection with Christians throughout history. I can't say I've ever felt that kind of connection in a contemporary service.

And there's another difference -- one that I'm not sure has anything to do with this particular church or this type of service. I suddenly realize that in recent years, I've been so very aware of the nominal Christians in my churches. Not just the "seekers", the people who are not sure about their faith who are attending church to learn more. But the people who claim to be believers but who are clearly not serious about it, to the point that one has to wonder if they are genuinely "saved" at all. 

At least I always wondered if they were. And grieved over it. I've felt so sad and burdened over the lukewarm state of the church for the past couple decades, that sometimes even going to church at all depressed me. 

I suppose I still feel that way some, but I don't necessarily feel that way in church services now. And again, I don't know that it necessarily has anything to do with this church. I'm sure there are just as many nominal believers sitting in these pews as there are in any church in America today. But I'm not thinking about them. I'm not worried about them. 

Maybe it's because I'm no longer on the "worship team" planning the services, so my focus is less on the congregation and more on my own meeting with God. Maybe it's just a spiritual stage I'm going through, a mini-hilltop experience. I don't know.

But I like it. I like leaving church service and feeling sufficiently fed. Feeling like I'm not alone in my walk. Feeling like I and many others -- here and in other places, now and in other times -- have met with God and communed. Not just looked at Him, or heard about Him, or played with Him. Communed.

Yeah, I like that. I hope this keeps up.

Feeding Myself at Church

Oh, my.

Have you ever read or heard something that so perfectly nailed the unworded sentiments of your heart that you were taken aback for a little bit?

That just happened.

I just read a blog post by a woman I've never heard of named Kate Conner. She's writing about why she's always hated women's ministry. Now mind you, I don't know that I've ever hated women's ministry. That's not where she nailed it. This is:

"I was tired of looking at myself through a Jesus lens. I just wanted to look at Jesus."

Bingo. Nothing but net there.

This is what bugs me about many "worship" songs out there. (Not all of them, but many.)

This is what has bugged me about many of the worship services we visited in the last year. (Not all of them, but many.)

This is what has bugged me about much of the seeker-focused movement in the church over the last couple decades or so. (Not all of it, but much of it.)

It focuses on the seeker. On the worshipper. On me.

A wise and discerning friend in New Jersey once remarked that the church needs to be very careful that we don't try to attract the unbeliever by offering him his own idol of choice -- whether that be materialism, prestige, comfort, pleasure, power, or the grandest of all modern-day idols, Self.

Conner says, "If you're OVER hearing how to be a better person and you wonder what's wrong with you because hearing that 'you are a child of God' doesn't really move or impress you very much - you're not alone. I was there too. I suspect that we are all just starving for The Main Thing."

Starving! Famished! There are churches where I come away from a service feeling like I did over much of our holiday vacation this year -- stuffed to the gills with junk food and sweets to where I can't eat another bite, but still hungry because there was nothing nutritious there to sustain me for the long run.

I think I've given up finding a church where this just happens. I've decided it's not the church's fault anymore. It's mine. The reality is that McDonald's has salads on their menu if I choose to order one . . . and most churches preach Jesus if I choose to look for Him. 

"If you think you don't like women's ministry, or church or whatever, maybe you're just tired of looking at yourself," Conner says.

Yep. Nailed it.

"So, Where's This Abundant Life You Promised?"

Yesterday, we lit the "Joy" candle of the Advent wreath at my mother-in-law's church (which confused me a bit, because we lit that candle LAST week at church in San Antonio -- but whatever). There was a little reading about how Christ came to bring us joy, and then there was a prayer thanking God for His gift of joy, and then I think we sang a song about joy.

And I found myself wondering about all the thousands and thousands of people celebrating Advent in churches around the world, lighting the Joy candle this week (or last week) and thinking, "Joy? What's that?"

Because I've been there. No joy. No peace. No hope. None of this stuff we're promoting as the benefits of Christ's coming. I talked the talk. I went through the motions. But none of it was real to me, and I knew it.

Not that I doubted who Christ was and why He came and what He did for me. But if I was honest with myself, none of it really made a measurable difference in my life.

And I'm wondering if some of you, dear readers, are there, too.

Singing the songs, reciting the prayers, saying the expected lines, but not feeling any of it.

Not that our feelings define reality, because they don't. Just because I FEEL afraid doesn't mean there's anything in my life to fear. Just because I FEEL hopeless doesn't mean there is no hope. Just because I FEEL alone and unloved doesn't mean that I am either. We cannot be ruled by the tyranny of our emotions when our emotions are influenced by so many things.

Nevertheless, if you are a believer, if you have surrendered your life to the lordship of Christ, there should be a difference. You should be able to look at the you from fifteen years ago and the you today and see that you are more at peace. More joyful. More hopeful. More like Christ and less like the world. And if you are not, I think you should seriously consider the possibility that something is very wrong in your spiritual life -- something that is critical enough for you to stop everything else and deal with right now.

I remember a point in my spiritual walk many years ago when I did a "face-to-face" with God and said, Alright, what's up with this? You make some very clear promises in your word. Not promises for an easy life or a "happy" life . . . I'm not even asking for those. But you promised an abundant life. You said that was why you came. Where is my abundant life? Where is my love, joy, peace, all that? You and I both know I can't produce it myself -- it has to come from your Spirit, a gift from you. So where is it? Am I doing something wrong? Am I reading that scripture wrong? Did you lie to me? What's the deal?

Don't tell me that's irreverent, or disrespectful -- that was REAL. And I'm convinced that God isn't interested in our routine, ritualized platitudes we recite every week if they aren't real. He'd rather we came to Him in a wrestling stance, as long as we're coming to Him actually wanting Him and not just out of habit or duty.

We all have our ups and downs in our faithwalk. Not every day is a mountaintop experience. But I want to encourage you, dear reader, if you are in this place -- where you're just going through the motions and you know you have been for a very long time, maybe even for your entire walk with Christ -- that you decide that 2015 will be the year that you either poop or get off the pot. That you will dig deep and wide into scripture, every day. That you will pray with purpose and desperation, many times a day. That you will ask questions of everyone you know who might have answers. That you will go to the places where God is expected to be and expect to find Him there. That you will intentionally and purposefully do everything you know to do to meet God . . . to meet God . . . to actually MEET GOD . . .  and finally find out if this Christianity stuff is for real or not.

So that next year, you can light the Joy candle with genuine joy, like I did this year. (Twice.)

Remembering Mom

As I sit here typing on my laptop in our "music room" (also known as my school work room), I can look to my left and see an old manger scene sitting on top of the harpsichord in the corner.

I say "manger scene" and not the more common "nativity" because "manger scene" is what my mother called it, and this one was hers. When I was young, it used to sit under our Christmas tree. I've kept that tradition up by putting a nativity scene under our Christmas tree every year -- but not this one. Our tree nativity is a cheaper one that won't make me cry if the dog happens to get a hold of a shepherd and chew him up. This manger scene is sitting up high and out of danger.

It's an old set. The paint is chipping off of most of the pieces in spots and has been for a long time. My mother commented one year when I was home for the holidays that she was thinking about just spray-painting all the characters gold or something. I'm so glad I talked her out of that idea. I don't care that the paint is chipped. It needs to look like this.

Just outside the door to this room, I can lean out and see our huge metal clock on the wall which our eldest has decorated with little felt elves climbing all over it. My mom made those elves.

There's also a small tree halfway up the stairs that is decorated with eight or nine sets of different felt ornaments -- ornaments my mother made. A different set every year for most of my growing up years at home.

And on the window by the kitchen table, there are several crocheted snowflakes hanging. I'm pretty sure my mom made those, too.

I get a bit huffy about Christmas most years. At least once a season, I'm overwhelmed by the thing that our culture has turned Christmas into . . . which has NOTHING to do with Jesus coming to earth. I get annoyed that other people's expectations get in the way of my celebrating the Savior's birth in a way that's meaningful to me. (And yes, I know that's my problem and not theirs.)

My point is, I'm very aware of the fact that Christmas (contrary to popular belief) really is NOT about family and kids. We made it a holiday about family and kids . . . and there's nothing wrong with a holiday about family and kids . . . as long as family and kids don't start taking the place of the actual center of the holiday.

And for far too many of us -- even us churchy super-Christian folks who take offense at people saying "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas" and at people writing "Xmas" because "you're crossing out Christ!"-- far too many of us have done just that. We do self-righteous lip-service to Christ and put family in the throne of our hearts every December.

Nevertheless . . . I enjoy getting these Christmas decorations out every year and remembering my mother. And baking caramel corn and remembering my mother. I had a great mother. It's good to remember her. Because she remembered Christ.

Worried about The Church

I'm a lousy blogger these days. One of the reasons I put myself on this schedule to blog every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday was to force myself to write, to sit and think of something to say three times a week, to discipline myself into the mental activity of examining what God is communicating to me on a regular basis and articulate it to the world so I am held accountable.

Then I went "back to work." And I find all sorts of reasons to justify skipping a blog day. Some good reasons, some wimpy ones. I'm a lousy blogger these days.

I keep a document on the computer where I write notes to myself about ideas that pop into my head here and there that I might want to blog about sometime. I read through that list the other day and had to laugh; there are some items on there that I can't remember now what in the world I was thinking about. C'est la vie. That brilliance is lost to the ages.

But I do notice a pattern to my little jottings. I'm worried about The Church. About The Church not being who we are supposed to be . . . and blaming the rest of the world for that instead of ourselves.

Several weeks ago, a teacher in a Sunday School class we were visiting made the comment that we need to worry less about getting prayer back into our schools and more about getting prayer back into our churches. AMEN.

Another item from my list: when Robin Williams died, a good friend of his commented that the remarkable thing about Robin was that when he was tired or frustrated or at the end of his rope, he didn't get cranky and irritable -- he got all the more sweet and kind. Gentleness was his default mode, the place he went when his mask was off and his guard was down. And I thought, what a stunning denunciation on The Church when such a statement could be said of one who very likely was not a believer but could hardly be said of anyone in The Church. I don't think I've ever known anyone like that.

I was reminded this past week of the story in Acts about Paul addressing the Athenians at the Areopagus. He started by mentioning their many temples to many gods and acknowledging their obvious religious devotion. Then he pointed out their temple to "an unknown god" and offered to fill them in about that god they don't know yet. He approached them with gentleness and respect. He quote their own poets and spoke their own language -- not just the Greek language, but the language of education and intellectualism. He didn't berate them for being sinners. How often does The Church berate people for being sinners rather than gently and respectfully filling in the gaps they are missing?

Many in The Church are fond of proclaiming that God is going to punish -- or is already punishing -- our nation because of our sin. Abortion, homosexuality, promiscuity, drug abuse, etc. etc. etc. God's wrath is coming upon us, people!

Here's the thing, folks: I think there may be something to that. I think God may allow a level of destruction to fall on our nation . . . but it's not because of the sins listed above. God expects the unregenerated to sin; their consequences are already set. If God punishes the United States, I believe it will be for the sins of The Church. The Church whose first command from her Lord was to preach the gospel -- not morality, not "the Christian nation", but the gospel of forgiveness for and deliverance from sin. The gospel of a New Covenant, a new relationship with the God of the universe. If The Church in America had been serious about fulfilling the Great Commission in our communities for the last several generations rather than simply making ourselves fat and comfortable in our "One Nation Under God," we might not be having to deal with all these other sins.

Revival starts with us, Church. With you and with me.

Reading the Bible Seriously

My liberal (I think she prefers the term “progressive”) Christian friend tagged me on an article she wanted my opinion on: “16 Ways Progressive Christians Interpret the Bible.” It was an interesting article – far more than I can respond to in one post.

But you could have taken nine or ten items from his list and written an article, “10 Principles Serious Christians Use to Interpret the Bible” and left out the progressive label. Some of these, in my opinion, should just be standard practice for any responsible reader of scripture:

• We read the Bible prayerfully. (Of course.)
• We seek to apply full attention to Scripture, Tradition, Reason, and Experience. (“Full attention” would be the phrase of concern there, and he doesn't elaborate on that. But I don't know any conservative Christian who is opposed to considering what tradition, reason, and experience have to tell us about what the Bible says. The question is, in matters of disagreement, who trumps who.)
• We realize that there is no reading of any text – including the Bible – that doesn’t involve interpretation. (Of course. That is why there are so many denominations. But as I tell my literature students, the fact that there is more than one way to interpret a text doesn't mean that it can be interpreted in ANY way we choose. There is a limited range of possible interpretations. Just sayin'.)
• We do our best to read the biblical texts in their original languages – and consult scholars and others to assist us. (Absolutely.)
• We consider the best available Biblical scholarship from those who study it academically and professionally. (Yep. Of course, "best available" is always going to be a subjective claim.)
• We seek to read passages in context. (Mm-hmm.)
• We consider historical socio-political contexts. (Yes.)
• We allow scripture to interpret scripture. (Most definitely.)
• We do as much of this as possible in community with fellow Christians, not as a solo act. (Crucial. We are not intended to be lone rangers.)

On these matters, I cannot disagree. However, I did make this point to my friend: this may describe how this particular progressive Christian approaches scripture, but I doubt it is how most progressive Christians approach scripture. In fact, I doubt it is how most conservative Christians approach scripture either.

The unfortunate fact is, most Christians of any ilk don't take the time to approach scripture in any serious fashion at all. Most Christians listen to a preacher or teacher or friend, and decide if they like what they are hearing, it must be true – if they don't like it, it clearly isn't. God forgives my sin? Ooo, I like that: TRUE. God would forgive even a serial killer if he surrendered his life to Christ? No way – I don't want to believe that: NOT TRUE.

Rarely does the average believer actually go to the Word itself and wrestle with what it has to say about a matter and let the Holy Spirit speak to their heart. They let someone else do the wrestling and pick the interpretations that tickle their ears.

Progressives AND Conservatives. We're a lazy people.

More on the rest of this article another day . . . 

The Praises of the Street People

Whenever I'm worshipping God with the homeless congregation at Church Under the Bridge downtown, I'm struck by a few things.

I'm struck by the lack of body odor. For 150-some people who live on the streets in a hot July in San Antonio, they don't smell bad.

I'm struck by the respectfulness of nearly everyone present, whether they're there to genuinely worship or just going through the motions to get a meal.

I'm struck by the flood of people who go forward to put money in the offering plate during the last song. People living on the streets, who of their own choice -- no coercion involved -- give back to God some of the limited finances He's given them because they feel so blessed by His goodness and want to thank Him. It shames me.

And I'm struck by how loud the music is. Usually, I just suspect the mics and background tape are just turned up an extra notch beyond where I would set them (plus there's a little more shouting than singing going on). But last night, it wasn't the sound system. During the bridge of "Manifesto", the mics were turned off and only the voices of the people were heard singing through the words of the Lord's Prayer.

"Singing", I should say. Chanting, really. OUR FATHER WHO ART IN HEAVEN HALLOWED BE THY NAME THY KING-DOM COME THY WILL BE DONE ON EARTH AS IT IS IN HEAVEN . . .  

No discernable pitch. Much discernable emotion. Imagine an exclamation point after each word and a fist pump after each syllable. GIVE US THIS DAY OUR DAI-LY BREAD AND FORGIVE US OUR TRESPASSES AS WE FOR-GIVE THOSE WHO TRESPASS AGAINST US . . . 

And if you know the song, you know how it builds in intensity: . . . AND LEAD US NOT INTO TEMPTATION BUT DELIVER US FROM EV-IL FOR THINE IS THE KINGDOM POWER AND THE GLORY FOR-EEEVERRR!!!!

People with no job, no money, no place to sleep tonight, standing with their arms raised, shout-singing their prayer to God: AAAA-MEN!!!!!!!

The musicality is horrid. The spirituality is glorious. And again, I am shamed. I need my homeless friends to teach me what worship is.

In the Progressive Christian Lair

As our church search continues, hubby and I also end up visiting a lot of different Sunday School classes. Sunday School is important, we believe -- or at least some kind of small group Bible study within the church. You need to have people that you have close relationships with, that you are accountable to, that you are digging deep into the Word with, all that.

But not all Sunday School classes are equal. We've been in some good ones. We've been in some silly ones. And we've witnessed a few real doozies over the years.

This past Sunday, we tried a new class at one church we've been considering. The minute we walked in, I suspected that this wouldn't be the class for us just based on the ages of the people present: we were significantly younger than everyone else. Not that I don't think I can fellowship with and learn from those older than me, but we need connections with people in our own walk of life, also.

Then they started talking.

One of the first topics that came up was the book they had originally planned to study for the summer: Ministries of Mercy, by Tim Keller. I haven't read the book, but Tim Keller is an author I have enjoyed in the past. However, this class apparently got about two chapters into the book and couldn't stomach his theology enough to read any further. This was the point when the teacher then turned to us and remarked, very amicably, "We're a pretty progressive class. If you're a more fundamentalist type, you'll probably decide this isn't the class for you."

Yeah. We could've made that decision right then.

But we stayed for the rest of the lesson, a lesson which confirmed her description of the group. The teacher had brought in a couple of articles to read and discuss, and the discussion generally revolved around the notion that fundamentalists are silly (if not downright unchristian) to hold so vehemently to the fact that the Bible is infallible and inerrant -- that such beliefs lead to hateful, unloving thoughts and behavior (!?!) -- that they all are so grateful to be free of the shackles of such ridiculous dogma and open to a belief system that makes so much more sense.

Whoa.

I listened very carefully, because as I said recently when I wrote about Facebook, I learn a lot from people who think differently from me, and I sometimes find that I've been wrong about things and need to change my thinking. That didn't happen here. I wanted so much to ask questions . . . like, "So, how do you decide what in the Bible is true and what is not? How exactly do you define 'The Gospel'? What if there is something out there that is absolutely, positively true but that doesn't make sense to our limited human reasoning and that we need to receive by revelation and accept by faith?" Not to trip them up or anything -- just because I genuinely wanted to know their answers and understand their thought processes.

But as hubby and I said to each other later, we could sense this wasn't an environment for such questions. We were visitors (and only one-time visitors, it was becoming clear), and it would accomplish nothing for us to stir up the pot like that. These people weren't just "progressive" Christians (a term I take some offense to, actually); they positively reveled in their "progressiveness". Their progressiveness WAS their religion. We doubted we would get sufficient answers to our questions in our short time there, and it was obvious that such comments from us would get us immediately labeled as some of those dreaded fundamentalists needing to be either converted or dismissed.

So we smiled and nodded when we could with a good conscience. We shook everyone's hand at the end and heard their names. Then we left with a sigh.

Cross another one off the list.

No More Spiritual Than the Opera

Did I mention I got a Nook? For Mother's Day? Fascinating little device. I finished my latest evening devotional book the other day and decided to look to see what I could get for free on my Nook.

One of the works I downloaded (for free! so cool!) was a collection of sermons by C.H. Spurgeon, sermons he gave to students at a pastoral training school where he taught. The one I read last night is about the need for pastors to be spiritually sound and growing themselves if they expect to shepherd a congregation. Kind of a "duh" for me; he spent a lot of time expounding on the idea, which I'm sure was for the benefit of the pastors he was preaching to, to cause them to truly examine themselves. (Sermons are rarely as effective when read as they are when delivered orally.)

But one section really jumped out at me:

"People go to their place of worship and sit down comfortably, and think they must be Christians, when all the time, all that their religion consists in, is listening to an orator, having their ears tickled with music, and perhaps their eyes amused with graceful action and fashionable manners: the whole being no better than what they hear and see at the opera -- not so good, perhaps, in point of aesthetic beauty, and not an atom more spiritual. Thousands are congratulating themselves, and even blessing God that they are devout worshippers, when at the same time they are living in an unregenerate Christless state, having the form of godliness, but denying the power thereof."

Ouch. Ouch, ouch, ouch. How little has changed since the 19th century. I hope it doesn't sound arrogant for me to say that I don't feel convicted that Spurgeon is describing me . . . but I do feel convicted that I may, in the past, have contributed to a church environment that allowed people to be this deluded.

Listening to an orator . . . interesting that I think I find myself equating the quality of a preacher's oration with his being led by the Spirit in his preaching, when it is certainly possible that a man could be a fabulous speaker and completely devoid of spiritual power.

Having their ears tickled with music . . . by all means, we should be sure the music we offer in worship is the highest quality we can offer, but I have been in far too many situations when the musicians (even some very godly musicians) were more concerned with the audience's response to the music than to how it would please God (note the term audience) . . . and I KNOW I've been in churches where the congregation was more concerned with their personal enjoyment of the music than they were with the worship they were doing in response to it. I've done that myself.

Eyes amused with graceful action and fashionable manners . . . in our day, might we equate this with interesting "stage decorations"? Lighting effects? High quality videos? Trendiness? (I remember a sermon once where the pastor invited us to text him questions to be answered in the next sermon.) Not that any of these is wrong, per se, but when they serve no purpose other than to amuse the eyes of the one sitting in the pew, as Spurgeon says (to keep the audience interested and attentive, to make them feel like they're in a "cool" church, to make them want to come back to see what neat thing the worship team will think up next), then there's a problem.

The words that hurt me here? They congratulate themselves because they think they must be Christians -- must be, because they go to church every week and enjoy it.

It grieves me that so many of our churches are so concerned with getting folks in the door and keeping them there, and they forget that pleasure and entertainment are rarely the means to an encounter with Christ that leads to regeneration (frankly, they are more likely to get in the way) and that the only reason we want people there is so they can be regenerated. Not to stroke our egos about our big numbers, or the positive comments we get after the service, or the reputation we have around town. Not so folks can have an enjoyable morning in a family-friendly moral environment that encourages them to be better people. To be regenerated. How many of us really understand what "regeneration" means these days? And yet we think we're leading people to it because they smile at us from the pews as we tickle their ears.

I think this is why we are so reluctant to connect ourselves to one of the megachurches here in San Antonio. I would rather be part of a small congregation where the people are there because they actually meet God there, whether the aesthetics please them or not.

Why We're Not Starting a House Church

We had a houseful of family this weekend here to celebrate our eldest's high school graduation, most of whom left on Sunday morning. Because of the timing of their flights, we weren't able to get to any church service, so our youngest took matters into her own hands. For quite a while now, she has been telling us we need to start our own church. Invite friends over -- take turns preaching sermons and leading music -- hmmm.

So, yesterday, she prepared a sermon and chose some music and led a worship service for the family in our living room. She preached on a passage in 1 Chronicles where David is praying about the gifts the people have given for building the temple. Honestly, I was pretty astounded at her insight into the scripture and the quality of her delivery. Fascinating girl, my daughter.

But I keep trying to explain to her that holding our own worship services in our home, taking turns preaching to each other, is not really a good idea. At least, not in lieu of finding a real "church home". I admit, I can understand the appeal to her. She seems to have inherited my disease of seeing a thing and always thinking, "I can do that" . . . or even worse, "I can do that better." Sometimes, it is good to just acknowledge and use the gifts of others.

I'm struggling a bit, though, to articulate to her why our own personal church is not optimal. I understand why in my gut -- I've just never had to put it in words.

People are built for corporate worship, I believe. It's somewhere in our makeup. Even the non-religious find a way to worship something, and to do so en masse. Witness NFL football games. Fourth of July celebrations. Political conventions. Popular concert tours. You might contend that none of these are worship situations; I could make a case otherwise. We are made to worship, and if we don't worship the only Object worthy of our worship, we inevitably find something else. Sometimes that something else is a thing very intimate and private -- I've known people who hold their families as objects of their worship. But corporate worship is a powerful thing, and it's something I think we are driven to do on a regular basis.

That said, getting a few families together in our home every week might meet that need for corporate worship in our lives, but I'm skeptical. Primarily because of the other objection I have to the idea: we would need a shepherd.

God has called and equipped certain people in his body to lead and guide and teach his people. All we are like sheep, it says in Isaiah, and sheep desperately need a shepherd. Yes, Christ is the ultimate Good Shepherd, but I think we tread in dangerous waters when we presume to have the wisdom and discernment to just lead ourselves spiritually. We need gifted, spiritually strong elders to guide us. Unless we happened to find someone so called by God to join our little home church, we would just end up like Isaiah's stray sheep who have each turned to his own way.

And so, while we enjoyed a week of worship in our living room, we return to the church search next week. Prayers appreciated. I'm weary of this process.

Kill the Marketing, Just Do Church

Our family has lived in San Antonio for almost nine months now. That's approximately thirty-six Sundays. Every one of those Sundays, give or take a few (we have done some traveling and had a sick Sunday here and there), we have attended a church service somewhere in town. A few of these churches we went back to a few times, but that still equals quite a few churches we've visited.

And we still haven't decided on a church home.

It's discouraging to me. I want to get settled. I want to get connected. I want to stop having the discussion every weekend about where we're going tomorrow, what time do they start again, which Sunday School class will we try out this time, yada yada. I promise that we're not blowing this off. We want to join up – we just want to be sure that we join up where God wants us.

A primary issue for us is that we want our girls to have a group in their church that they feel comfortable with and can grow alongside. And for our eldest, in particular, that is proving to be a challenge. But honestly, for me, I think there's something else in my way, and I haven't decided if this is a good thing in me or not . . . but here it is:

 

I am so done with the seeker-focused mega-church model.

I am tired of church-as-marketing-strategy. I just want to meet weekly with a group of people who are desperate for God and who are finding Him.

I am done with programmed worship. I’ve spent much of my last several years working with sermon schedules, writing dramas, helping plan worship services around themes, considering slogans, images, ways to create atmosphere . . . Lord knows, I am not a spontaneous person, and everything about this process should appeal to my nature, but I am done.

I want to sit at the feet (literally, if necessary) of a man (or woman) who is so fervently seeking God in his own life that what he is learning and experiencing spills out of his mouth spontaneously with passion and urgency. I’ll listen to him for a couple hours if it’s legit and Spirit-filled.

I want to sing with a group of people who are singing in genuine worship. I want to sing a song because the Spirit began singing a song in someone’s heart, and they began singing it out loud, and the Spirit within all of us agreed by joining in. I want to be with people who sing with abandon, not with precision. I want the lyrics to come from the heart and not the screen.

I want to make my entertainment entertainment and my worship worship. I don’t want to care a whit about the quality of the sound system, or the lighting, or the camera angles, or the video feed. I want to leave that stuff to concerts and plays – to legitimate performances.

I am done with creating a Sunday morning show that will draw people in. I want to worship with the people who are there to worship – and if that draws others, hallelujah. I’ve increasingly become convicted that the church should be a place where the believers gather to be believers, not to be whatever it is the world wants believers to be. Not an exclusive club that keeps people out . . . or a marketing program trying to attract people in . . . but an open assembly where we simply are who we are, and anyone is welcome to join us – we're thrilled to have you! – but we have no intention of doing anything differently to get you there or keep you there, because what we're doing is about God and not about us or you.

Am I completely off-base? Am I expecting too much? I don't know. But this is where I am. And we still don't know where we're going to church this Sunday morning.

Showers of . . . Blessing???

In my nightly prayer with my husband the other night, I was about to repeat my standard “Thank you, Lord, for all the blessings in our lives” . . . and I was caught short. I couldn't say that. And it's all thanks to an article a friend asked me to read.

The author talks about how we (comfortable, rich Western Christian America) have kind of hijacked the word “blessed” and made it mean something it shouldn't mean. We look at the material good fortune that has come our way, for whatever reason, and think that we are blessed. That God is blessing us.

Who says it's a blessing?

Really, it's not just an incorrect way of viewing it, it's an insulting way of viewing it. If wealth, physical comfort, and security is a blessing from God, what do you say to the thousands and thousands of faithful believers in the world who have none of these? Why is God blessing me but not them? (Frankly, most of them are far more deserving.) Considering how these material advantages often make me self-assured, weak in my faith, and less dependent on God, how can they be considered a blessing?

They are not a blessing. Not in the way we define blessing. We've got to stop thinking that way.

I have friends struggling with medical issues beyond my comprehension. I have friends who don't know how they're paying the mortgage next month. I have friends whose marriages are falling apart. I have friends whose children have gone off a variety of deep ends. I have NO IDEA why I'm healthy, financially stable, and generally happy and secure today, but I'm quite certain it's not a reward for my faithfulness . . . or a sign of God's extra love for me more than anyone else . . . or because God thinks I deserve a life of ease when others don't.

It's not a reward – it's a responsibility. It's not a blessing – it's a burden.

This may seem like I'm being picky about semantics, but I'm going to start being more cautious about how I use that word. I'm grateful for the financial stability God has given our family, but God's blessing for us is not financial stability. God's blessing for us is the honor of having a relationship with Him.

It really does matter. How we talk about these things affects how we think about these things. If we sing that old hymn, “There shall be showers of blessing” (Does anyone sing that anymore?) and imagine money, friends, soft beds, nice cars, and hot lattes falling from the clouds, we are thinking of God as a jolly, bearded, behavioral psychologist in the sky who tries to control us with positive reinforcement.

No, no, no, no. The money, security, and favorable opportunities He gives us are tools He puts in our hands to use for His Kingdom. Tools for use. Not to “bless” us (the way we define blessing). Not for our pleasure and comfort and ease.

The joy, peace, and love we receive as He holds us in His arms – like a shepherd carries a lamb – those are the blessings. They are for our pleasure and comfort and ease. And they accomplish those things much more effectively than the money does.

May we use well the tools He gives us. And may we revel in the shower of His blessings.

Why This Church Lady Don't Do Lent

My non-Christian friends will probably be surprised to hear that I'm not participating in Lent. Well, I suppose a few of them may have never heard of Lent . . . but most of them, I suspect, assume that's one of those things required in the faith. ALL Christians do Lent -- just like they go to church on Sunday mornings, pray before they eat, and vote Republican. The nuances between the different denominations are not clear to them.

Growing up Southern Baptist, I don't believe I ever heard the word "Lent" at church -- nor "Mardi Gras" or "Ash Wednesday". My church didn't even do Advent at Christmastime. Because it was never discussed, I never heard of a reason why we didn't celebrate such things. But given what I know of the Baptist Faith and Doctrine (and how it played out on a practical level), I think they would have said that it's all a bit too ritualistic. A gimmicky thing. That it's a "good work" people do thinking they're earning their way into God's good graces by doing so, even though most of them don't take it seriously.

(Funny enough, I had a Lutheran friend once who told me the book Pilgrim's Progress was too "Baptist" because it implied that people earned their way into heaven with good works. Yeesh. I was completely perplexed at that characterization. We sure get messed-up ideas about each other's denominations sometimes.)

In any case, I know where my Baptist nurturers were coming from. The only time I ever heard of Lent was the occasional kid at school who was "giving up something"--soft drinks, or headbands, or The Cosby Show. It struck me as gimmicky at the time, too. Certainly nothing of any spiritual nature or value.

And there's nothing in the Bible about Lent. Frankly, there's nothing in the Bible about Easter, either. Or Christmas. We're not instructed to set aside a day of the year to celebrate Christ's resurrection. (Actually, we're instructed to do the bread and wine thing whenever we get together to remember his death on our behalf. The Lutherans and their kind got it all over the Baptists on that one. Touché.)

But that doesn't mean the idea of Lent is unbiblical. As I just said, we are told to remember Christ's sacrifice all the time. And fasting is mentioned frequently. We're never specifically instructed to fast, but frankly, it's spoken of as if it is just assumed we will choose to fast on occasion for spiritual reasons.

My title is a bit misleading. I have "done Lent" before. I've had years I gave up something for Lent -- sometimes for a legitimate spiritual purpose and sometimes just because calling it a Lenten thing gave me a guilt trip if I backed off on something I knew I needed to do anyway. One year, I ended up writing a series of blog posts about why I believed in the resurrection that turned into a very valuable Lenten exercise (you can read the first one here; the rest you can easily find in the blog archives on the right side of that page).

This year, however, Lent isn't happening for me. Between a writing project I'm working on and the school play I'm helping with and my eldest's senior year stresses and subbing at my youngest's school and everyday hectic life and this incessant cough that won't let go of my lungs (yes, I'm seeing a doctor on Wednesday), Ash Wednesday slipped up on me unawares. I haven't had any chance to think seriously about what I could do for the forty days of Lent that would serve to draw me closer to God in a meaningful way . . . and if it's not doing that, it's not worth doing. Maybe I'll observe Lent in June, after graduation.

No judgment, please, Christian friends. My sins have already been atoned for, thanks be to God. Hallelujah, Thine the glory. Jesus saves, Jesus saves.