On God, Flag, and Country

Someone recently told our new pastor I would not be at church for the Veteran's Day service. I was a little surprised since I had forgotten Veteran's Day was approaching and no one had said anything to me about it. How did someone else know the plans I had yet to even consider? I guess they were looking at my history. I did miss the Sunday closest to Veteran's Day a year ago because I was at a conference that weekend. The conference had nothing to do with Veteran's Day, but I will admit I wasn't disappointed by the timing. I tend to miss Memorial Day weekend because my mother was born on May 30th (Memorial Day's date before the Monday Holiday Bill set it adrift in 1968). We have a long family tradition of gathering for her birthday. This year I could have left after the Sunday morning service to visit her for her 92^nd birthday celebration, but chose to miss. I was at church for the Independence Day service in July, but apparently my absences for “God, Flag, and Country” Sundays speak louder than my presence. As they probably should. The unnamed person making a definitive statement concerning my plans for this fall was perhaps a bit presumptuous, but not far enough off base for me to take offense. And there is a possibility the second-hand version of the statement that came back to me contained more certainty than the original.

Will I be at church for Veteran's Day? I don't know, but probably. Church attendance is a habit for me whereas conflicting conferences are rare. I have concerns, but probably not enough commitment to them to make alternative plans for the day.

My concerns:

1. War is ridiculous. The leaders of two or more countries find themselves in conflict so they gather up a large number of young men in the prime of life, give them weapons, train them in the art of death and destruction, and see who can inflict enough death and destruction to prompt the other side to give up. How is this still happening in our times?

But, wait, there is more. The warriors, along with their parents and grandparents and lovers, are persuaded that God is on their side of the conflict and that they are defenders of righteousness, truth, and freedom. They must inflict death and destruction for the sake of their families back home, for God, flag, and country. The parents and grandparents and lovers lift up their young men as heroes as they dish out death and destruction on those on the other side of the conflict while the leaders who initiated the military action sit safely in their war rooms. Sometimes civilians are also killed in this process, but this is accepted as a cost of conflict. The young fighters are still heroes. This is seriously messed up!!

If you don't believe me that this is messed up, check in on the mental health of war veterans. The survivors, of course. But not those who serve behind the frontlines. Look at those who walk away with indelible images of war carnage haunting their days. See how they are doing. After the American Civil War, they called such people “shellshocked.” After Vietnam, we just recognized them as messed-up Vietnam vets. Now we have letters to describe it: PTSD. It's still the same. Killing other human beings and watching people die violent deaths has a terrible impact on the lives of those involved. As it should. We are made for protecting human life not extinguishing it, and we overcome that natural bent to our own peril.

2. The glorification of war and war “heroes” bothers me anyway, but even more so when it enters the church.

When I was a young adult, I started my campaign to protect our worship services by taking on the Easter Bunny. Not because I dislike the Easter Bunny. I think colored eggs and candy and bunnies are delightful symbols for celebrating spring and fertility and new life. (Rabbits are my favorite animal!) Outside the church walls. Inside the church walls, Easter/Resurrection Sunday is only and always about the resurrection of Jesus Christ. The Easter bunny can hop to and fro everywhere else, but can we keep this one sacred place sacred? It is the ONLY place where the focus is on God's power to overcome death with new life as demonstrated by the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Why would we distract from that focus? There is wondrous beauty in the empty tomb that many struggle to grasp. Why would we interweave light-hearted myths and magic with it? Enjoy the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy! They are great!! But can we please refrain from inviting them into sacred spaces at the most sacred times of the church year?

I gave up on reforming the church long ago. Now I am content to simply not participate when secular interests get folded into worship. But even that is difficult. Even if I could close the church doors in the face of the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus, I wouldn't want to shut out those who have served in the U.S. military. And the idea that God supports America's warriors and we must do the same by honoring our troops, current or past, as part of our Sunday morning worship is drilled into us from a young age. It is almost sacrilegious to question it. I can disappear on such Sundays, but that exposes me as someone who doesn't support the men and women currently or formerly serving in our armed forces, a serious offense in the eyes of many! Or maybe someone who doesn't understand that the military invites God into the midst of war by means of chaplains and prayers.

The bottom line is that I find war disturbing beyond words. I wish there were alternative paths for serving God and country that didn't involve training young men to kill and maim. I wish we as a country supported and honored service in the Peace Corp and similar programs like we support and honor military service. I wish, if military service remains a necessary evil because our leaders find it impossible to come up with civilized means for conflict resolution, we could at least acknowledge each enlistment as a sign of unspeakable failure on the part of those leaders.

But that isn't where we are. My pastor reminded me that the military supports chaplains and prayer. I didn't remind him that, regardless of those prayers, causing the violent death of another human does permanent damage to the psyche of those doing it. The wreckage on both sides is beyond comprehension. But I had no words to convey that conviction, nor to explain why it bothers me so much to see those involved in the military put on a pedestal rather than wrapped in arms of healing and compassion and begged for forgiveness for whatever extent they were subjected to the horrors of war.

I don't have answers to the incredible puzzle of war still existing in these times. And I certainly can't change the mindset that God is honored when we honor those offering their lives to the service of leaders with such limited skills and imagination for peacemaking that they resort to sending “the boys” out to kill and maim each other in order to “settle” international conflict. I can't fix it. I just wish I didn't have to be part of celebrating it. But even those noting my opposition to such celebrations have shown no interest in hearing my concerns. So I share them here in the blogosphere. And so it goes. . 

Not that anyone has actually asked me, but again I ask myself: Will I be at church for the Veteran's Day service? Probably. I too am part of this country that believes more in military might than the peaceable Kingdom of God. And I am part of a congregation that supports this worldview by honoring war veterans on Veteran's Day. I am too worn down and worn out to stage a protest. And so we will have God, flag, and country. My convictions will be simply one more (admittedly minor) casualty in a long string of casualties. 

The flag I will be waving is the white flag of surrender and defeat. 

On Generosity

This week I added one more book to the backlog on my Kindle -- The Paradox of Generosity: Giving We Receive, Grasping We Lose by Christian Smith & Hilary Davidson. Even the little I have read thus far in the introduction says what I have already discovered with the help of the Bible and a few decades of living: a generous life is a blessed life.

Having just purchased the book, it was fresh in my mind today as my husband and I headed to WonderLab Science Museum in Bloomington, Indiana, with our grandchildren. We had never been there and took advantage of the availability of children during their fall school break to legitimize our visit. As one might guess from the name, it's a Wonder-full place, full of hands-on science of all types, from simple toy collections to the mystery of a mind challenge game where two people wearing headbands with forehead sensors compete to direct a small steel ball to one goal or the other using only their minds while their brain activity is shown on a screen. (The three-year-old won this game!)

One of the simplest stations was an area with a large collection of plastic cups donated by a local pizza joint. Our fifth-grader started stacking them into a tower, as did his little sister. Of course, they were frequently knocked over as kids came and went, but after a while it was just the two of them building and one kid, maybe 7 or 8 years old, who would periodically plow through the area knocking everything down. The grandkids were getting frustrated by this and my (grand)mother bear instinct kicked in, prompting me to position myself as a shield between this "wrecker" and the tower under construction. He then settled onto a stool at the station next to the cup area and didn't try to get past me as the project was completed.

After photographing the finished creation with its architect, I quietly asked my grandson if it would be all right to let this other kid knock it down. He was a little surprised by the suggestion, but his generous nature prevailed and he agreed. The "wrecker" was even more surprised when I asked if he wanted to knock it over, but after double-checking to see if I meant it, he sent the cups flying. My grandson then wandered off, but the 3-year-old and I stayed. The "wrecker" also stayed and started building his own tower, the first attempt to build instead of destroy I had observed.

A bit later, the other kid had moved on again and my grandson returned with the aspiration to build the biggest tower of all. He was a little discouraged, however, by how precarious all this building was. Then inspiration hit. We decided to stack the cups against the wall. Now both grandchildren started working together and soon the other kid came back and started to help. Being an oldest child, my grandson was a bit critical of the work of both younger children, but I persuaded him they were being careful and doing well and the project quickly grew to the point where I had to take over because it was above the reach of the children. The other kid pulled over the stool from the neighboring station and climbed on it to help me with the highest row either of us could reach. We took a photo and I started a search for a taller person to move us up further, having doubts about the acceptability of standing on the stool myself. Help arrived after a while in the form of an employee who stood on the stool and added two more rows before we ran entirely out of cups. (I had not observed it, but the kids noted that the "wrecker" had stomped on and broken several cups. It was fine, though. We had the exact number needed to do the highest row even the employee on the stool could reach.)

It was a wonderful accomplishment. Multiple people had a chance to admire the masterpiece before a toddler did what toddlers do. Moving faster than his mother could follow, he ran over and pulled a cup out of the tower at his toddler level, sending all the cups to the floor in a magnificent crash!

Such a simple building opportunity in a place with many more sophisticated stations. And such a simple act of generosity that turned our "enemy" into a coworker. Instead of ending the day thinking that kid did nothing but destroy our work, we became partners.

One thing that lay behind my decision to buy the book by Smith & Davidson was watching an example of the opposite of generosity. Someone left a faith community after a church vote didn't go their way and over the course of a few weeks collected up and carried out every item they had apparently "loaned," rather than donated to the church during their many years of membership, leaving empty spaces all over the church building. There was talk of changing the locks, but I was glad to hear later no such action had been taken. Responding to miserliness with heightened security simply spreads the lack of generosity. If someone excelling in the “rules” of Christianity as they understand them (including the commandments against theft) is that injured, they probably need to be allowed to do what they feel justified in doing. And as it turned out, someone else was in a position to replace many of the missing items. Both the congregation and the new donor enjoyed the blessing of generosity.

A quote I have seen phrased different ways and credited to different sources says, "We are not so much punished for our sins as by them." When I think of the former church members sitting in their home amidst the clutter of “undonated” items and think about the bridges they burned behind them as they exited, I am reminded again that just as generous, grace-filled living brings joy and blessing, miserly and graceless living brings misery.

Jesus once commented about how difficult it is for rich people to enter the kingdom of God. I think the difficulty of being generous is a big part of that. Being open-handed is especially difficult for people who excel at hanging onto money and material goods, generally a requirement for accumulating and retaining wealth. It is difficult to have the generous and gracious spirit that characterizes kingdom living while clinging tightly to material wealth.

Sometimes we are positive examples. Sometimes we are examples of where the wrong path leads. I don't always make the most generous choices, It is easy for me to cling too tightly to things I could easily give away. Because of this, I try to remind myself often (and find reading material to remind me) that I virtually never regret being generous.

On 8,000,000,000 People

In Genesis 9:1, after the flood, God instructed Noah and his family to increase in number and fill the earth.

I think it is safe to say that we have done it. The global population is fast approaching eight billion people. That is 8,000,000,000. According to Wikipedia, there are around 75 people per square mile in the part of rural America where I live. In the world's most densely populated cities that number rises to 75,000. That level of density is beyond my comprehension. Obviously, the people in those cities are not able to grow enough food to feed themselves. Earth is showing definite signs of stress from the burden of sustaining such a large population. We are full up.

One question to ask is: Will someone (Someone?) or something eventually put the brakes on? Whether one believes in God, natural evolution, or fate, it seems clear something needs to change if earth is to remain habitable for future generations. Whether it be a global pandemic or war or starvation or genocide, it seems inevitable that we must somehow control earth's human population growth in order to thrive and leave room for other species as well as agriculture.

Along those lines, I have been pondering a "what if ..." question: 

What if whatever Force or force is in charge of capping earth's human population brought multiple resources to the table? Would some of those tools involve lowering the fertility rate of humanity? Contraceptives could be a start: various means to prevent human sperm from reaching human eggs. But maybe that is just one part of the solution. Maybe human sexuality needs a total rework. Either less of a sex drive or alternative means for sexual satisfaction that do not result in conception.

It seems to me we are seeing this sort of force (or Force) at work. Fertility rates are dropping in many areas. There are multiple reasons for this. One factor is an increase in homosexuality. The human sex drive remains strong, but it no longer automatically seeks to unite sperm with egg.

What if this is a natural response to an over-populated planet? What if there is no "sin" involved? Even if those who see biblical sexual mandates as applying to monogamous unions between consensual adults in the 21st century are right -- and there is much room for debate there even among those who view the Bible as the inspired Word of God -- they were given in a time when the world population was less than 200 million. Is it possible we are in a completely different age now in terms of what is good for humanity and our host planet? Do we need to be open to a new view of human sexuality?

In John 9, Jesus' disciples questioned him about the source of sin in a man born blind. If the parents sinned, why was it their child who was punished? On the other hand, how could one blame the man if he had no opportunity to sin before being struck with blindness. The part of the puzzle they did not question was that blindness was punishment for sin. Jesus' response was that neither the parents nor the son was to blame for the blindness. There was no sinful act behind it.

Today we know there are many different causes for blindness. Some people are born blind, others develop diseases of the eyes, others become blind due to accidents or poor choices by themselves or others, but blindness in itself is not seen as a sign of moral deficiency. It is a physical issue, not a moral issue.

I am left-handed. The Latin word for left is sinister. In many times and places favoring one's left hand has been seen as a sign of being sinister -- rebellious, out of step with society, even evil. I am relieved to have never encountered that view as a child, partly due to the full acceptance of my left-handedness by my parents. If I had run into such prejudice, I would be no less left-handed, but I would certainly deal with guilt and self-doubt, something that has never plagued me in this regard. Being left-handed has always been something I see as making me part of a fun subset of the population, even when inconvenient. In a crowd, I often look around to find my fellow "lefties." (The 1 in 10 ratio holds pretty true. In a crowd of 30, I expect to find at least two other lefties and usually do.)

What if we could view those outside the cisgender population in that same light? Maybe being left-handed has made that easier for me to do. When I recently discovered that a young man I took a liking to several years ago is gay, I thought to myself, "I KNEW there was something special about him!" It occurred to me that even though I am fully heterosexual, I seem drawn to young people who fall outside the norms. I like their nonconformity and flair. They are part of a special subset of the population that appeals to me.

Different? Yes. Sinister? Not at all. And perhaps just what we need at this stage of human development. The earth is full already! Why would we call what seems to be naturally increasing within humanity in an overpopulated world "sinister" or "evil"? Especially when the people outside the norms have so much to offer? My world is a better place because of them! AND they never have to worry about unintentionally adding to earth's population count.

Just some thoughts.

On Truth and Grace

Recently, a thirty-something young man shared his pain with me. I could tell he was deeply wounded, feeling shut out of the inner workings of an entity that mattered to him. He was not only representing his own pain, but also that of others. 

I managed to listen with little comment, mostly asking questions to better understand. I could tell his points were well-rehearsed: I was not the first to hear the list of injustices he has endured. Apparently, talking about them previously has done nothing to lessen his sense of injustice, more to hone his points. Now he has practiced his delivery one more time.

Listening is a skill I am still working on. It is an act of faith, believing there is power in it, that I don't have to somehow come up with words of wisdom in response to a flow of words coming my direction in order to make a difference. On this occasion I did better than sometimes. While I am aware of perspectives that place others in a better light than he casts them in, he was not open to hearing words to that effect and I managed to refrain from sharing them.

A few days earlier I had a very different conversation with another young man around the same age. In that exchange, I was defeated by my companion's well-developed debating skills multiple times. He asked me pointed questions, rejected my responses as not answering those questions, and then shot down my subsequent attempts to respond as evidence of my flawed thinking. And I let it happen. I was not up to verbal sparring at his level, and I didn't care if he "won." I have no need for his approval of my "truth."^ I like that he finds me a worthy opponent for the verbal jousting he so obviously enjoys. And the fact that he sometimes attacked a position I had not taken in the moment let me know my influence goes beyond what I actually say. Whether he was harking back to previous exchanges or had simply built up a caricature of my worldview in his mind, he wasn't far enough off from my actual thinking for me to protest. He set up "truth" on my behalf and then shot it down as false. But -- and this is an important point -- actual Truth was unmoved by his arguments. Truth is enduring. It's not as though God flickers in and out of existence depending on the strength of atheists' arguments. 

I don't know how valid my own "truth" is, but having someone shoot down that "truth" as logically flawed doesn't seem to have harmed it any. Rather, I am pleased that my young friend is aware of someone in his world who doesn't accept the "truth" taught in the bubble where he mainly dwells. Because I am part of his life, even though our paths cross infrequently, he has thought about why he believes the way he does and why I am wrong. That is not a bad thing from my point of view. Next he needs to figure out how I continue to believe as I do despite his bullet-proof arguments.

This morning I read in Titus 3 advice for believers "to be peaceable and considerate, and always to be gentle toward everyone" (verse 2) because "at one time we too were foolish, disobedient, deceived, and enslaved by all kinds of passions and pleasures" (verse 3) I have thirty-plus years on my recent partners in conversation. I have been where they are: angry at being excluded; convinced that I could change someone's "truth" to better reflect my own through logical arguments. I don't want to go back there. At this point in my life, I need to focus more on being peaceable, considerate, and gentle toward everyone.

An article from evangelicalism I read recently talked about the struggle to balance truth and grace. Too much truth without grace is hard and unkind. Too much grace without truth is mushy and useless. We need to find the delicate balance between the two. (There was no delineation between capital T Truth and each individual's grasp of "truth" in that article. Rather, the author spoke of "objective truth," which is apparently knowable, but still somehow not accepted by everyone.)

The concern for balance between truth and grace may be valid, but it leaves out the fact that grace without truth is almost, if not completely, impossible to offer. My personal "truth" slips out in various ways as I live my life. For example, people may listen to my words and notice my vocabulary doesn't include "coarse language." They may then presume I am opposed to such language and assign that "truth" to me whether it fits or not, because it fits other people who have schooled them in this area. There is no reason for me to verbalize my ambivalent and changing views on the topic. That is not a conversation they are looking to have. 

Whatever my standards for my own speech, that doesn't mean I am bothered by the language others use.^^ I may be full of grace on the subject, but people can still think I am judging them in my mind and respond to me as though I had spoken the words they have heard from others whom they think are just like me.

I have no idea how much "truth" in such areas people pick up as we interact. I am confident, however, that enough is transmitted that focusing my intentional communication completely on grace to the best of my ability will still land me farther from the grace end of the truth-grace continuum than I would like to be. Not only does my own life and speech lean naturally toward "truth," but also, as a Christian in the Bible belt, I tend to get lumped in with the rigid "truth" that tends to characterize all religion. People presume they know what I believe as a Christian without bothering to ask questions and truly listen to my answers.

True grace is not an easy, spineless response to others. It requires considerable effort to see people, accept them, and forgive them. There is a reason God's grace has so frequently been described as amazing.

Titus chapter 3 goes on to say that "when the kindness and love of God our Savior appeared, he saved us, not because of righteous things we had done, but because of his mercy." Kindness and love, not truth-telling and judgment. And mercy! I am not there yet in living exclusively in kindness, love, and mercy, but it is a goal worth pursuing.

^Disclaimer #1: I am mostly putting "truth" in quotes here. I believe in absolute truth -- Truth with a capital T. I do not believe that I have a handle on that Truth. My "truth" and every other person's falls short of that absolute Truth, which I see as approachable, but far beyond human comprehension.

^^Disclaimer #2: All exchanges described here, real and potential, are between adults. One of the most freeing moments of my life was when my youngest child moved into adulthood and I realized I was no longer responsible for parenting anyone, including policing the language of others.

Homosexuality -- Where I Stand and Why (from March 2014)

Note: I posted these words to the forum called NazNet.com in March 2014. I am reposting them here with only light grammatical editing for the purpose of preservation and reference. Eight years later, my thoughts on the subject are basically the same. The biggest difference is more extensive exposure to members of the LGBTQ+ community who are faithfully serving God and their faith communities. I have greatly benefited from the spiritual insight I have found among them.

From March 2014:

I have been asked several times to provide biblical support for my position on homosexuality and gay marriage. This post is intended to address that issue.

First, I need to clearly state my position on the matter: I believe that the question of sexual ethics for 
Christians experiencing exclusively same-sex attraction can be answered only from within the community of those experiencing such attraction. The larger Christian community must refrain from trying to determine God’s will for people whose experiences they have never experienced. So, to the question, "Are same-gender sexual relationships a sin?" my response is, "I don't know. It's not my sin; it's not my temptation."

Second, having exposed myself to the words of those living in this tension, I am seeing a rising number of Christian gays concluding that God can and does bless committed, monogamous, loving, same-gender relationships – marriage. In keeping with my previously stated position, I respect the long, difficult journey that has brought them to this place and support them in this conclusion.

But, people ask, what about the Bible? Are we to set aside clear biblical teaching that 
homosexuality is an abomination to the Lord simply because some people who obviously are unable to 
take an objective viewpoint are willing to do so?

Yes. We already set aside clear biblical teaching. All the time. Leviticus? We already pick and choose 
among the many regulations there. We keep those that make sense in our current times and set aside 
those that don’t. And that practice started before the canon was even closed. In Acts 15 Peter said to 
those trying to press the levitical law on new believers, “[W]hy do you try to test God by putting on 
the necks of Gentiles a yoke that neither we nor our ancestors have been able to bear? No! We believe it is through the grace of our Lord Jesus that we are saved, just as they are.” The Jerusalem church then boiled the law down to four regulations, one of which -- consuming meat "polluted by idols" -- Paul later addressed with a "live and let live" approach. They didn't even include the most long-lasting sign of covenant with God on the list -- circumcision.

The thing is, the law of God is summed up by Jesus as containing two central elements – love God; love others. If you do this, you are fulfilling the law. It is a message repeated throughout the Old and New Testaments. Is there any lack of love involved in eating bacon? Not toward others, as far as I can see. Toward God only if you see O.T. dietary restrictions as essential to demonstrating love for God, a litmus test, so to speak. But Genesis tells us, and Romans and Hebrews repeat, that what pleases God is not rule-keeping but faith and trust. “Abraham believed God and it was credited to him as righteousness.” Sometimes such belief includes a faith that God cares about a lot of other things more than bacon. And maybe even more than the anatomy of sexual relationships. (A question which, again, I would leave to those for whom this is a personal issue.) When works are considered as a basis for judgment in the Bible, as is often the case, the question almost always boils down to how one treats "the least of these". (If you need specific scripture references here, there are plenty.)

One needs to ask, Does gay courtship and marriage violate the law of love? If so, in what way? It offends the sensitivities of many people. Does it show a lack of love toward those offended by it? Do we all need to live in such a way that our freedom never offends another person? Is that even possible? At what cost should people avoid activities that offend others? That is a question each of us must prayerfully consider concerning our various choices.

But what about the New Testament? people ask. Even after Christ was resurrected and salvation by faith was fully established, the prohibition against homosexual relationships continued.

My response to that is three-fold.

1. There are multiple instructions in the New Testament epistles that Christians don’t follow. In our 
own (Wesleyan) tradition we ordain women for ministry. And we are soft toward the sin of divorce and remarriage, even though Jesus clearly defined it as adultery. With or without Old Testament support, we set aside clear instructions from the New Testament. To choose this one issue as the "last stand" against compromise is more indicative of our personal prejudice than any true Bible scholarship.

2. There is no definition offered as to what is meant by homosexuality in the NT passages. Was Paul talking about a committed, mutual, monogamous relationship between two adults? Or did he have in mind a practice that victimized and dehumanized the weak?

3. There is no reference to exclusive same-sex attraction as an issue for believers. But today this is indeed an issue. We have many testimonies of young people who were raised to believe that homosexuality is a choice and a sin and were devastated to discover same-sex attraction within their own beings, completely unbidden and without remedy. This goes way beyond whatever Paul so casually dropped into his lists of obvious sins. This is unbidden desire in place of the desire Paul regarded as normal and to be addressed in non-sinful ways by Christians – “it is better to marry than to burn,” as the KJV renders 1 Corinthians 7:9.

Once those asking questions explain why I’m wrong on the biblical front, they pull out 2,000 years of church tradition. How can I discount all that history? Can the church possibly have been wrong for that long?

I don’t know. We seem to be dealing with something unprecedented – young people who make a commitment to God long before puberty gradually realizing that not only are they Christian, but they are also gay. Where are the stories of this happening all through the last two millennia? Where was 
this dealt with in the early church councils? In the Reformation? In the 1950s? When did the homosexuals “out there” suddenly become “our kids,” trying desperately to figure out what’s the matter with them, how they ended up in such a situation?

I am reminded of the passage from Isaiah 43:18-19:

“Forget the former things;
do not dwell on the past.
See, I am doing a new thing!
Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the wilderness
and streams in the wasteland. (NIV)

There does seem to be at least a little precedence to setting the past aside when dealing with the possibility that God may be doing a new thing in our midst.

On the Power of Nice

In the past few years, I have left behind much of the evangelical guilt that for so long crushed my soul. Whether it was a stated goal of “making more and better disciples” (sending a clear message that whatever level of discipleship we were at wasn't good enough) or frequent calls to pray more, read the Bible more, evangelize more, or attend church more, the overriding message was that whatever we were doing wasn't enough. Never enough.

Of the many blog feeds I read on a regular basis, only a handful are connected to that old evangelical world of guilt. A recent article from Relevant magazine had me checking the source. It seemed out of step with the typical message from that editorial team. In this case, the “not good enough” message was that simply being a good person – kind, even loving – would never attract anyone to Christ.

This is, of course, not a new message for me. In a world where nothing is ever good enough, being a nice person certainly isn't going to earn any gold stars, and the writer of that article is far from the first person to explain this to me. His words stirred up all the internal protests of old.

What is the basis of this conclusion? The author notes that when someone is kind, even loving, toward him or his family, he thinks it's wonderful, but he doesn't tag that person as a Christian, just as a nice person. If he personally doesn't associate kindness with Christianity, why would anyone else?

It is interesting. For many years, I fretted over my inability to be a “soul-winner.” I tried my best to witness and swing conversations around to spiritual matters. I found it impossible to do without coming across as beyond awkward and alienating people. Maybe that is because I am a terrible Christian. Maybe it is because I am not comfortable with making other people uncomfortable and sabotaging my relationships. (If I were a better Christian, I suppose witnessing to others would not sabotage my relationships, but despite all my best efforts I could never get there.) 

In all my life, I have just one memory of someone introducing me to another person as a “real Christian.” It surprised me since I had never discussed my faith with that person. All I had ever done was express an interest in his life, in his pain and grief. That's it. I was nice to him. And I tried to speak  with kindness to and about other people in his presence.

At the time of the introduction we were standing in an evangelical church. This man and his friend were waiting in line to pick up a box of groceries. I was simply hanging out with the people in line, not particularly contributing anything to the food distribution effort. There was an implication in his words that not all who are involved in that church or maybe any church are “real Christians.” Not that there are sinners sneaking in, but that those who profess to be saints might not be the genuine article. Why would he doubt the genuineness of active church members and label me as the real thing? What was the difference? Certainly not my ability to verbalize my faith! The only possible difference I could think of is that he saw kindness and compassion in me that he didn't see in those whose Christianity he doubted.

I have been thinking about the Relevant article for a couple of days. As it has hovered in the back of my mind, I have noticed again how mean Christians are on social media. Someone in a Facebook group is struggling in her marriage. The other women in the group rally around her and say, “Walk away from that bum! You deserve better!” I can't imagine the disgust that would come my way if I gently pointed out that the marriage might be worth fighting for. Yes, it's a rebound relationship and maybe progressed too quickly, but it seems there is good there, that maybe my Facebook friend is being a little overly sensitive, and maybe counseling could help. Is it kind to advise someone to throw away their marriage without encouraging her to step back and see if there is something salvageable in it? No one in the group knows the husband personally. How can they so easily discount any efforts he might be putting into the relationship? It hasn't been so long since we were hearing how wonderful he was. And her current complaints don't strike me as signs that the marriage needs to end. Why does the group have so little compassion for the husband and hope for the marriage to survive and thrive?

In another FB group someone is unhappy with the conservative church they are attending. The group comes together and shouts, “Walk away! These losers aren't worth your effort! Drive however far you need to get from your local community to find a more progressive faith community!”

On Twitter someone tells a story of a seminary professor making offensive comments about a Bible passage. Progressive Christian Twitter takes up arms to drive that professor out of Dodge. “Report him! Such comments are horrible! He must be a horrible person! Who is he? I'll take him out myself!”

A friend once said, “Never underestimate the power of nice,” but the author of the Relevant article doesn't associate “nice” with Christianity. The message is that a person encountering niceness wouldn't know what lay behind it. I wonder. Is the article perhaps also a commentary on how unlikely people are to associate Christianity with kindness?

Jesus told his disciples that people would recognize their connection to him by their love. (see John 13:35) Why do people assert that love will never be enough to make people think we are associated with Jesus, that we're obviously going to have to tell them (even if they don't ask) or they'll never know?

There are several questions here: 

1) Can people be consistently loving, good, and kind without knowing Christ? 

2) Is genuine loving kindness rare enough for people to be surprised by it and wonder what lies behind it? 

3) Can people know Christ and still show a marked lack of love and compassion in their lives?

I would say “yes” to the first question, but find it unlikely in anyone who hasn't gone deep spiritually. It requires a certain level of faith that life works best when we focus more on the interests of others than our own interests. That is what Jesus taught. Some have discovered that truth by taking other paths, but it is rare even in Christianity. The drive to look out for our own interests at the price of harming others is strong.

The second question is one we can each assess in our own world. How many people do you personally know who are characterized by kindness and consideration toward other people in their words and actions – to those present and not present? I have occasionally been surprised when a Christian I have seen as consistently kind and gentle exposes, in an unguarded moment, a deep vein of bitterness in their soul toward someone. I blink a couple of times and hold my tongue, but it throws me. Does everyone have areas of rancor in their innermost beings? Is there hope for healing in those areas? My friend who noted the unexpected “power of nice” may be onto something. “Nice” that permeates someone's entire being may be rare indeed. Sometimes I wonder if it exists anywhere? When I do run across love and compassion, it makes me think the one showing it, whether intentionally or not, is validating the truth found in the teachings of Jesus Christ.

As for the third question, I'm not the one to pass judgment on the connection others have to Christ. I will let those outside the church assess the attractiveness of such Christians while treasuring that one moment when someone described me as a “real Christian” based on how nice I had been to him and others. I pray I may live up to such an assessment. Having walked away from the guilt-laden atmosphere of evangelicalism, I am willing to let my life speak for itself. Jesus said, “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.” I have concluded that the act of following is my first and best strategy for making a difference in my world.

Do I talk about my faith? Uhm, well, that's what I'm doing right now. If you have made it this far, I presume you are interested in such matters. Faith is one of my favorite topics, right up there with books and gardening. But part of putting other people's interests ahead of my own is talking about what interests them! And many people don't want to discuss religion, particularly those who aren't religious.

Faith is part of who I am, an essential part. I read about it, write about it, talk about it. But I no longer try to talk about it to someone who doesn't want to discuss it. I'm nicer than that. And one should never underestimate the power of nice.

On an Internet Meme

 I have left a lot of the evangelical subculture behind in the past few years. Part of doing so involves a deliberate focus on what lies in the direction I'm moving rather than on what is happening in the rearview mirror. This may, however, be the first of a series of thoughts on what I'm encountering among the faithful remnant carrying the flag of evangelicalism. My hope is that I can be gentle and kind in my response. We'll see how it goes.

Some of my social media friends have posted this meme in the past few days. The first time I cringed and scrolled on. I repeated my frequent instructions to myself: “Just ignore it. There is no need to respond.” Then someone I highly respect shared it. That made me stop and look more closely and ask: What is it about this meme that makes me cringe?

I think I'm mostly fine with the second half. I certainly agree that God is worthy of my worship, although I don't know that I need to go to church to worship God. Some would argue that point, but I'm not particularly interested in that discussion. As to the flawed people who gather at church, some of my friends love the idea that, as one songwriter put it, “the cross has made me flawless.” Others sport bumper stickers that say, “Christians aren't perfect, just forgiven.” 

Are church people hopelessly flawed? Does grace cover our flaws? As Christians do we get a pass for being less than perfect? Less than loving? Less than moral? Less than honest? Less than ethical? Less than kind? Again, there are plenty of people to discuss this topic, and I'm probably not going to spend a lot of time joining them. I don't think I am in a position to critique someone who decides they prefer to spend Sunday mornings in the company of people who have the overall effect of lifting them up rather than bringing them down. Is it too much to admit that there are more than a few toxic and dysfunctional congregations operating in the world of Christianity?

As I studied the meme, I realized what really bothers me is the first line: “Stop looking for a perfect church.” It is in the form of a command. To whom? People who are looking for perfect churches. Obviously. Those people should stop.

I presume that those who share this meme on Facebook have encountered people they think are looking for a perfect church. How have they discerned this? Do such people say, “I am leaving this church behind. It has imperfect people and I am on a quest to find a perfect church”? I suspect not. There are many reasons why people choose to walk away from a faith community. The hope that they might find a flawless group of people around the block or down the road is probably not among those reasons. Ever. 

This idea that people are looking for a perfect church comes not from those leaving but from those left behind. They are stung by the departure. They feel the rejection. They are faced with two options:

1. The group being left behind are the problem.

2. The people leaving are the problem

The first option is uncomfortable. If I am among those left behind and I start to think the problem lies with me, I deal with guilt and become defensive. I fear anything I do will be seen by critics as wrong. I become paralyzed.  On the other hand, if I blame the departure on others in the group, I become critical and negative.  My own unity with the group starts to suffer. Dealing with rejection is difficult!

The second option is so much nicer. We are fine. Sure, we're imperfect, but we don't deserve to be left behind like this. It's obvious those leaving are the ones who have the problem. They must think there's a perfect church out there somewhere. Let's make a meme that makes us feel better about how imperfect we are and makes those leaving look like they have impossibly high standards. Yes, that's a great idea.

Is there a better path? I hope so. I presume there are plenty of books and therapy approaches to help people deal with rejection personally that can also be applied to being rejected as a faith community. There are probably steps such as introspection to assess the validity of the reasons being actually voiced by those walking away versus the easy 'they are the ones with a problem' reasons assigned to them by internet memes. The first step would be to ask those leaving why they are going. Some groups do something called an “exit interview” to help them hear what they need to hear. Presuming they can somehow collect that information and understand it, they can then take an honest look at themselves and respond to what they have heard. Are changes needed? Given the group's core values (presuming they have discerned those values), how can they adjust in response to the critique? Do others share the perspective of those leaving? How valid is the critique? Is there any nugget of truth in an otherwise questionable critique that can be mined for value?

Somewhere between the first option of paralyzing self-blame in the face of rejection and and the second option of self-justification by labeling those leaving as the ones with the problem, there is a path of healthy self-assessment that doesn't require placing negative labels on others in order to feel good about ourselves. It may not be as convenient as an internet meme (and comes with its own set of potential pitfalls), but it certainly has more potential for healthy growth as a community.

On Entering the Kingdom of Heaven: Thoughts for Holiness People

Last year I posted three sets of thoughts on this topic -- one, two, three -- and am probably done with the subject for general consumption. However, I still have some thoughts from the perspective of my tribe: the "holiness people" associated with the Church of the Nazarene.

I was introduced to Mildred Bangs Wynkoop's book The Theology of Love in the late 1990s. It was a breath of fresh air to me. I was just discovering new ideas from outside the bubble I had been raised in, where holiness preaching promised freedom from sin and, yet, often produced people who could be described as "mean-spirited." 

I have told the story before of following one of the premiere holiness preachers of my teen years through a cafeteria lunch line and listening to him speak in an irritated, devaluing tone to the young lady working there because the food he wanted was not available. I had noticed a frequent discrepancy between the preaching and the living but thought maybe I just had yet to find a prime example of sanctification. But if this beloved holiness preacher wasn't sanctified to the level of his own preaching, who was? Surely sanctification ought to, at a minimum, generate enough grace and mercy to be kind to a young cafeteria worker who obviously had no control over the menu or the food on hand.

The simplistic answer to this issue is that even sanctified people are still human and get tired and grumpy. Grumpiness is not a sin, it's just grumpiness -- a human response to fatigue and the irritations of life. Grumpy people sometimes direct their irritation toward the wrong people. It's no big deal.

Ok, but, then, what DOES sanctification do for us? The most frequent answer I’ve heard is that it gives us power to refrain from sinning. What is sin? John Wesley famously defined sin as "a voluntary transgression of a known law of God." What known law of God? Again, the easy answer is: "Thou shalt not kill. Thou shalt not commit adultery. Thou shalt not steal. Thou shalt not bear false witness. Honor thy father and thy mother." You know, the Ten Commandments. (This is the answer Jesus gave the young man who asked about inheriting eternal life in Luke 18:18-23, although I'm pretty sure he didn't use King James English in his response. 😁)

Still, as I observed in the first three posts on this subject, pagans often do better than that. They may break some of the Ten Commandments, but they often excel at "love your neighbor as yourself," which Jesus called, along with loving God, the greatest commandment.  

Wynkoop defines holiness as love. And there is actually more to the Wesley quote above. In full it says: "Nothing is sin, strictly speaking, but a voluntary transgression of a known law of God. Therefore, every voluntary breach of the law of love is sin; and nothing else, if we speak properly." (Emphasis added.)

“Love is patient. Love is kind” (1 Corinthians 4:8).

If holiness doesn't make us patient and kind, what good is it? If we don't count impatience and unkindness as "sin," are we true Wesleyans? Aren't these breaches of the law of love? Are all examples of impatience and unkindness in holiness people involuntary and unavoidable, therefore not sin? If so, I ask again, what DOES sanctification do for us? If it's not powerful enough to enable a gracious response to something as trivial as a disappointing cafeteria lunch selection, why bother?

I can't get past the definition I grew up with. Holiness as I heard it preached always seemed to mean following a list of rules: being religious in appearance, doing religious things, keeping oneself clean by avoiding the moral dirt around us. Sanctification was something we could get in a moment and then perfect over a lifetime, having had our sinful nature eradicated and being made pure. I sought that experience for years with growing despair.

Jesus didn't live a life of religious piety that prompted him to move away from people. He was kind to the hurting. He touched the unclean. He hung out with the wrong sort of people. He wasn't afraid of getting dirty. As Rebecca Pippert Manley wrote in Out of the Saltshaker, "It is a profound irony that the Son of God visited this planet and one of the chief complaints against him was that he was not religious enough." Not that he wasn't loving enough. He wasn't "holy" enough.

Holiness, as I have traditionally heard it defined generates a religion long on piety and short on love and compassion toward those who most need it. I try to align the definition of holiness as deeper love and compassion with the messages I've heard, but it doesn't seem to fit. One moves toward broken people, the other maintains a distance from them in order to stay pure.

In my life, I have had to leave traditional holiness preaching behind in order to embrace holiness as love. The first thing I had to do was open the door to the idea that I am not even close to living a sinless life by John Wesley's definition of sin. I am not always kind or patient. Sometimes I am just plain mean. Or grumpy. By choice. (If not a choice in the moment, sometimes a choice in not recognizing and working to avoid my triggers.) I truly dislike some people. It's not a case of "love them but don't like them." The truth is, I don't love them. More, I don't want to love them. In fact, I would be just fine with God smiting them -- just a little. Enough to knock them off their high horse. My love and mercy are far from perfect.

That's not where I want to stay, but it is where I sometimes find myself. In order to move forward, I need to accept that lack of achievement in myself and truly rely on God's grace as a compassionate and merciful God. I don't measure up. I have never measured up. But I am loved by the God who created me, sees and accepts my every blemish, and every day nudges me another step forward. I have not arrived, but by the grace of God, I think I may be making progress.

I like the parallel passages from Matthew's "Sermon on the Mount" and Luke's "Sermon on the Plain." In Matthew 5:48 Jesus says, "Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect." In Luke 6:36 he says, "Be merciful, just as as your Father is merciful" I have heard people explain that "perfect" in Matthew doesn't actually mean perfect, as in flawless. Rather it means completely able to serve a purpose. A perfect tool isn't flawless; but it is completely able to do what it's intended to do. Once again, we're back to the idea of personal qualifications. But what if the goal of a "perfect" life is unwavering mercy toward others? What if that is a goal we always and forever pursue rather than a state we can achieve and then retire from the race? I will admit that the idea of always finding a new goal toward which to strive appeals to me. Every time I finally manage to develop compassion toward one person or group of people, I discover another blind spot I need to work on. I wonder if that old holiness preacher was actively nurturing greater compassion in his heart for the young people serving him in a long string of campground cafeterias. I wonder how often he was able to see them and love them and if he was working on doing it more and better today than yesterday. (For all I know, he may have later apologized to the teen girl in the cafeteria for his irritation.)

The truth is, I fully believe in "heart holiness." I believe God can transform us into people whose primary goal in life is to show love and compassion to all we encounter and who accept every failure to do so as falling into the same category as stealing (from the other person's self-worth), murdering (the sense of value within them that needs to be kept alive and nurtured), and coveting (wanting the self-centered careless life we think others enjoy). It's only when we fully embrace Jesus' call to show compassion and mercy to others that we can see how far we have to go and anticipate moving steadily in that direction.

There is no endpoint for spiritual growth. Maybe someday, with enough perseverance, I can catch up with my "sinner" friends who are entering the kingdom ahead of me. (See Matthew 21:31) That would be a wonderful achievement! I'm still working on it and thankful for every chance I get to see genuine love in action.

On American Evangelicals Dying for Jesus

My father grew up as part of a Friends (Quaker) Meeting. I did not. I was not particularly aware of the long and rich background of my Quaker heritage in my early years. It did pop up now and then, however, in subtle ways. One of those hints was a small change to the lyrics of “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.” If that song was requested when my father was leading music at church, he would instruct the congregation that rather than singing, “As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free” they should sing “… let us live to make men free.” Live for freedom, not die for freedom. I like it. Can we find a way to make that happen?

Giving one’s life for the cause of freedom sounds and is often portrayed as quite noble, but there is one glaring downside to it: You have to die to do it. And then you are free, I suppose, but you are also dead and have left your loved ones with just a memory of who you were and unfulfilled dreams of who you could have been. Are they more free because of your sacrifice? Was your death the only way they could be free? Are they then held captive by grief?

What would you die for? If you came to a fork in the road and knew one path led to a long, fulfilling life and the other to certain death before your time, leaving all you love and cherish behind, what would prompt you to choose the path to death?

Many people throughout history have died because of their religious beliefs. Sometimes they are a victim of general violence toward people like them. Other times they are singled out as of particular concern and given a choice: recant or die.  Those who choose death are called martyrs.

There are no Christian martyrs where I live.  No one in authority ever demands we give up our faith or die. And yet, I’m watching Christians literally die for their faith, not at the hands of human enemies, but as victims of a virus that disproportionately kills the unvaccinated, many of whom have refused to be vaccinated for religious reasons.

Here in this land with centuries of religious freedom, I have wondered how many people are committed enough to their faith to choose death rather than compromise when put to the test. Now we’re finding out. Living in a county competing for the lowest vaccination rate in Indiana -- currently at 29% according to the New York Times -- while the Delta variant of COVID-19 has its way with the nation, it’s inevitable that I hear of friends and acquaintances falling victim to COVID. At least one in seven people around me have contracted the virus and many have died. This is also a place of a strong religious identity and I can often guess at a person’s vaccination status based on their church connection. It saddens me to think of the extra pain and suffering the anti-vaxxers and their families are enduring. Is their willingness to die a slow, dreadful death rather than accept vaccination a mark of their stalwart faith? Is this what they signed up for when they chose the path more likely to lead to death in the name of Jesus? Was taxing the medical system, exhausting health care workers, and incurring huge medical debts a known possibility they accepted as part of their spiritual commitment? Did they choose to possibly infect vulnerable friends and family and/or deal with long-term health issues as a demonstration of their faith?

I have friends who are part of the Christian Science Church, a group that has historically relied on faith and mindfulness rather than medical treatment to maintain health. I figured if anyone could claim a religious exemption from being vaccinated they would be the ones. I was surprised to learn that the  Christian Science church is not supporting religious exemptions. Indeed, as noted here, their founder, Mary Baker Eddy, at the end of the 19th century instructed her followers to submit to mandatory vaccinations in the name of public health and use their faith and mindfulness to combat any ill effects of those injections. That was a new thought for me. Rather than depending on faith to escape the disease, why not apply that same faith to deal with any concerns about the vaccine?

I’m not here to critique the sincerely held religious convictions of other people. I’m just wondering if those choosing death over vaccines -- possible death for both themselves and any vulnerable friends or family members who may be infected as a result of their decision and influence -- are doing it as a conscious decision to follow Jesus' teachings regardless of the cost. (I'm not clear which of Jesus' teachings they are holding to so valiantly, but that's another discussion.) It's the first time in my life I have been aware of people I know expressing a willingness to die for their faith in the near future and am amazed by how simple the choice seems to be for them. A few years ago, they were quoting Bible verses about submitting to the governing authorities. Now they portray the governing authorities as evil personified and are willing to fight to the death -- literally -- for their "religious freedom."

Personally, I am fully committed to following the teachings of Jesus, but I don't see where those teachings call me to defy a deadly virus when God has given us the resources to minimize its impact on society. I choose life -- for myself and those around me -- not death.

Like I said, this isn't a critique of the sincerely held beliefs of others. I am just surprised by how many are willing to give up their lives and place more burden on our health systems and their families in the name of... not so much following the footsteps of Jesus Christ, but some deep commitment to "religious freedom" that they are willing to die for. As I watch the adverse health results and deaths add up, I am aware that theirs is a dying breed -- literally. May God be with them and those they infect.

On hypocrites in the church

How many times has this conversation happened?

Person A: Hey, Person B, I haven't seen you at church in a month of Sundays! What happened?

Person B: I got fed up with all the hypocrisy in the church. I'm done with that scene. People act like they're so good, but they're not!

Person A: Well, you know, Person B, (heh heh) "the church is a hospital for sinners, not a museum for saints." (heh heh)

Person B: 

Person A then walks away feeling quite triumphant in explaining away sin in the church the way they have been taught and defeating Person B's lame excuse for their lack of commitment. 

Here's the problem with that view. 

When Person A thinks about sinners in the church, the image that comes to mind is the teenager who is messing around during the week, but still trailing their parents to church on Sunday morning. Or the drunk who manages to sober up long enough to show up at church for coffee and doughnuts. Or the unmarried couple who moved in together. Or the person who has failed to condemn their gay child as a sinner and seems to think they can still be a good church person despite that glaring blot on their record. Or the man who has been arrested for domestic battery multiple times. These "sinners" are welcomed in to hear the messages calling them to repentance, but they are not put in places of leadership. They are in the hospital beds receiving ministry from the "saints." After all, we can't have sinners filling roles where they might have an influence on our vulnerable children.

In contrast, when Person B talks about hypocrisy in the church, they aren't thinking about the obvious "sinners" on Person A's mind, the "low-lifes" in the church hospital beds. They are talking about the "saints" of the church, the people who do ministry to the "sinners" while living "righteous" lives. Person B knows that these "saints" aren't all they claim themselves to be and are reported to be by others. In recent days, we have had much evidence that power corrupts, even in the church. It seems like almost daily we see new reports of church leaders being exposed as manipulators and abusers. And how many more go unreported? How many spiritual abusers leave a trail of broken people in their wake while staying well inside the law? After all, there is no law against letting losers know they'll never amount to anything. There is no law against telling someone God has no use for them. There is no law against passive-aggressive bullying. There is no law against pointing out the sins "out there in the world" while pretending church leaders are living exemplary lives.

I have been struck more than once by the push-back against pride in Scripture. But Person A isn't concerned about people whose primary sin is "pride." That is too hard to quantify. Besides, if we count things like pride and a hunger for power as sin, how will we be able to find leaders? I guess we can look for people who let everyone know how humbled they are by being invited into leadership, but sometimes those people are the worst of all in their fake modesty while quietly tearing down less powerful people.

What is the answer? True repentance, honesty, and vulnerability. We need "saints" who freely confess their shortcomings and humbly listen to those who speak truth to them in love. The solution to hypocrisy is for hypocrites to remove the masks that define hypocrisy, the cover-ups. If doing so will ruin them, they need to accept the identity of "sinner" until they can, by God's grace, become someone who doesn't have to wear a mask to be a leader in the church. And if the church insists on "flawless" leaders, prophets are needed to point out the problems created by that policy.

It's not predominantly the sinners in the pews who are wearing masks. Those people know they are sinners. They are reminded over and over of how short they fall. It's those who are posing as saints and who are being treated like saints by other people posing as saints who are the problem. It's the inside crowd, the ones elected or appointed to leadership positions reserved for "saints" without any acknowledgment that every one of those positions is filled by someone with glaring deficiencies.

If the church is a "hospital for sinners," who is running the hospital? Who are the doctors and nurses ministering to those in the beds? Who is on the board of directors? That's where we need to look when people point out how many hypocrites there are in the church -- not to the beds but to those whose pictures are on the walls. Whether the accusation of a foul disease lurking in the ranks of the hospital staff is valid or not, we need to not dismiss it by pointing out that the place is a hospital so of course one will find disease there. Person B deserves to be heard, not dismissed as ignorant of how hospitals work.

On Entering the Kingdom of God: Part 3

Welcome to the third entry in this series. In Part 1, I made the observation that often "sinners" exhibit more grace and love toward others than Christians do. In Part 2, I speculated that the lack of grace among religious people isn't despite their religion, but often because of it. In trying to please God, people choose "proper" responses to those in need rather than gracious and compassionate responses. 

If you ask the typical evangelical Christian what it takes to please God as a Christian, that person will likely give you a set of rules -- read the Bible, pray, attend church, give a tithe of your income, help other Christians in need, spread the faith through evangelism, don't do sinful stuff. (If you need a list of sinful stuff, it’s not difficult to find a church person to provide one -- if not locally, in any number of articles on the internet.) People who aren't measuring up to these standards are obviously falling short in the eyes of God.

In contrast, the apostle Paul assures us that no one has ever pleased God (that is, been justified) by keeping the rules — not the laws given in Leviticus, and not our more modern lists of dos and don'ts. In Romans 9:30-32, Paul writes that the pagan Gentiles (non-Jewish people) "who did not pursue righteousness . . . obtained it, a righteousness that is by faith, but the people of Israel, who pursued righteousness [did] not obtain their goal. Why not? Because they pursued it not by faith but as if it were by works. They stumbled over the stumbling stone."

"[Pursuing] righteousness . . . as if it were by works." Isn't that what many Christians are doing? They know we are saved by grace, through faith, and not by works (see Ephesians 2:8-9), and yet if you ask them how to please God, they will give you a list of things to do while saying little about the grace and faith needed to cover our inevitable failure to measure up to the list. They have stumbled over the exact same stone the Jews did in Paul's day. They will freely confess to having sin in their past and depending on grace and forgiveness to cover those past sins, but seem to think that with God’s help and enough effort and self-discipline, they can eventually make it by merit alone and may even have reached that state already.

Paul is clear: No one is justified by works; it's all grace. And yet, throughout the Bible there are statements that we will be rewarded based on how we live. I have cataloged more than 20 examples, ranging from 1 Samuel 26: 23 ("The Lord rewards everyone for their righteousness and faithfulness.") to Revelation 22:12 ("My reward is with me, and I will give to each person according to what they have done.") Even Paul writes in 2 Corinthians 5:10, “For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, so that each of us may receive what is due us for the things done while in the body, whether good or bad.” 

So does pleasing God depend on our good deeds or not? The book of James deals with that question. Faith or works? Which counts more?

The answer, it seems, depends on your definition of good works. Jesus said the greatest command is to love God with our entire being and the second is to love others as we love ourselves. If we do that, we've done all that is necessary. Paul tells us "love fulfills the law." Good deeds don't consist in following a list of rules -- reading the Bible, prayer, and such. Doing good means showing mercy and grace to others. Love is the whole thing. Love is enough.

As it turns out, however, love is hard both to demonstrate consistently and to measure. Rules are much easier to follow and measure. No one can ever say with any credibility, "I have mastered the art of loving God and loving others as myself and am proficient in every way," but they might be able to say with the rich young ruler in Luke 18:21, "All these [commandments] I have kept since I was a [child]." But is that true? According to multiple scripture passages, primarily in the writings of Paul, whether it's a list of rules or trying to love God and others perfectly, our efforts will always fall short. If nothing else, we’re guilty of systemic sin, being immersed in a culture that tolerates and even perpetuates injustice. In the end, we have no option but to depend on grace.

So what is the answer? Shall we give up? In the words of Paul in Romans 6:1, "Shall we go on sinning so that grace may increase?" His answer to that question is "By no means!" Still, if "the only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love," as Paul wrote in Galatians 5:6, can we drop the lists, trust in grace, and do whatever feels good to us? St. Augustine sort of made that assertion. If we truly love God and others, we will naturally do the right thing, the good thing. What we will NOT do is consistently measure up well against the lists of rules.

One of the things Jesus did that irritated the religious leaders of his day was healing on the Sabbath. They saw his miracles as Sabbath “work,” which was strictly forbidden by the law, even though miraculous healings are not actually addressed in any way in the Old Testament. (Was there some sort of exertion on Jesus’ part that made healing look like serious work?) Jesus said the time is always right to show compassion to someone who is suffering and kept right on healing people on the Sabbath. Even though it led the religious leaders to plot his death. 

The answer then is to be willing to give up our religious reputation, to die to the law and the lists. Give up pleasing God and others by following the rules. No one has ever managed to keep them all anyway. Instead, seek to love all people well, regardless of the cost. Look for the image of God in everyone. Honor that image.

In summary, religion doesn't always bring out the best in us. Often non-religious people are more compassionate and loving than religious people. Jesus made that observation. Paul made that observation. I find it true in my world. The reason is because religious people are trying too hard to keep the rules and to vote for others to keep those same rules to truly show love and compassion. The answer is to focus more on love and less on the rules, depending on the grace of God to cover us (and others) where we (and they) fall short. 

I believe God is pleased when I do my best to love God and others. I believe that loving God and others will naturally lead me to a life that reflects the spirit of the law more than if I try to conform to the letter of the law. Because I believe (have faith), I can focus on making choices that lift up others. 

When the choice is between keeping/enforcing the rules and showing compassion toward others, compassion is always the right answer. Every time. What that looks like is something I’m still learning. The key, I think, is recognizing when it’s done well, particularly when done well by “pagans,” those “entering the kingdom ahead of [me].” (Matthew 21:31) I don’t need to copy whatever self-destructive choices they may be making, but I need to recognize and admire their ability to show compassion and generosity. And I need to keep looking for ways to further incorporate those values into my own life, even if it means looking less like a good church person.

The final post on this topic deals with the particular challenges for those who profess “holiness.”

On Entering the Kingdom of God: Part 2

Last week I posted Part 1 of three or four on the topic of those entering the kingdom of God. I noted that sometimes the people most rejected by good church people seem to have a better grip on offering mercy and grace to others than those who see themselves as righteous. Jesus told his listeners such people were "entering the kingdom of God ahead of [religious leaders]." As a religious person, sometimes even a leader, I'm trying to figure out how to better exemplify the values of God's kingdom in my life.

One thing I notice is that religion itself is often a barrier to making better choices. Let's look at two stories from the gospel according to Luke, one coming from Jesus' life and the other a story he told.

The first account is found in Luke 17:11-18. One day Jesus encountered ten lepers who begged him for pity. He told them to go show themselves to the priest. The Levitical law instructed priests to examine skin sores and declare a person "clean" or "unclean" based on his findings. (You can find detailed instructions in Leviticus 13-14, if you're into that sort of thing.) Not until the lepers were on their way did their skin clear up. At that point, one of them turned around and came back to thank Jesus. Jesus noted that ten men were healed and asked why only one came back. But that one was different from the rest. He was a Samaritan, a "foreigner," in Jesus' words.

I've heard several thousand sermons in my life, including at least a few on this passage. One thing I don't remember anyone ever mentioning is that the Samaritan man would have had no incentive to continue on his way to the Jewish priest. Being a Samaritan (from Samaria) was both a cultural and religious designation. He had no place in the Jewish community. Even if the priest agreed to examine him, an all-clear diagnosis would still not allow him to be part of the synagogue, the center of Jewish community. He wasn't a "real" Jew. His heritage was tainted with foreign blood. He was free to return to Jesus because of his lack of religious standing.

Next, let's look at the parable of the Good Samaritan found in Luke 10:25-37. A man is "half dead" by the side of the road after being beaten and robbed. Along comes a Jewish priest and sees the "half dead" man. He crosses the road to stay far from the "half dead" body. Again, we need to go back to Leviticus to comprehend this. There were many things encountered in daily living that left a person "unclean." In fact, the word "unclean" occurs over 100 times in the book of Leviticus. Priests had even stricter rules than ordinary people for avoiding uncleanness. The priest in Jesus' story had good reason to cross the road to avoid that "half dead" man. He could not afford to come close to a human corpse, and the unfortunate traveler was at least halfway to being one.

The next passerby was a Levite. All priests were from the tribe of Levi (one of the twelve sons of Jacob, also know as Israel), but not all Levites were priests. Levites were given no land among the Israelites. They were religious workers and depended on the offerings given by the people for their support. This man would have had religious duties to perform. Although he had fewer restrictions than the priest, he still wouldn't want to end up in an "unclean" state for the sake of a stranger in the ditch. He came close enough to see that the man was "half dead" and probably had enough blood on him to render one unclean until evening and then he, too, passed by on the other side of the road without touching him.

Finally, along came the Samaritan. He didn't have to worry about becoming "unclean." Like the man with leprosy in our first story, he was already and forever "unclean" by Jewish standards. He examined the man, did some first aid, and took him to an inn to recover. He could afford to be kind and generous because he had no religious restrictions holding him back.

Part 1 of this series, in essence, notes that non-religious people are often more gracious than religious people -- offering more generosity, more mercy, and less judgment. Here in these stories in Luke, it appears that religion itself sometimes lies behind that difference. Religion limits how nice we can be by giving us restrictive rules to follow. 

Here is the root of our quandary. The priest and Levite in the story of the Good Samaritan were dedicated to keeping the law. That's why they couldn't stop to help the beaten man. The nine Jewish lepers who didn't turn back to thank Jesus for their healing were doing exactly what Jesus had told them to do and what their religion required of them. The Samaritan had more freedom to express his gratitude.

How often when religious people show a lack of generosity toward others -- whether in material goods or in spirit -- are they making that choice because it's the "right" thing to do? They don't want to appear to approve of sinners or they have already committed their time and energy to religious duties. They desperately want to please God and are making what appears to them to be the choice that will accomplish that goal. They are staying clean!

A number of years ago, as I arrived at church on a special Sunday morning, I saw a disabled vehicle in the church parking lot. I recognized it as belonging to a local man with no end of problems, many of them brought on by his unsavory character. He had already caused me trouble in my public service job and would cause a lot more before finally moving on several years later after being evicted from his housing situation. Still, he was a literal neighbor to the church trying to get his disabled self to another church in the community and obviously not having a good day. I stopped long enough to learn what the issue was and then continued to my assignment for the morning. I'm a good church lady, after all, and need to be conscientious and dependable, especially on those special Sundays. Plus, I had no mechanical skills to offer. Even if I had, there aren't many men who want a woman to fix their vehicle for them. And he hadn't actually asked for my assistance.

As we transitioned between scheduled events that morning I mentioned the disabled vehicle to someone with weaker attachments to the congregation. He seemed shocked that I had left the disabled owner of the disabled vehicle to his own resources and went out to see if he could help, forsaking any commitment he had made for the morning. As it turns out, the man had found a way to move on by then, leaving his vehicle behind (for several weeks, as it turned out).

I was convicted. Why hadn't I looked for someone to help as soon as I arrived? Could I have found a man or two willing to leave their Sunday morning fellowship in their Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes to rescue a stranger with a disabled vehicle? Regrettably, I wasn't sure I could have. We need more "marginal Christians" -- not so well-dressed or dedicated to being there -- with the right resources to offer that sort of service. In short, we need people who are less religious than most of us, people willing to get a little unclean in order to connect with others.

I'm back to where I started: the more religious people are, including me, the less generous their lifestyle tends to be. Something is wrong with this picture. How can we embrace a more gracious lifestyle without forsaking our commitment to righteousness?

Check out part 3 for further thoughts concerning this quandary.