Archive - 2010


L is for Love

December 6, 2010 in GODSTUFF with 4 Comments

I am currently blogging, along with my daughter, all the way through the alphabet. Check out how the idea started, and get the rules here.

When we say God is love, and when we claim to know what love looks like, is that God or not?

The Apostle Paul went to great lengths to describe love in 1 Cor. 13 (often called “the love chapter), and passages from that chapter are used at perhaps a majority of weddings, whether or not the bride and groom are church-goers.  It seems that Paul managed to nail down a pretty good description of what love really is.

Most people — Christian and otherwise — also believe the Bible’s statement (found in 1st John) that God IS love.  If Paul’s description of love is accurate and John’s characterization of God is accurate, then logic would tell us:

If A is B (if God is love, as stated in 1 John)
and B is C (if love is patient, kind, keeps no record of wrongs, etc., as stated in 1 Corinthians)
then A is C (then God is patient, kind, keeps no record of wrongs, etc.)

This means that those who like to talk about God’s wrath  have a substantial theological problem on their hands.  No question the wrath of God is mentioned in the Bible (in both Old and New Testaments), but the problem remains.  If God is love and love is as Paul described it, one cannot change the implications of the above argument simply by stating, “Yeah, but the Bible ALSO says…”  That does not change the soundness of the logic above.

Of course one could argue that John was in error, and that God in fact is NOT love.  Or one could argue that Paul described love wrongly — that love is actually vengeful or spiteful, or mean-spirited, or even murderous, under certain circumstances.  One would be hard-pressed to argue this, of course, since no one in their right mind would attempt to work vengeance, anger, wrath, or violence of any kind into a comprehensive definition of love.  And even if one did dare to argue this, it might be difficult to convince love-struck fiancées to include the notions of wrath and vengeance into their wedding vows.  Any attempt to do so would meet with precisely the rejection that it in fact should meet, as everyone knows that wrath, vengeance, and violence are antithetical to any kind of loving relationship.  It is embarrassing to even feel the need to point this out.

Add to this that Jesus:

a. Called God not only Father, but Abba, which — translated — means something much closer to Daddy.  This is how Jesus understood God, and seemed to want us to understand God as well.

b. Told the parable of the Prodigal Son, where his expressed intent was to show us the loving heart of God for his children.  Difficulty in fitting wrath, anger, violence, and retribution into this picture should give one serious pause in ascribing these qualities to God, and one must find other ways to deal with the plain fact that those kinds of qualities are in fact attributed to God.  How does one reconcile this?

c. Specifically invited us to make the comparison of human parental love with the love of God for us, and specifically said that God will be far MORE of what we already understand as loving to us than any of us would be inclined to be with our own children.

“Which of you, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!  (Mt. 7:9-11, NIV)

Jesus here assumes that we already know basically what love looks like and how we should respond to it.  Love is self-evident, and for those to whom it is not, we can always return to 1 Cor. 13 to get a pretty powerful working picture of love in action.

The biggest problem we encounter in dealing with issues like this is the readiness of some people to say, “Perhaps that’s not all love is,” or “Perhaps the love of God is not the same basic thing as the highest forms of human love.”  This is senseless.  It is ridiculous to postulate that 2 + 2 does not equal 4 to God.  If it does not, then God is completely beyond our ability to think about in ways that actually tell us anything.

Parents, you love your kids, right?  Is there any place in the picture where your love for them justifies your killing them or harming them in any way?  Isn’t that the place where your love would actually STOP?  How then is it possible that when we apply this to God, somehow it’s okay if God kills as long as he has given enough warning first?  To me, this seems like saying that as long as 2 + 2 = 4 for a really, really, really long time, it’s reasonable to think it will one day equal five.

I’m not writing this post to suggest what you are supposed to do with the tension this creates.  I don’t know all the answers.  But I know some of the questions, and this one is worth paying attention to:  When we say God is love, and when we claim to know what love looks like, is that God or not?

View Kyra’s L post (also, coincidentally, about love)

O Hilarious Holy Night

December 3, 2010 in MISCELLANY with 6 Comments

I don’t know the story behind this song, whether it’s real, fake, or whatever.  I only know that I can’t think of anytime in my life that I have ever laughed so hard as when I first heard it.  You can listen to this song as much as you want, and are free to download it even.  All I ask is that if you liked the song, press the Facebook like button above or below the post.  Honor system!

Download this track
More info on the myth behind the song

Magical or Mystical

December 2, 2010 in GODSTUFF with 6 Comments

It seems to me the fundamental divide in the Christian church right now comes down to whether we see God as working magically or mystically in our lives and in the world.  In a magical religious understanding, I say some prayer of repentance, “accept” Christ as my Savior, and God stamps my ticket into heaven, cancels my ticket to hell, and gives me — at that moment — the gift of wholeness and holiness.  Of course theologians who believe this must go to great lengths to explain why most people who have this experience are in fact not significantly transformed and not able to live according to God’s standards of holiness.  And, of course, they in fact do go to these lengths.

In a mystical understanding, God shows me what holiness looks like and why it is good, and then produces that holiness in me as I learn to increasingly cooperate with him.  Both magical and mystical thinkers believe that human effort in transformation is necessary.  Magical thinkers will tell you that transformation is something that God is producing, but will spend hours talking about defeating sin or making other efforts to stop this or start that.  Mystical thinkers do not deny our cooperation with God, but the efforts mystics make are not usually efforts to combat any specific sin.  My efforts are aimed at clearing my mind and heart and life of clutter so that God can spring to life in me, producing the life God desires for me.  Magical thinkers think mystical thinkers aren’t aggressive enough in defeating sin and tend to wonder if Christ is even really in them at all.  Mystical thinkers tend to wonder if magical thinkers know where transformation actually comes from, since we see real transformation in our lives and believe all transformation into love is from Christ.

Jesus said, “A tree is known by its fruit.”  If we can trust and believe this, we can easily identify God at work in and around us.  If we cannot believe it, we must build elaborate theological systems to justify why so often the apple tree isn’t producing apples.  I do not doubt that God changes lives in many ways, I just happen to believe that it will happen more often through mysticism than through magic.

K is for Kids

November 29, 2010 in REFLECTIONS with 3 Comments

I am currently blogging, along with my daughter, all the way through the alphabet. Check out how the idea started, and get the rules here.

I never wanted kids.  I didn’t grow up with a dream that someday I would get married and have children.  I did want a wife — an adult companion to share my life with.  But children never figured into the picture.  And then it happened.  Not pregnancy — I didn’t connect much with the idea that I was going to be a father.  It seemed so abstract.  I’m talking about birth.  I was blown away at that event and I sobbed huge body-racking sobs when Brittany was born.  She wasn’t the only one born that day.

After she was placed in my arms and I bawled pathetically for quite a while, she was taken to the nursery where she was doted on by the nurses.  Eventually 25 hours of helping Christy through horrible labor (that ended in c-section), caught up to me and I was exhausted.  I kissed Christy goodnight and went home to rest up a little bit.  But after just a few hours, I felt compelled to go back to the hospital.  I just wanted to to sit with my new baby and hold her.  That baby is 17 years old now, but that desire hasn’t changed much just to be in her presence, enjoy her company.  Only it has tripled, as I have found myself every bit as intensely connected to the two others who came after her.

When I found out we were expecting Kyra, I remember worrying that I used up all my love on daughter #1, and feared that I wouldn’t have any love left for another child.  I was wrong, of course, and knew it the instant I saw her, crying every bit as hard as I did with Brittany.  Then, when Kyra was only four months old, we found out we were pregnant with Anna.  Christy, of course, was still recovering from her last c-section, and was fearful and exhausted.  I remember holding Christy while she cried and being grateful that she couldn’t see my face at the moment, as a tear of happiness rolled down my cheek.  I knew from having already had two that I had enough room to love a third one, and this time I was excited and actually ready to have a child.

Later we visited the OB’s office, where she confirmed that we were having yet another girl.  I was weeping again in the car on the way home.  Christy asked what was wrong, wasn’t I happy, and I said, “I’m happy — but I’m going to be the father of three girls.  Three graduations.  Three girls dating boys.  Three young women leaving the nest.  Three weddings.  I’m in for a lot of heartache.”

I was only partly right.  Yes, there has been a lot of heartache.  But the heartache always comes from love.  It’s pain I would never choose to spare myself if it meant not experiencing the joy they bring to me every second of the day.  And they bring it not because they are all gorgeous, and intelligent, and full of amazing warmth and potential (all of which are true) but simply because they are mine.  They have, without self-consciousness and without effort, taught me about love — opened me to it and helped me find it in myself.  They have shown me what forgiveness looks like when it is not forced.  They have taught me about grace and about compassion.  Every day I see God in them.  When I am with them, I am the best version of myself — free to love without difficulty, without forcing it, able to see everything through eyes of love.  They are the best of me and the best of their mom, combined.  As I have preached before, my love for them is ultimate, but not in any way heroic.  I just don’t know how to not love them.

I think all of life is this way.  It is those experiences we never asked for that make the most of us, that grow us the most, that open us up the most to life.  It is often the things we did not ask for in life that we wouldn’t consider giving back.  Most of us have experienced this with our children, and this is the basis for optimism.  Nothing will come your way that will not grow you, even as it tests you to the limit of your abilities.  There truly is joy in the journey.

View Kyra’s K post

J is for Judgmental

November 28, 2010 in GODSTUFF, MISCELLANY with 3 Comments

I am currently blogging, along with my daughter, all the way through the alphabet. Check out how the idea started, and get the rules here.

Judgmentalism (not technically a word, but highly useful) is an aspect of the “false self” that we put on because we don’t feel good about who we are.  This falls under two categories that I can think of.  The first is that I don’t feel adequate, or secure, or competent, so I judge other people and cast them below myself so that I can feel better about who I am.   For example,

She is so vain and self-absorbed.

By definition, I must not be either of these things if I can recognize them so clearly in someone else.  Or so the thinking goes.

The second is one we don’t often talk about, but it stems from my over-concern with what other people think about me, so I judge someone/something in order to make sure others know I don’t approve of certain ideas or politics or behaviors.  For example,

“Did you see that movie?”
“No.”
“It was really good.  Not that all the swearing was necessary or anything.”

Here someone cannot fully endorse a movie without picking apart its perceived flaws, standing in judgment over it, and trying to make it as clear as possible that they, though they enjoyed the film, are moral enough to see the film’s moral shortcomings and distance themself as much as possible.  Not from the whole movie, mind you, just from that one particular woman’s left breast, or from that one guy’s right butt cheek (unless of course the guy wasn’t hot, and unless the woman’s breast was a nursing breast on a National Geographic special)

Scene 1 (bondage to judgmentalism)

“Hey man, I saw you coming out of the bar the other day.  I honked as I drove by, but I don’t think you saw me.”
“No, I didn’t!  I just stepped in to use the bathroom.”  Or worse yet, “I went in to share Christ with a friend.”

Scene 2 (freedom)

“Hey man, I saw you coming out of the bar the other day.  I honked as I drove by, but I don’t think you saw me.”
“No, I didn’t!  How have you been?”

In scene 1, I am into image management.  I have to make sure no one gets the wrong idea.  In scene 2, I have stepped out of the game.  I don’t have to manage my image anymore — I have left that to God.  I  have stopped justifying myself, not by arrogantly flipping a mental bird to the world around me, but because I have made peace with my imperfections and flaws, and those of others, and simply do not need to make sure people are always thinking what I want them to think.

To give up judging is to release control of our image.  But what if we ARE our image?  What if we sense, or fear, that we are hollow inside?  Then our image is all we have, and the thought of giving it up will be terrifying and seem like dying.  That is why people cling to judgementalism with such tenacity.  It is why almost everyone says you shouldn’t do it, and yet almost everyone constantly does it anyway.

View Kyra’s J post

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