Cason: The Truthmonger

Welcome to the End

2011-08-22T13:24:00.000-05:00

"For the time is coming when people will not endure sound teaching, but having itching ears they will accumulate for themselves teachers to suit their own passions, and will turn away from listening to the truth and wander off into myths." -- 2 Timothy 4:3-4 (ESV)

I have that sick, sinking feeling in my stomach. It's the one that comes when you know you've just come into close contact with something lethal. And it started so innocently! I was simply browsing through my Google news as I do most days, perusing headlines tailored to fit my diverse interests with stories about topics ranging from Cote d'Ivoire and the Tennessee Titans to US politics and the latest technology developments. Amid the great range of articles, one headline piqued my interest more than the others, so I clicked the link to the brief opinion piece posted by the New York Times. The link is below, and I implore you to read it now:

http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/08/21/confessions-of-an-ex-moralist/

As the piece started out, I was curious where the author was going. He being an admitted atheist, we obviously have some different views, but his words captured my attention. As the article went on, I got more and more queasy. By the end, I was downright sick. In the end, his epiphany boiled down to this: since we use our morality to justify our desires, and there's no supernatural reason to implement morality, we should just cut the crap, admit we're living to satisfy our desires, and embrace this new reality.

I wanted to throw up.

On the one hand, I'm glad for his honesty. Here is someone who has actually taken their worldview, thought it out thoroughly, and applied it to their life. Here is an atheist who has truly come to terms with the ramifications of his beliefs. But that's precisely what's so sickening about it: here is a respected teacher and author using the New York Times as a megaphone to tell the world to do what they want and that it's okay.

This makes the opening verse from 2 Timothy ring in my ears.

What my fellow philosopher has failed to see is that in a world where desire is the only guiding factor, intelligent conversation breaks down. There is no need to sway others by any form of communication. The single most effective way to get one's way is by force; he who has the biggest stick wins. And no, we have not "evolved" beyond that. It still happens in Africa every day.

If the next generation takes this man's philosophy to heart, it will result in the death of civilization as we know it. Life will become a free for all, every man for himself, and the one with the fastest draw will the the one left holding all the cards. Pure anarchy, a prime situation for one man to step up and take control of the world.

This kind of thinking is the beginning of the end.

"Welcome to the end. It's all about to go down, and I know now... we've finally reached our bitter end. Welcome to the end."
-- "Welcome to the End" by 12 Stones

En Passant

2011-07-27T08:28:00.003-05:00

I feel it. It hangs around like an extrovert that just won’t shut up or take a hint. It creeps along my spine, pauses to play with my stomach, then does another haunting lap on my vertebrae. It makes my heart moan, not a shriek of pain or a cry of sadness, but a groan to be satiated. It infuses me with an intense desire to pace, to wear away the floor till I fall through. But I can only sit.

It unleashes a torrent of adrenaline. This is not a natural reaction, but a conditioned response. My senses are heightened. Alert, I strain to look for things I can see, listen for things I can’t hear, sniff for things I can’t smell, reach for things I can’t touch. I’m on pins and needles, waiting... waiting... waiting... It’s that old familiar feeling with whom I truly do have a love/hate relationship. It’s the metaphorical horn, ringing out with a clarion call: “Awake, suit up, lock ’n load, you’ve got a fight on your hands.”

Sometimes it’s followed by a knock on the door. Sometimes it’s a phone call, or an email, or a Facebook status, or a random conversation. It can reveal itself as a word, or a look, or a sigh, or a tear. Maybe it’s someone I know, someone I don’t, or someone I thought I did. It could have emotional roots, or psychological roots, or even demonic roots, but it’s always spiritual. It can lead to a thoughtful dialogue on a garden bench, a candid conversation at Starbucks, a heart-to-heart kneeling on a dorm room floor, or a frantic text fest. And regardless of whatever I perceive the outcome to be, it’s utterly exhausting. War always is, after all.

But, on nights like tonight, sometimes nothing noticeable happens. So I do what I can: I pray. I pray for family, friends, futures; cities, countries, cultures; laymen, leaders, life-change. Anything and everything that crosses my mind, great or small. It still remains, though, so I continue to wait. It takes all the patience I can muster. Like a soldier geared up on the flight line waiting for the go-code, I yearn for my Commander to pull the trigger.

Maybe He will. Maybe He won’t.

So I continue to wait. Maybe it will pass after a few minutes, or hours, or days. Maybe there will be an explanation forthcoming later, maybe not. Maybe it just wants to be expressed through these words. I don’t know. What I do know, however, is that waiting is the hardest part. It’s tempting to try to solve it myself, to conjure up man-made solutions to problems of my own imagining. It’s tempting to try to drown it out, to distract myself with a book, or a movie, or a video game. But patience is the only proper course of action. I refuse to tuck it away in the recesses of my heart and mind. I refuse to ignore it. Come what may, I will wait on the Lord.

Despite the difficulties it causes, it’s worth it. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. It’s what gives all the drab vicissitudes of my life meaning. It’s what I was made for; it is my purpose. As much as part of me might want to call it a curse, it is nonetheless my gift. It thins the veil, giving me a greater sense of the ripples and currents that flow all about us, just beneath the surface of everything we know and experience empirically. It gives direction and clarity to my thoughts in times of confusion. In the moments of need it prompts me with thoughts, words, and actions that I could never conjure up on my own.

It is discernment.

Right now I sense that God is making a move. Maybe it involves me. Maybe not. How should I know? I’m just one of the pieces on the board, and for all I know I’m just a lowly pawn. But in the hands of a Grandmaster, even a pawn can be a game-changer. So even though I feel all the pieces moving around me, I’ll wait till He calls my number. He’s the Grandmaster, after all. So I wait...

Did I mention waiting is the hard part?

Hindsight

2011-01-26T00:39:00.000-06:00

The recent passing of my fiancée's great-grandfather and my own grandfather, when combined with a variety of other events that have crossed path with my life of late, all have left me in a brooding mood for quite some time. While I am thankful that both members of our families have transitioned into eternity with their Lord, it has been a sharp reminder of the twisted nature of the world. Sickness, pain, death, they're everywhere. I watch people I love hurting for a variety of different reasons and different circumstances. My other home country is ensnared in partially violent political turmoil yet again. Our world is a messed up place.

And it's all because of a single decision in a garden many thousands of years ago.

"Well," one might think, "hindsight is 20-20." Indeed it is. If Adam and Eve could have seen the world the way it is as a result of their choice, I'm sure it would have greatly changed the dynamics of their decision making paradigm. People are murdering other people left and right. Marriages are disintegrating; families are falling apart. Millions starve while countless others bask in opulence. Depravity, it seems, knows no bounds.

Of course this is somewhat comfortable to talk about in broad strokes, but dare we discuss the havoc our own depravity wreaks? We are all fallen, but we also fall on our own. Do we have the courage to look back at our own wake of destruction? Even when we have the gumption to own our wrongdoings, we like to hastily remind anyone who may be listening that hindsight is 20-20. Of course it is; as if that's an excuse!

But that's just it: we like to think it is. We imagine that our mistakes are excusable because we "never" would have made them if we could have seen where they would lead. Some of us even adopt a hindsight mentality, claiming to be the sort that has to "learn the hard way." So often it simply boils down to the fact that we do what we want to do and don't have the slightest intention of thinking about the consequences. Why Should we? Hindsight is 20-20.

That, however, is precisely the opposite of the life we are called to live in Christ. Forsaking hindsight and practicing foresight, we are to forget what is behind and press onwards towards the prize with our eyes fixed on the goal ahead of us. Unrepentant sinners are to look ahead to the judgment and cast themselves on Christ in light of what is to come. There is no place for living life solely focused on what is behind us. You can't drive with your eyes only on the rear view mirror.

I'm not saying that history has no value, or that we cannot learn from our mistakes. All I'm saying is that an "act now, think later" attitude only leads to one place. After all...

In hell, hindsight is 20-20.

My Friend the Coconut

2010-07-27T16:01:00.003-05:00

I sit on the beach at Grand Bassam. In many ways, this is another turning point in my life. College is coming to a close. I have 17 hours left on my degree; I'm confident I know who I'm going to marry; I'm coming to grips with what is likely my last visit home. The final chapter in this season of life is beginning. So now again I ponder, just as I did in the last chapter of high school. What does the next season hold? How best should I proceed? These thoughts weigh on me during this time, and the ocean is the perfect counselor for these thoughts. Sometimes it sooths with soft splashes; sometimes it confronts with crashing crests; in all its ways, it proceeds in accordance with its Maker.

A worker, in his attempt to “clean” the beach, tossed a coconut towards the water. I watched it as it rolled down the steep Bassam beach. I wonder what it would ponder about its state of affairs if it could think. Traumatic enough must have been its tumble from its nest! No longer would it sway in the wind with its mother, or enjoy the cool shade of her branches. I doubt it would have enjoyed the change in its position. Its new home was the hot sand, sometimes like an oven in the sun, and sometimes simmering in the shade.

Maybe it was just beginning to adjust when the man tossed it. But regardless of what it wanted, it was now on a crash course with the waters of life. I watched it as it was confronted with its first, small, inbound wave. It must have been unlike anything it had experienced before. The cool water must certainly be different from the sun-baked sand. This new sensation carried the coconut back up the beach, only for both of them to roll back to the call of gravity when their momentum was exhausted.

Then what might have thus far been enjoyable turned turbulent. Now it was floating in the shallows, no longer connected to solid ground at all. Small crossing waves tossed it from side to side. Must not panic have seized the poor coconut? And so it was batted violently for a minute or two. Would this last forever?

Thankfully, that was not to be! A strong breaker careened onto the scene, casting the coconut headlong up the sloping sand. It ran aground high on the shore, and the receding water was not powerful enough to pull the coconut back to the sea. And so it found rest for at time above the swell. The waters lapped at its base occasionally, but the coconut remained beyond their reach. But just when the coconut began to feel confident and safe in its place, another powerful wave was ordained to remind it who was in charge. Dislodged, the coconut was escorted back into the ocean to be jostled about once more. Had it done anything wrong? No, this was simply the way of things.

As I have watched, this cycle has repeated itself again and again. Seasons of rest in the sands above the water were interspersed with seasons of tumultuous movement in the water. Sometimes it would land on the beach here, sometimes it would land on the beach there, all depending on where the waves carried the coconut. Sometimes I even lost sight of it as it moved hither and thither. But then I would look up from my writing and see my old friend resting not far from from where I sit. Of course it hasn't felt or thought any of these things. It is, after all, just a coconut. But I think that my friend the coconut has taught me something important about life today.

The ocean is a wonderful, beautiful, and terrible thing, as powerful as it is unpredictable. It can caress and comfort; it can empower and provide; it can tutor and teach; it most certainly cannot, however, be tamed or constrained to our will. It humbles itself before its Maker and Master alone. He holds the ocean in the palm of His hand, as He holds the coconut. So He holds life in the palm of His hand, as He holds me.

So Father, let come the battering seasons of change. Let come the refreshing seasons of rest. Only let me always remember from whom both come. Let me remember that I am but a coconut, awash in Your ocean of life.

---------------------------

The Ocean's Throw

I sat on the sand, in the fading light.

The sun was sinking, setting on the right.

I stared at the ocean, so deep and blue,

The sky aglow, almost violet in hue.

The crystal waves crashed and the ocean roared.

People were surfing on various boards.

Children were laughing, building sandcastles,

The tide, though, giving them quite a hassle.

Gradually, all departed the sea,

Leaving us alone, the ocean and me.

Problems abounded from my point of view.

At that moment, they were lost in the blue.

Problems indeed seem to become facades,

When one is caught in the glory of God!

Walking away, I learned what I now know:

Comfort can be found in the ocean’s throw.

Theology of Failure

2010-07-22T22:20:00.000-05:00

The bitter sinking feeling in the soul was familiar. I had felt it before. There's nothing else in the world that can me feel so hollow. Fighting against the hot tears that were leaking into the wind as my motorcycle carried me home, I rehashed the conversation. Who had failed: was it God or me?

“I want a better future,” he had said. “I want us to be able to go back to the way things used to be.” A part of me agreed. The world is a lot simpler when you're kids. Right and wrong is more clearly stuck in your head. The decisions you make aren't a matter of life and death. You can make mistakes and they won't ruin you life. But we aren't kids anymore, and there's no going back. Now our decisions have begun to truly shape who we are and who we are becoming. Once brothers, now we were standing on opposite sides of the fence.

If life is a road, there are only two ways to go. Some might say: “there are many paths, but they all lead to the same place.” That's a lie. People who would say that are actually just all together with everyone else on the wide road that heads in one direction. The truth is, there are only two roads. Our problem was that we were on opposing roads. I explained this to him. “What road am I on?” he asked.

I could feel the familiar tug: the Holy Spirit was obviously at the wheel of this conversation.

So I told him the truth. Living for yourself will never make you happy. There's no magic trick, no secret formula to happiness. Thinking that God will give you everything you want if you cross all your t's and dot all your i's just right will only leave you miserable. Not even living for others will make you happy. Living for people always fails because people die, whether we're talking about us or others. Anything you do for you will be meaningless when you die; anything you do for what someone else will think will be meaningless when they die. The only life that has meaning is a life lived for God because God is eternal.

The holy talons of conviction were digging into him sharply. It was obvious both in his eyes and his body language. I know him well and could read him like a book, but it even would have been obvious to a complete stranger. The air was downright charged with the movement of the Holy Spirit. He said nothing, so I continued. I decided a long time ago that I was going to live for God, because that was the only thing that would give my life meaning. We can't find it for ourselves. God has to give it to us, and there's no way to earn it...

That's when it happened.

“Well, thanks for the visit, but it's late and you need to get home. Have a good trip back to the States. Tell everyone I said hello.” He stuck out his hand, but I felt like I had been stabbed. After a moment of stunned silence, I shook it. What else was there to say other than goodbye? So that's exactly what I did, then I drove away. I didn't look back; I couldn't look back. It hurt too much. For the second time in our relationship, I had confronted him with the truth and he had refused it.

Despite my best efforts to put it out of my mind, I'm still on the motorcycle, metaphorically speaking. So who failed, God or me? I don't believe it was me. After all, there's nothing I could ever say or do to save anyone; that's all in God's hands. And I'd gone into the situation with a lot of prayer put into it before hand, hoping that a door would be opened. It was, and I could feel God leading the way, so I followed to the best of my ability. I could second guess myself forever, but the fact is I did my best with the shot I had, and no amount of rehashing will grant me a do-over.

So what then? Does it mean that God failed? I refuse to believe that. If God could fail, he wouldn't be God. And if you want to believe that God wasn't and isn't interested in saving my former brother, you've got another thing coming. It was so obvious God was reaching out His hand as we talked. I could almost see it with my two eyes. There is no way that it was a failure on God's part.

No, God didn't fail my friend, and neither did I. It's not a question of who failed my friend. He made the choice, that's the real problem. He made the choice to close his ears. He made the choice to harden his heart. He made the choice to ignore the conviction that was battling for his soul, the choice to ignore the loving embrace of a brother. That's the theology of failure: individual choice. Sorry Calvin, grace is not irresistible. If it was, my brother would already be a saint twice over.

True, if there was no choice there could be no failure, but neither could there be love. You can't have your cake and eat it too: the ability to love goes hand in hand with the ability to reject that same love. He alone is responsible for his choices, not me, and not God. And someday he will answer for them. He might want to skip over the death and judgment part now, but they are both inescapable in the long run.

As it turns out, what he has decided not to know might just kill him. I just pray he'll decide to listen before the time of grace runs out. No one knows how long he has, but what I do know is that the clock is ticking, and no amount of cotton will keep the deafening tick-tock out of my spirit. The wonderful thing about choice is that sometimes we change our minds; maybe someday he'll change his mind and decide to listen. But until he does, my former brother will be the poster-boy for the theology of failure.

Prayer for the Wayward

2010-07-15T19:51:00.000-05:00

It's rare that I actually pick up a pen to write, but it still happens from time to time. Last night there was a burden in my spirit and I couldn't sleep. So, I picked up my journal and wrote the following raw and unedited text, which is dedicated to all my wayward friends...

Oh brother, what is it that drives you to live like this? Why have you chosen this path? The narcotic is a bitter mistress; whatever drove you to her to begin with? I see it in your eyes; you know things have to change. You want it desperately. You know you need it. And yet you refuse it anyway. You will scour the countryside, turn over every rock, peer in every hole, searching for anything but the solution that is right in your face. The truth may not be easy, but it is straightforward. You cannot pretend he is your savior if you refuse to let him be your sovereign. It's all or nothing, so give him all, or you will be left with nothing. This is your solution; this is the solution. It is the only way to find what your heart seeks.

Oh sister, what is it that drives you to live like this? Why have you chosen this path? The embrace of your many "lovers" has left you nothing but hollow emptiness; why do you seek yet another? The love you desperately long for will never be found in any man, save one. But this is the very one that you ignore. You will go to every party, chase every relationship, share every bed, listening to any voice except the one that is calling your name. The truth may not be tangible, but it is trustworthy. You can't pretend he has your life if he doesn't have your love. It's all or nothing, so find your love in him, or never find it at all. This is your solution; this is the solution. It is the only way to find what your heart seeks.

Oh God, what drives me to live like this? Why do I walk this path? I so often know what your will is, but am too cowardly to carry it out. My spirit urges me to move, but I stand in place instead. I will speak on every subject, pursue every pointless distraction, take on every tedious task, do anything instead of confront those I care about. The truth may not be all-popular, but it is all-powerful. I cannot pretend to be a friend if I will not reach for those who are falling. It's all or nothing, so break my heart over all wayward souls, or I will grieve over nothing. You are my solution; You are the solution. Use me God to show the way to what all hearts seek.

The Dark Side of the Moon

2010-06-21T20:24:00.000-05:00

“The night is long, and I am full of tossing till dawn.” – Job 7:4b (ESV)

Sooner or later, everyone is confronted with sleepless nights; everyone interrogates the bitter darkness with questions, questions that all too often go unanswered. The body begs for rest but the mind denies those desperate pleas for repose. Thus we are condemned to count off the seconds till the rising of the sun as the mind descends into insomnia’s madness and the soul into sleepless misery. A variety of questions can cause this ensnaring restlessness, but all of them have a single undercurrent running through them: “why?”

Not too long ago I was accosted by a situation that sent me reeling into such a state. The emotional pain I was in was more intense than anything I could remember. It had been years since I cried myself to sleep, but I did at this point. It was a struggle to simply make it through the days, much less the nights. I have matured beyond the point of becoming enraged to the point of threatening to reject God as I once did when He allowed enormous pain into my life, but that does not mean I let Him off the hook either. I was resigned to struggle through since it was apparently God’s will for my life at the time, but I desperately wanted to know why. I couldn’t see any reason; my painful circumstances did not appear to have any true purpose.

It is not an accident that as I was going through this experience, I was also beginning a study of Job in one of my classes. The similarities between my situation and his were striking, although admittedly my pain was nothing like his. Like Job, I wanted God to explain himself. It did not appear that I was experiencing what I was going through for any sin of mine; I still do not believe that what happened was simply a consequence of any decision I made. Neither did it appear that there was some deeper purpose to what was going on. It was not suffering for a greater purpose, it was simply suffering. I did not lose my faith in God, and neither did Job, but both of us cried out for answers.

Not surprisingly, we both also received the same answer. Make no mistake; I’m not claiming that God stormed out of the clouds asking me “Where were you?” in the divine version of 20 questions He played with Job in the final chapters of the book. But in my spirit the answer was the same, and as Jesus’ answers often were in the gospels, the answer to me was a question itself. It’s essentially the same question that faced Job: am I willing to let God be God even when I’m hurting enormously and don’t understand what He’s doing?

I really had to wrestle long and hard with that. I’m happy to say, though, that it was eventually settled, and it wasn’t even really a contest. God had never let me down before; why should I have any reason to believe that the unchanging God would change now? And who was I to call God out anyway? After all, it is what I had signed up for. I’d given God my life to do with as He pleased, and I wasn’t going to back out when what pleased Him didn’t please me.

Eventually the pain faded, and things overall have worked out. There was no miraculous intervention, no moment of monumental clarity into a deeper meaning. I just moved on. Now that some time has passed and I look back, I realize that there wasn’t some hidden purpose or meaning God was trying to show me. The struggle was the purpose. Barring some future revelation of meaning, I firmly believe that the only reason God let me hurt was to test how I would respond, so that I would have to answer that question. And you know what? My faith is stronger for it.

James 1: 2-4 says, “Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing (ESV).” This passage (including the following 14 verses) is all about shifting our perspective on unmerited pain in the life of the believer. While we aren’t promised they’ll be fun, we are commanded to take joy in trials because they build our faith and turn us into the people that God desires us to be.

We can be expected to be put through trials for no other reason than to test our faith. We can also expect that this will in turn strengthen us. Because of my experience, I was able to look into the eyes of the students in sophomore Sunday School class I help teach and tell them in full confidence that what James says is true, not just because it’s in the Bible, but because I had lived it.

Yet while this is very important, praise God it doesn’t end there! The Bible also teaches that while sorrow may last the night, joy comes in the morning! This also I have lived enough to see. In our trials God has not abandoned us to the dark, never to see the light of day again. Our pain, no matter how intense or enduring, can only ever last for a time. No matter how black the night, we will always again see the dawn, even if the next rising we see is of the Son himself at the final and eternal dawn when dark will be no more. Hallelujah!

How beautiful then is our promise, for we are always in a win-win scenario. We cannot lose! When life is good and blessings abound, it should be a season of joy; when life seems to be lost in sleepless misery, it should be a season of joy; the season of joy never ends. So then brothers and sisters, let us not be deceived or deceive ourselves! Every good and perfect gift, even the gift of trials, even the gift of pain, comes down to us from the Father of light and all its forms, with whom there is no variation or shadow of change. Let us trust God to be God, even when we cannot see any rhyme or reason to what He is doing. In this we can have full confidence: He will never leave us or forsake us to the unending night of the dark side of the moon.

A Tribute

2009-10-27T16:54:00.000-05:00

I sit here writing this in the middle of my third year of college, five months away from my twenty-second birthday, in the craziest, most forming stage in my life. I’m learning so much in so many areas, both inside and outside of class, and these new things are being coupled with what I already knew and synthesized into new understandings that are both consistently rocking my world and crystallizing my understanding of that same world. And the more his happens, the more I come to understand a humbling truth:

I owe a debt of incomprehensible magnitude to my parents.

Of course there are all the obvious “duh” sorts of things, like the fact I wouldn’t even be in existence without them. But there’s so, SO much more than that. My parents didn’t teach me what to think; they taught me how to think. They didn’t construct a Christian worldview and then impress it upon me; they gave me the pieces and the tools and let me build it myself. I remember times when I would come to my Dad with a question about the Bible, and instead of giving me an answer, he would point me to some passages and tell me to come back when I had come up with an answer. Often I would return with a half-cooked theory, only to have him poke holes in it and point me to Scripture again. It was enormously frustrating at the time, but now I see what enormous value this had.

While many of my friends are now wrestling for the first time with fundamental questions about what they truly believe, I am free to confront deeper issues because my foundation was fought over and established long before I came to college. My education is so much more enriching because instead of having to cram everything I’m learning into my brain haphazardly as I try to muddle my way through everything, I already have a framework with which to acquire, evaluate, and integrate new knowledge into my existing life paradigm. Sometimes this requires making minor and even occasionally major corrections as necessary, which I am free to do instead of being terrified that all my cherished beliefs might come tumbling down if they get jostled and rearranged a bit. I owe to my parents my very ability to know and come to an understanding of the reality I exist in.

But that is only the beginning. My respect for the authority and applicability of Scripture in my life also originates in my parents. As far back as I can remember (and some of my memories go as far back as the age of three or four), my parents made it a family habit to have devotions. Even though I resisted this by getting bored due to short attention span as a child and irritated due to irrational rebellion as an adolescent, it was “forced” on me anyway, for which I am now thankful. As soon as I could read on my own, I was taught that it was important to read the Bible daily. My mother made Scripture memory a consistent part of our elementary education. When I would ask Dad if I could do something, what the Bible had to say about the issue inevitably entered into the discussion. Everywhere I turned there was more of the Bible; you couldn’t get away from it. Yeah, it might have gotten old sometimes, but I see the value in it now.

My parents also instilled me with the ability to not only pay attention to, but also critique the exegesis of Scripture. Early on in childhood my father made sure that instead of going to children’s church, I sat in “big” church. And he didn’t just tell me to pay attention to the sermon, he would also be sure to quiz me about it afterward—and heaven help me if I couldn’t answer his questions! Words cannot express how much this exasperated me at times, but it did teach me to pay attention, even to “boring” speakers. Now all I do is chuckle and shake my head at my college peers who whine about “boring” chapel messages that they didn’t get anything out of; they miss treasure troves of knowledge simply because they were never disciplined with the ability to pay attention to a speaker who might not have the skills of a showman.

What’s more, whenever Dad disagreed with the speaker (which seemed to be a rather frequent occurrence), he would point us to the Bible and show us why. Messages were always evaluated based on how well (or poorly) they reflected Scripture. Sermons were not something to simply let soak in; they had to be confronted, dismantled, inspected, reconstructed, and then applied if they passed the test of Scripture. And no speaker was above this process. They were all subject to it, from Billy-Bob of the Backwoods to the likes of David Jeremiah, Tony Evans, and Chuck Swindol.

I was steeped in critical thinking about the messages we heard in church, and if pastors were not above critique, then certainly no teacher, artist, or author in any other field was either. Dad made sure we had similar Q&A conversations about movies that we watched or books we read. It became imprinted on my brain: all thought (and its expression through any form) is subject to the truth of both general and special revelation, and therefore must be evaluated to see how well it measures up. This critical thinking is now second nature to me; I do it unconsciously, and it all began with Dad making me pay attention to and think about what I heard in church.

I could go on and on. If I were to write everything my parents have taught me or all the important ways they have influenced me, it would fill more volumes than the Encyclopedia Britannica. This little essay hardly does them justice, and doesn’t even put a dent in the enormous THANK YOU they deserve. And while they certainly aren’t perfect, I can most assuredly say this:

God has blessed me with amazing parents.

The Great Adulteress

2009-07-06T18:03:00.002-05:00

One of my favorite songs goes like this…

“Was this over before, before it ever began? Your kiss, your calls, your crutch, like the devil’s got your hand. This was over before, before it ever began. Your lips, your lies, your lust, like the devil’s in your hands…”

It’s the chorus of a song by Anberlin called “The Feel Good Drag”, an acoustic version of which you can listen to here. The song is about the destructive effects that lust has on relationships and society in general. Essentially, it is a monologue from the protagonist who is addressing the seducing antagonist, who in turn has dragged said protagonist to a place he doesn’t want to be. This crooning (but rocking) serenade cries out in warning to others to avoid similar situations, which is a message that our culture desperately needs to hear. What I really like about the song is that it’s essentially a pop-culturally appropriate rendition of the message found in Proverbs 7. It sounds to me like the song comes straight out of the text, essentially mirroring the narrative in verses 6-23. Take a minute and read it; it’s a sad story, and what is even sadder is that some people live it out to their own destruction.

I think, though, that the story is more than just a cautionary tale warning against literal adulterous affairs. I’m convinced it’s also a danger-notifying flare for our own flirtations with the Great Adulteress. The hard fact is: everyone has played out this story with the Great Adulteress at some point or another, everyone. And the saddest part of it is that so few people are willing to admit it.

“Huh? Great Adulteress? What are you talking about? Are you accusing me of adultery?” That’s just the thing, I don’t have to. Jesus did. We all are familiar with his statement to the Pharisees that lusting after a woman is committing adultery in your heart. Everyone, guy and girl alike, has lusted at least once. So you’ve committed adultery, I’ve committed adultery, everyone has. Now as for answering who the Great Adulteress is, that’s a different question entirely.

I suppose the best way to explain it is to show you where the concept first came from. One morning after my quiet time I had a moment of inspiration and wrote furiously in my journal for more than twenty minutes. Here’s an excerpt from that session…

“The object of my lust in my mind is not the person I like to think it is. Whatever fantasy takes my fancy is not as it appears, even in my mind’s eye. No twisted guise of future love can be justified, because it is neither a true love nor even accurate. The woman [or man] in one’s mind is never who it seems, rather it is the greatest adulteress taking whatever form it chooses. It is not a hidden fountain of delight, but a hideous demon of destruction and misery. Do not let her fool you, o man! She is not what she appears! All deceptions come from their father, and this is one of his finest! It may take the form of a person, real or imagined, but it is only a fiend of Hell. How foolish am I to give it even a nanosecond of consideration. It must not even be acknowledged, but banished the instant it makes its presence known. Dear God, how could I be so foolish as to flirt with this Great Adulteress?…”

The Great Adulteress is quite literally a figment of your (and my) imagination, but a dastardly figment at that. Imagination is one of the greatest gifts God ever programmed human beings with, but it is also one of our elements that depravity has twisted the most. Our ability to conceive of possible worlds is what lets us dream dreams, solve problems, and craft wonderful stories. But possible worlds are also where the Great Adulteress has her abode and wars desperately for our very souls.

See, the real problem with sexually provocative images isn’t really the images themselves, but the fact that they give the Great Adulteress ammunition. Pardon the references, but the Great Adulteress is quite like both the Decepticon whore in Transformers 2 and Mystique in the X-Men movies: she can take whatever surface form she likes, but underneath she’s nothing but a vile and hideous monster. I sometimes think there might even literally be a demonic element responsible for her, to be honest. But whether she is a demon or simply the spawn of our own depravity matters not; either way she must be fought with everything we have.

Yet all too often we leave her in peace without so much as even lifting a finger. After all, thinking it isn’t the same as doing it, or so we rationalize. But we cannot afford to rationalize. Even worse, we cannot afford to pretend like she doesn’t even exist, as we so often do. If we are even to begin slaying this monstrous dragon that we all have inside, we have to at least acknowledge that it exists. It seems like this is one area where we are most fearful to admit we struggle, which really is really stupid considering that of all the different arenas of sin, this is the one where absolutely no one can point a finger because we all struggle with it. So let’s just be honest with each other for once and get this ball rolling.

That just gets things started, though. How do we actually get down to the nitty-gritty of fighting the Great Adulteress? The answer to that question is astonishingly simple but extremely anti-American: we pray for grace and run like there’s no tomorrow. When she calls, we do as the foolish man in Proverbs 7 should have done and refuse to even give her the time of day. When she presents herself, we make like Joseph and get the heck out of Dodge. Of course that’s easier said than done; running from your own mind isn’t a piece of cake, but it is possible. Most importantly: we pray for God’s enabling grace to prove itself strong in our weakness, lest we think that we’ll beat her off all by ourselves. And when we fail, we ask for forgiveness remembering that same grace is greater than our sins and pick up the fight again.

But if you don’t fight her, if you just let the Great Adulteress have free reign of you mind, you may rest assured: just like with the foolish young man, it was over for you before it ever began.

“O sons listen to me, be attentive to the worlds of my mouth. Let not your heart turn aside to her ways; do no stray into her paths, for many a victim she has laid low, and all her slain are a mighty throng. Her house is the way to Sheol, going down to the chambers of death.”
– Proverbs 7:24-27

Freedom

2009-07-04T12:38:00.003-05:00

In honor of the 4th, here's a little something I wrote long ago in the days of high school. It also later managed to work it's way into a song I wrote...

Freedom

Leonidas stood, proud and free,
Waging war at Thermopylae.
Three-hundred Spartans held at bay
The host of Persians two whole days.

William Wallace, far outnumbered,
Stood his ground as the charge thundered.
At Sterling he didn’t give a smidge;
Scotland’s freedom won at the bridge.

Prescott held as the Brits advanced,
Cannons hammered and bullets danced.
Redcoats took Bunker Hill that day,
But with it lost their will to stay.

The heavens darkened, shocking eyes
As combat raged in Britain’s skies.
Outnumbered more than four to one
The RAF the battle won.

History’s proved freedom’s presence
Must not find us evanescent.
Steadfast and strong we all must be
To keep in check all tyranny

Liberty by nature demands
That for the right we take a stand.
That regardless what others say,
We fight for justice, come what may.

“Of peace,” you cry, “There is a dearth!”
That’ll always be so on this earth.
It’s in the selfish human heart,
That all true conflicts find their start.

Peace: it desirable may be,
But not at cost of liberty.
Peace: it may be a worthwhile goal,
But it’s not worth a nation’s soul.

Breadcrumbs

2009-06-18T23:40:00.002-05:00

Life is just sort of mellow right now. Not horrible, not amazing, just wonderfully lost in the nowhere in between. And in this mellowness, I have been surprised by one astounding thing: God exists. “Dude,” you say, “I would have thought you knew this already. I mean doesn’t being a Christian require believing in God?” Of course it does, and I never said I didn’t believe in God, only that I have found myself happily surprised at His existence.

Certainly, I have believed in the existence of God for a long time, and according to surveys, most people do. But that’s irrelevant. Believing in God’s existence has nothing to do with the fact that He does, just like a person’s belief in the law of gravity has no bearing on its actual existence. No, I have NOT lost my marbles. Think about it.

There is a very definite difference between believing God exists and being aware of His existence. The evidence is what backs up the belief, the cold hard facts. There are a million and one different arguments and valid reasons to believe God exists, probably even more. The evidence is overwhelming. But that only affirms the belief; the awareness is prompted by the little things. Things like finding out you’d actually met your girlfriend almost ten years earlier than you thought you had; things like receiving a phone call from a friend at the exact moment that you needed it most; things like “randomly” bumping into someone that you hadn’t seen or heard from in a year in a busy fast food joint during the lunch rush.

Some people chalk that sort of thing up to destiny, but I despise the idea of destiny. Been there, done that, bought the t-shirt, and wrote the story. Destiny is bologna (baloney), and so is karma for that matter. All those various sorts of ideas are hogwash. The plain fact is that these “random” events are not random at all, but just another one of the many trails of breadcrumbs that God leaves to remind us He’s there.

You see, we never forget that we believe in God; we always remember that. It’s just that as we go through our lives, we tend to get caught up in life and forget that He’s actually out there. Its not that I’d never known, only that I’d forgotten. But many recent events have reminded me that God does, indeed, exist and is actually in control of everything instead of us, as much as we like to think otherwise. The reminders have left me pleasantly surprised and renewed my assurance.

And maybe, just maybe, God will use this little collection of words as the latest piece in your own trail of breadcrumbs.

Chronicle of the Warrior

2009-01-29T15:37:00.002-06:00

This is a little thing I wrote recently...

The weariness is almost unbearable.

My armor rattles as I collapse to the ground against a tree, grateful for the reprieve. I exhale labouredly, trying to will away the groaning aches in my joints. My sword hits the dry and thirsty ground with a clank. After a moment I reach up and pull my helmet off. It’s dripping with sweat, mingled with a little blood. Next come the gauntlets, and now I can wipe the grime away from my eyes for the first time in a great while. I can actually see clearly now, although there’s not much to look at in this desolate place. A deep breath fills my lungs once more.

Battle was especially vicious today.

It began before dawn. The horn and blown the alarm and I hastily suited up and dashed towards the source. I was already sore from days of battle, but I had to press on regardless. While the hoard hadn’t attacked me in a long while, there were always weaker brothers to assault, as was the case now. One of us was out alone and under attack, so overwhelmed that he couldn’t even fight back as the hoard dashed themselves against him. A group of us tried to hack our way to him, but we were outnumbered millions to one and the currents of battle carried us all apart. The most I ever caught of any of them after that was a momentary glimpse. We were fighting individually for our own survival now.

Finally, I managed to cut through and reach him alone, quickly beating them off of him as best I could. Between swipes, I dragged him to his feet and put his weapon back in his hands, but he was in no condition to fight. I kept them off of him, taking many blows for his sake as he managed to get out of the melee. Of course then their rage was full bent on me. Minutes stretched into hours, and hours into what felt like an eternity. I felt utterly alone. I knew I actually wasn’t alone; there were others out there lost in the battle, fighting just as I was. I also felt His strength coursing through my veins, sure that it was the only thing that let me keep my feet. I know His promises by heart, and that He’ll never let me be overcome. But that didn’t take away the feeling.

For a brief moment I caught sight of the sideline. There I saw hundreds, if not thousands of our warriors there, standing idly. Did they not know we were fighting for our very lives? How could they just stand there and do nothing to help us? Yes, even with their help we would be outnumbered, but we would actually be able to put up a true fight! Yet there they stood, blinded by their own self-concern, worried only about themselves and their own problems. They left us to fight alone. They left me to fight alone.

Eventually the battle waned, for a time anyway. So now here, under this dying tree, I sit. Exhaustion set in long ago, and I now feel powerless it its grasp. He will never leave nor forsake. I know that, believe that, am giving my life for that. But in this moment I still feel forsaken. All is dark, and opaque clouds mar the sky. I long to be reinvigorated, refreshed. I don’t know how much longer I can do this. I’ve been fighting for hundreds of years, or has it only been a week? I’ve lost all track of time, and I can’t tell anymore. Where is the sunlight? Where is the green grass? Where is the flowing stream of peace that my parched throat thirsts for? I can’t remember the last time I drank of its waters. Dear God! I don’t know if I can carry on anymore.

What’s this? There’s a break forming in the clouds! A small ray of sunlight is streaming through, bathing me in its light. I gasp in exhilaration. For a moment everything is forgotten in the blessedness of this glorious light! This, this is the way things were meant to be! Not dead, not barren, not broken, not war-torn, not battle-scarred, not fallen. I gulp in enormous lungfuls of pure oxygen, letting the light radiate into me, basking in His presence.

Now, as quickly as it came, it’s gone. The clouds have sealed the sun-punched hole. I almost shake with withdrawal. The aches set back in, the fatigue reasserts itself. I long for the thirst-quenching waters even more, but at least the cutting dryness is gone from my throat. And that is enough.

A note pierces the air, another horn. One of my brothers is in need again. On return the gauntlets and helmet. I fight through the weariness back to my feet, sword in hand once more. A part of me wishes I could simply ignore the battle as so many do, fighting only when it touches me personally. But I cannot; I am my brother’s keeper. I have been made this day a fortified city, an iron pillar, bronze walls against this whole land. They will fight against me, but they will not prevail against me, for He is with me to save and deliver. I march to battle again because I am a warrior…

And this task is mine.

Echo of Victory

2008-10-31T15:27:00.003-05:00

I'm going to switch things up a bit. This time around, I've posted a short work of fiction as food for thought. Enjoy!

Echo of Victory
By C.E. Anderson

The single fluorescent light buzzed mutedly, the only audible disturbance in the otherwise silent chamber. It strained to cast its green glow across the barren white-washed block room, barely illuminating only a table, chair, and three persons. One of these sat at the center of the light in the chair at the table, his incarcerated hands resting on the surface of the elevated plane. His orange jumpsuit radiated an eerie neon quality given it by the lighting. He was calm, composed, resolute, staring into space as if his current situation was but a mere trifle and below his notice.

The remaining beings were two plainclothes officers who stood opposite the prisoner in the shadows along the wall, the only thing giving away their status being the badges that hung on their belts and the sidearms strapped to their thighs. One was a rookie, fresh out of the academy and on his first month of duty. But any officers who underestimated him had already been proven sorely mistaken; having graduated at the top of his class, in his short time on the force he had already been instrumental in the apprehending of several dangerous fugitives, like the one seated across from him. Now he was conducting his first interrogation. His young face hardened in thought as he sized up the prisoner, trying to decide what approach he would use.

The second officer was a seasoned veteran, bald head glistening in the pasty light as he rubbed the stubble on his chin. He’d seen his share of whackos before, and had interrogated enough of them to know how this would play out. He was only there as the supervising officer, a sort of moral support for the rookie as the younger man learned the ropes. He would let the kid burn out his energy, but he wouldn’t learn anything useful, no matter what cockamamie techniques he’d just learned at the academy. This nut wasn’t going to say anything. None of the ones like him ever did.

Davis, the younger, glanced at Silverman, the older, who promptly gave him a soft nod. It was time to get the ball rolling.

“Mr. Patterson,” Davis began, stepping into the light and leaning on the table in front of the prisoner, “Are you aware of how precarious a position you are in?”

Patterson just glanced at him stone faced, silence his only reply.

“Well then, let me illuminate you as to your situation,” continued Davis, taking the silence for smugness. “Best case scenario, and I mean best case scenario, you’re looking at twenty-five to life. As things stand, the death penalty is much more likely, I would say even probable.” As a matter of fact, Patterson was all but guaranteed death.

The slightest grin cracked on Patterson’s face as he stared emptily at the table. Did he think that was funny?

Davis ignored it and pressed on. “But, the chances of you receiving the lighter sentence become much more likely if you will cooperate with our investigation. So, do you have anything you want to tell us?”

Still no reply. Davis switched gears.

“Come on man,” he said softly, leaning in towards Patterson, “I want to help you, I really do. But you’ve got to help me for that to be possible, see? What do you say?”

Patterson looked up and stared into Davis’ eyes. There was no fear in the convict’s pupils, only confident certainty. It started to unnerve Davis; he hadn’t ever seen anything like it. Patterson’s crimes were capital; he was a dead man walking. He would have to be crazy not to be at least a little afraid. But crazies always wanted to brag about what they had done and run their mouths. This guy was silent as a stone and cool as a cucumber. Davis didn’t get it.

“You don’t talk much do you?” said Davis, straightening up.

Patterson didn’t break his silent streak.

Silverman, who was still leaning against the wall, pulled a cigarette out of the pack he had in his rear pocket with his left hand. He extracted a lighter with his right hand, and proceeded to light up. He puffed away in silence for a moment as the two other men stared at each other.

“Give it up, kid,” he said between drags. “He’s not going to tell you anything.”

Davis ignored his partner and pressed on: “How many of you are there in the city?... Where do you meet?... How do you communicate with one another?... Do you interact with other cells around the country?” Davis fired off questions rapidly without waiting for a reply, not that there would have been one anyway. “With every one of these questions that you help us answer, your chances of getting a lighter sentence increase.”

Only eyes responded, unwavering, unrelenting, unnervingly calm eyes!

“I just don’t get you fanatics,” said Davis after several moments of silent irritation, “I really don’t. You go around in open rebellion, knocking on death’s door like you’re playing ding-dong-ditch. It’s disgusting.”

“Do you fear death?”

Davis almost jumped; Patterson had actually opened his mouth!

“Of course I do,” replied Davis several seconds later after recovering from the surprise. “Anyone with half a brain fears death.”

“Why?”

“Probably because no one really knows what happens when you die.”

Patterson grinned: “I do.”

“Every religion claims to know,” huffed Davis. “Buddha has his nirvana, Allah his forty virgins, and God his heaven, and then you have the atheists like me who say there’s nothing. What makes you so sure you know?”

A change came over Patterson. A passion washed over his face and a fire burned in his eyes.

“It’s the same assurance that has taken away my fear, the same assurance that has given me peace, the assurance that regardless of what you do to my body you can’t kill my soul, the same assurance that one day every knee will bow and every tongue will confess that Jesus Christ is Lord!”

Davis didn’t respond, taken aback. Perhaps Patterson was crazy after all; that was all nonsense after all… wasn’t it?

“You can kill me, officer,” Patterson went on after pausing, “but I know I would go on to a better place. If our situations were reversed, could you say the same? Would you have my peace, or would you be terrified out of your mind?” Patterson’s eyes were all but glowing, and demanded an answer.

Davis was quiet for a moment, then said: “You’d have to be crazy to believe what you do, but you’re not crazy. How can you be so certain, so peaceful?”

“It’s not as crazy as it sounds,” Patterson said with a warm smile, his face coming to life. “If you’d like, I can tell y…”

The bullet entered Patterson’s skull, not letting him finish the sentence. Blood and brain matter splattered against the block wall behind, and Patterson’s shell collapsed lifelessly onto the table. The gunshot echoed loudly for what seemed like an eternity as Davis stared in shock.

Silverman replaced the still smoking pistol to its holster, took a final drag from his cigarette, then tossed it to the floor and stamped it out.

“He was getting to you, kid,” said the old officer, concentrating on his shoe as he rubbed the cigarette in to the floor. “It happens to the best of us, but you can’t let them get to you like that.”

“Y…you’re right, of course,” stammered Davis, still trying to recover. He had seen plenty of videos of people dying, but had never witnessed it himself. Now he knew he never wanted to again.

“Well,” Silverman said looking up at the body, “chalk up another win for the good guys. Hopefully, soon all the Christians will be just like him.” He turned and headed for the door. “C’mon kid, let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.”

Davis followed, almost stumbling as the queasiness hit him. He cast one last glance over his shoulder at the body before leaving the room. He could almost swear Patterson was still staring at him from the pillow of pooling blood around his head on the table. Something Patterson had said had struck a chord somewhere deep within, and Davis couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that somehow, he and Silverman had in reality lost. There was an echo of victory in Patterson’s lifeless eyes as the empty gaze bored a hole in Davis’ soul.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the church.” — Tertullian

Frontline

2008-07-24T15:33:00.001-05:00

“Stand beside, or step aside for the frontline.”

Now that’s the sort of talk I love to hear. Of course it doesn’t make as much sense without the context of the song it’s yanked out of. Here, let me give you the first verse so you can get a feel for the song…

It’s not like I’m walking alone into
the valley of the shadow of death
Stand beside one another, ‘cause it ain’t over yet
I’d be willing to bet that if we don’t back down
You and I will be the ones that are
holding the Crown in the end
When it’s over, we can say, “Well done”
But not yet, ‘cause it’s only begun
So, pick up, and follow me, we’re the only ones
To fight this thing, until we’ve won
We drive on and don’t look back
It doesn’t mean we can’t learn from our past
All the things that we mighta done wrong
We could’ve been doing this all along

And then of course it goes into the chorus, the last line of which is quoted above. The song is titled “Frontline” (obvious, no?), and it’s by the band Pillar. I must admit, I like the song. I’d definitely recommend it as a download for the digital music player of your choice. A warning is in order, however: it’s pretty rockin’ stuff. If you can’t stomach that genre of music so well, at least look the rest of the lyrics up for me, kay? I think that you’ll come to like the song too.

Actually, it’s encouraging to me. If you look out over this younger Christian generation, that sort of “let’s get this fight rolling again” mentality is rather widespread. You can see it in the music we listen too: the above Pillar song is one of a plethora of popular Christian songs I could point out. You can see it in what we do: the number of young people going out of various sorts of missions endeavors seems to increase exponentially every year. You can see it in what we say: I’ve been (figuratively speaking) hammering this message into the skulls of my not-so-similarly-minded peers in just about everything I’ve written since I started writing. And I’m not alone, not by a long shot.

It’s refreshing, seeing that many of this generation want to rid the Church of the apathy that has smothered it for about two generations now here in America. Yeah, I’m sure some of you would take issue with me on that statement, and if I was being technical, I’d take issue with me too. Obviously, if the church had been completely apathetic, there wouldn’t even be a younger generation. BUT, I think that anyone looking at the events towards the beginning of the last century would, if they were honesty, say that that generation bought into the lie that the Church should keep to itself, and leave the running of society to the government. To a large degree, the church surrendered many of its responsibilities to the government. Yes, the Depression was a hard time, but it should have been the Church rallying to help people make it through, not the government. That’s just one example, but in many arenas the Church gave its own ground to Uncle Sam, public education (Uncle Sam’s inbred and retarded child), and non-profit organizations. The Church unfortunately acquiesced when they said it needed to stay in the arena of “spiritual matters” behind its closed doors on Sunday, and leave reality to those properly equipped to handle it.

Sigh.

So now, two generations later, society’s a mess and the Church still struggles and to ground itself in the reality of people’s lives. And yet we wonder why Sunday morning Christians are still such a problem. The apathetic Sunday morning system the Church let itself get compartmentalized into generations ago is obviously and inevitably going to breed an apathetic Sunday morning Christian, that whole “reap what you sow” thing. So yes, it’s immensely encouraging to see that this generation knows things have to change and wants to either prevail or go down fighting.

But now I have to sigh again.

I hate to say it, but unfortunately many of this generation, many of my generation, are throwing the baby out with the bathwater. The Church has become obsolete, they say, so let’s just chuck it. Essentially, that’s really what this whole new “Emergent Church” thing is about, tossing anything that even half-way looks like it was related the Church as it has been. This new book that’s been causing waves, The Shack, it runs along the same lines. I haven’t read it yet (although I intend to), but I’ve read several reviews and an interview with the author in World Magazine. To a certain (and admitted) extent, the book is about removing the organized Church from Christianity. As if that were actually possible.

I can identify with them to a huge degree; I’ve given the Church plenty of tongue lashings myself. I can understand the frustration. We’re hyped, we’re pumped, we want to fight something, to get to that frontline and give the enemy our best shot. The apathy plaguing Church absolutely disgusts us, and of course the gut reaction is to run. Much of the generation is flying out the Church doors, weapons in hand and battle-cry in lungs as they charge off, looking for that frontline. You have to admire their guts and die-hard spirit, it’s inspiring really. They’ve just missed one, small thing. The frontline is just under their noses, it always has been. It’s not in the trenches “out there” somewhere...

It’s in the pews.

Does the Church have problems? Oh yeah, you’d better believe it. Have we made some pretty killer mistakes? Heck yes. But if the Church was perfect, it wouldn’t really be the Church then would it? Christianity and the Church are inseparable. The Church is where the battle is and always has been. It’s where the frontline fight really is, bet your life on it.

One must admit, there is a certain logic to the “chuck the Church” perspective. The Church has been a Lone Ranger convention for a long time, a place where the individuals come together 4 (at best) out of 168 hours a week to discuss how doing their own thing the other 164 hours is going. Well the convention isn’t going well, so what does one do? Break up the convention of course; Lone Rangers don’t need one anyway. Quite logical, it does in its own way make sense.

The only problem is this: there were never supposed to be Lone Rangers. It’s the Rangers that need breaking up, not the convention. The Church is supposed to be a living breathing body, a family of people living life together day by day. The battle lies in making that happen. But, you say, the Church is supposed to reach out and change society; that’s where the battle should be. Wrong: the Church is supposed to overflow into and possess society. The idea that the Church is over here and it needs to reach society over there is only part of the compartmentalization that caused this problem in the first place.

The real fight is breaking the Church out of its compartmentalized mindset that crippled it in our society two generations ago. That’s the true frontline for you, and it ain’t your momma’s frontline either. This one’s going to be a doozey: entrenched habits die hard, very hard. It’s going to take a defibrillator the size of Texas to reawaken this sleeping giant we call the Church, call it The Great Awakening Round 2. But that’s the fight I’m headed for. So like Pillar said…

“Stand beside [me], or step aside for the frontline.”

Giving in to Grace

2008-07-13T13:56:00.002-05:00

Sin is the only thing we’re supposed to hate as Christians, and I’m finding that I hate it more and more, especially within myself. I mean sin is the whole reason Jesus had to come and die; it’s definitely worth hating. It’s only by God’s wonderful grace that we can (and have been) saved from sin. But even though we’ve been saved, we still have to deal with it in our lives, and it’s a yucky process.

What especially irks me are those really repetitive ones, you know, the sins that you just can’t seem to shake off no matter how hard you try? Everyone’s got them, and if you say you don’t, I wouldn’t hesitate to call you a liar. But whatever yours may be, are they not the most irritating things? Yeah, everyone knows the key to ridding yourself of sin is confessing and repenting, that’s the preacher’s version. But how do you DO that? Confessing is fairly easy, but how do you turn 180 degrees around from doing something that, no matter how hard you try, you can’t seem get yourself to stop doing? I mean I’ve tried everything to kick these things, and no matter what or how hard I try, they still come back to bite me.

I was feeling rather down in the dumps about my own clinging sins recently, and it really had me down. They just make you feel like a failure as a Christian if you’re honest with yourself, and no one likes feeling like a failure. You feel like you let God down. Well, I was talking to someone about how I felt, and while engaged in the conversation an incredible thought occurred to me.

What about grace?

It’s interesting. We only really talk about grace a lot when we talk about salvation. But there are three parts to the life of a Christian: salvation, sanctification, and glorification. Salvation is being saved from sin’s penalty and is a one time thing (at conversion); sanctification is being saved from sin’s power (or becoming more like Christ) and is a life-long thing; glorification is being saved from sin’s presence and will happen when we get our new bodies in heaven. (And yes, I just gave you a whole semester’s worth of Bible College for free.) Grace obviously plays an enormous part in steps one and three. After all, grace is the only reason those steps are possible. As a matter of fact, the only reason any of the steps is possible is because of grace.

Why then do we not talk about grace when we talk about becoming more Christ-like?

I believe that it is to our detriment that we don’t emphasize grace when we talk about sanctification. It’s like we say that we get saved and get to go to heaven because of what God did, but the becoming Christ-like part is our part of the job. We don’t believe in salvation by works; should sanctification be any different? I say not.

Let me explain it this way. Let’s say (hypothetically) that you have an anger problem. You’re saved and you’ve been a Christian for years, but you just can’t shake it. You’ve tried everything you know, from counting to ten to taking deep breaths, but you still lose it when that idiot cuts you off in traffic. You’ve prayed and confessed and done your very best to repent, but when that jerk down the hall in the dorm won’t stop playing “Sweet Home Alabama” as loud as his stereo can go (at 2 A.M. mind you), you charge down there and take a bat to the stereo till that infernal machine is silenced forever. You just can’t seem to control these bursts of anger. This if-at-first-you-don’t-succeed-try-try-again all over again business is only leaving you feeling defeated in your Christian walk. What are you to do? (And this sin doesn’t necessarily have to be anger; you fill in the blank.)

Here’s my point: what if there’s nothing you can do? Maybe the only real way to be rid of this leeching sin is to admit that you can’t. Maybe it’s like salvation. We say that no matter how hard you work, you could never save yourself. Well maybe no matter how hard you try, you won’t ever sanctify yourself. What if the only real way to ditch these clinging sins is to simply admit that we cannot do it ourselves? Maybe it’s only in surrendering our volition to the Holy Spirit by admitting that we can’t that He is finally allowed to take over and rake this muck out from inside of us.

Now don’t get me wrong. This does NOT give us license to sin as much as we please, any more than the fact that we can’t save ourselves gives us license to sin. It just means that we have to man up and say we can’t do it. God alone can save; God alone can sanctify. I think it’s part of human nature for us to try and do things for ourselves. Even the unsaved will try to earn their salvation in some manner or another. We condemn this as wrong when it comes to salvation, but then we turn around and do a different form of the same thing when it comes to sanctification; we try to earn it. But we can’t earn it.

Giving into grace is the only solution.

When that realization hit me, I was psyched! It was the first time I ever looked at the sin in my life that way. I felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I can’t beat these sins, and I felt like screaming it out to the whole world. I can’t do it; there is absolutely nothing I can do. But God through the working of the Holy Spirit can. Now I’m just plain flabbergasted. How could I have been so stupid as to somehow think that sole responsibility fell on my shoulders to do this? And why would God want to sanctify anyone so dumb?

Well, that’s grace for you.

“Grace, grace, God’s grace, grace that can pardon and cleanse within. Grace, grace, God’s grace, grace that is greater than all [my] sin.”

Cancer

2008-06-29T14:43:00.004-05:00

Cancer is one nasty bug.

Of course you can’t even really call it a bug. Unlike most diseases that are caused by bacteria or viruses, cancer doesn’t come from without. The fact is this sickness that some call the most dangerous illness to face human humanity comes from within. It is our own bodies turning against us.

If you do a little research on cancer, you’ll find out that at first it doesn’t really seem like a big deal. All it takes is a cell, one single cell, the smallest unit in the body, deciding that it’s going to do its own thing. That cell decides it wants to grow at its own pace, so it takes over one of the cells around it. Then more cells are taken over, and the process continues. These renegade cells begin not only consuming the good cells, but also taking resources that those good cells need. The rebels continue to grow and grow, going from microscopic entities to tumors that can be as large as a softball, sometimes even larger. Those tumors, in turn, can be lethal, not to mention the fact that the cancerous cells are slowly eating the body alive. That’s what the most dangerous disease facing our bodies is, that’s cancer.

In my opinion, it’s also the most dangerous thing facing the body.

Oh sure, we’ve got the enemy that prowls about like a lion, seeking whom he may devour. But what kills more people annually, cancer or lions? Please don’t misunderstand me; Satan is a very powerful enemy, and I don’t think we take him seriously enough. BUT, what we take even less seriously is something far more insidious than an external attacker. It is members of the body refusing to take orders from the Head. Instead the renegades do their own thing.

Let’s face it: this is a rampant problem. Everywhere you turn, Christians (or at least people who call themselves Christians) are “doing their own thing,” not taking God’s will or Scripture into account in the least. They seep into churches, infect others with their ways, and consume resources that the body needs to do its true work. I think it’s pretty obvious that this is undeniably sin. Not only is it sin, it is the cancer of the church. And it’s spreading astronomically, mostly unchallenged at that.

So what do we do about it? Paul doles out some pretty powerful punches. “Those who continue in sin, rebuke in the presence of all, so that the rest also will be fearful of sinning. (1Tim. 5:20)” “Reject a factious man after a first and second warning, knowing that such a man is perverted and is sinning, being self-condemned. (Titus 3:10-11)” Jesus himself addressed what to do with such people in Matt. 18:15-17:

If your brother sins, go and show him his fault in private; if he listens to you, you have won your brother. But if he does not listen to you, take one or two more with you, so that BY THE MOUTH OF TWO OR THREE WITNESSES EVERY FACT MAY BE CONFIRMED. "If he refuses to listen to them, tell it to the church; and if he refuses to listen even to the church, let him be to you as a Gentile and a tax collector.

Well, why don’t we do that in our churches then?

Honestly, I don’t think there’s a good answer to that question. It is no secret that church discipline is by far and large a joke. Sins are spreading like gangrene, as Paul put it, but corporately we’re not doing much about it. Sure, if someone has an affair we’ll kick them out of the church, but what about the “factious man”? What about the habitual liars? What about the stabbing gossipers? What about the boasting proud? What about the man-pleasers who place the rich and nice looking at the head of the proverbial table? We won’t even bring their sins to their attention, much less get to the disassociation phase after multiple warnings. So the cancer grows, and grows, and grows, choking the life out of the church.

What are we going to do about it? I suppose that’s up to us, isn’t it? Here’s a novel idea: why don’t we try doing what the Bible says, just for once? Who knows, it might just take care of the problem.

Switchblade to a Swordfight

2008-06-16T22:14:00.001-05:00

What is the deal with the Armor of God? I mean I’m not saying that it’s bad or anything, none of the Bible is bad, but why is it that we concentrate so much on this one particular thing? I mean honestly, I’ve probably heard more sermons and lessons about the Armor of God than any other portion of Scripture, perhaps besides the crucifixion and the Great Commission. (Of course the latter would be my dad’s fault; there was a time when I was a boy that I could have preached his Great Commission sermon verbatim and saved him the trouble of preaching it again as we visited churches to raise support.)

Anyway, I find it interesting that the Armor of God attracts preachers and teachers to itself on such a regular basis. Although, you do have to admit, it is a good analogy. It even sounds exciting. It just has that ring to it. Strap on that Belt of Truth! Don that Breastplate of Righteousness! Lace up those Gospel boots! Grab that Shield of Faith! And slip that crowning Helmet of Salvation over your head! Now that’s attention-grabbing, face-reddening, pulpit-pounding stuff!

But then, almost as an afterthought: oh yeah, and don’t forget that sword thing, you know, the Word of God? Maybe it will come in handy for something.

You can’t really blame the preachers for this oversight can you? After going on passionately for an hour about the various pieces of armor, by the time they get to the sword they’re just plum tuckered out, so it only gets a passing mention most of the time. Paul put it last on the list anyway, didn’t he? Besides, Christianity is supposed to be a “religion of peace.” Weapons can’t be that important, right?

Wrong, dead wrong. Nothing could be further from the truth.

‘Do not think that I came to bring peace on the earth; I did not come to bring peace, but a sword’… For the word of God is living and active and sharper than any two-edged sword, and piercing as far as the division of soul and spirit, of both joints and marrow, and able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart. (Mt. 10:34; Heb. 4:12)

I think perhaps there is even an underlying motivation behind what we might want to label a simple oversight. Hearing about armor makes us feel safe, and secure. If we’ve got armor, we can safely stay where we are. It keeps us from having to run away scared. If and when we get attacked, having armor means we are protected and, all things considered, even comfortable when those fiery darts come whistling at us. It makes us feel all nice inside, being told we have armor. But a sword, that’s a completely different matter entirely. Those are used for attacking and other such nasty business. They had best be left alone, had they not?

Then we turn around and have the gall to wonder why we’re losing ground in the war for our culture. And make no mistake, it is a war.

Oh, have no doubt; there are the brave souls who try to muster a fight when the hoards of darkness strike. They attempt to make a stand when our religion is ridiculed and our values are assaulted. But using their own words, their comeback has the battle-effectiveness of a letter-opener. The most intelligent and eloquent of us might even manage to muster a switchblade, but they’re bringing a switchblade to a swordfight. These brave ones are easily beaten down as the enemy charges unchallenged through our ranks, not quite so benignly armed. As the few courageous are swallowed up in the swarm, their comrades watch complacently, hiding behind their armor, while everyone leaves our most powerful weapon un-cracked, gathering dust on a shelf.

Don’t get me wrong, we need to know that we have an armor that our God has given us. We should even be thankful for it. But that knowledge should give us a greater peace and courage to be good soldiers, not an excuse to stick our heads in the sand and safely ignore the battle.

Considering that Paul used these ancient tools of war as an analogy for the Christian life, perhaps examining the successful strategies of ancient warfare might help us in this dark hour. There are three things that I think we could afford to learn. First of all, ancient warriors had their swords drawn in times of battle. Scripture is our sword, and it must be the weapon we use when we go into battle. This war will not be won by our own words, no matter how charismatic the speaker, no matter how clever his arguments, no matter how unbreakable his logic. God’s Word alone will stem the tide and bring victory.

Secondly, successful ancient warriors not only had their swords drawn, but they were skilled in their use. The best warriors trained constantly. Their swords were in their hands on a daily basis, even if they weren’t engaged in battle every day. I guarantee you, if a warrior had simply picked up his sword for an hour three times a week, he would not have lived long in battle. Our swords are not meant to be just taken out at church. They’re not even meant to be casually laid on one’s lap in a moment of meditation that quickly leaves the brain. They are weapons meant to be wielded. We must know them like the back of our hand, daily training ourselves in their use. Then we must be ever ready to engage the enemy with them.

Finally, ancient warriors were victorious when they stood together. Phalanxes of troops easily defeated bodies of foes many times their size, even foes much larger and more dangerously armed than themselves. Their unity and coherence as a team on the field of battle made them victors when there seemed to be no hope. It is no secret that the backbone of the most powerful armies of the ancient world was the phalanx, just look at Alexander the Great and the Romans. Jesus himself emphasized the importance of unity. “…any city or house divided against itself shall not stand… keep them in Your name, the name which You have given Me, that they may be one even as We are…” We must stand together, or there will be no standing at all.

This reasoning begs many questions. Do we have the courage to see Scripture drawn and gleaming in the hands of every Christian in this nation? As God’s warriors, do we have the resolve to be properly trained and ready to make use of our blades, swords more potent than any other weapon imaginable? Do we have the humility to understand that the differences that divide us are insignificant when compared to the ties that bind us, the humility to stand as one in the name of the Savior that unites us all?

The day when each of those questions can be answered in the affirmative will be the day the tide turns. That will be the day when we will have laid aside every encumbrance, and will truly be running the race that is set before us. That is the day I hope, work, and pray for. Hopefully, you can say the same.

My Generation

2008-06-14T00:54:00.002-05:00

An essay I wrote in a moment of frustration last semester...

I’m an avid Titans fan, and you know what? I really think that they’ve got a shot at making the Super Bowl next year. We’ve got a new offensive coordinator that calls much better plays than the old one did, and if we can pick up a clutch receiver from the free agency to complement our running game, the offense should be unstoppable. The defense was good this past year, but if we can pick up a shutdown corner to help in the secondary, the defense will be incredible. Playoffs should be a given if we make some smart moves this off-season. You know, I like talking about the Titans.

I like talking about movies too. That Bourne Trilogy was really something wasn’t it? But it still can’t touch Lord of the Rings, nothing can. The Star Wars series is OK too, but you have to admit, hands down the old trilogy was WAY better than these new ‘pre-qual’ things. And if you ask me, M. Night Shyamalan is the next Alfred Hitchcock. Who knows, maybe he even surpasses Hitchcock. You know, I like to talk about movies.

Music is fun to talk about too. So is TV. And oh, don’t get me going about how PCs are head and shoulders above Macs… By the way, iPods and iTunes are of the devil; give me a Zune any day… If you ask me, Starbucks mocha frappachino is by far the best drink you can buy for $4… You’ve got to admit, it’s really a toss up between the Wii and Xbox 360. I mean who could ever choose between Masterchief and Mario?... You know, I like talking about all these things.

But there is so, so much more.

Yeah, those other things are fun and amusing, but they’re… flat. I want to talk about things that get my heart burning, that strike that reverberating chord deep inside. What effect has humanism had on modern philosophy? How can we combat the post-modernism that has conquered our culture? What is the nature of truth, where does it come from? How should our Christianity play itself out in the world around us? What can we do to stem the tide of abortion? Is politics something that we should have a part in? How does our worldview affect our decisions and actions? These are things I love to talk about.

But when I bring them up with my peers, more often that not I just receive blank stares.

If I get any response at all, it’s usually either (a) stop being a smart-aleck, or (b) stop being argumentative, or (c) both. I try to gain information and knowledge, analyze how it applies to me and my life, and use what I’ve learned to make better decisions; does that make me a smart-aleck? I believe with all my heart and soul that truth is worth standing on and fighting for; does that make me argumentative? Am I the only person in my age bracket who feels this way?

Am I the only one that sees our country going down the tubes? Does no one else see that we’re so permeated with our self-absorption that all most people seem to care about is their own comfort and enjoyment? Does no one else see that gay-rights, abortion, and other liberal agendas are gaining ground only because the good sit, say we’ve already lost, and do nothing? Does no one else see that while we complain about how our food tastes, there are thousands who are starving and would kill for what we throw away? Does no one else see that if our generation doesn’t stand and fight for truth that transcends beyond ourselves and what we feel and think, our country will be destroyed? Does no one else care about the fate of our children and grandchildren who will have to live with the consequences of our decisions today? I’m calling out: is there anyone?

Am I the only one that sees Christianity as a war rather than a joy-ride? Does no one else see that Jesus promised us trouble, not comfort? Does no one else see that the Bible says go out and make disciples, not stay put and earn money? Does no one else see that Jesus said a house divided cannot stand, not squabble and separate over your differences? Does no one else see that our faith is so much more than going to church, praying, and reading the Bible; that it demands obeisance in everything from washing the laundry to casting our vote? Does no one else see that while we’re enjoying our culture’s entertainment, people are dying and going to hell without having even heard the gospel once? I’m calling out: is there anyone?

Surely, there must be others like me. Somewhere deep inside us, we must realize that we have been watered down to ineffectiveness by what our culture has been feeding us. Down in the depths of our being, we know life’s meaning cannot just be the sum of the things we want and enjoy. If we as Christians would actually be still, quiet, and cut out the distractions for just a moment, maybe we would hear the Holy Spirit prompting. Or maybe we do hear Him, but we use all these pleasures and entertainments to drown Him out because we know He is calling us to do things we don’t want to do, things that make us uncomfortable, things that might even hurt.

Or do I have it all wrong? Am I really just being a smart-aleck, just being argumentative? Is pleasure more important than wisdom, ‘getting along’ more important than truth? Are these things that ignite my inner being, in the long run, just frivolities? Is life’s meaning really just the sum of the things I want and enjoy; do I have my priorities mixed up? Maybe so, you tell me.

I’m an avid Titans fan, and you know what? I really think that they’ve got a shot at making the Super Bowl next year…

Predestination in the Light of Quantum Physics

2008-06-11T09:22:00.008-05:00

Hey everyone,

I figured I'd give you all a blast from the past; this is an argument I wrote up for a debate back in high school...

Quantum physics basically says that we actually live in a 4 dimensional universe, and not just a 3 dimensional. The three dimensions are simple and just about everyone understands them: horizontal, vertical, and depth (in math, they're explained in terms of the x, y, and z axes). Quantum physics looks at time as a sort of fourth axis of existence, which is different from the more classical view of time. If you were to give every place in the universe coordinates using quantum physics, it would have the three coordinates of its place and its time of existence.

So to illustrate what that means (in theory), look at it this way. I'm in Africa right now, and I'm NOT in New York. But just because I'm not there doesn't mean it doesn't exist now. I'm just not there in terms of my three dimensional existence "experiencing" New York. According to quantum physics, time is sort of the same way. The past is existing "now", I'm just not there experiencing it. The future is existing "now", I'm just not there experiencing it. We as human being are limited by time just like we are limited by place: we can't be anywhere or any time other than where we are and when we are.

That's where the omnipotence of God comes in. Just like He's not limited to three dimensions (He is everywhere at once), He's not limited to time (he's at all times at once). So how do I see this working in terms of the Calvinistic view of predestination? That particular view assumes that at some previous point in time, God chose all who would be saved and come to know him. All the people who are, were, and will be Christians are so because "long ago before the foundation of the Earth" He chose them.

Are you maybe beginning to see my problem with that in light of how quantum physics works? God is in no way whatsoever limited to time. I totally one hundred per cent agree that God chooses people who will be saved (I also believe we choose him just like a bride chooses a groom, but that's beside the point). What I don't agree with is that He did it "before" in the temporal sense of the term. Why? Because that premise assumes that like us, He's limited to time. I don't believe that. I believe He's choosing people in the past "right now" just as much as He's choosing people in the present "right now" just as much as He's choosing people in the future "right now". He is at all times of existence doing all things "right now".

We as humans tend to put emphasis on the past acts of God because in the manner God created us to exist, we have a way to "see it" from what others have passed on to us and the fact that we are gifted with memory. So when you or I do anything, we assign a point in time in the past of it happening. If we chose the red shirt over the blue shirt yesterday, we think of ourselves (and correctly so) as doing it yesterday, not today, because we're not doing it now but have a memory of doing it at a particular moment before. Because we do that ourselves, we do the same thing with others. If Ben decided to buy new shoes last week, we (and he) say last week (or any point in time you may like) because he has a memory of doing it then, but he's not doing it now. So with everything we try to describe, we describe it in that light so we can understand it better (and rightfully so).

The problem I have is when you say that God has to operate like that. If you want to say He did something "before", that's totally fine because in a sense He did. But in terms of His existence He's doing it 100 years ago just as much as he's doing it 5 minutes ago just as much as he's doing it now just as much as he's doing it 10 minutes from now just as much as he's doing it 40 years from now. He is existing at all those times at once.

Is that hard to understand? Yeah, but so is the fact that he's three persons yet one God. It's all just part of the nature of our indescribable, uncontainable, and incomprehensible God. :D But, as with all aspects of his nature, we can grasp it just enough to know that we can't ever possibly truly understand it.

If thinking that God had to "choose you before" for you to be saved makes you feel better, by all means believe that. It really doesn't matter that much in my opinion. The most important aspect of Christianity is how one lives in the existence that God has given us. We can argue about these various theories till we're blue in the face, but it still doesn't change the fact that we're all commanded to live a Christ-like life and to do what the Bible commands us to do.

A MUST See

2008-06-04T01:55:00.001-05:00

I stumbled across something today that a friend of mine put together. It's his wife's testimony, and it's incredibly powerful. Please give it a look, I think you'll be glad you did.

Part 1
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kMW_Z2Jwqns&feature=user

Part 2
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pnWsX2T8ek0&feature=related

Stories

2008-06-02T17:44:00.002-05:00

Why is it that we like stories?

Indeed, it is so obvious that humans like stories that asking the question of whether or not we like them in the first place would be moronic. But why does humanity like stories? No matter what culture you go to, no matter how civilized or uncivilized they are, no matter what language they speak, you will find stories and storytellers. It is amazing that while an exchange of literature cross-culturally may yield some differences, literature world-wide is remarkably similar. There is no doubt: humans have an enormous propensity for stories.

When I look at literature, I see two main types of story-arcs that almost all of the best-loved stories follow. As a matter of fact, these two types of stories seem to split their appeal between the sexes. Yes, I’m being somewhat stereotypical here, but bear with me. Look at it this way: what kind of story is it that boys generally like? If you think about it, you’ll notice that guys like stories of straight up good verses evil, with the hero fighting on courageously even when things look darkest. But at the moment what all hope seems finally lost, the hero overcomes and saves the day. Think about it, am I wrong or do I perhaps have a point?

And what about the girls, what sorts of stories do they like? They typically like stories where the protagonist (be it man or woman) is in love with a significant other, but there is some sort of trial or obstacle that separates them. Through courage and bravery, the protagonist overcomes and the two lovers are finally united in that happy, gushy, romantic moment. Once again, am I wrong or do I perhaps have a point?

Yes, I am generalizing somewhat, but if you look at the stories that appeal most to you, the ones that you like best, I think you’ll find that they contain one of these two plot arcs. As a matter of fact, the best stories weave the two together and have a wide range of appeal across the sexes, and even across cultures. Yes, the specifics might be different and there are variations, but generally speaking the stories that humanity in general likes follow these archetypes. Stories like this simply have an appeal to us.

Anthropologists who study foreign cultures for a living have noticed this fact, and indeed the stories, proverbs, legends, and mythology of different cultures very often proclaim the same overarching messages. Similar story-arcs, characters, and themes enumerate the one-ness of humanity in this regard. It is even true that our Bible shares similarities with these universal story-types. As a matter of fact, that is what leads many anthropologists to conclude that the Bible is just another cultural legend, peppered with mythology and larger-than-life events. But we as Christians don’t (at least shouldn’t) believe this to be the case. We are still faced with a valid question, however: how can this be? How can our Bible be so similar to these other stories of an obviously un-inspired nature? Is there some sort of accident here? Are the anthropologists simply wrong?

I think not.

I agree one-hundred percent with the anthropologists; elements of the Bible are remarkably similar to many stories found in many cultures. One would be a fool to not notice that the Bible even contains stories that follow one of the two plots I described above. Guy story? Check out David & Goliath and Gideon, just to name a couple. Girl story? Try Ruth and the story of Jacob & Rachel. The only difference I have with the anthropologists is this: I think they have it backwards. It’s not that the Bible imitates other stories; it’s that other stories imitate the Bible. I would even go so far as to say that our propensity for stories is God-ordained.

As Christians, we don’t really believe in coincidences; I don’t believe that it is random chance that we are drawn to stories the way we are. God created us, and while we are fallen, God originally called us good. I firmly believe that the human desire for stories was instilled in us by our Heavenly Father. Why? To guide us right back to Him. What better way could be used to draw us to Him than this: to instill in us a great affection for stories, and then provide us the greatest story ever told? Before you accuse me of being off my rocker, think about it. Consider the two story arcs we keep talking about.

Guys, do you think it is a coincidence that Christian life is over and over again compared to that of a soldier? Do you think it is a coincidence that a scene is described in Revelation that shows humanity at its darkest hour, when suddenly the sky opens and a white rider comes storming out of the clouds at the head of the heavenly host? I don’t know about you, but as a guy that strikes a chord deep inside and makes my heart want to sing.

Girls, do you think it is a coincidence that we as the church are called the Bride of Christ, and that there are a plethora of parables that use the symbol of a bride and groom? Do you think that it is a coincidence that after Satan is finally done away with once and for all in Revelation, we find an account of the Wedding Feast of the Lamb, where the tear will be wiped from every eye and there will be no more pain or death or suffering, where we’ll be with our true love forever? I’m not a girl, but that sounds like the most romantic thing anyone could dream up.

Coincidence? I don’t think so. That looks to me as if the ultimate story has been woven, one that appeals to all of humanity across any and all racial or ethnic boundaries, one that grabs equally both the hearts of men and of women. And that’s not even the best part. What is the one thing everyone wants when they read a story? To be a character therein themselves. That is what God offers us through his Son Jesus Christ, a chance to play a part in the greatest story that ever can or will be told.

Let’s be honest. As Christians we tend to get bogged down in what appears to be the tediousness of our faith; we often focus in on ourselves and an extremely narrow portion of the whole story. Is God interested in the things that challenge us on the day to day, in our own individual stories? Most assuredly so! But those things pale in comparison to the one cosmic and epic story we have been called to participate in. It’s an interesting paradox; in a way it’s all about us and in a way it has nothing to do with us. We’re engaged in a struggle that surpasses any of us individually but affects us all corporately, the battle for human souls.

So what’s the point of this whole soliloquy? I challenge you to evaluate yourself, as I am challenged to evaluate myself. Are we so focused on our own needs and our own lives that we’ve lost sight of the big picture? Has our focus drifted from the Great Commission objectives that our commander-in-chief has given us to our own meager designs? Maybe you need to ask an even more fundamental question: are you even sure you’ve accepted your blood-signed invitation to join the story?

But most importantly, I hope you are encouraged. I hope that focusing back on the prize gives you renewed courage to “fight the good fight.” I hope you are strengthened with a renewed understanding that “though the wrong seems oft so strong, God is the ruler yet.” There is a peace and strength that comes from the realization that it’s not all about us individually. And finally…

I hope you have a new-found appreciation for stories.

The Beginning

2008-06-01T15:25:00.003-05:00

At the recommendation of a friend, I have started a blog. Perhaps (and hopefully) some of you will find my thoughts at least interesting, if not thought provoking. ^_^

I must give credit to another friend of mine for the title (Truthmonger), considering they were the first person to ever call me that. You know who you are. ;) The moniker describes me aptly, I think, hence the title.

And what's with calling these things blog anyway? Is there really any sort of sensible etymology behind the word? Yes, you do have to call them something, but why 'blog' of all things? Of course one must then ask: why not? I suppose there isn't a reason not to call it a 'blog', so blog will have to do.

Well, rest assured, there will be more to come. My brain never ceases to produce the occaisional odd thought... ;)