The Mystery of Nagging, Solved!

Hello, all you married men out there. As a stay-at-home dad, I wanted to clue you in to something. Why am I subjected to nagging? Curious? Read on, my friend.

Formerly in my professionally-oriented life, I got nagged occasionally, though not very much – my wife is a sweetie and quite adaptable. However, when I came home to stay with our two girls for a while, I realized I’m not a flexible as she is. And I (the guy) began to nag my wife. Seriously. I did. It’s not something I’m proud of, but in the process I have uncovered the secret mysteries surrounding “nagology.”

See, when you’re stay-at-home wife tells you something and you say, “Okay, I’ll get to it.” She wants to believe that you will. But here’s the rub: when you leave for work for 8+ hours a day, never to think about picking up your clothes or fixing that door handle, your wife continually confronts those issues at least ten times a day. If you say, “I’ll fix the door soon,” she is left to think about it every time she opens the door (which will be 10 times a day at least). Better yet, if it’s a danger to your children who she has to keep from killing themselves by accident everyday, she’s gonna think about it more.

So, when you come home and casually glance over at your clothes pile in the corner and think, oh yeah, I need to get those up and keep walking to the fridge, your wife has already past by those clothes a hundred times that week and forcefully resisted the urge to pick them up for you. Why? Because you said you’d do it. Chances are good, if it’s a larger job, you’ll say that you’ll get to it on the weekend. That means she has personally wrestled with her own patience to allow you the chance to help out around the home many, many times over those five workdays. And if it slips your mind over the weekend and you say, “Oh yeah – I’m sorry. I said I was gonna fix that. Oh well, I’ll get to it next weekend,” you have absolutely no idea of the dilemma that you place her in. Do I do it myself? No, he said he’d do it. But what if he forgets again? I can’t take it anymore! I’ll do it myself!

Think about it this way. What if you hear a mildly annoying song on the radio a hundred times to your friend’s one listen. At five hundred listens for you, he’s still gonna want to turn up the volume when he hears it. However, you’ll be ready to jump out of a moving car just to get away from it. Get the point?

Buddy, your inaction has just compounded the irritation of that incident a thousand times along with the guilt she now feels for “teaching” you that it’s okay not to help out. Nagging is (by observation in my personal domestic laboratory ) your wife’s attempt to relieve that tension a little at a time rather than exploding when you walk in the door.  She needs to feel like you’ve heard her. And above all, she needs your help. How does she know that you have heard her? You actually make the issue in question a priority for you. Don’t tell her you’ll get to it, do it right then if you can. It’ll only take a minute. So, pick up your junk before you get your own feature on that show Snapped!

Exactly How Does God Discipline?

I read a book a while back where the author was attempting to illustrate godly correction. He quoted Hebrews 12:6-10 (“he whom the Lord loves He chastens/disciplines”) and then made the following statement: “God does not hesitate to hurt us if this is necessary to help us become mature sons and daughters of His.” He then told a personal story of when his two year old son had foot surgery. Each night, the father had to stretch the foot as a type of physical therapy. Of course, it was tremendously painful to the son, but in the end the father said it was “worth it.” The surgery was a success. At that point, I stopped reading and thought to myself, “hurt us to help us?” I just can’t agree with that. But I wasn’t sure why. So, this is my answer.

Most people assume that God’s correction is painful. And sometimes maybe that’s the case…but I’m not really buying it. Here’s why. Godly discipline and punishment are not synonymous. And God never said that they needed to be. Hebrews 12 talks of love correcting or disciplining us, but that verse also should be taken within the entire context of the New Testament. For example, 1 Corinthians 2:9-14 (NLT) gives us another clue to the puzzle. “That is what the Scriptures mean when they say, ’No eye has seen, no ear has heard, and no mind has imagined what God has prepared for those who love him.’ But it was to us that God revealed these things by his Spirit. For his Spirit searches out everything and shows us God’s deep secrets…And we have received God’s Spirit (not the world’s spirit), so we can know the wonderful things God has freely given us…we speak words given to us by the Spirit, using the Spirit’s words to explain spiritual truths. But people who aren’t spiritual can’t receive these truths from God’s Spirit. It all sounds foolish to them and they can’t understand it, for only those who are spiritual can understand what the Spirit means.”

The question is not does God discipline, but how. To me, God’s discipline is radically different than the father/son illustration above. And 1 Corinthians backs me up here. First, no plan is ever more important than people – “hurt” for the sake of correction is NOT okay with God. Secondly, if God does use natural circumstances to correct us, they are at best a second option. God’s first and foremost choice to adjust any Christian’s perspective is the Spirit of God speaking to our spirit. That’s “how we can know the wonderful things God has freely given us.” That’s always God’s first choice and he doesn’t need to create painful circumstances to get our attention.

The problem with our understanding of God’s discipline is that we pass it through the grid of our own parenting – just like the author I quoted did. Plus, we derive a spiritual lesson from all personal circumstances. Some circumstances are so painful that if we don’t create “greater good” scenario from them, we can’t handle the pain. But when we say that God uses circumstances to get our attention, we are saying that he can’t get “close” enough to tell us otherwise. To relegate contact with believers to natural circumstances assumes that God is incapable of direct contact. Or worse yet, he doesn’t want direct contact or happily uses pain for our advancement even if another route exists.

See, Old Testament scholars sometimes talk about controlling metaphors in the Bible. These are ways or concepts of describing God that disclose his nature or personality that run through all of scripture. And Jesus picks these up as well. He’s not just any father, he’s the good Father. He’s not just any old shepherd, he’s the good shepherd. That’s the problem – when we hear that God is Father, we assume he is just like any other father. But he’s the good Father…and that means he does things in a way that the rest of us dad’s can not even grasp. That’s what the verses in Hebrews 12:7-10 are attempting to show. The good Father is not doing the “best he knows how” – he’s doing way more than that, bringing correction and discipline exclusive from harm. Jesus says the same thing: “If you being evil know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more…”

Let me use another father/child illustration in contrast to the first one. My oldest daughter is three. She’s conscientious and really tries to do what we ask of her. What would you think of me as a father if though I had the distinct option either to “hurt her in order to make her mature” or teach her personally how to be mature…but I still chose to hurt her? What if rather than conversationally teaching her about meekness, I back-handed her hoping to achieve the same affect. Make your stomach turn, huh? Mine too. The issue is in the choice. Many people who assume God uses circumstances, do so thinking that the Spirit speaking to our spirit is really not a viable option. But if it is, then direct communication is God’s desired method of disciplining you. 1 Corinthians says it is. And that doesn’t have to involve punishment…it never should.

Reconstructing Charismatic Views of Sovereignty

I’ve been working on a different view of sovereignty for a while now – one that accommodates a charismatic understanding of the “closeness” of God. Though spirit-filled Christians have remained loyal to traditional views of sovereignty, such views simply don’t mesh with their experience. So, this is what I’ve got so far – I welcome any comments to help further the concept. Feel free to skip this one if theology is not your thing.

Sovereignty has played a large role in determining how people approach God. Most people believe fear of God leads to obedience. For example, Melanchthon in his Book of Proverbs (1527) believed the acknowledgement of fear led to confidence in God: “When the frightened heart comes to understand that all our merits are not enough to atone for our sins, it turns instead to Christ and grows certain that he has lifted our sin from us. And in this certainty our heart finds peace.” In other words, fear of God makes us cling to the cross. For those who see humanity’s contact with God confined solely to the context of salvation, that’s fine. But if we are honest we have to admit that such a view of God’s sovereignty is distancing and sends people running from God more than it attracts them to him.

But charismatic accounts of experience express the exact opposite of Reformed views of sovereignty. God is much closer than Reformed theology allows for. Rather than fear leading to relationship, relationship (founded on experience) leads to fear. For example, while watching the miracles at Saint Médard, onlookers were “overcome by a feeling of reverence at the spectacle.” Dwight Moody, describing his experience with the Holy Spirit, said, “I cannot describe it. I seldom refer to it. It is almost too sacred an experience to name. I can only say that God revealed Himself to me, and I had such an experience of His love that I had to ask Him to stay His hand.” Charles Finney stated that he was drawn “nearer and nearer to that Presence that filled me with such unutterable awe and trembling.” How can nearness of love and unutterable trembling exist together?

In all of these cases, a “healthy” fear of the Lord and his sovereignty is attained through an experiential encounter – direct contact with his love. Most Christians have this backwards. Fear that results from an experience of love breeds lasting inward transformation; unlike traditional models of sovereignty where fear only results in temporary outward conformity. Fear doesn’t come first. Love does and, with it, the fear of God follows. As Ellen Davis (who I adore) states, godly fear is “our proper gut response to God…Fear is the unmistakable feeling in our bodies, in our stomachs and our scalp, when we run up hard against the power of God.” It’s experiential. Within this understanding of fear of the Lord, there is no cowering from his presence, but an openness to pursue it. The closer you are to God, the more you realize that though you may share commonality with him, it is impossible to fully understand him. Spiritual experience alone creates this realization since there is no way that any human could create spiritual experience on their own. God is familiar and alien at the same time – this creates respect for his sovereignty, yet lovingly endears us to him.

Rather than an “either/or” approach to God, charismatic experience accompanying faith allows romance and sovereignty to exist in the same divine relationship, effectively defining one another. Abraham Heschel confirms that the Old Testament prophets portrayed God as knowable and unknowable at the same time: “Even if the prophets had affirmed the essential unknowability of God, they would still have insisted on the possibility of understanding Him by reflective intuition.” Those who experience an actualization of God’s presence in our temporal existence understand that hunger humbles. This humility brings the fear of God. 

Approaching God’s sovereignty in this way avoids the extremes of predestination and Pelagianism. In the give and take of relationship, both human agency and God’s sovereignty are respected. The giving of experience depends entirely upon the sovereignty of God. In his good will, he chooses to relate to humanity in an experiential manner. Yet, it is humanity’s responsibility to respond by choosing to receive and integrate that experience into daily living. The choice to respond esteems (not demeans) the sovereignty of God since the believer recognizes that only God can initiate that experience with him. In this way, biblical sovereignty should be construed as empowerment, rather than the traditional model of control or overpowerment.

This realization is discovered (and re-discovered) in the presence of God through worship or prayer. In a spirit-filled environment, the fear of the Lord and respect for his sovereignty sounds different than most abstract theological descriptions. God’s presence is transcendent and immanent at the same time. It is within this encounter with this fuller reality that the sovereignty of God is understood. Jewish theologian David Wolpe says that with, “…a personal and universal God, whose majesty is tempered by familiarity,…Familiarity in this case breeds not contempt, but devotion…Proximity to greatness enhances esteem.” Sovereignty is understood not in power but in a presence that is strange, yet familiar, all at the same time.

The Need for Christian Ritual

Sorry for the lack of posts lately. Things should improve this week. We had a great Easter weekend – good services on Friday night and Sunday morning. I’ve finished a couple of books recently that I haven’t mentioned: E.W. Rice’s “Orientalisms in Biblical Lands” and Norman Snaith’s “Distinctive Ideas of the Old Testament.” Both are fairly important to OT study and I’m trying to read some classic texts I may have missed along the way. The more I discover the “mentality” that lies behind the OT, the more I love it.

I was talking with a friend the other day who was upset at some critical comments made about the traditional symbols and rituals in our church. I agreed that they were wrong to criticize, but I also understood the other point of view – one that I previously held for many years. Belonging to a charismatic form of Protestantism that emphasized the “inner workings” of the Spirit, I had little need for tradition as well. But then things started to change for me. I read a book by Tom Driver called “The Magic of Ritual” that helped but I also began to listen to those who saw value in church tradition.

Ritual is important to keep the body of Christ together. Now, please refrain from quoting “one Lord, one faith, one baptism” scriptures at me for a moment. Unity is more than that. See, as with most symbols, the object is not the issue – it’s the memory those traditions hold and how they provide a seamless story of our Christian past. The church wreaths, Easter candles, or Christmas ornaments are not the important part – it’s the fingerprints on them of the ten generations of Christians that used them before you that matter. You now resonate with the millions of Christians that came before when you say the Lord’s prayer. Did Jesus say the Lord’s prayer so that we could all repeat it back to him? No. But with each reciting, you affirm the fact that you weren’t the first and you won’t be the last and that the reality of any inner working you hold dear is what ties you to all other Christians as well.

Call me a Schleiermacher disciple if you must, but I believe that the innate universal desire for experience resides in everyone…and often finds voice in ritual, particularly for those who value it. I’ll give you an example: my daughters. We have a friend overseas in Thailand teaching English at a Christian school. Now, my girls love this guy – they think he hung the moon. And before he left, we put up picture he had taken with them in their room. The girls mention him ever few weeks and look at their picture in their room…and then they do something that I have never taught them. They go find some scotch tape and place a piece on the picture. After a year, that picture (which I just cleaned off) had so many pieces of tape that it was hard to see the picture underneath. They created a ritualistic memorial on their own.

The same type thing happened a few months ago as well. My three year old is in a choir at church and her choir director sent her a present in the mail. It was a glow in the dark cross. Though that means little to me, she loves it. Now, she knows all about Jesus, but the tangible element of the cross connected with her in a unique way. So she keeps that cross in her room and sleeps with it. She doesn’t see the cross as a substitute for the protection of God (Protestants, don’t be silly ). She sees it as a representative object that reminds her of God’s goodness – a symbols for something she already knows.

Christians need symbols and ritual. Of course, we don’t need to eclipse the reality of relationship with the Father by relying on ritual alone. But there is a significant place for it in the body of Christ, if for nothing else than to remind us of Christians who have gone before us. Ritual provides reinforcement of things we hold dear, whether it be the friendship of another or the love of our Savior.

In an Unprecedented Business Move, GPS Makers Copy the Holy Spirit…

When Beth and I went on our anniversary trip last month, we took her TomTom along with us to help navigate Orlando. Beth has her GPS set to this female British voice named “Jane” and I have to admit that I found it kinda sexy. “Tell me where to go Jane, I’ll go anywhere you tell me to go…” Luckily, Beth was not threatened by my romance with Jane. But when Jane talked, I listened. There were even a couple times where I could see a route change up ahead, but she didn’t tell me where to go until I was a little closer. It made me rather nervous. A couple of times I said, “Come on, Jane! Tell me where to go!” Other than the fact that you now think I need counselling for me Jane “problem,” I started thinking about how this was similar to the Christian walk. I’m sure other people have made the same deductions as me as well.

“Jane” is a lot like the Holy Spirit to me. Some of the reasons are obvious. I made the choice to listen to Jane. She doesn’t force me to follow her and I have to listen closely to hear her. And she usually gives me several chances to follow her instructions (“at 800 yards, turn left…at 400 yards, turn left…”). But there one similarity that interests me more than the others. When I would veer from her predetermined path, she adjusted her route to incorporate the decision I had just made. She can do this because she is programmed to assume that there are hundreds, maybe thousands of alternate route to arrive at your specific destination. Of course, she tells you that you missed the turn – she’ll even tell you to turn around a couple of times. But then she picks up a new route to complement your change of plans. Though she has a preferred route, your personal decision to go straight instead of right doesn’t affect her overall goals and objectives for the trip. This happend several times – at a closed intersection, a construction area, and one time I simply couldn’t get over in the right lane fast enough. The trip may be longer or costly (either through traffic or toll roads) but you’ll get there either way.

I think the Holy Spirit deals with us in the same way. For the sake of analogy, if God desires your arrival in Los Angeles, you can get there through Atlanta, Chicago, St. Louis, or Houston – it doesn’t matter. Heck, if you want to be a real model of inefficiency, you can fly to Tokyo and then Los Angeles. The key is that you get to Los Angeles. Our lives are full of decisions that affect us in small ways. Generally, the Bible is concerned about how we respond in those insignificant situations, not really the decisions themselves. To God, it’s not as impotant where you work as it is not to steal office supplies once your there. But even in the big decisions of life, there are many “routes” to God’s desire for your life.

I can only speak for myself, but I obsess over life decisions as if they will make or break my relationship with God. We act as if if we miss our life’s turn, “Jane” will yell at us for not obeying, turn her power off, and never speak to us again. Or better yet she’ll deliver us into the “hands of Satan” so that we may learn not to blaspheme. Such obsessing keeps us from doing the basics of the Christian walk, as if we’ll be moved from “sheep” to “goat” status with little notice.

But by approaching the Holy Spirit this way, it teaches us to relax a little. And it’s at our most relaxed that we do most of our listening. In the end, we have to trust that God’s ego is not bruised by a foolish blunder, a missed opportunity, or a weak moment of temptation. The key is simply to get up, dust yourself off, and get back on the road. Okay…so you missed Jane’s voice at that last turn. The question then becomes: will you be listening when she calls again?

God Said “Probably.”

  I delivered this sermon today at a “Holy Week” service at my church. I thought I’d post it since I really don’t have anything to post at the moment. And if you plan to steal some of it, that’s fine just have the decency to say so.

Good afternoon – it’s a privilege to speak to you for a few minutes. The Easter season is such an important time in the life of a church. But it holds personal significance for me as well – both of my daughters were born right at Easter time. And we have been “busy” ever since. Let’s read the “Parable of the Vineyard Owner” in Luke 20:9-14. Let me give you a little background information about this parable. In first century Israel, vineyard owners would lease their property to farmers or vinedressers for a percentage of the crop. In this parable, there’s a twist: the vinedressers keep rejecting the messengers the vineyard owner sends – something that would be unthinkable in Jesus’s times and would have shocked Jesus’s listeners. Now, most interpretations of this parable identify the first three servants as representative of the prophets. The vineyard owner is, of course, God. The final representative sent by the vineyard owner, the son, is Jesus. Yet, the vinedressers reject the son as well.

          But for all the drama and imagery of this parable, there is one word that stands out to me above all others. In verse 13, the vineyard owner states that when they see his son, probably they will respect him. God said, “Probably.” Other translations say “perhaps” or “it may be that…” Luke is the only gospel that records this word, though the others imply it. If we’re honest, we have to admit that’s not a word we’re used to hearing from God. Probably involves risk and vulnerability. We assume such risk is “beneath” God – something unfit for the Creator of the universe. But that’s exactly what Jesus is explaining: God’s risk in sending his son to die for us.

          Let me give you personal example. When I was in seventh grade, my parents signed me up for private tennis lessons. My coach was a high school senior – we’ll call him Johnny – who practiced with me once a week. But I wanted to know more than tennis from Johnny. See, he had the most beautiful girlfriend I had ever seen. And as a seventh grader I was way more interested in hearing how he got up the nerve to ask her out that about how to properly volley at the net. One day I got up the courage to ask him. Johnny told me, “Well, Sam, (with this look of great wisdom on his seventeen year old face) I never ask a girl out unless I know for sure she is going to say yes.” Johnny’s words of wisdom resonated with every insecurity inside my thirteen year old mind. Aahhhhh….I had been enlightened! Life is about playing is safe. So, my dating style in high school mimicked Johnny’s. I always did the proper “reconnaissance” before asking someone out on a date. So, I pretty much knew what a girl would say…but I never took any risks. Other areas of my life reflected that same idea.

          It was only later that I discovered that God is nothing like that. God is a risk-taker. Now, we have professions devoted to “risk assessment” and are taught to look for solid “risk-reward” ventures that will pay off in our favor. But God’s idea of risk is different from that as well. The success of his risk depended upon the death of his son – something none of us would consider a reasonable outcome. Yet, that’s exactly what God did. His risk was for his humiliation. See, God was expressing what theologians call “kenotic” Christology. It’s the idea that God in Christ emptied himself in sacrifice in order to display his love for us. That praise and worship song “I could Sing of Your Love Forever” states this idea: “I will daily lift my hands, for I will always sing of when your love came down.” God is found in the full disclosure of the life and ministry of Jesus. Jesus even said that himself: “If you’ve seen me you’ve seen the Father.” But though he took the initiative to risk all for us, there still exists the possibility that we will ignore his actions of love. People do that all the time, don’t they?

          You see, for love to be real, it has to be voluntary. It has to be risky. We don’t talk about this very much but it’s and integral part of our understanding of authentic love. Love is not coerced or forced. So at any point for love to be true, the possibility of your love being rejected also has to be true. Otherwise it’s not real love. God has never desired compliance. He wants a real love response from us – one that says, “Though the chance to walk away is always there, I will never walk away from you God.”

          And as in everything else, God shows us how to live in authentic love. He leads the way by example. He was the first one to tell us, “I will never leave you nor forsake you.” And he means it. In this parable, though the vinedressers had already rejected his other overtures, he still sent his son even knowing that his advances might be rejected again. But this time “perhaps” they’ll listen. It reminds me of that line in the movie “Dumb and Dumber” where Lauren Holly tells Jim Carrey there’s only a one in a million chance that she’ll ever go out with him. Jim Carrey gets this look of revelation on his face. Rather than see it as defeat, he sees it as an opportunity and says, “…so you’re saying there’s a chance!” By the world’s standards, such a conclusion is dumb…hence the title of the movie, I suppose.

But not to God. The risk of rejection never outweighs the possibility of relationship with you and with me. And as we move forward towards this weekend, to me, that’s what we’re celebrating. The bombastic, unconquerable, undaunted love of God – like the love of a romancer that never tires of seeking his soul mate. A God of action who aggressively and relentlessly pursues the object of his affection. And for God, that’s what you are – you are the center of his intense and focused love. That’s what the cross was about. That’s what the resurrection is about – a supernatural love that surpasses all our excuses to invite our commitment to him.

          I love the last verse in this parable as well. Let’s read verse 18. Jesus says that everyone has two options in life. God has laid the cornerstone of Christianity in the revelation of Jesus Christ. We can fall upon that stone in brokenness…or the stone falls upon us and crushes us. Now, I don’t believe Jesus was really making a threat here, though he may have been threatening the religious he was talking with. Like most good rabbis of the day, he was making a lyrical play on words: the words “crush” and “broken.” I think for us, he was saying this: the hardships of life are difficult to weather even without allowing Jesus authority in every area of our lives. Sometimes, life can crush you. It most certainly will if you aren’t walking with the Savior. However, the other option is to “crush” yourself: to become broken. Brokenness is a level of purposeful humility where we lay aside our agendas and allow God to live his agenda through us. When a vessel is broken, what’s in it comes spilling out. For us, that should be the Holy Spirit. A person who has been crushed by life rarely recovers, but a broken person thrives under the lordship of Jesus Christ.

Each Easter season as we are faced with the cross and the resurrection, we have to opportunity to revisit our level of brokenness. It’s a chance to renew vows of lordship. It makes me feel good to know that even with a “one in a million” chance of acceptance that was more than enough for God to demonstrate his love for me on the cross. For God, the risk is always, always worth taking.

Confessions of a Former Perfectionist

I used to be a perfect Christian. You know the type: always at church, reading and praying everyday, witnessing to an assortment of people, even serving in minsterial roles at churches. Everything I could find in the scriptures to do, I did it. I often gave speeches about self-sacrifice and the levels of commitment that God had called me to that he only required of me. All the better to serve him and his kingdom. Like that old Steve Taylor song, if I could have I would “only drink milk from a Christian cow.”

The problem was that I more in common with that Billy Joel song Angry Young Man. Since attempting to live the Christian life from a young age, I was miserable, harsh, critical, and downright difficult to be around. In fact, I can’t remember when my Christianity didn’t make me angry. Did you get that? – go back and read that last sentence…it was a serious burden. The more I attempted to “control” my words or “live for” Jesus, the more I seemed to fail. Now, that’s not what everyone else saw most of the time. I got accolades from people who were impressed with my Christianity, phrases like “spiritual leader,” “Christian example,” and “godly young man.” Heck, I’ve even had parents tell me they hoped their children would grow up to be a Christian like me.

But the praise and rewards, while recognizing my merits, at the same time pointed out the areas where I “needed to improve.” Though I may have had 95% of the Christian walk perfected (or so I thought) the other 5% was constantly staring me in the face telling me that I was not good enough. It was crushing: knowing that doing good in one way meant I had to catch up in some other area of imperfection. When I told people that I wasn’t that great and needed to “work” on my walk with God more, they took that as I sign of my humility and holiness. It was a sick, twisted way to live. I was soooo miserable, depressed and on the brink of rage at all times. My Bible reading at this time was “informational” – in other words I searched scriptures for things a Christian should do, not as reflection of my relationship with God.

Then something happened one day. I encountered what it meant to be unconditionally loved by God. Now, as Christians, that term rolls off the tip of our tongue and we never really grasp the meaning of it. We think we understand what love is but we miss the unconditional part. Up until that point, I had assumed that God’s love was like that of a parent or friend – it rose and fell based on my performance for him. When I say that I mean I believed that although God “loved” me the majority of the time, I felt like God rarely approved of my walk with him. In essence, I thought he loved me…he just didn’t like me very much. And when God wanted to talk to me, all he wanted to do was to tell me areas where I could improve. And after a while that’s all I asked him for – a clue as to how I could do better. So, God tolerated Sam…and boiled down to its foundation, that was how God’s love worked – it was conditional.

I remember the day I first understood what unconditional love meant. After reading about it in a few books, one day it just clicked. Unconditional love is love that isn’t swayed by performance. As a perfectionist, I knew that there was nothing I could do to make God love (tolerate) me less. Let’s face it – he must’ve had pretty low expectations of me. But I had missed the other side of unconditionality. There was nothing I could do to make God love me more. So all my attempts to get God’s attention were not increasing his delight in me. He was tapped out already. I was not winning him over with my scripture memory or my praise and worship CD collection. He was winning me over with his unconquerable, unstoppable, undaunted love for me. I was the center of his full, intense, and romantic affection. And I was not getting his attention – he was stalking me with an undying level of infatuation that never lets up. And there was nothing I could do to change that – all I had to do was lay back into his love and rest there my whole life.

When I first understood what unconditional meant, I walked out of my office and into the sanctuary of the church I was “working” for God at, and spread my arms out and far as I could. I felt a thousand pounds of guilt and anger lift from my shoulders. It was one of the most important moments in my life. It almost felt like I got saved again. And in a way, I guess I got saved for the first time. Before, God to me was like a ladder – as I reached top rungs of Christian duty, there were always a few more in front of me. After that experience, God became a river: a relationship of recreation and rest where I could float down the current of his grace. I don’t do things for God anymore. I let the current of the Holy Spirit guide my actions. He prompts me to act out of my relationship of unconditional love with him. I’m no longer scared to disappoint him – I’m too busy dancing the divine waltz with him. 

I Hate “Extreme Makeover: Home Edition”

When I tell people this, they looked shocked, “How could you hate a show that builds homes for deserving families and individuals?!” Well, there’s a method to my madness and, of course, it has to do with some theological hangup about the show.

See, God’s grace is given to all without reservation for the taking. He doesn’t qualify his grace based on performance. But, like the show, neither does he qualify it on basis of need. What I can’t stand about “Extreme Makeover” is that fact that those who are given homes are those that the producers believe deserve those homes. Not only does kindness or sacrifice merit a home in that show, hardship and tragedy also becomes some kind of sick qualifier for benevolence. So, part of the show is dedicated to explaining the producers’ reasons for choosing a particular group on which to bestow grace…in this case, a new home. They play God.

I’ve had people tell me, “I just ’see Jesus’ in that show” or “Isn’t that just how God is?” Luckily for me (and you), God is not like that. He extends grace to everyone regardless of economic status, race, gender, cultural relevance, or any other ridiculous qualifying criteria. He even extends grace to those who don’t think he exists or that his grace is in any way helpful to them. But that doesn’t matter – God extends it unconditionally. Without condition or reservation.

So what would “Extreme Makeover: God Edition” look like? Well, it would include a host of respectable and sordid characters. Philanthropists next to misers, Christians next to atheists, American soldiers next to radical jihadists, downtrodden tenants next to slum lords, and every other group of people you can think of. Yet, when the bus rolls back…they all receive houses beyond their wildest dreams. What’s more, they are all given the same blood red key. Each one, regardless of whether anyone else believes their lifestyle merits the gift. And you see the them all walking towards their houses, some cursing God and others thanking him, deciding whether or not to stick the key in the door. Repulsive idea, huh? Not to God.

Truthfully, “Extreme Makeover: Home Edition” is not about the people receiving the homes. It’s not even about the viewing audience or how much tugging on heartstrings translates into ratings. That show is solely for the benefit of those who create it. Ultimately, those who determine who deserves a home and who doesn’t aren’t concerned about anyone but validating their own criteria of worth. They are more concerned about feeling good about themselves and how such qualified giving seems charitable. But it’s really self-love. A “wrap-around” form of self love, but self-love nonetheless. Most charity in our world is for the giver rather than the receiver.

God works the other way around. He gives to overflowing first, then out of that overabundance, we are to give to others. If we give out of our own limited love, we will always run dry or expect something in return. But if we let God love others through us, we will never exhaust his love for others, even those we think they don’t deserve it. But more importantly, we’ll share unqualified love with those we do think deserve it. And that place everyone in the same category: unconditionally loved by God.

3 Reasons for Blogging Meme

Robert over at weirdthinkers tagged me with an extraordinary opportunity of self-indulgence with the followings questions:

Rule 1) List three reasons for your blogging.
Rule 2) List these rules.
Rule 3) Tag three others with the thread.

Here you go:

1) I have been “unavailable” for about two years with schoolwork and child-rearing. Blogging is a way for me to start focusing my thoughts again by finding a way to speak/write on a popular (non-academic) level as well as find a way to converse without using phrases like “please stop crying” and “go back and wash your hands.”

2) When I began to ready myself for full-time ministry again, I thought, “How am I gonna help people outside of a local audience learn more about me and my approach to Christianity?” Blogging was my answer.

3) It’s fun. No one really cares what I blog about so I can talk about any range of topics. This approach fits my lifestyle as well. I may be talking about Napoleon Dynamite (heck yes!) one minute and Meister Eckhart’s ontological use of the “ground of being” in medieval mysticism the next. Or, better yet, how they are the same. hmmm….. My blog reflects that bizarre behavior and, hopefully, that makes it entertaining for others as well…

PhD Misconceptions and Paranoia

I haven’t really talked about my educational endeavors very much, partially because I have been busy writing my dissertation, not reflecting upon the experience. I thought I might do that for a minute or two.  Though I thought I had an idea of what I was doing when I signed up for a doctoral program, I really had no clue. I had finished my masters work (a M.Min – their version of a MATS) and learned so much that I thought I ought to keep going.

I attend International Seminary in Orlando, FL. International is a young school and is primarily a distance learning institution for people already in ministry who cannot pick up their lives and move across the country. Though it’s not Princeton, for ministers learning on the go, it serves a great purpose. However, though I have to go visit occasionally, the majority of my learning has been on my own with my mentor and doctoral committee’s input. They’ve been great – they’ve had plenty to say but not so much that the work ceased to be my own. Also, the majority of my research has been through the Florida State Library system and by picking up books on my own. In this way, the research for my dissertation has been more difficult than at a major university or seminary. I really had to want to do it since the resources weren’t always at my fingertips. But in the end, I’m thankful for the way I chose to do my work. Though I have certainly embraced my “inner nerd,” I still feel like a human and not a complete egghead. More importantly, the jump back to practical pastoring won’t be that big a deal since I was able to stay grounded in real life during the process.

So, I have (almost) completed the most impractical endeavor know to humankind: a “big book” thesis weighing in at a respectable 320 pages. It’s an interdisciplinary study in historical theology entitled: “Chasing the Spirit: A Historical Interpretation of Western Spirituality from a Pentecostal Perspective.” Whew! So what happens when I’m done with it? It’ll go on a shelf and collect dust. Big accomplishment, huh? :)

There are some misconceptions about PhD work though – things that I assumed that I have since determined are not really accurate. First off, I know everyone thinks you have to be a particular type of egghead to do doctoral work. Actually, it’s like anything else – you have to learn the system and you have to learn the terminology. My wife’s a corporate manager – when she “talks shop,” I usually have no idea what she’s talking about. Doctoral work is the same way. Once you learn to read, write, analyze and synthesize in “doctoral” mode, things are not that bad. “Talking shop” is not the same as intelligence either.

Secondly, I assumed that a dissertation would be the most grueling thing I’ve ever done. Actually, it hasn’t been. Staying at home with my two daughters has. When you get to the doctoral level, the things you are studying (most times) are things you want to study – information you want to know anyway. So, though it takes some acclimation mentally, the personal rewards are worth it simply for the knowledge you retain.

Finally, I thought PhD’s knew everything about everything. I’ve met some that think they do. But that’s not accurate either. PhD’s, though they have a good grasp of their field’s trends, are immersed in one specific area of study. A good dissertation is narrow in scope and extreme in depth, so they’re “experts” in a small area of their discipline. There is a whole lot I do not know, but in my particular area of study, I know more than most. For example, just because I have a good grasp on one particular area of historical theology (the history of experience), there’s a more than likely chance that you know more about other biblical topics, say the current trends of OT biblical theology than I do. Or though, though I have a solid understanding of Carl Jung’s view of spiritual experience, I am by no means an expert on his theories of individuation. Just because someone’s an expert in one area doesn’t mean they are an expert in all areas.

But what doctoral students don’t tell you about is the paranoia that sets in. You now understand that simple answers don’t exist. And the more you read and research the more you realize that it would take you a thousand years to read everything you need to in order to make the assertions you’re making. That haunts you throughout the entire dissertation process. What’s more, that paranoia stays with you for life. When someone asks you a simple biblical question, you give them a straight answer, but you have to fight the nagging doubt that the real answer to that question is in some obscure article written in German from the 1830’s. And you’re never gonna be able to read it. So, you’ll never be able to answer anything definitively again! 

So what do doctoral students (in “soft” disciplines) do? They read. Forever, it feels like. And then they read more. Then they attempt to further a specific area of their academic discipline, either through new information or determining the bearing of other factors upon your discipline. Essentially, you read for a few years non-stop and then write the largest research paper you can documenting your findings, taking into account every shred of paper you laid your eyes on.  It’s not that difficult honestly – but it does take extreme persistence. If you’re methodical enough, you don’t have to retrace your steps too much. That can be the difference between four years and six right there. The only way you finish a “big book” dissertation is to decide that finishing is more important than perfection. My PhD uncle gave me some great advice starting out: “There are only two types of dissertations – ‘good’ and ‘done.’ Done is just as impressive as good.” You want good, but eventually you want “done” more. Mine may not be that good, but that’s okay. It’ll be done very soon.