So when I was invited into a home to lead a Bible study, I was excited.
My excitement grew to the point of euphoria yesterday, when my interpreter, a 16-year-old Karen girl, told me she wanted someone to teach her how to pray. When's the last time anyone asked you that? Been few and far between for me.
So we chatted a little about what prayer is: talking and listening with God, like a conversation with a friend. Then I told her we could pray together, and I would pray a little first, and then she should pray, saying anything she wanted to tell God.
Here was her prayer:
"Hi God. I want to talk to you. Thank you for.... Thank you for.... Etc., etc., etc."
It was a great outpouring of thanks for an endless list of things. It was a total delight, and she has no idea how well she made my day, even my week.
How much better can it get than to sit down and say, "Hi God. I want to talk to you"? I am certain Jesus was doing back flips at that, and there was rejoicing and celebration before the throne.
Pure delight.
But Paul is well known, the subject of myriad books and sermons. My attention didn't fall on Paul, but on Ananias. Mr. Nobody. The guy who came from nowhere and apparently returned there. While he was in the spotlight, Ananias, a Jewish follower of Jesus in Damascus, was told by God to go to Paul and deliver a thirty-second message. No big deal. Sort of like Jesus to Peter: "Hey Pete, can I borrow your boat for a few minutes?"
Except...
]]>Despite this, Ananias was a man of character who obeyed God, going to Paul and delivering his message.
This small act seems close to insignificant. But in retrospect, it was profoundly important, a turning point in history.
Ananias' obedience was the contact point that began the new life of Paul - no longer Saul - the same Paul who wrote most of the New Testament, who brought Christianity to vast areas of the Middle East, who took the church to the Gentile world, and who pretty much formed the fundamental doctrines of the church. The Paul who, with Jesus, changed the course of history. Out on the road, God stopped Paul and "turned on the gas." Ananias brought the match to light the fire.
As I think of this moment when two lives intersected, I am fascinated by Ananias. What did he think of all this?
Initially, he had serious reservations. His situation was sort of like being given a pound of hamburger on a short stick and being told to go feed the dragon. The odds of surviving the experience are not comforting. In fact, Ananias raised his concerns with God.
But God prevailed, and Ananias obeyed.
What did Ananias think of the significance of his actions at the time? Did he know of the implications of his message for Paul? It was certainly no small thing. But did he have any sense of being a part of a major shift in history? Probably not.
If subsequent experience is any indicator, he had little idea just how important his actions would turn out to be. Just like the person who led Billy Graham to Jesus probably never knew. And others in history, such as those influential in the lives of Luther and Calvin and others, but who remain anonymous, known only to God. Only God knows the instrumental part they played in the life of someone who was used to change the world.
And us? You and I?
Will my actions have profound consequences? Will yours? Nah, never happen. I'm just me, you know. An average person living an average life of obscurity and little significance. You too, probably.
But Ananias did not know. And many others in history did not know. In fact, profoundly important events in life seldom appear so at the time. And seemingly life-changing things seldom are, when seen from a ways down the road.
So here's the point: We never know what God is doing with "small" things. We never know - and will not know in this life - what impact our actions have on others.
Therefore, it's all the more important that we be attentive and ready to say yes to the "whisper of God's voice." It's through his whispers that he changes lives and through them the world. God is in the people business, and his followers are his junior partners in that. And people are profoundly moved by what seem like little things. Insignificant matters.
God is the God of small things. But with God, there are no "small" things. Or "small" people.
But it's not a bad question. Is the Bible inerrant? Is it trustworthy? Does it have mistakes?
]]> Have you ever been in one of those conversations about the Bible? You know, the kind where someone claims that the Bible is "without error"? I used to get into those, but have found better things to do for some years. Perhaps you're one of those "someones."But it's not a bad question. Is the Bible inerrant? Is it trustworthy? Does it have mistakes?
Before we can answer the question, we need to ask one: What do you mean by inerrant? Is it that the basic message of the Bible reliable? Or is it that every word is accurate? Or, as some Orthodox Jews hold, is every letter given directly to Moses by God? Or is the Bible reliable in its basic "spiritual" teaching, while not historically reliable? Or are we taking only about the "original manuscripts" and not what we can hold and read?
It's a swamp. And it's a swamp that I don't want to enter. Been there, done that, and don't like it. No good thing comes from it.
Nevertheless, I was thinking of this question again while reading Esther. It's a great story. But this time, I read in a text used by the Roman Catholic and a few other denominations, one that comes from Greek, not the Hebrew that's the source of most Protestant Bibles.
This was my first time through the "Greek version," and here's what I found: Esther in either version is a fascinating story, but in the Greek-source text, it's even more interesting. The names are somewhat different, which is to be expected from a different language. The story line is the same, but the Greek version is much more dramatic, with many details missing from the Hebrew. It's great reading.
But the question comes: Both are recognized by major Christian bodies as scripture. But by most commonly used definitions, they can't both be right. They don't say the same things. Which is the "inerrant word of God"?
The problem is bigger than Greek vs. Hebrew Esther. Even if we stay with the Hebrew text of the Old Testament, there are many places where a word may be questioned. There are a good many of these, though as a percentage of the whole, they are a tiny number. But they are undeniably there. So how do we defend inerrancy?
I don't.
First, the Bible never claims it is without error.
Second, the little detail kinds of errors are irrelevant, and make no difference in anything of substance.
So can we depend on the Bible? Is it "true"? Yes and yes.
First, we have to ask what is the purpose of the Bible? Why does it exist and what can we reasonably expect from it?
The answer is simple: The Bible exists to reveal God and enable us to know him. Everything else is secondary. It is not a history text, though it contains many historical accounts. Neither is it a science text or even a textbook on theology.
The essential literary form of the Bible is narrative. A story. Contained within that story are poetry, history, teaching, and more. But they are all a part of the narrative.
So what's the point?
The point is that God went to great lengths to reveal himself to us, to give us information about himself, so that we might know and relate to him.
If we argue about points of theology, about historicity, about young- or old-earth creation, and miss knowing the God revealed to us, we have missed the point.
For the early church, their conversation had one focus: Jesus. In Jesus we can know God. In Jesus we find the culmination of God's revelation of himself.
Our conversation, therefore, needs to be about Jesus, not old earth, not inerrancy, not anything that takes the place of Jesus. While perhaps not unimportant matters, those questions are far down the list.
So, we read Esther - the Hebrew or Greek version - to see a wonderful account of God's acts in protecting and rescuing his people, about God's faithfulness. And we see the same God's rescuing actions and faithfulness come to life in Jesus.
Let's forget the silly arguments and talks about Jesus. In him there is life, and in him there is good news.
While waiting for my breakfast partner to arrive for our customary Sunday morning meeting, I was reading in my Spanish Bible, which makes me think a little differently. I was in John 20, a place I chose because, well, my Bible fell open there.
You might recall the passage. Jesus has risen from the dead, his followers are huddling together in fear behind locked doors, and Jesus just pops in among them. Apparently, he came through the wall or something. But that's for another conversation.
]]>"So when it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and when the doors were shut where the disciples were, for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood in their midst and said to them, 'Peace be with you.'"And when he had said this, he showed them both his hands and his side. The disciples then rejoiced when they saw the Lord.
"So Jesus said to them again, 'Peace be with you; as the Father has sent me, I also send you.'
"And when he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, 'Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, their sins have been forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they have been retained" (John 20:19-23).
Now, I've read this perhaps a hundred times, and maybe you have, too. It's a life-changing passage to anyone who takes it seriously. I have taught for years about Jesus sending his followers - I'm one - in the same manner as the Father sent him. If you take that seriously, the implications are profound.
But this morning I was more focused on the context - right after the resurrection and in a locked room - and on the last statement.
Especially the last statement: If you forgive the sins of anyone, they are forgiven in heaven, and if you don't they are not.
Wow.
Think back to the Gospels for a moment, and consider what it was that got Jesus in the deepest trouble the fastest. Got it? Yup: He forgave sins. Remember what they said? That's right: Only God could forgive sins. So in granting forgiveness, Jesus was - in the eyes of onlookers - claiming equality with God.
And now? Now he tells his people that they have the authority to forgive or retain sins. They - we - are given an authority that belongs only to God.
Is your boat rocking yet? Where do I get off, claiming I can forgive - or not - someone's sins?
It's important, I think, to keep this statement together with the one immediately before it: Receive the Holy Spirit. It's important to consider this entire matter in the greatest humility, carefully avoiding arrogance.
This reintroduces the ignored member of the trinity, the one essential to living the life to which God calls his people. We can only act and speak as those sent by Jesus, as those entrusted with the message of reconciliation, those with the authority to forgive, through the active, present power of the Spirit of God in us.
It's time, it seems to me, to rethink some things.
And as I read, I think, "What's so special about these guys, that God talked to them? Were they better than I am?" I just can't see a fundamental difference between us. What sets them apart was that God in most cases called them to some exceptional task for him. They were not in some way intrinsically superior.
So I concluded that I might be missing out on something I considered important. And I did not like it.
As a result, I began paying closer attention as I read my Bible and as I prayed, listening for the voice of God speaking to me.
And I have heard him. He has spoken to me. I think.
Here's a problem: The Bible doesn't record instances of Moses or Abraham or Paul struggling with understanding whether they were hearing God or their own wishful thinking. Perhaps they did have that problem, but we don't know.
I certainly have it. What's the voice of God and what's my own wishful thinking? I don't always know. But, very often, subsequent events make the difference clear.
I recall a time when I thought God was telling me to resign my job. I had a mid-management position in a hospital and a family to support, with two kids in high school. Quitting made no sense. Nevertheless, over a couple weeks I had this consistent sense that I was to quit.
I prayed a lot. I sought the insights of others. And in the end, I never had a clear certainty that I had heard God. I thought so, but there was always some doubt.
Part of my problem was that I - perhaps like you - didn't want to act on something and find out too late it was a big mistake. But, truth be told, I think there is a greater danger than making a mistake while trying honestly to obey God. I believe the worse "mistake" is to do nothing - out of fear of making a mistake.
Inaction indicates a lack of trust in God. We would like it better, we think, but in fact God will not likely appear to us in a burning bush. Nor - I hope I'm not presuming too much here - will God send us a hand-delivered, notarized statement of his will for us.
A further complication is the presence of an opponent, one who is delighted when we are frozen and inactive because of fear. One who delights in muddying up the waters.
So I think there will nearly always be questions and a measure of uncertainty. But the little yapping dog kinds of questions are easily addressed, and the uncertainty is magnified by our own imaginations. However there is another matter, more important: the Big Question. The Big Question is, when there is doubt, who gets the benefit? God? Do we trust him and move according to what we think he is saying? Or do we trust someone else more?
Now, I'm well aware that "God told me" is perhaps the most widely abused statement on earth. People often use it to justify their own wishes or actions. But I'm not talking about that. What I'm referring to assumes both submission to the Bible and a good measure of integrity.
Given those two conditions, it's imperative that we act and not sit, fearful of a mistake. God seeks those who will be completely committed to him, who will act boldly when he speaks, either in writing or through his Spirit. Or, perish the thought, even through someone else, just like you and me.
Act! Don't be afraid! We serve a God who loves us, who wants us to know him in increasing measure and to be bold and tenacious in carrying out his purpose in the world. And he is very tolerant of honest mistakes.
And, by the way, I did resign. I decided to act in what I thought was God's direction.
I spent the next nine or ten months unemployed, in a pit of depression, and wondering if I had made a huge blunder. And then, without warning, I was asked to move over 1,000 miles to serve in leadership of a Christian school. I did, and God richly blessed me there. Looking back, everyone involved agreed that I had heard God.
Now, I think he told me some months ago that I would be moving back to Colorado. Hmm....
Yet, I have never felt a sense of complete release. It's like God was saying to me, "Okay, I'll forgive you this time, but...." Perhaps you know what I'm talking about. I think it's because that's my tendency toward myself: Conditional forgiveness.
]]>This is a psalm of David, who has just been hammered for his "activities" with Bathsheba, another man's wife. He is repentant, and crying out for forgiveness.
Here's the first verse: "Be gracious to me, O God, according to your lovingkindness; according to the greatness of your compassion blot out my transgressions."
Notice the standard: Not, "Lord, forgive me as I forgive myself." Too small. Way too small.
No, it's, "...according to your lovingkindness; according to the greatness of your compassion...."
Wow! How great is that? What is the limit to God's lovingkindness, his chesed love? Another psalm says it never fails. God's "lovingkindness" is in every place and every time, in every circumstance. We cannot escape it. So as expansive and dependable as is God's love, so is his grace toward us. Limitless.
Then David moves to the "greatness of God's compassion." How great is that? David asks that his sins be wiped from the record not out of compassion, but according to the greatness of God's compassion.
That's much like his covenant love, his lovingkindness: It's without limit. The compassion and lovingkindness of God put Jesus among us, revealing the Father to us so that me might know him, even as we put him to death.
Somehow, my own piddly forgiveness never reassures me. And my tendency to put God on my level is not encouraging. But when I think of his great love and compassion for me - and you - I am greatly encouraged.
God understands. God grieves with us. God forgives freely and thoroughly: wiping the slate clean. Our arrogance, our rebellion, our selfishness, is wiped from the record, and separated from us as far as the east is from the west.
Now that's something to get excited about.
]]>A pastor in one of these churches decided the question assumed too much, and modified it: "You got the victory, Brother, or are things just going your way?"
A different matter entirely.
]]>But that means little. The question is, what happens when things are not going your way? What happens when everything you touch turns to mud, and life consists of one crushing frustration after another?
Then is when we learn something about both our relationship with God and our inner character.
Years back, teaching from a passage in Revelation, I told folks that, if they were unhappy with their spiritual growth or simply stagnant in their relationship with God, there was a simple remedy: Pray for God to send trouble and problems into your life.
It's then that we have to make a choice: We can draw closer to God, seeking shelter and protection from attack, letting the problems work to our good. Or we can get all huffy and uppity and turn our back on both God and the people (the ones God may have sent) who might be helpful to us.
I hate a life of struggle and frustration. No, it's more than that: I detest it. But there's another side to it. I have understood why Paul, writing to the Romans, spoke of exulting in his tribulations. This idea stops me in my self-pity-filled tracks.
What Paul called "light afflictions" would leave me dead, and none too soon. Terrible experiences, he had, and he said they were not just a source of happiness for him, but that they were a source of exultation: way beyond happy.
Why? Was he crazy?
Not crazy. Paul exulted in hard times because he knew that they were the only really effective way to bring him closer to the heart of God. He wasn't in love with hurting. He was in love with what the hurting produced in him.
Someone wrote a book titled Don't Waste Your Sorrows. Good advice: Let the hurting times push you closer to God, rather than going off in a sulk.
I have experienced too much pain in my life, and I don't want it wasted. I don't want to hurt for nothing. And so, when problems arise, I look to God. I tell him how I feel (how I really feel) and I let him do his work in me.
And I still don't enjoy my trials, but I can exult in the result.
Oh, and by the way: One person, a young woman, came to me long after the "pray for trouble" teaching. She said she took it seriously and prayed as I suggested. Only one. But that one said it worked: God used problems to bring a great deepening and maturing in her life, and took her to places she would never have imagined.
Good stuff, that trouble.
I suspect many of you would look at life and the world around you and agree. For most of the people I know and see in my world, life is difficult, and it involves more pain than we want to think about. It's a long ways from just sitting around enjoying good, sweet fruit.
In hard times, especially the ones that seem to have no end, I sometimes wonder what part God plays in this mess. Is he even in it? Can these things really come from a loving, sovereign God, a part of his will?
In one place in this fascinating work, Wright mentions the concept of purgatory, in some traditions a place where the dead go for purging and cleansing to prepare them for heaven. He points out that two leading Roman Catholic theologians have in recent years written on this topic, proposing that there is, indeed, a preparatory, but it's in this life, and not after it. This life prepares us for the future.
That set me thinking. As I have fervently sought God for relief from intensely difficult and painful experiences, and have seen no change in my situation, the questions have come: What did I do to deserve this? Does God really love me? Can I trust him? Why does God say he loves me and wants to bless me, while leaving me to suffer in these situations?
One answer might be that I have my focus in the wrong place, and what I think I understand is not reality, but a distorted perception. I want happiness and peace here and now, when it's clear that there will be little of that in a fallen, broken world that only gets worse, not better. I am simply not going to have an easy life here, and neither is anyone else who is focused on truly knowing and serving the one true and living God.
I was reading this morning in Revelation 4, and noticed that I have written in the margin, "Things to Come." I think I was mistaken. The chapter is a description of the throne room of God.
The throne room of God, and "heaven" in the sense of the "place of God" is not future, but present. It's now. What John described in that chapter was a present happening, and not something to look forward to some day, whenever.
Science fiction writers are very good at creating parallel realities, with multiple worlds, each invisible and unknown to the other. But is the idea of parallel reality only the stuff of fiction?
It seems that guys like John the Apostle and Ezekiel and a few others saw into a parallel reality, the reality of God. They didn't see the future, necessarily, but a different present, and they struggled to describe it. Revelation 4 is a small example of that. The Celtic Christians spoke of a curtain hanging between the reality we know, and the reality of God, or heaven. They understood places like Ezekiel and parts of Revelation as "tears in the curtain."
So, going back to the "purgatory" idea, is it possible that a part of what's going on in our lives is preparation for our move "through the curtain" into God's reality? That doesn't explain everything in life. There are still many questions. But it may be, I think, a part of the answer to my questions: Why doesn't God do something about my situation?
The answer is that there is another reality, and we live in part in that reality even now. And that reality is in fact a more important and more lasting one than what we know in our world.
And what I experience and choose and live in this life is both a little bit of bringing the "other side of the sky" to this earth, and preparation for my move to the other side, to live in God's presence.
Not a bad thought, and it puts my struggles in a different light.
I have made a career of wondering and asking God what's up with this. One of my favorite hang-ups used to be from Psalm 37:4: "Delight yourself in the Lord; and he will give you the desires of your heart." You, too?
But in it all, I stumbled along toward one end: I wanted to know God, to live in his presence and have a relationship that brought true delight.
Slowly, it seemed like that was happening, and the focus of my life was increasingly on God. But what about those "desires of my heart"?
I have to say that few of the things I have longed for over the years have come to pass. Many of my deepest desires have been unfulfilled.
But over those same years, I have noticed something: The more I draw near to him, the more he becomes the delight of my life. And in this, the more the "desires of my heart" become the desires of his heart.
The central longing of my heart has quietly shifted, without overt choosing on my part, from all the things I thought were important in life to one thing: knowing - really knowing ¬¬-- and serving the One True and Living God, the God who loves me and delights in me far more than I ever could in him.
So, I guess it's true: He is giving me the desires of my heart.
Hallelujah!
I have graduated from college, then graduate school, and finally, seminary. I was once asked, in this process, what benefit I expected to receive from seminary, and what difference my time there would make in my life.
]]> That's a good question, I think, though it's interesting that nobody has ever asked me that about college or grad school. But I think it's especially important concerning seminary, because, first, seminary promises something that others don't, and because, second, what many seminary students have "received" is to graduate burned out on God and the Bible, and utterly unequipped for ministry. I know some of those, two of which are now house painters.I am beyond happy that I was able to attend seminary. It was a long-time desire for me. I am also happy that I was able to attend a seminary - Fuller - that had a larger vision than just a narrow slice of the church and world, and that saw the importance of spirituality and leadership alongside theology in following Jesus.
I consider the most important things I received from seminary were not "technical knowledge" of scripture or theology. More important by far was to place a high value on my own spiritual health, on remaining in an intimate relationship with Jesus, and on thinking - carefully, clearly, and biblically - and not living on assumptions. I learned to "think large" and see that God was at work in places I never expected. And - Wow! How cool is this? - that he was inviting me in as a junior partner.
These things are more important than being a "scripture and theology technician." A good grounding in theology is important, but it's a means to an end, not an end in itself. A leader cannot take people where he or she has not been. And there is life in a healthy relationship with Jesus, not in theological concepts, as important as they may be.
So in answer to my questioner and others who are thinking but not asking the same question, what I learned in seminary was how to think and live in relationship with God, to see the world through his eyes, to see life in view of his purposes, and to act intelligently, reflectively and effectively in his Name.
That's a lot, and that's enough.
I am not in the business world and have little interest in being there, but I believe there are principles that apply anywhere: business, life, and church. And that's my interest: How do we live and act with excellence, especially as followers of Jesus?
I am convinced we are leaving some important things poorly done. At the top of the list is the task of making disciples, a central charge to the church. Everything else flows from that. And more, I believe we are not very different from most other churches. This disturbs me.
We - Christians generally - claim to be the people of God. We claim to represent the one true and living God, and to have - at least in significant measure - The Truth. At least implicitly, we speak and act in the name of God.
And yet we are satisfied with mediocrity. We accept shallow thinking, unchallenging spirituality and sloppy, often outright sinful, behavior and actions. If this doesn't bother you, it should.
Under the Law of Moses, the people of Israel brought sacrifices to God. Some were required, and others were chosen. The thing they all had in common was quality: No blemished animals, and no leftover food. God got the first and the best. And that seems reasonable, after all, considering who it is we worship.
It seems to me, however, that we bring God our leftovers. Our best goes to the "real world" of work, of play, the world into which we pour our resources. And then God gets what we don't care about. If there is anything.
It's unthinkable that we "know" we will give an account to God for our time here, and yet live a life that denies the fundamental nature and importance of the God we claim to follow.
A recently released book has caught my eye, and will soon be on my shelf. It's called Christian Atheists. The premise is simple: Many of us claim to be Christians, but live as if there were no God. God is an intellectual concept, but of no practical importance in daily life.
I can become impatient with these folks, but in fact, the impatience should be focused on the "leaders" who live and promote mediocrity in the name of God, leaders who assume God's approval. "Well, the pews are full, the money is flowing, and nobody is fighting in the aisles, so, yeah, I guess we're doing well."
This is an embarrassment to the God we claim to serve. Some things are both worth doing, and worth doing well. And a few things carry a further imperative: This must be done well, or we are for nothing.
Amen.
Well. What do I do with that? Surely he can't be talking about the same person I see in the mirror every morning. I was taken aback, and I have no idea what he's talking about, or who or where these people are.
For an array of reasons, I have felt like the church was not a good fit for me, but I have remained primarily because my wife likes it there. So I stayed. A happy wife is certainly worth something. Yet...
As I have considered this, I am reminded of something said by Billy Graham, speaking of success in life: "We are not called to succeed. We are called to be faithful."
I don't see that I am a "success" at our church. I am certainly not doing the things I love, or the things I have prepared and trained for over many years. Very often, I don't enjoy the services on Sunday (I am hearing impaired, and the music is loud and the sound system poorly set up and utilized, so I struggle to understand many of the sermons.)
I find it ironic that, after many years in a classroom and decades teaching the Bible in an array of churches, here I do none of those things. I don't understand. My theology insists that God is in every part of my life, but I certainly have no clue what he is doing in this.
So what to do? Work harder? No. That only leads to more frustration.
Billy Graham had it right. "We are called to be faithful."
If I am where I am from believing that God put me here, or even that God may have put me here, then my task is to sit tight, remaining faithful, and waiting for God to clarify or change my circumstances.
One can do far worse than a simply testimony: "He's faithful."
Recently, I have spoken with more than one friend, and heard the same thing: My prayer life is lifeless, and has become a matter of routine, and I am not enjoying the intimacy with God that I want and need.
Jude writes to the church, warning them about these "sneaker" kinds of people, folks who teach heresy and who disrupte and destroy. They focus on themselves and satisfying their own lusts and desires.
I don't know if there are such people in the church I attend. Perhaps, but they are not evident. But it occurred to me that there is another disruptor that can sneak into our lives that is easily as destructive, but on an individual level.
Thinking back, I have observed that every time I moved into a period of distance in my prayers, and a cooling of my relationship with God, it was preceded by having backed off on reading my Bible. Not overtly or by some conscious decision. Slowly, subtly.
I love the Bible. It's the source that points me and leads me into the presence and knowledge of God. Sometimes I read it two or three times a day. It's fascinating.
And then, for whatever reason, I stop. Not entirely, understand. I can still say I read my Bible "regularly." Regularly, but not often, and not with great interest.
When I stop reading my Bible, I stop pressing toward the God of the Bible. And if I want to restore my relationship with the God of the Bible, the solution is to begin again to read - really read - the Bible.
It's not complicated, and it's not difficult. The hard part is facing the facts: I often don't start reading again for only one reason: I don't want to. I don't care.
And that's a far more serious problem.
So what's the answer? Read, whether I want to or not. The book is powerful, and reading it is never an empty exercise. And explain to God how I feel and what's going on in my life. He already knows, of course, but the act of telling him will cause me to verbalize things, and to consider things that have perhaps been avoided.
So, that's it. Read and talk to God about the problem.
Now, excuse me, please: I need to go read for a while.
When I was a kid - and probably longer than I want to think about after that - I heard about and read about this sin, and I had no idea what it meant to "blaspheme" the Holy Spirit. But it was clear that anyone guilty of it was in a heap o' trouble, and I didn't want to go there.
So what happens when I die? Will I get there and find out I committed The Big Screw-up back when I was 12? Burn, baby, burn! Not a comforting thought.
I have since understood that worrying about committing the offense pretty much guarantees I have not committed it. That's because the offense is in the attitude, not the action. It's unforgiveable because of the stiff neck and unrepentant attitude of the perp.
So that settled my head some on the matter. Then this morning, another thought popped in. Sigh.
Is it possible to commit this blasphemous sin by what we don't do, rather than by what we do? I mean, is it possible that our refusal to believe or act is in itself blasphemous? That we don't have to publicly denounce the Holy Spirit, as happened in Matthew?
I don't know the answer.
I think a very common attitude among American evangelicals is a "comfort zone, high-control theology." And yet, according to my New Testament, it's not possible to live a biblical life, apprenticed to Jesus, without yielding to the Holy Spirit. Actively, intentionally yielding.
Here's the problem: In much of American Christianity, the Holy Spirit is defined in a way that makes him utterly irrelevant. And we like it that way. He's dangerous. We don't want to yield control, because who knows what crazy thing we might do? We might even become one of those snake-handling holy rollers. Whatever those are.
And so we knowingly take the safe way, maintaining control, keeping in our comfort zone. And we practice and experience an empty, powerless Christianity.
Question: Do we blaspheme the Holy Spirit when we resign him to irrelevance?
I don't know.
One of the most common issues is maintaining a regular, quality prayer life. Most Christians don't pray regularly, and the idea is unattractive. I don't know the reason for all, but it occurs to me that many of us think God doesn't like us much, and so why would we want to sit and chat with someone who is just humoring us? Not me.
Another problem is reading the Bible. "Boring, irrelevant, outdated." This says something about the teaching at most churches. The Bible is anything but boring, irrelevant or outdated. In fact, it's the most fascinating book one could ask for. But how would people know that if they are not taught. And much "Bible teaching" is boring, irrelevant, and outdated.
For me, however, these aren't the problem. I enjoying praying, and I love the Bible. But I'm an active person: I like to do things and solve problems. I like to be involved busy to my eyeballs.
But there are times when God says, "Larry, go sit on the bench for a while. There's something I want to do in you." I hate the bench! I struggle with sitting on the sideline, watching the world go by without my participation. And so I try to get back in the game. After all, at my age, there might not be many more opportunities. But God won't have it.
"Larry, I told you once, sit down. Now plant your butt on that bench and shut up."
In times like these, my faith is tested. Does God really have the motivation of blessing me, and does he really want me to live a life that honors him? Yes. But are these goals, or are these outcomes of a deeper goal? They are the latter. God's blessings are not a goal for me - or for you - but are the outcome of fulfillment of the real goal: an intimate loving relationship with him.
Paul told us to present our bodies as living sacrifices (Romans 12:1, 2). Someone has observed that the problem with living sacrifices it that they keep crawling off the altar.
A living sacrifice, willing to sit still and listen. That's the hardest thing.