Am I generous with my time and
adventurous with my resources, willing to
risk all in order to help another?

I’m sitting in the staff room at a Christian camp, looking at a map of the 10/40 window. That’s an evangelical term for the least Christianized parts of the world, and we’re often exhorted to go and preach the gospel to the 3 billion non-Christians who live there (or to send money in order to accomplish the same). But something about this push seems suspect to me.

Maybe it’s the fact that so many prayer mailings, books and conferences look as though they’ve been designed to open our wallets instead of our hearts. Maybe it’s the idea that God has given us the responsibility of taking Him anywhere. If that were the case, I’d gladly buy God a ticket and accompany Him at least as far as Europe. (I hear Italy is beautiful this time of year.) But that’s not how God works.

I don’t bring God to others. Neither do I bring others to God. I can’t. If God is omnipresent, then He’s already there — everywhere — and He’s already working in the lives of each person He’s created — everyone.

Where does that leave us Christians?

First, we don’t spread the word of God with money. We pass on his love through our lives. Am I generous with my time and adventurous with my resources, willing to risk all in order to help another?

Second, there are no mercenary Christians. If I’m not willing to go, I have no business paying someone else to do it for me.

Third, God’s Church has ministers, not members. If my life fails to make a difference in somebody’s life, then it follows that I’m not a Christ-follower.

Read more of my writings for Barclay Press.

Forgiveness and Greed

The blue-green grass swayed gently in the breeze at the cliff’s edge. It was about noon in the garden.

It was morning in the garden, and the Master had stopped at the garden’s edge where the blue-green grass grew right up to the place where the earth fell away. The Master looked down into the depths where a river of fire roared through the narrow gorge, and the Master spotted Ahab, blistered and burned, crowded with the others on a narrow shelf of rock above the flaming torrent.

It was true that Ahab deserved his fate. He had murdered some and stolen from others, but the Master remembered a single act of kindness. Ahab, lifting his foot to crush the head of a snake, had stopped, convinced that the snake was harmless. To kill it would be thoughtlessly cruel.

Remembering this, the Master felt compassion. There was a snake at his feet, casting off its skin. With his walking stick, the Master gently lifted the end of the dead skin and laid it over the edge. The snake wriggled and twisted, and its skin slowly descended into the abyss.

Ahab, crushed by the constant shifting of bodies on the rocky ledge, looked up away from the fiery river and saw the snake skin, slowly descending.

“If only it would stretch far enough,” he thought, “I might pull myself to safety.”

As the snake skin came closer, Ahab reached until he touched its tip. He grasped tightly the slippery scales, and in spite of his pain, Ahab climbed, hand over hand, higher and higher. At first, Ahab climbed quickly, but he soon grew tired, and the cliff’s edge seemed so far. As he looked back down to the river, however, Ahab was encouraged by how far he had come. But Ahab saw something else. There was a man beneath him, climbing the same snake skin. And beneath him, another man. And beneath him, another man.

Ahab let out an anguished cry. For how could the dead, slender skin possibly hold the weight of all those eager to escape the flames of the abyss? Ahab felt fear’s sharp sting, and then he was angry.

“Get off! Go back!” he shouted to the men below. “This is my skin!”

With that, the skin broke, and Ahab fell to the rocks and fire below. The Master looked on with sadness. Ahab’s greed had destroyed him (as well as the rest).

The blue-green grass swayed gently in the breeze at the cliff’s edge. It was about noon in the garden.

Read more of my writings for Barclay Press.

If God is the source of all truth, if
all truth is God’s truth, then the Christian character
must be marked by integrity.

Ihate losing, mainly because I’m so bad at it. I yell, cheat, make snide remarks, and when my situaton seems particularly dire, I sometimes find myself whiling away the time between turns, plotting violent revenge against whoever happens to be winning. Last night, that was my sister.

We were playing Risk, a board game in which players fight for world domination. My sister had publicly proclaimed, however, that her only aim was to destroy me, even if it meant letting my dad win the game. This, to my experienced judgment, seemed unsportsmanlike. But my thoughtful advice as to how she might improve her strategic position, coupled with a kick to the shins (subtly delivered under the table, of course), only succeeded in deepening her resolve.

So when Bethany finally lost, I rejoiced, even though I’d already been out of the game for an hour. In the midst of my quiet (and tasteful) celebration, however, I spotted a flaw in my position. During the game, I’d planned and plotted and sulked. I was consumed by my competitiveness, by my anger.

Please don’t misunderstand. For the duration of the match-up, I looked and sounded like any other normal adult. I smiled and laughed and held up my end of the witty repartee required when playing parlor games. But it was a farce. Underneath the happy face, I was anything but happy.

It makes me wonder. If I could successfully separate inner experience from outward expression during a game — a kind of social schizophrenia — then didn’t that make me a liar in real life?

If God is the source of all truth, if all truth is God’s truth, then the Christian character must be marked by integrity.

I realized (once again) that God isn’t done with me yet. In fact, it’s beginning to look as though this journey is going to take at least a lifetime.

Read more of my writings for Barclay Press.

Who Is Jesus?

I was too busy to stop, too embarrassed to care, too indifferent to offer help.

Isaw Jesus today. She drove up in front of my house at 6:35 this morning, jumped from her smoking Ford van and ran over to hand me my newspaper. She wanted to tell me a story about my dog. I listened and nodded without hearing a word. But I remembered to wave before driving away.

I saw Jesus today. He was ringing a bell outside the "B" entrance at Fred Meyer. He had a moustache and a denim jacket. He asked about my day. I walked away.

I saw Jesus today. He stood on the corner of 6th and Burnside, holding a sign: "Visions of a hamburger." He'd grown a beard, and it was graying. I thought about buying a burger when I saw him smile, but I kept walking.

I saw Jesus today, and I was too busy to stop, too embarrassed to care, too indifferent to offer help.

On the day that baby was born, covered in rags and placed in a feed trough, shepherds came to worship. But I went shopping.

Read more of my writings for Barclay Press.

The key, then,
to wisdom is and always
has been humility.

Absolute Truth claims, in its innocence, that there is an underlying moral standard that universally defines the difference between what is good and what is not. But in its arrogance, Absolute Truth and its adherents attempt to enforce this standard through codes of conduct, both legal and religious.

Relative Truth, in its humility, counters that even if such a standard does exist, we humans are limited in our ability to perceive it. Too often, we hear only what we want to hear and see only what we’re looking for. But in its ignorance, Relative Truth says that we make our own truth, a claim that works when measured against our actions but falls far short of encompassing the universe within which we live.

The problem with these differing points of view is that both make truth a concept, a kind of object that can be studied, understood, grasped and even possessed. One claims that the object exists apart from me. The other disagrees, saying the object is my creation.

Both are wrong.

Truth is not an object. Truth is a Person. Truth does exist outside of me. But my understanding of and obedience to Truth is dependent on the depth of my relationship. And this is a relationship that only grows in correlation to perceived need.

The key, then, to wisdom is and always has been humility. Until and unless I admit my need, there is no opening for Truth. But out of humility comes opportunity for growth in knowledge and understanding, a foundation for wisdom. And wisdom has always been the mark of a deep reverence and love of Truth.

Original Sin?

Just because a theological theory’s been established, doesn’t give Christians an excuse to stop thinking, to stop wondering, to stop asking difficult questions.

Ihave many frustrations with institutional Christianity, but my biggest beef is the fact that so many Christians seem unable or unwilling to think outside of the theological boxes within which they’ve been raised (or saved). So many people claim to be following scripture when they’re actually following their interpretation of scripture (which may or may not hold up to scrutiny). And just because a theological theory’s been established, doesn’t give Christians an excuse to stop thinking, to stop wondering, to stop asking difficult questions.

For instance, I received a visit a few days back from a Christian who made the following claim — “Christianity teaches that sin is humanity’s natural preference, due to our self-corrupted nature.”

I know that the comment was made with good intentions. The reader saw what appeared to be a shortcoming in my thinking and gently attempted to expand my understanding. The problem with this particular attempt is that it makes a claim I know to be false. Christians have never been limited to a single line of thought on the subject. There are extremely few — if any — yes or no line items that must be checked before one can advance to heaven (do not pass go; do not collect $200).

Scripture just doesn’t tell us what to believe. That’s not what scripture does. And I’ve gone into the prose vs. poetry argument before, so I’ll cut to the chase. There is room for all kinds of thinking within Christianity. Here are just a few examples on the concept of original sin as referenced in my visitor’s claim .

1) Those who identify original sin with concupiscence: an innate tendency among humans to do evil.

2) Those who see original sin not as a positive reality but as something merely negative, namely lack of holiness.

3) Those who believe Adam’s sin influenced his character, making it impossible for him to lead a completely holy example for his own children (nature/nurture controversy).

4) Those who believe in ancestral sin as opposed to original sin, claiming that Adam’s disobedience changed the very environment in which we live, opening up opportunity for (but certainly not requiring) sin.

5) Those that believe humans inherit Adamic guilt and are in a state of sin from the moment of conception.

6) Those who reject the notion of original sin, believing only in the sins for which men and women are personally responsible.

And it doesn’t matter which of these you choose. There is plenty of room at the table.

In trying to gain control of our own
destinies, we too often decide that someone
else’s dreams don’t matter.

Afriend of mine writes that “we are all essentially evil at the core.” And I’ve heard this statement shared so many times in Sunday sermons, in conservative Christians’ view of scripture, in the arguments used for a “just war” or in explanations as to why nobody can ever live a truly “holy” life.

But I disagree. If we’re created by God and in God’s image, then the core of our very being must be good. Even someone who doesn’t know God (or believe in God’s existence) has the ability to recognize truth, to give and receive love. I think sin (or evil) is more like an artificial covering, something we like to wear because of the false feelings of protection and power that it provides. The problem is that in trying to protect our own interests, we selfishly cause harm to others (or short-sightedly cause harm to ourselves). And in trying to gain control over our own destinies, we too often decide that someone else’s dreams don’t matter, giving ourselves permission to do whatever is necessary to “win.”