Sensible Christianity

"If in this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are of all people most to be pitied. If the dead are not raised, 'Let us eat and drink, for tomorrow we die.'" 1 Corinthians 15:19, 32

I don’t know about you, but I grow weary of “sensible Christianity”—the kind of Christianity that nestles too snuggly with the American dream. I want the kind of faith that doesn’t make sense to those who don’t know Christ. I want to live the kind of life that makes people pause in wonder, maybe even shake their heads. I want the kind of life that causes people to furrow their brow and talk behind my back.

In 1 Corinthians 15:19 Paul states that without the resurrection, we Christians are to be the most pitied of all men. Why? Because Paul assumes that we Christians are laying down our present lives for the sake of a future one with Christ. He assumes that our faith is presently costing us worldly wealth, status, pleasures and ease. He assumes that we are no longer living in the patterns of this world and that our lives have taken a radical turn toward an unseen reality. Does he assume too much of us?

The call of Christ is intense—a complete dying of self and a relentless devotion to others. Laying aside the earthly ambitions of wealth, prestige, pleasure and above all—comfort—Christ calls us to store up our treasures in heaven and to seek first his Father’s righteousness. Such a pursuit will appear to be utter foolishness to those who understand neither the nearness of the coming Kingdom nor its rewards. To the natural man, this world and its pleasures are the end game. And thus to the natural man, the Christian’s denial of self and worldly comfort is absolute absurdity.

So how absurd are our lives? How much have we gambled on the idea that Christ lives and is coming again? If it wouldn’t cost us dearly to be wrong, then perhaps our lives are just a bit too sensible. Our American culture (particularly our suburban culture) is full of mediocre Christians who very “sensibly” fritter away their lives chasing after the things of this world. May that not be true of us.

I don’t think I’m quite where I want to be yet—closer than I was a year ago perhaps, but still not all the way there. So if you pray for me, I’ll pray for you. Maybe together we can all move a few steps closer to insanity.

On God's Presence

"And Moses said to the Lord, 'If your presence will not go with me, do not bring us up from here.'" Exodus 33:15

As the people of Israel left the bondage of Egypt their constant rebellion stretched the patience of God to the breaking point. Even He who is “slow to anger” has His limits. The golden calf was that limit. Picture this: Moses is on the mount of God receiving the covenant that is to govern the future nation of Israel. Meanwhile, the people are at the foot of the mountain breaking the very covenant that Moses is receiving. The private session between God and Moses is cut short. “Go down,” says the Lord, “for your people, whom you brought up out of the land of Egypt, have corrupted themselves. Now therefore let me alone, that my wrath may burn hot against them and I may consume them.” Moses falls to his knees and begs God to stay His wrath. God relents and Moses rushes down the mountain. The people are in utter chaos. Amidst the rioting Moses cries out “Who is on the Lord’s side?” The sons of Levi respond to his summons. “Put your sword on your side,” Moses quickly commands them. “Each of you go to and fro from gate to gate throughout the camp, and kill his brother and his companion and his neighbor."

Wow—now that’s church discipline. But the story continues. After the swords of the Levites have brought the people under control, a new problem arises. God informs Moses that He will no longer travel with the people. No longer will He be their pillar of cloud by day or their pillar of fire by night. The people are too stiff-necked and too prone to evoking His wrath. “I will send an angel before you,” the Lord says. “He will drive out the people of the land. Go up to your land flowing with milk and honey; but I will not go with you lest I consume you on the way.”

What is Moses’ response? What would have been your response? Perhaps I would have been a bit weary of arbitrating between a holy God and a sinful people. Maybe I would have said to myself, “Perhaps that’s best. Both sides could use a little space. And after all, we’ll still get the protection of God through the presence of the angel. We’ll still inherit the land. Yep—a little distance is what we need.” But that’s not Moses response. In fact, Moses describes this word from the Lord as “disastrous.” Disastrous? What’s so disastrous about it?

For Moses, no greater tragedy could befall the people of God than the loss of God’s presence. No angel from heaven could suffice as a substitute. In the end, Moses longs for the presence of God more than he longs for the provision of God. It’s not enough that the people will be cared for. It’s not enough that they will enter the land. It’s not enough that the inhabitants of the land will be driven out before them. Without God’s presence, nothing is ever enough. Moses longs to see God’s face, not just trace His hand. In fact, Moses so longs for the Lord to remain among the people that he is willing to undergo the cost that they will inevitably have to pay—their death. God’s threat was not in vain. For Moses’ sake He remained among them and the people were—just as God promised—“laid low” in the desert. Not one of them—save Joshua and Caleb—entered the land. Even Moses died in the desert. But for Moses, no price was too high, no sacrifice too great. “Show me you glory!” was the cry of his heart. Even at the expense of his life. No matter the cost. No matter the loss.

What is it that we long for in this journey of life? Are we content with the mere provision of God—His blessing upon our homes, our jobs, our churches, our play time? Or do we desire more than the gifts of His hand? Do we long for the presence of God more than the provision of God? Do we desire it even when His presence threatens to negate our experience of His provision? Moses was not content with the mere blessing of the Lord. Are we?

On Voting

"But if you do what is evil, be afraid; for [the government] does not bear the sword for nothing; for it is a minister of God, an avenger who brings wrath upon the one who practices evil." Romans 13:4

"But I say to you, do not resist him who is evil; but whoever slaps you on your right cheek, turn to him the other also." Matthew 5:39

It seems that the Church, like a drunkard on a horse (to steal an analogy from Martin Luther), has a tendency towards extremes, falling off the truth toward one side or the other. It doesn’t really matter which way we tip because either way we’re hitting the ground. And as we approach another year at the polls, I’ve been thinking about the way American democracy places us in an even more precarious position.

As Christians, we are called to follow the path of mercy—the path of forgiveness, grace, acceptance and love. When wronged we are to turn the other cheek (Matthew 5:39). We are not to seek after our own justice but rather to do good to those who persecute us (Romans 12:19-20). We are not called to shout down the world, but to bless it and transform it through the love of Christ. The duty of the government on the other hand, is not one of mercy and grace, but rather to serve as “an avenger who brings wrath upon the one who practices evil” (Romans 13:4). The job of the government is to right the wrongs, to punish the wicked, and to be exacting in dispensing justice. So where the Christian life is to be characterized by mercy and grace, the sword of Cesar is to be rightly characterized by justice and wrath against the evil doer. And herein lies the rub, for in this democracy in which we live, we are citizens who have been called upon by our country to exercise a certain amount of judicial authority through the votes we cast. So when we go to the polls as citizens we are to ask our government to dispense justice against the evil doer, but when we go to our neighbor as Christians, we are to bring only mercy and grace.

The tension of these legitimate and competing agendas has a tendency to drive a wedge between each. If not careful, we can wrongly carry the Christian mandate of charity and tolerance into our political/social agendas, or conversely we can mistakenly carry the government’s rightful orientation toward justice into our churches. This wedge is seen perhaps most clearly in the issue of homosexuality. Christians who lean toward the left often do a fantastic job of demonstrating Christ’s love and compassion to homosexuals, but often wrongly expect the government to establish policies in kind. And Christians on the right correctly ask the government to give no legitimacy to this community, but too often forget the Church’s mandate of love and tolerance toward sinners. As God-honoring servants of Cesar, we must, as it is within our power, establish policies of justice and truth without regard to mercy. We cannot allow the Christian mandate of tolerance and charity to stand in the way of our government’s biblical mandate of justice. But conversely, as God-honoring servants of Christ we must not allow the governmental mandate of wrath to seep into our Christian community. Though we may rightly ask the government to condemn the wrong doer, our churches must be the safest places that the repentant sinner can find.

Most Christian citizens throughout Christian history have never been placed in such a position. Paul and Peter were not asked to set the policies of the Roman Empire. Not bearing responsibility to wield Cesar’s sword, they wielded only the message of the cross. But in this democracy, this America in which we live, Christian citizens are called to wield both. As we do so, let us do our best to render unto Cesar the justice that belongs to Cesar, to the Church the mercy that belongs to the Church, and all things unto God.

On Fasting

"Do not deprive one another, except perhaps by agreement for a limited time, that you may devote yourselves to prayer." 1 Corinthians 7:5

For many of us, the “Break the Fast” dinners that took place this summer were a new—and perhaps uncomfortable—experience. Fasting is simply not something that our North American evangelical culture routinely engages in. Consequently, while we recognize its place within Scripture, we often find ourselves unable to makes sense of why we are called to do it. Are we trying to impress God? Restrain the flesh? Focus our thoughts? In as much as the mandate to “fast and pray” is a biblical one, I offer the following thoughts.

Fasting in Scripture is typically associated with great need. We fast because we have a desperate desire to hear from God in this matter, at this time. It is the natural expression of our soul-hunger for God. We fast because our circumstances, whether personal or corporate, have grown beyond us. We fast because we need the grace of God to shower upon us in fresh new ways.

It seems to me that fasting is not a direct means of igniting spiritual hunger, but rather of paving the way for, and preserving, an already present spiritual hunger. Fasting is a form of preparation, an intentional cleansing of all distractions that would come between the believer and the God whom he desperately seeks to lay hold of. It is David laying aside Saul’s armor in preparation for the giant. It is Elijah girding his loins before his desert flight. It is the man rushing into a room with the long sought treasure map and, with the sweep of his arm, clearing the table in order that he might make undistracted use of the map. We fast because we want nothing—not even food—to distract us from our desperate desire to encounter God. It is the same logic found in 1 Corinthians 7:5, where Paul talks about a husband and wife fasting from sex in order to focus on prayer. Sex, like food, is a good thing. But there are times when that which is good must be laid aside to seek after that which is best. And so we fast because we deeply desire to lay hold of God and because we want nothing to dull this desire.

In many ways, fasting—whether it be from food or sex—is a form of mourning; a refusal to go on with “life as usual.” Like the bereaved lover who does not desire to be comforted, so too we fast because we do not want our earnestness to hear from God lessened by a numbing slide back into normalcy. Fasting sanctifies our desire and serves as a constant reminder that things are not right—that we must hear from God in this matter, at this time. When we have arrived in such a state of mind, eating becomes a sacrilege, a profaning of a holy moment—like boisterous laughing at a funeral. To eat is to squelch the soul-hunger, and desecrates our profound sense of holy dissatisfaction. We fast because we have arrived at that particular place where nothing but a fresh encounter with God will suffice; a place where must see the hand of God move. We fast because the status quo is no longer acceptable.

The convicting thing then, is not that we fast so little. It’s that we feel so little need to fast.

So let’s all pray together that God would spark in us a hunger for more of Christ. And let us fast together that nothing would stand in the way of us realizing this desire.