Plastic Faith

Last Saturday I had the “opportunity” to eat at Cracker Barrel. I’m sorry, but I’m just not that into breakfast foods, nor am I that into “country cookin.’” Oh now … come on folks … I need all the help I can get in maintaining a steady but safe decline in my weight. “Country cookin’” does not exactly help.

However, I very much appreciate the chance to file through their “country store.” It certainly has the effect of helping to long for days I have never seen before: the days of authentic rural Americana. On this particular day I even had the opportunity to chat with a fellow for “quite some time,” sitting in rocking chairs on a lazy afternoon. Yes, we solved the world’s problems, but, as always with front porch conversations of this nature, the world wasn’t listening.

Oh well, no matter, I was listening … both to my friend and to the moment. What is so valuable that we rush, rush, rush through life, passing up opportunities like the one at hand, only to find that there’s one more order to fill, one more paper to write, one more problem to solve … alone?

And yet, as I wondered through the country store, I was amazed at all the plastic things for sale. Is plastic really dainty morsel of yesteryear? While I certainly have nothing against plastic per se (the computer I’m typing this on is plastic), often times plastic is merely a cheap time-saver. And in this store, dedicated to whetting the appetite for the best of rural Americana, can cheap time-savers (from rural China, no doubt) really replicate the iron-n-steel wielded by backbones of the same material that actually plowed the lifestyles of yesteryear?

Plastic. Cheap time-savers. With the time saved on the cheap I am now able to rush, rush, rush to fill one more order, write one more paper, and solve one more problem (all alone); so that I can now pay down the balance on my plastic, which I used to buy more plastic things: more cheap time-savers, more imitations of the real-steel of yesteryear.

Unlike my coffee, which doesn’t care if it lives in a plastic cup, made in China that reads, “Proud to be an American,” my soul does care if cheap imitations are used to “save time” in his cultivation. I may think it a mark of ingenuity to rightly divide the word of time into “quality” and “quantity,” but my kids’ self-images will reflect this plastic care. I may think it efficient to simply remove the “problem” person (or people) from my life to promote peace, but when conflict arises in the next relationship there will be no superglue powerful enough to fix my broken, plastic heart. In reality there is no proverbial factory in China that can produce any metaphorical plastic capable of functioning in the Temple of God, which is the “oneness” of the Spirit-redeemed/redeeming relationships among the people of God. He does not build his Temple on the cheap, nor does he expect us to use cheap, time-savers in producing authentic worship. Consider the following real-steel of Paul:

If, then you have been raise with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth. For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God. When Christ who is your life appears, then you also will appear with him in glory.

Put to death therefore what is earthly in you: sexual immorality, impurity, passion, evil desire, and covetousness, which is idolatry. On account of these the wrath of god is coming. In these you too once walked, when you were living in them. But now you must put them all away: anger, wrath, malice, slander, and obscene talk from your mouth. Do no lie to one another, seeing that you have put off the old self with its practices and have put on the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge after the image of its creator. Here there is not Greek and Jew, circumcised and uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave, free; but Christ is all, and in all.

Put on then, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience, bearing with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. And above all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony. And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in one body. And by thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom, singing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, with thankfulness in your hearts to God. And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him (Colossians 3:1-17; ESV).

Bargains are great for basic material things in our lives. When it comes to the heart of Christianity, which are right, redeemed relationships (with God and neighbor), remember that if it is a steal, then it is most likely not the real-steel of Paul. The real-steel of Paul produces pain and anxiety in us and requires sweaty-hard work from us, as the Spirit refashions us into the image of God, described in the passage above. Plastic faith will melt and disintegrate in the blacksmith station of the Holy Spirit, known as the Church.

“For Rent”

Driving through town, I love to see new construction taking place. The people hired out for the various construction jobs love to “see” this even more, I’m sure. Setting the debate about consumerism and American culture aside for a moment, seeing new construction builds in my heart a reassurance that fresh vision and passionate dreams still abound. There are risk-takers still among us, and there are energetic human support beams lining these cathedrals of leadership innovation.

By contrast, a wet, mildewy insulation fills my heart, when I glance upon a worn-out building, overgrown with weedy-shrubbery and posting a sign “For Rent.” I wonder who in their right minds would buy into such a venture. And yet the building’s owner is hoping against hope for someone to do just that.

A few miles outside the city-limits of Lamar, SC, such a building exists (or existed, depending on your view point). At one time it was a double drive-thru for hamburgers and hotdogs. Yet, that “one time” was quite a distance into yesteryear. It looked as if The History Channel might have wanted to use it in the next episode of their recent series, “Life without People.” Recently, it has been acquired and spruced up. It is now the sprawling hub of a weekend flea-market.

Yet, there are many more buildings that weep tears of broken glass and chipped paint, mourning the days of yesteryear, when someone with vision birthed them into existence. The only brightness that remains for many of these buildings flows from the newly changed out “For Rent” signs. Maybe, just maybe, some resourceful entrepreneur will set up shop to the Burger King tune of “If you build it, they will come.” At that dire state, the owner of the building no longer has the Burger King luxury of having it his way. He is at the mercy of the entrepreneur’s golden wisdom.

Many of our churches are now “For Rent.” The “owners” are hoping against hope. Perhaps their resourceful pastoral entrepreneurs can whip up some measure of life, sunny-side up, with a side of comfy-ness and all served on platters of antique traditions by beaming, complaisant young people. Unfortunately, there are fewer and fewer pastoral entrepreneurs (especially younger ones) willing to submit their resourcefulness to such a vacuum of reality. Is it possible that waiting for young pastoral entrepreneurs to ride into town in their limousine ideas to save our churches is nothing more than a pipe dream? After all if their limousine ideas do not fit our Model-T assumptions, then we slit their tires.

“Choosing to Love Thy Neighbor Also” is our denominational theme this year. While we are waiting on our young, pastoral entrepreneurs that are long in coming, if even at all, perhaps ”choosing to love thy neighbor as thyself” is the entrepreneurial model for church growth that we plain country folk can live. In so doing, perhaps it will be our new customers and patrons working with us that will enable us to remove the “For Rent” signs with optimistic integrity. Yet, this means that we, the regular church folk, “the owners,” actually have to have meaningful contact with potential customers that look, sound, and taste differently than we do. Let’s face it, if we, “the owners,” don’t learn to encourage patronage from “different” customers, we will be replacing our “For Rent” signs with ones more onimously labeled, “For Sale.” Likewise, we must not only learn to encourage patronage from “different” customers, but we must learn to embrace a lifestyle of loving-service to them. This is our calling now; not simply the calling of those we pay to be spiritual for us.

Such prospects are intimidating for many of us. Yet, our pastors are not the only ones with resourceful and resilient hearts among us. If most of us can find creative ways to still make it to the local buffet in this economy, then I know finding creative ways to love our neighbors, even our neighbors that are “different,” is doable.

Serving in the military provides ample opportunity to practice this novel idea of “choosing to love thy neighbor as thyself.” The military rarely runs a shortage of pagans (aka. ministry opportunities). One drill weekend I was digging fighting holes with my squad leader. He was digging holes of despair. Seemingly out of nowhere he began to express his deep frustrations in his marriage. His emotions were raw. Not being married, myself, my comfort was raw. The stakes were high. He was hell-bent on going to the divorce lawyer that Wednesday. He hated her.

Yet, the Spirit impressed upon me to simply listen, to be a redemptive harbor of peace onto which his emotional hurricane could safely land. Eventually, I confessed that I had no advice to offer, but that I could see he was desperately hurting. I offered to pray for him, right there on the spot. I told him that I believed God could save his marriage. He graciously let me pray over him that God would heal his marriage. The next drill weekend, a month later, he found me among several of my friends. With the bark of your friendly, neighborhood drill instructor he said, “Hey, if Daniel wants to pray for y’all, let him! My wife and I were going to the divorce lawyer, but now we’ve decided to work things out.”

 Several months later he proudly brought his wife and little boy, his intact and healing family, to Family Day. I don’t know the exact extent to which my prayers over him and his family played into God’s redemption of that family. I do know that when I made the decision to be involved in his messy situation, I was not Rev. Daniel. I was merely Lance Corporal Daniel of the Marine Reserves, who simply loved Jesus with a passion that propelled me to actively love my vile, but hurting, neighbor with my ears and heart.

Our culture rarely runs a shortage of pagans with glaring needs. These folks are our neighbors. They are our neighbors to love. They are our neighbors to redemptively love. They are our neighbors to redemptively love with no strings attached. They, not the mirage of young, entrepreneurial pastors, are the means by which we shall remove the “For Rent” signs from what will become our formerly dilapidated churches.

“More than Meets the Eye”

“More than meets the eye,” was the tag line from the old Transformers cartoon way-back-when. Despite the fact that most people went to see the latest Transformers movie simply because of the signature Michael-Bay-massive-cool graphics and Megan Fox, there is more to this movie than meets the eye.

Michael Bay has a penchant for playing a Where’s Waldo social commentary game with many of his movies, like “The Island.” This is no different. While The Fallen is strategizing for his buddy-Deceptacons, the Obama administration (in the film) sends an official (that looks a lot like Press Sec. Robert Gibbs) to the special ops military group working with the Autobots. They are to categorically suspend all activity. The Obama administration (in the film) wants to dialogue with the Deceptacons and send the Autobots away from earth. Yeah … we in the audience see there is nothing-more-here-than-inviting-a-black-eye. The officer-in-charge asks the Obama Administration official, “what if you’re wrong?”

A good question for our own real-life situation. During the heating up phase of the Deceptacon major offensive President Obama is wisked away to a “secure” location, while normal peon “global citizens” must suffer the consequences of his gross miscalculations. Where is Uncle Mordecai when we need him?

During a news conference with the Autobot special ops unit and Optimus Prime, an officer whispers to his friend about Prime: “If God made us in his image, who made him?” The voice-over Prime assures us, like in the previous Transformer movie, that we’re not alone in the universe. Knowing all there is to know in a universe of icy and stale reductionism is a lony place. As a rationalistic and scientifically-precise culture, we have never been more hungry for unexplainable mystery that is bigger. We’re leaving organized, pansy religion by the droves, but we’re hungry for a God, who is big enough to be untamable and is beyond complete explanation. We Christians would do well to take notice that there is more to our God-hungry culture than meets the eye.

A “New” Beginning

Some phrases in our common usage are tossed about like worn underwear. You realize you’re handling it, but you don’t especially pay that much attention to the details. A “new” beginning is such a phrase. By definition each beginning is new. And yet, we don’t seem to mind the redundancy. We’re hoping to emphasize that “this” beginning is newer than most in that it will exact more cleansing power for yesterday’s dirty underwear.

In Christianity each day is a beginning, but Easter Sunday was a “new” beginning. Paul tells us that the Resurrection mean more than Jesus will take us to Heaven one day. He tells us the Resurrection is the tangible hope for the Holy Spirit’s very tangible work in our nasty, underweared lives:

If the Spirit of him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, he who raised Christ Jesus from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies through his Spirit who dwells in you(Romans 8:11; ESV).

Yes, we can be forgiven of the boo-boos we committed, but Paul is emphasizing something far more potent than taking Ex-Lax with a trucker’s 64oz size “cup” of apple juice. Paul is saying we can be physically empowered to live for Jesus and his way, by being transformed internally. We can literally have victory over Sin … not just death. That is some kind of “new” beginning.

If that were all, simply being able to stop sinning and being made more like Jesus, then we would have eternal reasons for rejoicing. However, Paul’s thought continues through the chapter to this remarkable verse that we often attempt to make stand alone:

And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose(Romans 8:28; ESV).

Not only am I promised victory over sin in this “new” beginning, known as the Resurrection, I am also promised that the Holy Spirit will take the muck and grime of yesterday’s underwear and use it for fertilizer for tomorrow’s fruitful life for God. The recent movie “Up” carries a similar theme.

Up

Carl and Ellie Fredricksen, an unlikely couple, are Elementary School sweethearts who fall in love over one vision: Charlz Muntz, the disgraced explorer/adventurer. They eventually marry and begin to save up for their ultimate vacation: moving their house to the pinnacle of Paradise Falls, the former haunt of Charlz Muntz. But life happens and their Paradise Falls savings is spent on one rotten apple after another. However, their life together becomes over the years an Eden of what could be. Eventually Ellie dies, leaving Carl cold, lonely, and depressed in exile from Eden to live in what could have been. Now in the midst of a hungry city jungle that is threatening to devour his last vestiges of their Eden, Carl is forced to the sunset of their dreams together in Shady Oaks retirement home.

In one last fit of desperation Carl arranges the crazy scheme of turning their house into a blimp. With those tens of thousands of balloons it literally is Paradise Fall or bust … bust-pop-bust-pop. What Carl doesn’t figure into his equation is a little dreamy-eyed wilderness explorer, Russell. Russell is what Carl was, Russell is in the way of Carl finally accomplishing what he and Ellie dreamed when they were Russell’s age. Russell brings with him baggage, and, as Carl inches towards his destination, Russell’s baggage becomes heavier with the introduction of his new friend, Kevin. Russell is baggage. And Carl can’t seem to cut his baggage loose, despite his best efforts.

Carl meets up with his former hero, Charlz Muntz, and for a moment reenters Paradise Lost only to find the last vestiges of his innocence lost. Charles is desperate to trap and return to the States with the mythical bird Kevin. Charlz was disgraced long ago, because the world refused to believe his stories of birds like Kevin. Now he will stop at nothing to capture Kevin, who happens to be Russell’s only friend in the world. Whether he likes it or not, Carl has now become attached to Russell, and he is in the very awkward position of cutting himself loose from his attachment to his childhood hero to be a hero to his new child-friend.

At a very powerful moment Carl reaches for Ellie’s exploration scrap book. As a kid Ellie had put paraphernalia in there regarding her dreams of adventure. She leaves a huge section open: “Adventures I’ll have next.” Carl’s dream, as Ellie’s friend, sweetheart, and husband has always been to make sure Ellie could fill those pages; the ultimate adventure being their trip to Paradise Falls. On her deathbed Ellie hands her scrapbook to Carl, who sets it on the proverbial shelf. After all their entire life, in his eyes, has been a perpetual shelving event. As Carl flips through the scrapbook he accidentally opens the “Adventures I’ll have next” section to find that Ellie had filled those pages with photos and such of their life together.

Carl’s life is about to flounder and die with the loss of his hero’s standing in his eyes. He truly has nothing anymore. His hero is a villan in his life. His house is nothing. Ellie is long dead. Yet, Carl is reborn through Ellie’s scrapbook. He now realizes that the ultimate adventure he was waiting for was his life with Ellie. He now realizes that he is just about to cut another real adventure off from his life in finally getting rid of Russell and Kevin.

So Carl embarks on an adventure to save Russell and Kevin. After adrenaline-rushing moments Russell and Kevin trap Charlz in the house that is now attached to Charlz’s blimp. Russel and Kevin jump to the blimp, and Carl cuts the house loose. The house, Charlz, and Carl’s old dreams plummet to their death at the bottom of Paradise Falls. Carl’s new adventure takes flight, goes “Up,” with Russell, as Russell’s dad-figure.

My Lament over Governor Sanford

No, this is not the promised sequel to the previous post dealing with the movie, “Up.” That is still to come. However, like Carl Fredricksen, I “saw” via the radio one of my heroes become disgraced today. Governor Mark Sanford of South Carolina admitted to an affair.

In a word I was shocked. As his press conference unfolded, my heart shriveled. I deeply admired this man … and still do. Yes, he was a very promising contender in 2012 against Pres. Obama, but like my heart that opportunity is shriveled and has blown away in the winds of consequences. Yet, he was more to me than a potential victor. He was a man of deep Conservative principle fueled by Christian faith that was thriving in the night of the living dead that is American politics. He was a strong leader, not willing to yield to a deeply-entrenched defunct political system in South Carolina that traditionally views the governorship as little more than a state mascot. He was one of the few who dared to challenge the gluttonous spending machine of the current administration, claiming that government should not be exempt from the normalcy and health of cutting back during tough times.

Was. It has been about five or six hours now, and my heart continues to grieve the loss of a good man in the American political future.

However, unlike Carl Fredricksen in the movie, “Up,” and certainly unlike the “Judge-Not” defenders of Bill Clinton, my loyalty to him does not demand his political vindication. My loyalty to him hopes to see him continue to exhibit the class, honor, courage, and principled-conviction he has been known for in the past, by resigning as Governor and by marching forward on his promise to engage in a process of reconciliation.

I believe he was truly sincere in his press conference today, which, I believe, was one integral facet of “making it right.” Yes, what he did was truly despicable, which is why Sin is so dangerous. Only in middle school did we truly believe that only bad people do bad things. We grow older. Our skin grows thicker. Our eyes grow more vigilant. Our hearts grow more cautious. The best of us are capable of the worst in human nature. We are not simply corruptible. We are corrupted in our inner nature and need transformational-redemption.

Gov. Sanford did not attempt to rationalize his moral failings. He fully admitted he failed; he was wrong. No, I do not judge him in the sense of condemning him to an eternal state of moral sloth. Yet, I do judge him in the prophetic sense, “Thou art the man.” What he did was wrong and has consequences in the lives of other people, many of whom are innocent. He has breeched trust, public and private. He courageously and honorably admitted as much. Personal responsibility is a social virtue, both of which may well be undercut by folk theology.

For example, “There but for the grace of God go I,” gushes forth well-meaning founts of mercy. We would be gutter snipes had not God rescued us by his grace, in which we are called to live daily. Yet, if it’s true that God’s grace alone keeps me from falling into sin, then God withdrew his grace from Gov. Sanford, which in turn caused him to fall haplessly into his sin. God, in this view, would be the author of Gov. Sanford’s practice of sin. In the long run this folkism absolves sinners of any culpability. Jesus may well be the source of my life, as the Vine, but it is I, one of the grafted branches who am personally responsible to take practical steps in actively guarding my heart from the practice of Sin. 

As another example, “The devil really got into me,” may also deflect personal responsibility in the practice of Sin. Had the devil not “gotten into me,” I would not have gotten into Sin. Far from denying Satan and his workshop in our backyards, I do not believe his craftsmanship is absolute. He has accomplices in our sin nature and a toilet bowl of a world. However, there is another Master Craftsman who absolutely holds the keys to the glorious outhouses of death and hell, as well as the key to the closet containing the divine Febreeze. He has called us to abide in him, his word, and his ways.

We should support Gov. Sanford in his travels on Repentance Road. Yet such support should not give aid and comfort to philosophical thugs, lurking in the crevasses, waiting on dainty opportunities to rape the image of Christ Gov. Sanford bears as one of his very public ambassadors. Truthless mercy does just that. Goodless kindness does that, as well. The God of the Apostles is also the God of the Prophets, who once called upon Nathan to declare to David, “Thou art the man.” The Jesus who says “No condemnation” to that hapless woman, is the one who calls her chosen practice “Sin.” Yet he is the same one who invited her to a new life free from the dominion of Sin. Mercy and Truth are the twin pillars of the gate opening to Repentance Road.

As the World Turns … Inward

One way in which believers have chosen to respond to the onslaught of the world is to turn inward, isolating themselves from the outside and hoping the outside will simply go away. This was the response of the Essenes to the corrupted Hasmonean dynasty over Israel, the Amish, and it has been the way of Fundamentalism. Recently I have seen two movies featuring this dilemma. This post will discuss one of them, “The Village” (2004). My next post will discuss the other.

Sunday night my wife and I watched my absolutely favorite M. Night Shyamalan movie for about the 5th time: “The Village.” Set in the “1800s” several families have taken it upon themselves to leave “The Towns” and move to an “isolated” valley. They hope to rid themselves of the vices of the towns: greed and violence, by ridding themselves of the environment of the towns. They are successful until the Second Generation begins to enter adulthood. Curiosity and desire lurk with mythical creatures in the woods beyond the valley, designed to keep the villagers in their naïveté.

Yet, naive desire proves more powerful than cynical paternalistic care. Noah Percy (Adrien Brody) is adult innocence on display. He is a 10 year old boy trapped in a 20-something male body. His good-hearted, playful spirit makes us all want more Noah Percys in our lives. Yet, when his special friend, Ivy Walker (Bryce Dallas Howard), is pledged to Lucius Hunt (Joaquin Phoenix), Noah takes a blade to Lucius. Although every effort has been made to remove the vice of the towns from this village of innocence, even down to banning anything red (even vegetation), the most innocent of the villagers bathes himself in the “bad color.”

Noah is placed in detention, while Ivy is sent to the towns for medicine to save Lucius. Before she leaves her father reveals the hidden secrets of their village, namely that the good intentions of the village to preserve innocence are set on a foundation of paternalistic deceit. The town, while set in the late 1800s, are populated by people who live in the early 21st Century. The creatures that roam the woods are some of the elders in scary suits.

Ivy, though she is blind, braves the trip through the woods to the towns. Along the way, her two male escorts are too overcome by fear of the mythical creatures to remain long on their journey. They flee for the “safety” of the village. She is also attacked by one of the mythical creatures, who we in the audience later realize is Noah dressed up in one of the suits hidden under the floor of his detention center. Ivy is of course innocent of any knowledge of this, and lures the creature (Noah) into a deep hole, where he dies. Ivy makes it to the towns (by climbing a chain link fence that surrounds a huge “wild life preserve”) and returns with medicine. She is shocked to find kindness in the man from the towns who helps her.

Interestingly, the village elders’ use of deceit to preserve innocence unwittingly leads to the death of the most innocent of them all. In the attempted death of Lucius and the actual death of Noah, innocence died in the village. Despite their best efforts to preserve innocence and prevent vice, vice sprouts up in the most innocent. Changing environments, even with chain-linked fences and state laws (the elders had secured protection from the state government for their “preserve”), does not change the human heart. Innocence alone is not enough to defeat and prevent evil. Ivy Walker had to graduate from innocence to the real world in order for the most good to be done in the village.

The Apostle Paul did advise us to be “innocent as to what is evil,” but he also advised us to be ”wise as to what is good” (Romans 16:19; ESV). Ivy Walker experienced “the towns” before she crossed the chain-linked fence: in the attempted death of her fiancee, deep-seated anger towards her once close buddy, coming into realization of the well-intentioned deceit, but deceit nonetheless of the elders, and leaving one of the mythical creature to die.What she carried back to “The Village” was more than medicine, she carried back a heart bent on goodness advised by first hand knowledge and experience of the towns. Unfortunately the elders decide to maintain their charade.

We might turn off our TVs, refuse to go to movies, do away with the Internet. We might go to Walmart with horse-blinders at work. We might even hire people to go out for us … so that we don’t have to. What inevitably happens though, when we turn a blind eye to the evil in the world, is that our sharpness in doing good over time will become dull and rusted. I’m afraid that in attempting to turn inward to flee from the world, we’ll inevitably find the world there waiting on us, but without the tools to defeat sin and evil.

As the World Turns Part II: A Poem

I have crafted the peom below in light of our topic at hand: the Christian, the Church and the World. There is a methodology and contextuality to it, but I’d like to “hear” your feed back on reading it cold (without my explanation). Thanks.

The Ghostly Lamp of Trust and Risk
Hunted can I be?
Hauntings I shall see.
Stroke of genius at last,
Flames consume fast.

The burning ravages,
What my mind salvages.
Shrieks in the night,
Clamp my heart tight.

Safety an illusion,
Their sorrow an intrusion,
Into my serenity,
A devouring anxiety.

Scorched with nothing left,
Sanity bereft,
The phantoms’ glare reminiscent,
Of secular entrapment.

Camouflaged in futility,
Mere shades became we,
Flitting about weekly mirages,
In the light of nostalgic hodge-podges.

The holy lamp taken,
Group-think mistaken,
On the Spirit grieved,
Not we but the Father bereaved.

Hunters with bows of artistry,
Anointed for orthopraxy,
Orthodoxy training their will,
As the city on a hill.

Illuminating our way,
Repentance for The Way,
Trusting the Spirit’s call,
Searching for children of the Fall.

As the World Turns … into a huge bugaboo for believers

The old saying goes, “Two things in this world are certain: Death and Tax Day.” For the believer a third exists: the world. Notice that I chose not to list: God, the lordship of Christ, ultimate victory over the devil, the authority of Scripture, etc. For many believers the existence of the world is a far greater reality than God, his sovereignty, his lordship, or the authority of the Scriptures.

These are not “worldly” Christians either.

Rather these are Christians who are attempting to take their faith and love for God seriously. Yet, due to some form of fear of the world, they attempt to separate themselves … not merely from the world … but out of the world. The world that God made, died for, and remakes believers into capable martyrs for the world? Yeah, that world.

Thus, in spite of the number and melody of the sermons and songs these folks might hear on the victory of Jesus, the world is a greater reality. The irony is that these believers want nothing to do with it. Yet, they nor anyone else can get around the common truth that what we fear dominates our lives.

Believers are called to be holy but live in a world that is … well … uh … er … unholy … to say the least. I would like to create a series of posts that wrestle with the believer’s and believers’ relationship with the world.

D-Day & the Element of Sacrifice in Morality

This morning I’m sitting with my two beautiful toddler girls at the breakfast table. They’re humming and cooing and singing, while carefully applying their make-up for the day (oatmeal). The wipes are going to have to be a little extra sturdy today. Teddy Grahams braved through the leftover oatmeal only to be picked off from a rather hungry aerial attack. There were no survivors.

 

 

Today is the day we honor those men who braved the beaches of Normandy 65 years ago. Their sacrifices help to make it possible for me to enjoy breakfast with my girls in relative peace … the hapless fate of the cinnamon bears aside. My family will grow into a brighter future because of their willingness to be buried with their dreams of the future on the Normandy beaches. Enough words do not exist to capture the gratitude I have for those people. I can daily live their sacrificial devotion in service to my family and country and instill this love for others in my girls.

We who live in the illusion of peace and safety would do well to consider those who willingly fell low on D-Day … before riding their high moral horses in the current “torture” debate and in any general discussion of pacifism. Those, who took their own dreams, freedom, safety, and lives to “bed” on those deadly beaches, hauntingly call to us who live in the ease of comfy illusions of peace and safety. They sacrificed their all for millions of innocent others. Dare we sacrifice the dreams, freedom, safety, and lives of millions of innocents to keep our own personal moral slates clean?

(D-Day picture from History Link 101: dhttp://www.historylink101.com/wwII_b-w/d-day/landingcraft/IMG_4162.html)

Moments

Today is the 1 year anniversary of the tragic death of Steven and Mary Beth Chapman’s baby girl, Maria Sue. Dr. Dobson for the past three days has aired the interview he conducted with Steven in lieu of this approaching event. The heart wrenching climax was Steven discussing his song, “Cinderella,” and then playing it. Rather than wincing at and from the sad moments in life, when God “turns his head the other way and they are ripped from us,” this song is about celebrating the precious moments that God in his sovereignty gives us to be with our loved ones.

His daughter is getting married in October. She wants her brother … Steven’s son (the guy who was behind the wheel of the vehicle that took Maria Sue’s life) … to sing “Cinderella” at the wedding. She wants her dad to be free to dance with her.

I was listening to this, while taking my little flower to her baby sitter’s house. Yes, I had a “moment.” As I’m writing this, especially the previous paragraph, I’m having a “moment.” If progression and trajectory in one’s life are any reliable predictors, I am totally off-course. I was on a trajectory from the middle of my teen-age years of landing in an institution, either in the penal system or the state hospital … or possibly in a suicidal noose. I should not have the family I do today. Nor should I be the man that I am today. God’s salvation-transformation is wonderful. I was holding the fruit in my arms, just before taking her into the baby-sitter’s house.

However, my wonderful flower sniffed an aroma. “What’s that smell?” she wondered several times. I had just returned from my daily run. This morning I ran 3.6 miles and walked 2.4 miles. “What’s that smell,” she wondered with a grimacing face. Yes, daddy was not exactly smelling like a rose.

My youngest baby girl has gotten cuter and more irresistibly-adorable over the last two months. Ever since she began walking (and is now sprinting … sort of) she has grown vastly more content and vastly less irritable. She, in all of her cuteness, will come around cooing and giggling and cackling … when I have food … open her mouth wide, receive the deposit, and float away … at least until that bite is gone. Then she returns for more.

Rather my kids are way too naively-observant or just plain scavengers, pawning smiles for easy food, I love them authentically. I don’t live in the air-brushed and edited world of Hollywood or Nashville … nor do the Chapmans … nor does God. He is the wildly-passionate God who lives in our muck and grime, walking alongside us, redeeming us and our situations, giving us “moments.”

May God truly bless the Chapmans, as they continue to cope with their tragic loss, and as they continue to inspire us with their authentic faith … in Jesus’s name, Amen.