lustful looking

Note: I’m going to be out of the country for a few days, so I won’t be posting until I get back. Please rejoin me on June 6!

It’s easy to forget that I’m never alone. When I make those choices I think no one will ever know about, God knows.

Job put it this way, in Job 31:1-4: "I made a covenant with my eyes not to look lustfully at a young woman. For what is our lot from God above, our heritage from the Almighty on high? Is it not ruin for the wicked, disaster for those who do wrong? Does he not see my ways and count my every step?”

One nice thing about getting older is that either I’m learning more control, or my appetites have moderated, but ignoring the flashy, sexy bait the world trolls in TV ads, movies and on the street is easier than it used to be. I worry sometimes for my sons and grandsons; I don’t get the current feminist expectation that women can dress however they want and men just better keep their eyes to themselves. And the boundaries of pop culture are changing constantly, so that challenging images can pop up on the side of a bus or in a window display at the mall.

For me, though, my lustful looking these days is more likely to be aimed at other people’s stuff. I’m way more likely to want another man’s car or cell phone than I am a woman not my wife. That’s partly because Dawn is not only perfectly suited to me, but also beautiful. But it’s also because I give myself permission to covet those other things.

Job’s point, though, is this: God knows what goes on inside my head. He knows when I stop thinking like Jesus and start thinking like the world. He knows when I objectify a woman or make objects the center of my life. And it offends him as much as if I acted on my thoughts.

Be careful, little eyes, what you see. Sight leads to thoughts which lead to desires that lead to sin, which leads to death. God sees my ways, Job says, and counts my every step. It’s amazing that he still loves me.

where wisdom?

You see it a lot during this election cycle: people with opposite views both convinced of their own infallible insights. Most of the book of Job is made up of that kind of argument between Job and his friends.

It led Job to ask this question: “ Where then does wisdom come from? Where does understanding dwell? It is hidden from the eyes of every living thing, concealed even from the birds in the sky. Destruction and Death say, ‘Only a rumor of it has reached our ears.’ God understands the way to it and he alone knows where it dwells for he views the ends of the earth and sees everything under the heavens. “Job 28:20-24

This begs the question, where do I turn for wisdom? If you answer based on where I spend the most time gathering information, then I guess the Associated Press, the Wall Street Journal, CNN and Fox, Facebook and Twitter are it. I read the news, discuss things with friends, listen to the talking heads, and draw my own conclusions.

The problem with that is that only God knows where wisdom can be found. To offset the hours I spend consuming and discussing news, I spend minutes with God. That means that I’m closer to conventional wisdom than the Sophia of Proverbs. And conventional wisdom is to true wisdom what pop culture is to the arts.

The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom. Only God can give it to me. And the only way to God is through Jesus - “No one comes to the Father but by me,” remember?

To be truly wise, I need to talk things over with Jesus. I need to bring those concerns to him, lay out my confusion, and spend time listening. I need to spend at least enough time doing that to balance out the worldly wisdom I consume. I need to; will I?

the wicked prosper

There was a man who regularly heaped verbal abuse on me, and once threatened me with a hammer. I managed to stay calm while face to face, but always, immediately afterward, I’d get mad. I’d rage inside my own head. My biggest frustration was that this man got everything he wanted, from me and everyone else. He was a cheat and a bully, and very, very wealthy.

I thought of him this morning when I read Job 21:7-13: “Why do the wicked live on, growing old and increasing in power? They see their children established around them, their offspring before their eyes. Their homes are safe and free from fear; the rod of God is not on them. Their bulls never fail to breed; their cows calve and do not miscarry. . . . They spend their years in prosperity and go down to the grave in peace.”

That was part of Job’s lament, that the wicked prosper. And it seems so often to be true. I know that this life is just a moment compared to what’s coming, so I get it that their suffering will be long and profound. But it still doesn’t seem fair. 

But then I’m reminded of Chuck Colsen’s book, “How Now Shall We Live?”. In that book the author digs into what it means to live faithfully in current culture. He devotes one memorable chapter to some of the most wealthy, famous people on earth and how miserable they are or were, by their own admission.

It makes me think that maybe wealth was a curse to that angry bully who used to plague me. Maybe it was like drinking sea water - it looked so good to him but the more he drank, the thirstier he got. Imagine having everything you thought would make you happy, but you’re not. And now you have no idea what to do to be happy.

Of course, I’m like that. I have everything I need to be happy, but I grumble. I’m quick to see the negatives. I let happy moments go right by me because of the emotional residue of my own dark thoughts.

The question, I guess, isn’t why the wicked prosper. We all have wickedness in us; the question I’m left with is what I’ve done to deserve all the blessing I have. 

faith like that

I’ve never really had to suffer. Oh, I’ve had my injuries, but physical pain soon passes, and doesn’t bother me as much as some people anyway. I’ve been spared so far the griefs of broken relationships and lost loved ones, of financial ruin, of loss of health or home. I’ve never been persecuted, for my faith or any other reason.

I understand in an intellectual way that those things can happen to good people too, that they aren’t judgment from God. But I know that my belief in God’s providence also requires me to believe that somehow God has a hand in suffering too, at least inasmuch as he withholds his blessing.

Job put the finger directly on God. In Job 17:6-8 he said, "God has made me a byword to everyone, a man in whose face people spit. My eyes have grown dim with grief; my whole frame is but a shadow. The upright are appalled at this; the innocent are aroused against the ungodly.”

It’s a good thing I have faith in God. It’s a good thing that I believe all his promises, because when those hard things happen to me or to my Christian brothers and sisters, it doesn’t shake my faith, or at least it hasn’t so far. I wonder sometimes what God is doing, but I always trust that He is doing good.

Job did too. In Job 19:25-27 he ends with this: “I know that my redeemer lives, and that in the end he will stand on the earth. And after my skin has been destroyed, yet in my flesh I will see God; I myself will see him with my own eyes —I, and not another. How my heart yearns within me!”

After everything, God was still the object of Job’s longing. That shames me. In my life of ease and comfort, I have many objects of longing. May God increasingly be the greatest, and eventually the only.

limits

I have a friend who has focused his life on living to age 120. He says that’s a natural lifetime as described in Genesis, and he wants all of it. He believes that anyone who doesn’t live that long has shortchanged himself through bad life choices.

He and I have disagreed on this for almost three decades now, but I’ve never been able to say exactly why I think his goal is wrong. But this morning I read Job 14:5, which says, “A person's days are determined; you have decreed the number of his months and have set limits he cannot exceed.”

Now, maybe my friend is right, and the limit on age was set at 120. Or maybe I’m right and God has a specific lifetime planned for each of us. Even though that’s what we argue about, I don’t think that’s the point.

I think the point is that God limits us based on what he wants us to do. He gives us whatever amount of time we have not to focus on ourselves, not to live for the enjoyment of this world, but to serve his people. And after that, to go live with God in glory.

So first of all, I want to say to my friend that all the hours he commits each day to being as healthy as he can be, and all the social opportunities he passes up because the food won’t meet his standards, are hours and opportunities that could and should be used to serve other people. Even if he gets his 120 years, he’s wasting most of it.

Second, though, is the big question: why fight so hard for more days on earth when our destination is heaven? I get it that we all fear death. I don’t get people who love this world so much that they don’t want heaven.

It makes me wonder if there are ways I cling to much to my temporary life here. How do I invest myself in this world at the expense of preparing for eternity? I’m sure there are ways, but as always it’s a lot easier to point out my friend’s error than see my own.

Another thing to pray about. 

mysteries

A few days ago I found myself in one of those discussions Christians have sometimes. We can talk at length, and sometimes argue with certainty, about things like creation or the end times or heaven, things that aren’t fully revealed to us. 

Maybe we’re that way because we live in a time where certainty and proof are highly valued. We want to know for sure. Our belief in science makes us think we can know for sure. Police procedurals on TV make us think there will always be DNA or fingerprints or some solid evidence that settles the case one way or the other.

Zophar the Naamathite, for all his other bad advice, reminded Job of something I need to hear. In Job 11:7-9 he says, "Can you fathom the mysteries of God? Can you probe the limits of the Almighty? They are higher than the heavens above—what can you do? They are deeper than the depths below —what can you know? Their measure is longer than the earth and wider than the sea.”

God is beyond my ability to understand. I need the mysteries to remind me that, like a child does with an earthly father, sometimes I just need to follow because I won’t understand the explanations anyway.

And I need to be reminded that faith isn’t faith if I demand proof. When I say, “Prove it,” I’m really saying, “I won’t believe you until you prove it.” That’s the opposite of faith. It’s fine, and probably good and necessary, for me to say that to other people when we’re debating what Scripture says. I should never say that to God. 

God has chosen to leave me in the dark on exactly how to reconcile the geological record with Genesis. He hasn’t revealed precisely what will happen when the world ends. He hasn’t explained the trinity or election well enough for me to completely understand them. And that’s OK. If I ever feel like I understand God, I’ll lose my awe of him.

I like having to live with the mysteries. Sure, sometimes I’d like to just know for sure, but someday I will. Until then, there’s one thing I am certain of: I’m secure with this mysterious God. He won’t hurt me; in fact, he’ll always help me. That’s enough, for now.

proof of innocence

I experience a lot of reactions when I read the book of Job. I feel bad for Job, I get frustrated at his friends, I wonder about God. Today, I feel overwhelming gratitude.

I read Job 9, where Job talks about his frustration at his situation. He says, in part, “ But how can mere mortals prove their innocence before God? Though they wished to dispute with him, they could not answer him one time out of a thousand. . . . He is not a mere mortal like me that I might answer him, that we might confront each other in court. If only there were someone to mediate between us, someone to bring us together, someone to remove God's rod from me, so that his terror would frighten me no more.” Job 9:2-3, 32-34

We have what Job longed for. I have that “if only” someone that Job recognized was necessary to intercede for him with God. Jesus is the one to mediate between us, to bring us together, to remove God’s rod from me. I’m a less worthy person than Job, yet God has granted me what he lacked, at least at that time: a savior.

Hallelujah! The disasters I bring on myself, the ashes I choose to sit in, the dubious friends I invite into my life - these things don’t define my future. Jesus does, Jesus the God-man who knows me and loves me anyway, who died for me and rose and ascended for me. Jesus, my Lord who sits at God’s right hand and, every time someone brings an accusation against me, leans over and says, “He’s one of mine, the ones I redeemed.” And God forgives.

For Job, such an advocate would have been a huge comfort. For me, it’s something I too often take for granted.