Who am I?

One of the hot buzz-words these days is "personal brand." They say you need to manage your name as carefully and intentionally as a company manages its brand, with good marketing and PR. Make the world see what you want to be.

I'm not convinced, although I value a good reputation, but it does raise an interesting question:  How do I want others to see me?

Paul answers in 1 Cor 4:1-2, when he says the world should regard us "as servants of Christ and stewards of the mysteries of God. Moreover, it is required of stewards that they be found trustworthy."

We hear a lot about being servants -- they work only toward the goals of their master -- and even about stewardship, but stewards of the mysteries of God? What's that all about?

Well, stewards do a couple of things: They protect and conserve the resource, and they make sure it is put to use, wisely, for its intended purpose.

God's mysteries aren't going to run out, but I can think of three ways we can protect them: First, by not allowing God to be mocked because people can't make sense of creation or the trinity or election or some other hard concept; second, by disciplining ourselves not to avoid Biblical ideas just because they are hard; and third, by not allowing other believers to modify or mis-interpret what is revealed about these mysteries.

As to the second role of the steward, we can use the mysteries of God both to teach what they do reveal, and to give God honor for being far beyond our ability to understand. Both uses can bring us and others closer to Him.

So in the end, Paul is saying that my personal brand should be understand by the world like this: Faithful worker toward the goals of Jesus Christ, and defender of all of the Bible's truth whether it's easily explainable or not. 

What I do beyond that is an add-on: I'm a servant of Christ who manages paint plants. I'm a defender of the Truth who writes. If the world only sees the paint plants and the writing, my brand doesn't stand for the things it should. In that case, it's time to rework my image.

More foolishness

There's a common thread in a lot of professional writing: Trust yourself. Trust your instincts, trust your judgment, trust your experience. Go with your gut. Trust your own wisdom.

Paul gives the opposite advice at the end of 1 Cor 3. In verse 18 he tells us not to deceive ourselves. In fact, he says to be wise, you have to first become a fool.

That makes me cringe. I don't want to be a fool, and I especially don't want other folks to think I'm one (I know, too late). But scripture also says the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, and boy, does the world consider that foolishness.

The out-and-out atheists aren't so bad, in my book. They're wrong, but they make no attempt to disguise their position; you either buy in or you don't. That kind of worldly wisdom is obvious foolishness, and I'm not attracted by it.

The real danger is in those who cut and re-arrange the gospel until they're left with a distorted subset. Westboro Baptist Church thinks the gospel supports hate speech. Various sects in their walled compounds believe the Bible justifies polygamy and pedophilia. Relativists think scripture supports their idea that there is no absolute truth; humanists use it to worship at the altar of human potential; materialists wring prosperity theology out of the Bible.

It may be of those people who cloak their pursuit of worldly goals like bigotry and sexual perversion and selfishness and greed with the gospel that Paul writes (1 Cor 3:19-20), "For the wisdom of this world is folly with God. For it is written, 'He catches the wise in their craftiness,' and again, 'The Lord knows the thoughts of the wise, that they are futile.'"

So Paul warns, "Let no one boast in men." Beware the personality cult. Branch Davidians followed David Koresh. The Mormons and their many polygamist variants espouse the gospel of Joseph Smith. Third-Wave Pentecostals quote C. Peter Wagner. Prosperity theologists teach Kennith Hagin and E.W. Kenyon. When you find yourself defending a spiritual concept using human ideas, be careful. Remember all those folks who predicted the end of the world for this past May based on what Harold Camping said?

There's a four-step process for testing the wisdom of an idea: 1) does it conform with every part of scripture; 2) does it conform with Godly preaching; 3) does it conform with the counsel of the spiritually wise and 4) is this what the Spirit tells me in my heart when I pray? True wisdom will meet all four tests. And the world thinks each one is foolish.

Our bodies

I sometimes wonder if we're not in for an unpleasant surprise when we finally find out what God really intended. We tend to think that the sins we commit against our own bodies are significant only to us. Is that really true?
We're all familiar with Paul's caution that our bodies are God's temple (1Cor 3:16-17) "Do you not know that you are God's temple and that God's Spirit dwells in you? If anyone destroys God's temple, God will destroy him. For God's temple is holy, and you are that temple."

This passage can rightly be understood as a prohibition against taking human life -- we are not to physically destroy another person. But if we accept that, doesn't logic suggest that we are also prohibited from physically harming ourselves?

I hate to floss; I've had to have my roots scraped once already, and now I have to make several trips to the periodontist every year or I risk losing my teeth. Even so, I don't floss every day; sometimes I don't floss for a whole week. I know I need to, but I'm only hurting myself, right?

I have this uneasy feeling that the answer to that is, no, you're wrong.

For one thing, God created me in His image, so that I can reveal something about Him and can reflect glory back to Him. I can't just let my body decay because I'm lazy. The human body God designed is an amazing, beautiful thing, pleasant to look at and wonderful in the complex and arduous things it can accomplish.

The bodies we too often live in are closer to the derelict houses we see abandoned on old farms than temples of the one true God. That has to be wrong somehow. What do I reveal about God and how much glory goes to Him if all the teeth fall out of my head?

As with most of Paul's teachings, in addition to the impact on our relationship with God, there are implications for our relationship with others too. There's extra work and extra cost imposed on our families and our whole society when our bodies fail too young. That's a point that doesn't need belaboring, but it should be mentioned. The goal is good health, not vanity or worldly standards of beauty.

The most important thing, though, is that Paul says our bodies, like our minds and spirits, are holy, that is, they have been set aside for God's service. We owe our bodies the same care we take for our souls. Or rather, we owe it to God to give our bodies that care.

Building

Paul continues (in 1Cor 3:10ff) to make the same point as yesterday, only now he uses the example of a building instead of a garden. Same point: One leader lays a foundation, another builds on it. Same uncomfortable connotation of a long, painstaking process.

There's something new in these verses that makes me uncomfortable, though. Paul writes (vv12-15) "Now if anyone builds on the foundation with gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, straw—each one's work will become manifest, for the Day will disclose it, because it will be revealed by fire, and the fire will test what sort of work each one has done. If the work that anyone has built on the foundation survives, he will receive a reward. If anyone's work is burned up, he will suffer loss, though he himself will be saved, but only as through fire."

Man, there's nothing about that that makes me feel good. It raises a bunch of questions.

First question: What am I building? Second question: What am I using? Gold, silver, precious stones? Or hay or straw? It's tempting to contribute the least amount possible to God's kingdom. We tend to donate items we don't want to charity; we argue about whether we should base our tithe on gross or net earning. Too often, we want our service to cost us the least amount possible.

Third question: How well am I building? This question is about time and effort, not materials, but the same factors apply. 

These questions are so uncomfortable because, while I may be able to fake things pretty well now, Paul says here that someday my work will be tested by fire. If it stands up, I get a reward. If not, I suffer loss, and escape only as one escaping through a fire. That means I lose my stuff, maybe I suffer some burns, maybe I become homeless and have to live off the charity of others.

We tend to live our lives in pass-fail mode: Will I get to heaven or won't I? But Paul suggests here that even among those who are saved, there will be levels of reward, things that our perfect selves will appreciate. I'm not even going to try to explain this, because I don't understand it. 

But it raises one last question: What's the point of working my way up to a six-figure income, a large house, two new cars and vacations in Europe, if I only get to heaven as one who escaped through a fire?

There are different kinds of investments. Even beyond retirement planning, we maybe need to think more about laying up treasures in heaven.

Planting and watering

Our garden went in a couple of months ago. The peas have already burned up after just a couple of pickings, but we're starting to get some beans; the rest is still just promise and potential.

I could see the garden this morning from the deck as I read Paul's writing about planting and watering (1 Cor 3:6-9). Especially noteworthy: "I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the growth. So neither he who plants nor he who waters is anything, but only God who gives the growth."

Paul's point was that the Corinthians were giving too much credit to their earthly leaders, but as I sat thinking, I had a couple of other thoughts.

The first was that this whole gospel-spreading business is hard for us because it's a long process. The planting and watering, the part before we see any harvest, can cover such a span of time that our leaders come and go. We don't like that; we're ready to give up on people after only a few weeks or months. Yet pastors and church planters know what Paul knew, that time and numbers are very poor ways to measure success in this business. Converts come one at a time, and it takes longer than we think it should.

The second thought is maybe a little more pointed: I wondered if I'm a planter or a waterer. Truth is, at different times I'm probably one or the other, but is it OK to be neither? Not very often, I wouldn't think.

Most of us probably shy away from planting, that rigorous, thankless work of getting our hands dirty in the world, sharing the great good news with people who, often as not, don't want to know. That means that we'd better be ready to start hauling water for those new, fragile believers who need nurturing, and for the older plants stressed by the heat.

That line of thought suggests that if I'm not evangelizing, I should be nurturing. I should be a friendly, warm person who can handle hanging out with a half-formed Christian, which means I need to get over my fastidiousness about cigarettes and body piercings. I need to widen my tolerance on music and conversations, so that I don't immediately seem negative when they're just living life. I need to help them without working so hard to make them over in my image.

In fact, I need to remember that I'm being made over too. I shouldn't want them to be like me, I should want them to be like Christ. That's the point of planting and watering.

Big babies

Dawn and I were just reflecting on how human nature is consistent, from the playground to the paint plant to the  church pew. Then I read from 1 Cor 3 this morning, where Paul says he can only address the Corinthians as infants. Big babies, he says (1-3): "But I, brothers, could not address you as spiritual people, but as people of the flesh, as infants in Christ. I fed you with milk, not solid food, for you were not ready for it. And even now you are not yet ready, for you are still of the flesh."

Now, back in the day there was no faster way to pick a fight than to call someone a baby. Even now, we tend to read this and snicker a little - those Corinthians, what a buncha noobs. Still too new to the faith to know God doesn't like fighting.

Well, let's set aside the fact that we still do plenty of fighting. Fact is, even though some of us have been in the church for a while, we can't claim to be spiritual adults. Teenagers maybe, which would explain the snickering.

I say that for two reasons: First, we tend to stop learning after someone stops making us, meaning pretty much when we're done taking catechism. No more study for us. And second, we try not to see the work. We don't want to notice the fact that our faith means there are some things we should be doing.

Stop learning and avoid work. Yeah, that sounds really mature. Maybe we're not in a good position to look down our noses at anyone.

The Spirit

It's human nature, or at least mine, to look at cop-outs. One cop-out I use is the old "how do I really know what God wants" excuse.

In a way it's natural, because sometimes it seems like I just can't get things figured out. I know what I should do, but it seems so hard; it doesn't seem practical or realistic.

From what I read in 1 Cor 2 this morning, there's a good reason for that. The simple fact that I feel that way should tell me everything I need to know. Paul wrote (14), "The natural person does not accept the things of the Spirit of God, for they are folly to him, and he is not able to understand them because they are spiritually discerned."

What Paul is saying is that when following God doesn't seem to make sense, it's because I'm thinking like someone who never met Jesus. God's language is foreign to us outside of God; the closer we stay to Him, the better we understand.

The Holy Spirit is our advisor -- it's His job to help us get it. He softens us up, makes us want the right things, helps us see what's wrong about the rest.

So when the Bible leaves me cold, when my church friends seem less interesting than my worldly ones, when things like "turn the other cheek" and "go the second mile" and "give him your coat also" seem like utter stupidity, that's because I stopped listening to the Spirit. When getting back at people and piling up more money and satisfying my own appetites seem like good priorities, it's because I got too far away from God.

I can say it's hard to know His will, but for spiritually-sensitive people, it isn't. And you only become spiritually-sensitive by really getting to know God. 

Knowing nothing

Paul really challenges me this morning when he explains his gospel-spreading tactics to the Corinthians (2:2): "For I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and him crucified." Makes me think of Sergeant Schultz.

I can think of a couple of times when I acted like I didn't know anything, but my motives weren't very good. I was trying either to avoid getting stuck with a job, or to avoid the consequences of my own stupidity.

To the best of my recollection, I have never consciously passed up a chance to look smart. Instead of knowing nothing, I usually try to look like I know everything. 

Remember, Paul was smart. Paul had his day's equivalent of a doctorate in religion. Paul had leadership experience in the church, which was the same as having it in government. Paul had a lot of reasons to say, "Hey, based on my knowledge of this and my experience with that, I'm here to tell you . . ."

That's what we do, isn't it? And it's what we expect from others. Before we listen, don't we ask ourselves, "Who is this guy to talk? What does he know? What's he ever done?" We want credentials.

I bought a bottle of cleaner from some kid from Georgia who was going door to door. Normally I don't do that, because there's no accountability for those people; how can I trust them? But this kid, when I started to brush him off, said, "Can you just watch this?" Then he cleaned an oil spot off the floor of my garage. So I bought the stuff.

That's what Paul did. He says he came in weakness and fear, and instead of using persuasion, he gave demonstrations of the Spirit and of power (v4). His reason: so that our faith wouldn't be in Paul -- "Well, he's a smart guy and he believes it." -- but in the power of God. That's the same reason I bought the cleaner; I didn't believe in the kid who sold it, I believed in the product because I'd seen it work.

That suggests the best way to persuade others of the Gospel is for them to see it working on us. They need to see us being better because of it. Hmmmm . . . maybe that's what being distinctive is all about.

Foolishness

For me, the hardest thing about following Christ is all the people who think it's nuts.

There are a lot of people I admire, who I would like to admire me, who aren't Christians. And to those people, my faith seems foolish; it's a weakness.

Paul explains that in 1 Cor 1:18-31. He says that God's wisdom will seem like foolishness to the world.

I think maybe faith seems foolish because to the unbeliever it looks like it forbids all the good stuff: parties, sex, money . . . Or maybe it looks foolish because it's not rational and scientific. So we Christ-followers look like fun-hating, irrational prudes, and only a fool would sign up for that. Who wants to join a movement that's all "Thou shalt not?" We have to be careful that the world sees us as joyous, not forbidding.

But Paul suggests here that God wants it to seem foolish. He says (1:27-31)" But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong; God chose what is low and despised in the world, even things that are not, to bring to nothing things that are, so that no human being might boast in the presence of God. And because of him you are in Christ Jesus, who became to us wisdom from God, righteousness and sanctification and redemption, so that, as it is written, 'Let the one who boasts, boast in the Lord.'"

One point of an irrational, foolish faith is that it keeps us from boasting. We don't brag, "I've got it all figured out." We don't say, "Join us and you'll have money, women and a full head of hair." Instead, Christians say things like, "I don't understand it all," and "I'm just doing the best I can." We acknowledge that there's much about God we don't get. But when we simply tell our stories, we show God at work -- that's boasting in the Lord.

We need to also see that our foolish faith will resonate with people at those points where the world doesn't make sense. Science can't explain why people feel like losers at life or failures in their relationships; it can't solve guilt or address the questions that come when the flood hits. And then when people ask why our marriages work or how we can be happy after what's happened to us, we have an answer that won't seem so foolish, because they see it working.

Unity

How frustrated do you think Paul had to get before he told the Corinthians, "Thank God I didn't baptize any of you?" He was in the baptizing business, after all.

What got Paul going was this (1 Cor 1:11-12): "For it has been reported to me by Chloe's people that there is quarreling among you, my brothers. What I mean is that each one of you says, 'I follow Paul,' or 'I follow Apollos,' or 'I follow Cephas,' or 'I follow Christ.'” He asks, Is Christ divided? No? Well, then?

Stupid Corinthians. Wait a minute, though. How often haven't you heard someone argue a position on music, or worship, or women in office, by saying, "R.C. Sproul says . . ." or "Pastor So-and-So says . . ." We're in the habit of letting other people tell us what scripture means. We're also in the habit of arguing those positions with passionate certainty, as though it were impossible that we could have misunderstood our favorite guru, or that our favorite guru could have been wrong.

Paul's frustration here is echoed elsewhere in scripture, and it raises the question: What things would God say are more important than unity among his people? There are probably some, but I don't think there are very many.

Our fellowship is critical, because that's the support structure God gave us to strengthen us for his service. We won't provide much support if we're fighting with, or ignoring, each other. So the next time I'm tempted to get on my high horse and defend my opinion, I need to ask, "Is this Christ's position too?" And if it is, then "Does He need my help defending it?" Not every error is heresy, and most of the little ones aren't as important as doing ministry.

Army lesson: You need to choose carefully which hill you fight on -- it might be the hill you die on, after all. Picking a fight in church won't get you killed, but fellowship could be a casualty. Not worth it, most of the time.

Everything

Paul starts his first letter to the church at Corinth by thanking God for, well, everything. That's pretty much what he says God has given to the Corinthians (1:4-9) "I give thanks to my God always for you because of the grace of God that was given you in Christ Jesus, 5 that in every way you were enriched in him in all speech and all knowledge— 6 even as the testimony about Christ was confirmed among you— 7 so that you are not lacking in any spiritual gift, as you wait for the revealing of our Lord Jesus Christ, 8 who will sustain you to the end, guiltless in the day of our Lord Jesus Christ. 9 God is faithful, by whom you were called into the fellowship of his Son, Jesus Christ our Lord."

Look at it: in every way . . . In all speech and all knowledge . . .not lacking in any spiritual gift. When it comes to obedience there's not much left out.

That's because God never calls us to something He doesn't also equip us for, and he calls us every day, individual and church, to obey. When Paul says "not lacking in any spiritual gift," he doesn't mean every single Corinthian had them all, but God gave each one to at least one person, so that the church had every one.

The challenge for us, then, is that if our church is to have the same advantage, then we'd better pony up our own gifts. They weren't given to us for our benefit, but for the benefit of others. Keeping them to ourselves isn't an option.

God provides us every day with everything we need to live obediently to Him. Sometimes his provision is to us, sometimes it's to the church. And sometimes we're God's provision to someone else.

Doxology

When I read the doxology at the end of Romans, which I did this morning, I wish we did more of that. A doxology is simply a way to wrap things up by praising God.

Paul wrote (16:25-27) "Now to him who is able to strengthen you according to my gospel and the preaching of Jesus Christ, according to the revelation of the mystery that was kept secret for long ages but has now been disclosed and through the prophetic writings has been made known to all nations, according to the command of the eternal God, to bring about the obedience of faith— to the only wise God be glory forevermore through Jesus Christ! Amen."

You see here a simple form for praising God: statements about who He is (him who is able to strengthen you, the only wise God) and about what he has done (the revelation of the mystery, made known to all the nations) and about effects (to bring about the obedience of faith) and then a statement giving God the glory.

Wouldn't that be kind of cool? "I praise the God of providence, who controls all people and things and has provided in the past, for the good week of business I just had." "I thank Jesus, the Lord of the universe who calmed the storm on the lake, for keeping us safe through the tornado." "I give all the credit for how well that meeting went to the Holy Spirit, the wise counselor who helps me understand what God wants from me."

We do that sometimes in our prayers, but think what it would be like if we did it in a way that other people knew.

I have a friend who, whenever he sees something beautiful in nature, says "What an Artist!" Maybe that's easy and safe enough to be a place to start.

Forbidden knowledge

We think knowledge is neutral. Facts are facts, Jack, it's what you do with them that counts. But there is such a thing as forbidden knowledge.

Paul tells the Romans (16:19) "For your obedience is known to all, so that I rejoice over you, but I want you to be wise as to what is good and innocent as to what is evil." Elsewhere he tells us it's shameful even to think about what evil people do in secret.

That's a problem, because it's hard to avoid evil. Even network TV sometimes gets close to soft porn, and any depth of depravity is available on the Internet. Before you dismiss me as another Christian prude, let me say that in the right context I'm all for sex; it ranks right up there with bacon and ESPN as things I do not want to live without. But porn isn't about sex, it's about power and degrading people. It's Satan's gleeful perversion of what God gave as a beautiful gift; he dangles porn out there in an attempt to get us to trade down. Besides, great as it is, sex is not a spectator sport. Neither is death, or pain and suffering.

I'm not trying to define what forbidden knowledge is, but simply to offer enough examples to communicate the point: If we want to be obedient, there are some things we shouldn't know about. That means we have to make some deliberate decisions to pass things by, to look away, to opt out.

If we don't, we too soon get used to all the slick flesh and spraying gore and the dubious means that win us the seductive ends and then we, like the world, start to ask, "What's the big deal?" That's when we lose that precious thing that only closeness to God can give us, the ability to distinguish good from evil. We think as long as we don't act on what we know, we don't sin. Paul says with some things, just knowing is dangerous, even disobedient.

Paul warns earlier in Romans 16 that some people will tempt us by mixing a little forbidden knowledge in with their doctrine, to make religion more exciting. That's where cults come from, and it's why you can find a religion masquerading as Christianity that allows or even encourages almost any sin you want. Dabble in forbidden knowledge, and you will also lose your ability to know a crackpot religion when you see one.

There are some things you need to keep clean in order to have them work right: your furnace filter, the oil in your car, the dishes you eat off of, and your mind.

Church

We have a lot of different ideas of church.

Church as bunker: It's where the elect go to be safe from the world.
Church as aid station: It's where we go to be healed.
Church as service provider: Give us programs.
Church as social outlet: It's a place to hang with others like us.

The problem with all these views is that they make us, the already churched, the purpose of the church.

Reading in Romans this morning (15:21-33), I saw Paul touch on what I think the real purpose might be.

Paul is describing his plans, first to go to Jerusalem to deliver offerings for the poor from the churches in Asia Minor. Then he plans to travel to Spain, a whole new mission field. On the way, he hopes to stop again in Rome.

We're talking a lot of work here. Travel in that day was hard -- there's a reason the term comes from the word "travail." And Spain wasn't going to be a lot of fun; Paul would be the only Jesus-follower on the whole peninsula.

That's why he wanted the stop in Rome: in verse 32 he says he will be refreshed in their company.

I think that, done right, that's what church is. We go out in the world, work hard, pour ourselves into ministry, and then come back together on Sunday to be refreshed. But the purpose isn't to pursue our own ends, it's to enable us to get back out there on the mission field. We talk about recharging our batteries, but the purpose of batteries is to put out energy, to do work.

Do we spend so much time doing church for ourselves that we forget our role in the Great Commission? Maybe sometimes we do.

Seeing People

"I myself am satisfied about you, my brothers, that you yourselves are full of goodness, filled with all knowledge and able to instruct one another." That's what Paul says to his readers in Romans 15:14. It makes me think, as I often do, how unusual Paul was.

When it comes to church members (and I guess coworkers and sometimes family and friends) I'm seldom satisfied that my brothers are full of goodness. I tend to see their lack of punctuality, their procrastination, their inability to keep promises, and all of their other flaws, great and small, as evidence that they're nowhere near as good as they should be.

I don't give them much props on being filled with all knowledge either. In fact, I too often have the arrogant but probably common belief that people are clueless. It's easy to think if I want something done right I need to do it myself.

But Paul had been working with these people intensely, over a period of time, with one single goal: to work himself out of a job. He didn't want to be stuck nursing them along for the rest of his life. He wanted to get on to the next place, get started with the next church plant. He says so in verse 20, where he states his ambition as preaching the gospel where Christ has not already been named.

To do that, Paul mentored church leaders who would take care of this fledgling flock when he left, and members to care for one another. And he's saying here that his work is done.

Maybe that's the most unusual thing, the ease with which he lets go. I commanded a battalion for a few years, then passed the guidon to a new commander. I walked away full of regret, sorry to be leaving and certain the new guy was going to mess it up. I avoided my old battalion for a long time because it was like seeing someone date my girlfriend.

The difference between me and Paul: I was working for myself. He was working for the Lord, and had no other ambition. He was driven to build not his own empire but Christ's kingdom. And he was blessed to see people through Christ's eyes. 

I'm working on that.

Hope

"Hope is not a course of action." That's a military axiom, one my Tac Officers drilled into my head at both the Infantry Officers Basic and Advanced Courses. It means that you need to have a plan, you need to know what you're going to do instead of just hope things bounce your way.

But in a spiritual sense, hope is the only effective course of action we have.

Romans 15:8-13 describes the basis of all hope for me. It points out that the only way a non-Jew like me came to be part of God's family is through the sacrifice of Jesus, and God's mercy in extending that sacrifice to cover my crimes.

That hope is different than the hope my Tacs were talking about, though. Worldly hope is a very iffy thing; it rests on something vague and unknown, something chancy. It's basically reliance on luck.

But the hope we have in Jesus isn't at all chancy. This is the most definite, most knowable thing in the universe. All the work has already been done, by God in orchestrating the master plan and by Jesus in making the sacrifice. Our spiritual hope is looking forward to the concrete fact of our own glorification. We have hope for every hard circumstance because we know, with absolute certainty, that having put our hope in Christ, in the end we win.

That's why verse 13 is one of my favorite blessings: "May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope."

The source: the God of hope. The blessing: joy and peace, if I believe. The power core: the Holy Spirit Himself. And the outcome? I will abound in hope.

Not just have hope - abound. That means a whole bunch of hope, that means all the hope I can use with some left over to share. There is no day so bad, no night so dark, no storm so violent, no desert so dry that I can't walk through it with shoulders squared and head up, completely confident. Because the one leading me is no less than the King of all of time and space.

Harmony

This morning, I read the first part of Romans 15 and thought about choir practice. That's a little weird, since this is a passage that has commonly been understood to be about tolerance.

What got me think about singing, though, was verses 5 and 6: "May the God of endurance and encouragement grant you to live in such harmony with one another, in accord with Christ Jesus, that together you may with one voice glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ."

I wondered, why would living in harmony with each other require endurance and encouragement? Shouldn't harmony be the easy path of least resistance, just going with the flow? After all, you have to start a fight, which takes a decision and an action. If you don't start any, if you just don't do anything, shouldn't harmony be the result?

But then I thought about choir. And I thought about how we sounded the first time we sang through the music. It was tentative, it was ragged, and there were a lot of sour notes. We were each kind of doing our own thing, which meant we were trampling all over each other musically. It was only through the work of rehearsing that we came to harmonize, and that's when music started to happen.

Haven't you seen the same thing happen in your church, or at work, or at home? When everyone is going their own way, doing their own thing, don't we at some point bump into each other? It may be conflicting calendars, or two people wanting the same TV set, or disagreements over what gets done or doesn't get done during worship, but eventually all of that random activity creates chaos.

So a better answer is to put in the effort needed to get together. That's described earlier in chapter 15 like this: "We who are strong have an obligation to bear with the failings of the weak, and not to please ourselves. Let each of us please his neighbor for his good, to build him up."

Put it that way, and it's going to take some endurance and encouragement, isn't it. In fact, it's going to be more work than fighting, because it requires us to pay attention to other people, to get to know them well enough to understand their points of view. But look at the outcome: together, with one voice, we will glorify God.

Think how happy that will make Him. That ought to be worth whatever amount of work it takes.

Stumbling blocks

OK, my issue with yesterday's devotions just got worse.

Yesterday I was struggling with the idea that somehow my own opinions could make something right or wrong. Today, Paul says in a Romans 14 that I need to decided what to do based on the opinion of others.

I don't want to do that; I figure between me and God we have things covered. But look at these verses: "20 Do not, for the sake of food, destroy the work of God. Everything is indeed clean, but it is wrong for anyone to make another stumble by what he eats. 21 It is good not to eat meat or drink wine or do anything that causes your brother to stumble."

So I might be fine eating meat, or even having beer with my bratwurst, but if some legalist thinks I shouldn't, then I can't? How is that fair? Paul, just yesterday you told me as long as I was convinced, it was OK?

Maybe the point is that, even though it's OK, if I love my brother then I'm going to put his salvation ahead of my pleasure. Maybe he's trying to live right, but he maybe earnestly believes that brats are evil and I should only drink the beer. Then he sees me wolfing down those brats and, since he looks up to me so much, now he doesn't know what to do - obey God or be cool like me.

Maybe the bigger point is, there's the basic level of obedience that says don't do anything wrong. But there's the richer obedience of putting your own wishes lower on the priority list than helping others. The second one brings God more glory than the first, if you do it in His name.

Again, seems like the reasons matter more than what I actually do. Sigh . . .

Obedience

Hmmm . . . I hate it when one of my comfortable assumptions is challenged and I can't muddle through to a new answer.

I'm having that today as I consider the following verse from Romans 14: 5 "One person esteems one day as better than another, while another esteems all days alike. Each one should be fully convinced in his own mind."

This verse is in a passage about not quarreling over opinions on things like whether the Sabbath is holier than any other day or whether or not to eat meat. (By the way, the right answer is, of course we should eat meat; otherwise what's the point of being at the top of the food chain?)

Anyway, this verse suggests that what makes the answer right is whether or not I'm convinced it's right. How can that be? Sometimes I believe things I find out later to be wrong. 

Obviously Paul would not argue that truth is relative, because other parts of scripture clearly state that it is not. Maybe the point here is that God is less concerned about our ability to understand than our desire to obey. If we think He doesn't want us to eat meat, we shouldn't; if we think He does, then we should. God can't both want us to eat meat and want us not to, so one position reflects poor understanding of what God wants. But if both are done out of a sincere desire to obey, then maybe God counts it as obedience anyway.

I'm still not comfortable with the verse, but I think part of what it's telling me is this: Study God's word to come to the best understanding of His will that you can. Then do God's will as you understand it. God might not punish me for my lack of understanding, as long as I tried, but He will be disappointed if I don't try to obey.

In the end, this verse probably should be reassuring. After all, none of us will ever fully understand God. This verse relieves us of the burden of having to. But it also challenges us not to be so dogmatic about our own understanding that we don't allow the possibility the other guy might still be OK with God.

Rats, another comfortable assumption challenged.

Relative sins

We really think sin is relative, don't we?

Oh, we understand intellectually that all sin is equally bad, because what makes sin really sin is that you're disobeying God. But in practice we see little white sins and big black sins.

I ran into these verses today: Romans 13:12 The night is far gone; the day is at hand. So then let us cast off the works of darkness and put on the armor of light. 13 Let us walk properly as in the daytime, not in orgies and drunkenness, not in sexual immorality and sensuality, not in quarreling and jealousy. 14 But put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the flesh, to gratify its desires.

I've read this before, as a warning about being ready, but today I was struck with the list of sins in verse 13. Orgies and drunkenness -- yeah, that's bad. Shouldn't be doing that. Sexual immorality and sensuality -- ahuh, that sex stuff is bad too, and just plain icky to talk/think about. But quarreling and jealousy? What's that doing in there? Jealousy is my default reaction every time something good happens to someone else, and quarreling is our denominational sport.

And yet, there it is in black and white. Us Christians, who will quarrel about music, about whether to sprinkle or dunk and when, about things as inane as the time for the worship service - we're listed right there with the drunks and the perverts.

I think maybe that's because God really values fellowship as a trait of a healthy church. But I think it's also because any sin fractures our relationship with Him -- that's the really sinful part of sin. And it's why there are no little white ones.

Love debt

Being a Christian is hard, because it's more about motivation than action.

I ran head-long into that unfortunate truth this morning as I read this from Romans 13: 8 Owe no one anything, except to love each other, for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law. 9 For the commandments, “You shall not commit adultery, You shall not murder, You shall not steal, You shall not covet,” and any other commandment, are summed up in this word: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” 10 Love does no wrong to a neighbor; therefore love is the fulfilling of the law.

Easy, right? The only thing I owe anybody is to love them. Wait, what? Owe means obligation; owe means I'm behind and in debt until I pony up.

It's not enough to act nice? It's not enough to tolerate dog doo, body piercings, noisy sub-woofers, cigarette butts? I owe them love? Owe, as in they have a right to it and I have no right to withhold it?

I don't like that. That means I can't call people morons no matter how badly they drive. I can't look down on them no matter how stupid they seem to me. I can't smugly judge; I can't simply tolerate. Love is not a neutral word, it's the opposite: it's extreme.

But Jesus calls us to be extreme. He calls us to love the least lovable (after all, he loves me, right?) In fact, Paul says here you can't fulfill the law without loving people. 

There are a bunch of people around here that I don't love. I guess the first step is to act like I do, and the next step is to pray that I will. Or maybe the other way around. Maybe if I see them through God's eyes, love will be easier.