comfort

A good friend of mine lost his wife this weekend, and I prayed several times for God to comfort him. Then, this morning, I read how that happens. Here it is, from 2 Corinthians 1:3-7: 

“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God. For just as we share abundantly in the sufferings of Christ, so also our comfort abounds through Christ.”

It’s a pretty clear sequence, isn’t it? Our compassionate God comforts us, and then we comfort  other people. In fact, we just pass on the comfort we’ve already received. Since God is the source, there is to limit or end to the comfort available.

We are definitely God’s hands, feet and heart in this. If I want my friend to have comfort, I need to go comfort him. That’s the way it works; that’s God’s kingdom in action.

I’m not a natural at the hard emotions, but I do want what I prayed for. So I guess this week I get to be my own answer to prayer.

thoughts

I’m beginning to really understand how powerful my thoughts are. Oh, I can’t bend spoons or kill goats with my brain, but the way I think affects my attitudes, my perceptions, and my whole day. And it impacts everyone around me. In fact, my thoughts can sometimes change my surroundings. If I think someone’s a jerk, he is. If I think someone’s really sweet, so she turns out to be. It’s as if I can think things into existence.

It’s important, then, that I manage my thoughts carefully. Paul knew that when he wrote this in Philippians 4:8: “Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.”

To me, this means a couple of things. First, I shouldn’t think about bad things, things that aren’t true or noble or pure or admirable. I shouldn’t think hateful or vengeful thoughts. My mental life shouldn’t include profanity or name-calling. I shouldn’t wonder about sin or mull over evil.

But then, I should think about praiseworthy things, not just of them. Thinking of things is kind of like listing them. Counting my blessings is good, but I think Paul’s after more here.

I think Paul wants me to think about admirable things as a way of thinking about God. If I observe and evaluate and think over the good things, it could lead me to greater appreciation. If I wonder about causes or maybe about how to reinforce or perpetuate the right and pure things, it might move me to action.

I can use the power of my thoughts to motivate and activate a faithful life. Any other use is probably misuse.

forgetting

Sometimes I remember something I did or said that still embarrasses me, and I cringe. Sometimes I think back on decisions that seem to have shaped or defined my life, or closed off options, and I have regrets. Sometimes I recall my first indulgence in a sin I’ve since struggled with and wish I could have it all back. Honestly, on bad days it’s hard not to waste a lot of energy fighting my past.

That’s why Philippians 3:12-14 is always encouraging for me: “Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already arrived at my goal, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.”

“Forget what is behind and strain toward what is ahead” would be a good life motto for me. If I could only push all those regrets and wishes out of my head for good! If only I could see that those things don’t define me if I put my hope in Jesus! If only what I saw ahead of me was so exciting that I pulled toward it like a dog at the end of its leash.

I get all these truths in my head, but often my heart feels differently. 

But it’s a goal. Today, I can work on forgetting the past, or at least embracing it because it formed me. Today I can look at myself as a worker equipped, in part by my experiences, for kingdom work. Today I can make peace with my regrets and look instead at my blessings. And today I can let go of my sin because praise Jesus it no longer has power over me.

Today, I can keep my focus on what’s still to come. I can’t really control that either, but I know as long as I follow my Lord that the future involves good things.

WWJD

WWJD was a thing for a while, one of those trendy Christian ideas that was helpful at first, became trite after a while, and now has been mocked with all kinds of non-Christian rip-offs. At it’s root, though, it’s good because it meant to focus us on the key consideration for all of our decisions, which is being like our Lord.

This morning, I read as good an answer to that question as any, recorded by Paul in Philippians 2:1-5: 

“Therefore if you have any encouragement from being united with Christ, if any comfort from his love, if any common sharing in the Spirit, if any tenderness and compassion, then make my joy complete by being like-minded, having the same love, being one in spirit and of one mind. Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others.

“In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus . . . .”

What would Jesus do? He’d look to other people’s interest over his own, and in humility value others above himself. We know that, because he did it in the most ultimate way. And he’d tell us that being one with him is also a call to oneness with each other. Christian unity is characterized by sharing the same love, and being one in the spirit and of one mind.

What would Jesus do? Put up with a lot in order to show love, tenderness and compassion, and promote unity. More than a call to a certain morality, those WWJD bracelets are a call to the fruits of the Spirit, and to a collective Christianity that sometimes seems at odds with our rugged American individualism.

That’s a much more challenging answer than a one-time choice to keep a commandment. But it’s also much more fulfilling 

worthy through suffering

A friend often says, “Be careful what you wish for.” Sometimes changes bring struggles, and sometimes more struggle than benefit.

Today, I had an interesting juxtaposition of ideologies. On the one hand, I heard from a follower of prosperity theology - he became a Christian as a means to health and wealth. 

And then I read from Paul’s letter to the Philippians, specifically this excerpt from chapter 1:27-30: “Whatever happens, conduct yourselves in a manner worthy of the gospel of Christ. . . . For it has been granted to you on behalf of Christ not only to believe in him, but also to suffer for him, since you are going through the same struggle you saw I had, and now hear that I still have.”

The thing that has been granted to Christians, according to Paul, is that we will suffer for him. We will be challenged and debated, we’ll be abused and cast out. Some will be imprisoned, some will lose jobs, some will be thrown out of their families. This world is oriented away from Christ, so Christ-followers aren’t welcome most places.

That’s not what we expect. We think we’ll be showered with blessings. We think the Great Healer will always heal. We believe things like “name it and claim it.”

Of course there are great blessings from following Jesus. The fellowship is wonderful, the ability to appreciate beauty is reawakened, and there’s joy in the smallest act of service. But you see, these blessings are different from the ones we seek, the blessings of prosperity.

I have to be careful what I expect of Jesus. He wants to grow me as a disciple, so he’ll put me through things that develop my patience, kindness, and self-control. And he wants me to work alongside him, so I should anticipate the same Satanic pushback that he gets. 

But that’s how I become as he is, which would be the greatest blessing of all. Why worry about things I’ll have for a few short decades, when there’s all of eternity to think about? 

the way to God

Scripture never fails to speak.

This morning I read a passage I’ve known since childhood, and have been reading for nearly five decades. I know it well, yet this morning it had a new message of encouragement for me.

Here it is, from  Mark 16:1-5: “When the Sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices so that they might go to anoint Jesus’ body. Very early on the first day of the week, just after sunrise, they were on their way to the tomb and they asked each other, ‘Who will roll the stone away from the entrance of the tomb?’

“But when they looked up, they saw that the stone, which was very large, had been rolled away. As they entered the tomb, they saw a young man dressed in a white robe sitting on the right side, and they were alarmed.”

I noticed that as Mary, Mary and Salome walked to Jesus tomb for their depressing chore, they had a problem. Honestly, I noticed because of unworthy thoughts I had about how women fret. Their concern was valid, and there wasn’t an obvious answer. Who would roll the stone away?

Here’s the thing, though: God knew it was important, so he took care of it. And I realized that there’s a worry we need never have. We don’t ever have to wonder how we’ll get to God.

Of course, Jesus was no longer in the tomb, but that fact was critical to millions of future Christians. In order for these women and us to come to a saving faith in Jesus, we had to know that the tomb was empty. So God made sure the way was open, so that we could move forward on our faith journey.

Of all the things we might wonder, we should never wonder how to get to God. Seeking hearts will always find him.

king

It's a month after Easter and I'm reading again through the account of Jesus' crucifixion, this time from the Gospel of Mark. I noted something interesting today in Mark 15  (excerpts are from verses 2, 12-13, 16-18, 25-26): 

"'Are you the king of the Jews?' asked Pilate.

'You have said so,' Jesus replied. . . .

 "'What shall I do, then, with the one you call the king of the Jews?' Pilate asked them.

 “'Crucify him!' they shouted. . . . .

"The soldiers led Jesus away into the palace (that is, the Praetorium) and called together the whole company of soldiers. They put a purple robe on him, then twisted together a crown of thorns and set it on him. And they began to call out to him, 'Hail, king of the Jews!' . . . .

"It was nine in the morning when they crucified him. The written notice of the charge against him read: The King of the Jews."

Everyone from Pilate to the crowd to the soldiers to the court clerks called Jesus "The King of the Jews." In other scriptures the Jewish leaders objected to this. But nowhere in this account do we read of Jesus calling himself that, or accepting the title. 

Why not? He was, in the cosmic sense.

Maybe because that wouldn't be the right title. Maybe if Pilate had asked, "Are you the king of the world, of the universe?" Jesus would have said he was.

Or maybe because the role of King is too limited. Jesus, after all, perfectly fulfills for us the roles of prophet, priest and king, as well as being the ultimate sacrifice. 

Probably it's because Pilate and the soldiers and the Jews all were looking at Jesus as a political force. Jesus never meant to sit on an earthly throne and administer an earthly kingdom.

I'm struck again at how hard it is for us to truly see Jesus through the dirty lenses of all our misconceptions. Like Judas, we have expectations of what Jesus will do for us. He'll make us rich and healthy. He'll give us an easy life. He'll grant us what we pray for. He'll eliminate those feelings of guilt and give us joy. In the end, what we really want, once our sins have been atoned for, is a cosmic vending machine that produces whatever we push a button for.

In truth, Jesus will always be more than we can ever expect or imagine. We limit him because we have such a limited vision of what life should be. As C.S. Lewis said, we're like little children who don't want to leave our mud puddle because we can't even imagine a trip to the seashore.

Jesus as king means so much more for us than we're willing to accept, much less live out. 

secrets and betrayal

Plots and intrigue seem to be part of life. They seem to start in middle school as preteen girls try to sort out who should be with which boy, and go through the end of our lives, as old men pay huge sums of hush money to hide their misdeeds.

And it’s been going on for a long time: Look at these two bookend excerpts from the first part of Mark 14, verses 14:1-2, and 10-11 : 

“Now the Passover and the Festival of Unleavened Bread were only two days away, and the chief priests and the teachers of the law were scheming to arrest Jesus secretly and kill him. ‘But not during the festival,” they said, “or the people may riot. . . .’

“Then Judas Iscariot, one of the Twelve, went to the chief priests to betray Jesus to them. They were delighted to hear this and promised to give him money. So he watched for an opportunity to hand him over.”

The Jewish leaders had a problem: how to be rid of Jesus without causing social unrest. Judas had a problem: Jesus, his intended route to power and wealth, was turning out not to care about either thing. Disgruntled ministry member sells out to schemers for more cash.

I wish something like this didn’t seem so normal to me, but this is how power works in our world. The powerful begin to think the rules don’t apply to them anymore; they get this attitude that they are doing so much good that they should be permitted to do anything they want, or have anything they want. So David takes Bathsheba, city managers embezzle funds, candidates spread rumors through proxies, televangelists get involved in sordid affairs, and political operatives publish enough actual fake news that we start believing its all fake.

It makes me think power is one of the most dangerous things for a person to want, or have. Very few of us have enough judgment to be trusted with power. 

Besides, political power or physical power or financial power are nothing compared to the power I already have in Jesus. That power can free me from my own sin, bring me true joy, change the hearts of the bitter and angry, strengthen me to have the kind of relationships that don’t involve scheming. The true power gives every man and woman who believes everything that the world’s schemers want: joy, happiness, love and significance.  

Instead of chasing power, how much better to walk in the way of the one who has all power?

never pass away

There’s a social media trend where people share objects or activities they remember from childhood. Often I’m amused because the posters are fondly remembering the 90s, and some of the stuff they post seems relatively new to me.

I remember things like eight-track tape players and rotary-dial telephones. I relied heavily on pay phones when I traveled, and memorized an 11-digit calling card number. Movies were viewed in theaters only, and the only thing to listen to while I ran was the ambient sounds around me. Now, I carry the capability for all those things in my pocket.

In reflecting on these changes I sound like an old fogey, but there’s a point to it. Things change. Technology advances, and where once it was impossible to get across an ocean we now have a space station. Once it took several days to send correspondence back and forth, now it takes seconds. Once there was a Roman Empire, then a British Empire, then the USSR, and now all have broken into many separate countries.

Nothing is permanent. Our language changes, our values change, our standards change. Even truth is said to be flexible. Everything is subject to revision, even history.

But not Scripture. In Mark 13, Jesus foretells the end times, and gives his disciples some signs by which they will know the end is near. And he finishes with this, from verse 32: “‘Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will never pass away.’”

Jesus’ words, his promises and proclamations, will endure when even this world has passed. God’s character as revealed to us in his word will never change, not even into eternity. Heaven itself has a lifespan, but not the word of God.

That’s hugely comforting, when each day brings local and national changes and many of those changes are worrisome. Expect change, Jesus says, but know that I will never change. It’s that certainty that takes the fear out of our ever-changing lives.

wealth and faith

I’ve noticed that greed can be compounding: the more you have, the more you want. The people with the most money seem often to be the people who think the most about money. In fact, one of the Rockefellers, at the time reputed to be the richest man in America, had this answer when asked how much money is enough: just a little bit more.

This morning, I was convicted by these thoughts as I read from Mark 12, especially the story at the end that is summed up in verse 43: “Calling his disciples to him, Jesus said, ‘Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put more into the treasury than all the others. They all gave out of their wealth; but she, out of her poverty, put in everything—all she had to live on.’”

Another very familiar story, but right now, in the context of a major fund-raising campaign at church, it was uncomfortable. We’ve given a lot already, but there’s no doubt we could give more if we chose.

Early in our marriage, when we were truly poor, there were times when Dawn and I gave money on Sunday that we didn’t even have yet. I remember one time writing the church checks completely on faith, and the receiving that amount from a surprise source in the mail on Monday. When I had very little, I had more faith.

Now, I make at least ten times what I did then. But now, I have financial plans. I’m saving for retirement, I have a mortgage, there are things we want to do with our family. Now, with a comfortable bank account, I calculate very carefully what I can afford to give.

As a result, dollar amounts notwithstanding, I give less than ever. At least, by Jesus’ standard I do. I’m keeping a lot of it - we call that saving - for retirement, for a time of leisure for myself. And I’m keeping some just in case. It’s hard to call that faith.

Faith would probably invest a little more in God’s kingdom and a little less in my own future. It’s a balance I need to think about.

doubts

Mark 11:22-25: “‘Have faith in God,’ Jesus answered. ‘Truly I tell you, if anyone says to this mountain, “Go, throw yourself into the sea,” and does not doubt in their heart but believes that what they say will happen, it will be done for them. Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours. And when you stand praying, if you hold anything against anyone, forgive them, so that your Father in heaven may forgive you your sins.’”

I’ve struggled with this passage all my life. I’m not going to say I don’t believe it, but in some very key ways I don’t. I’ve never believed I could move a mountain with my prayers.

I doubt because I don’t have enough faith in two things:

First, I don’t have faith that what I pray for is what God would want. Even if I prayed to move a mountain, would it be to serve my own pride? To prove my own worth? Or would it be for worthy motives? I believe God answers prayers that are in line with his will, but so much of my thinking isn’t.

And then, honestly, I wonder whether, even if what I pray is within his will, God would do this thing for me. I haven’t exactly been the best example of faithful obedience in my life, and it seems like he may just let me sit in silence until I’m more attentive to the relationship.

Both of these doubts show how little I understand. I don’t take into account Jesus as my High Priest and mediator, taking my prayers and making them all acceptable before God. And I don’t take into account God’s character - he is Love, with a capital L, the very defining standard of all that is good. He knows I’m not worthy, but he loves anyway, and responds as if I were. For Jesus’ sake.

My problem is I’m trying to have faith as an act of exertion on my part, rather than belief in God’s power to do as he promised. Praying to let go of self-faith and grasp onto God is one I’m sure he’ll want to answer.

like little children

Sometimes, it seems the longer I’m a Christian, the harder it gets to be one. 

Take, for example, the simple matter of child-like faith. Here’s how Jesus explained it, in Mark 10: 13-16: “People were bringing little children to Jesus for him to place his hands on them, but the disciples rebuked them. When Jesus saw this, he was indignant. He said to them, ‘Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.’ And he took the children in his arms, placed his hands on them and blessed them.”

Child-like faith seemed easier when I knew less, and had done less. Earlier in my life, when I was just trying to get through school, to find and keep a good job, to make ends meet, to raise my kids, I was very content to let Jesus lead me.

Now, I’ve experienced leadership myself. I have accomplishments, and other people often look to me for answers. I’m involved in ministry, and have a small one of my own.

As a result, I’m less likely to receive the kingdom as a child, and more likely to try to take it. I’m more likely to think by my own actions I can make it what I want it to be. I often rely on myself and my own good judgment in working out my sanctification.

These days, as a mature man, it’s really hard to have the trust and dependence of a child. This is one of the oldest lessons, a simple story we learn in Sunday School. And yet, after half a century of hearing and understanding it, I struggle to do it.

Maybe that’s the point. Maybe I have to stop trying so hard. Maybe I should just go sit at the feet of Jesus and see what happens.

not one of us

The disciples might have been right at home in the modern-day church. 

That’s a thought I had when I read this little vignette from Mark 9:38-42: “‘Teacher,’ said John, ‘we saw someone driving out demons in your name and we told him to stop, because he was not one of us.’

“‘Do not stop him,’ Jesus said. ‘For no one who does a miracle in my name can in the next moment say anything bad about me, for whoever is not against us is for us. Truly I tell you, anyone who gives you a cup of water in my name because you belong to the Messiah will certainly not lose their reward.’”

Can you imagine? “Jesus, this man was doing exactly what you call us to do but we stopped him.” And the reason? He’s not one of us.

She’s not a man, so she can’t lead. He’s not an adult so he can’t pray. They’re not even citizens, so what can they do? These are common attitudes. 

The public faces of our religion are distressingly uniform: mature men, mostly white. Our theologians and the executive directors of our non-profits, our elders and pastors, all fit a mold that represents only a part of God’s kingdom.

I’m in that favored demographic, so I can be an elder and fill the pulpit. And I’m also tempted to say, “She (or he) can’t do that because she’s not one of us.”

signs

I’ve said it, and I’ll bet you have too: “Why doesn’t God just do something to prove he exists?” Sometimes it seems like we could avoid a lot of trouble in this world if our omnipotent, omniscient and omnipresent God would just respond unequivocally to all the doubters and naysayers.

Today, I’m not so sure that’s a good wish. Look at this from Mark 8:11-12: “The Pharisees came and began to question Jesus. To test him, they asked him for a sign from heaven. He sighed deeply and said, ‘Why does this generation ask for a sign? Truly I tell you, no sign will be given to it.’”

Here’s the really interesting thing: this request from the Pharisees came immediately after one of his miracles, the feeding of thousands with just a few loaves. It’s like they’re saying, “Yeah, yeah, but I want my own sign. Something I see myself, that addresses my personal questions.”

A couple of thoughts: first, God isn’t in the business of overtly removing our doubts. That’s not what faith is about. God reveals himself to us and calls us to build a relationship of trust with him. He calls us to believe in him, not demand proof.

Second, God has already given the world plenty of signs. He has worked miracles that we know from trusted eye-witness accounts. He has change us from bitter, guilty, self-centered people into loving servants. He has delivered joy to us beyond all reason. If we don’t believe yet, it’s because we don’t want to.

Faith isn’t faith if it rests entirely on facts. Faith is believing when we don’t understanding, and hoping in what we do not yet see. In the end, it’s the mark of a true believer not to need more signs.

commands and traditions

How are traditions born? The tradition of throwing our caps in the air at graduation, for example, or tossing the bouquet at a wedding. Or church traditions, like profession of faith, or first communion, or singing the Hallelujah Chorus at Easter. 

Traditions are often good. They can help us remember important things, they can help us know how to act and fit in. But they can also take the place of true faith. 

Once, Jesus was criticized because his disciples ate without the ritual washing of their hands. This is how Jesus responded, from Mark 7:6-9: 

“He replied, ‘Isaiah was right when he prophesied about you hypocrites; as it is written:

“‘“These people honor me with their lips,

but their hearts are far from me.

They worship me in vain;

their teachings are merely human rules.”’

“‘You have let go of the commands of God and are holding on to human traditions.’

“And he continued, ‘You have a fine way of setting aside the commands of God in order to observe your own traditions!’”

We’re talking about this topic in our Bible Study - the things we might be doing as a church that get in the way of others, especially those from outside our tradition, from worshipping. We have a lot of standards for dress and behavior. We have a lot of ways of measuring spirituality. Some things we use to compare ourselves, other things we use to ensure conformity.

How many of the things we define our church by are merely human rules? How much of our “obedience” is honoring God with our lips, while our hearts are in our own kingdoms? Do we ever set aside the commands of God in order to observe our own traditions?

By God’s grace, not to the extent the Pharisees did, but it’s still a danger. And it’s one that comes not from the church as an institution but from individual hearts. 

offended

Sometimes, there’s nothing you can do to keep people from being offended. 

Mark 6:1-6 tells of a time when Jesus went home: “Jesus left there and went to his hometown, accompanied by his disciples. When the Sabbath came, he began to teach in the synagogue, and many who heard him were amazed.

“‘Where did this man get these things?’ they asked. ‘What’s this wisdom that has been given him? What are these remarkable miracles he is performing? Isn’t this the carpenter? Isn’t this Mary’s son and the brother of James, Joseph, Judas and Simon? Aren’t his sisters here with us?’ And they took offense at him.”

Jesus’ old friends and the people who knew him took offense at his teaching and miracles. At words of truth, and amazing acts of help and service. How can that be?

I think we put people in boxes at an early age - we identify and define them in certain ways, and pigeonhole them as certain types. Then, when they do or become something different, we say they’re getting a big head. An old term was putting on airs. “Stop acting like a big shot,” we think. “Get back in your place.” And their growth and contribution can offend us, especially if we haven’t been growing ourselves. Yet, isn’t growth a key part of a faithful life?

This is essentially the root of racism - feeling threatened that people won’t “stay in their place.” But it’s also why it’s hard for preachers and teachers to work with old class mates, or politicians to gain the trust of older people who watched them grow up.

And, I think, it’s why it can be so hard for some kinds of Christians to be active in church life, especially in leading and teaching roles. Women, young people, new believers - these are all types of people we’ve kept from ministry leadership in the past, and still hold back to some extent. 

On reflection, I’m surprised at how often I take offense at a brother or sister who’s doing God’s work. And I’m discouraged at what it says about the state of my heart and faith.

dignity and respect

I noticed something interesting and kind of amazing in a very familiar story this morning. Here it is, from Mark 5:1-8: 

"They went across the lake to the region of the Gerasenes. When Jesus got out of the boat, a man with an impure spirit came from the tombs to meet him. This man lived in the tombs, and no one could bind him anymore, not even with a chain. For he had often been chained hand and foot, but he tore the chains apart and broke the irons on his feet. No one was strong enough to subdue him. Night and day among the tombs and in the hills he would cry out and cut himself with stones.

 "When he saw Jesus from a distance, he ran and fell on his knees in front of him. He shouted at the top of his voice, 'What do you want with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? In God’s name don’t torture me!' For Jesus had said to him, 'Come out of this man, you impure spirit!'"

It’s interesting, isn’t it, that our world and Satan’s minions look to strength as the determiner of power. Yet Jesus, from a distance, dominates this powerful demon-possessed man. Jesus’ power and authority is recognized instantly and from afar.

But look what happens in the part I didn’t share, in the following verses.

Jesus asked the demon its name. Even this mortal enemy was not “other-ized,” or lumped in with all of his kind. Jesus wanted to know who he was dealing with; he gave the basic respect of knowing the other as an individual.

Jesus also listened to the demon's request. Instead of banishing Legion, he sent the demon into a herd of pigs. He didn’t have to, he chose to be merciful. To a demon.

It’s a sobering example; if Jesus can treat demons that way, then how he must shudder when I refuse to see other image-bearers as individuals, and to hear them out. I’m reminded that one of the most basic requirements of Christianity is to treat everyone, even our enemies, with dignity and respect.

understanding

I’m often scornful of what passes for dialogue now, especially on any topic related to politics, and especially as worked out on social media. People are so certain of their own rightness, even on issues they know little about, and so closed to hearing any other opinion. And we’ve become so tribal that our demographic or identity shapes what people hear almost as much as the actual words.

I’m scornful, and then I’m reminded that in this matter the church has also lost it’s distinctiveness. On matters of worship style, diversity and inequality, or voting we can be as polarized and as hostile to each other as are unbelievers. Worse yet, we often have the same take-no-prisoners attitude when it comes to matters of doctrine. The end times, whether Jesus actually went to Hell and for how long, who will go to heaven (dogs, of course, but some other Christians?) and a host of other topics have us pulling our verbal knives to finish off our less-informed (to our thinking) wounded.

With all this in mind, I was brought up short by a brief sentence from Mark 4, a chapter made up in large part by parables that Jesus told. It says this, in verse 33: “With many similar parables Jesus spoke the word to them, as much as they could understand.”

Jesus didn’t tell the people, or us, everything there is to know about himself, or the kingdom of God. He told as much as we could understand. So much of it we won’t get until we actually experience it. We are, in matters of faith, all children. Just as children see complex things like marriage or time zones through a very simplistic lens, so is our grasp of the things of God. I think it was C.S Lewis that said something to the effect that we’re like little children who don’t want to leave the puddle we’re playing in because we can’t comprehend a trip to the sea shore.

I need to remember that as I engage others in our civil and church discourse. After all, being wrong feels exactly like being right, up to the point you realize you’re wrong. And sometimes we defend our wrong positions so vigorously that we get invested in them, and continue to argue even after we know we’re wrong.