Midweek: There Are No Super Christians (2020)

Have you ever stood in the presence of another Christian and felt inadequate? I'm talking about a full-on brother (or sister) on a pedestal moment. I'll never be as spiritual as he is. We all might be more alike than you'd imagine. This reprint from November 2020 explains.

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"My name is Julius and I am your twin brother."

A smile begins to spread across Danny DeVito's face. "Oh, obviously! The moment I sat down I thought I was lookin' into a mirra."

The exchange takes place between Vincent, played by DeVito and his "not identical" (as Julius informs him) twin brother, Arnold Schwarzenegger. Julius' clarification, as you can imagine, is totally unnecessary. The differences between them are clearer than crystal. However, so are the similarities. As the movie plays out, we find their mannerisms are identical, the things they really want in life are identical, despite their more overt dissimilarities.

I have a friend who thinks I am some sort of a "super Christian." "You are so much further along than I a--" No, no I am not. "But you are so strong in the Lo--" No, no I am not. It bothers me, it really does. I cling to Christ because I vacillate. I seek the Lord because I am short-sighted. I move in His strength because I am weak. I am not super spiritual. The truth is, I am tethered to the Perfect, the Infinite, the Sovereign, the Eternal. He has promised to never leave me or forsake me; He has promised to help me, and He calls me "friend." It is when I ignore my relationship with Jesus and try to go it alone, you can see the real "me," the natural me.

I tell my friend all the time, "You have no idea how much alike we are." I say, "We are like twins separated at birth." I protest, "You have no idea what I am without Jesus!" I don't think I'm being taken seriously. The truth is, though, who I am today, the strong confidence I have that God is in control and working for my good, comes from years of walking with the Lord, hours and hours in the Scriptures, struggle after struggle and pain after pain. I was once in my friend's shoes. I could not, would not see how the misery would end. I wanted one day -- just one day in God's favor. "Couldn't He like me for just one day?" I whined to a sister in the Lord. She looked at me with such care in her eyes, "He does like you. In fact, He loves you," she said. "Trust Him and He will take you through it." Then, she said the words I have repeated to my friend so many times: "Believe me." She knew. She knew, because what I saw in her, that strength, the confidence and steadfastness, those things that, to me, made her some sort of "Super Christian," came from taking the hand of Jesus and holding on for dear life. 

In God's wisdom, His Scriptures reveal to us the failures, flaws and foibles of "Bible heroes." Noah drank, Abraham lied, Peter was a hothead and a coward, Paul wasn't one to give second chances. "Champions" of the faith, and yet, they failed. Sixteen second snapshots of any of our lives may reveal we are more alike than different. It's not hypocrisy; it's simple truth. In and of ourselves we are nothing but human. When we forget to Whom we belong, when we do things in our own strength, we can never be mistaken for any type of hero. 

There are no Super Christians. They just don't exist. From the time we say, "I do," we are engaged in battle. We are praying and reading and meditating and rejoicing and weeping our way through eternity. All of us. There may be days when Jesus shares with us His victory. There will probably be many more days, at least in this world, where we get a raw taste of defeat. But "be of good cheer!" Jesus has overcome the world. He is the superhero. He is just gracious enough to invite those of us made in His image along for the journey!

Obey to Thrive!

Years ago, I was invited to spend some time at a friend's home. Though I loved her deeply, she and I had some very different ideas about things like housekeeping and child rearing and meal preparation and, well, just about everything. When the topic of getting together came up, I would always encourage her to come to my place. I would plan a menu that seemed to suit us both, and I'd brace for impact, as her parenting was a bit more permissive than mine. I planned sleeping arrangements ahead of time, and tried to make her aware of anything in our schedules which might cause her inconvenience. I waited up until she and her children arrived --usually much later than the scheduled arrival time --and assisted them in settling in. 

The time came, however, when she insisted she demonstrate hospitality toward me. I reluctantly accepted the invitation. What I anticipated would be a short visit, however, was extended, and truthfully, felt extended. Her family slept late; we were early risers. Tip-toeing around, trying to entertain children and find the supplies necessary to feed them (and make myself a bowl of coffee) was a daily issue. My quiet time with Jesus was not only logistically impossible, but I felt a very unwelcoming spirit in the house. When the day began, it was spent in perpetual activity as if I wasn't there. Errands were run, television shows were watched, arguments were had. There was nothing to entertain or engage; there were no special trips to the local park or museum. Meals were not eaten as a group; everyone ate as they saw fit, and if we ordered out, it was "Dutch." My mind went back to childhood, to those occasions where the adults would talk and children were expected to be seen, not heard. I felt as if I'd been invited merely to be held captive, and I longed for home.

I was reading Jeremiah 29 the other morning. Judah was overcome by Babylon, and many of the people had been taken captive. They had been marched from their homeland some four hundred miles to a heathen, foreign land. Their exile was judgment from God whom they had forsaken. Nevertheless, He mercifully commissioned Jeremiah to exhort the people to obey Him.

Jeremiah 29:5-7 says:

Build houses and dwell in them; plant gardens and eat their fruit. Take wives and beget sons and daughters; and take wives for your sons and give your daughters to husbands, so that they may bear sons and daughters—that you may be increased there, and not diminished. And seek the peace of the city where I have caused you to be carried away captive, and pray to the Lord for it; for in its peace you will have peace. 

Their captivity would last for a time --seventy years, God said --but in that time, they were not to rebel or give up. They were to live! They were to multiply and produce fruit. They were to live as God's people in a foreign land, in plain view of its people. Their presence would be a blessing to the heathen citizens of Babylon for God's glory. Their prayers for this foreign power would demonstrate God's power --power given to His people to live in joy and fullness of joy, despite the environment. Their prayers would allow the people of Babylon to experience God's kindness, meant to lead to repentance. Their prayers would bless the country and hold its people accountable: they could not claim they'd never seen God nor deny His existence. Their prayers would transform their hearts to hearts full of love for their enemies and love for the God who was still with them. Don't struggle to survive; obey to thrive! This was their time to evangelize, to shine the light of God's love in a dark world.

My mind went back to that visit. Given the opportunity again, would I be able to do that visit in a much better, much more blessed way today? Would I choose to obey to thrive? Would I sing praise songs in the shower and as I stood helping with dishes? As I tip-toed around each morning, would I seek to cover every inch of the floor in prayer? As I sat on the sofa, balancing my dinner plate on my knees, would I give thanks for the way God provided for my friend and her family? Could I take my mind off my misery long enough to do what I'm told; to build, dwell, plant, and savor; to establish relationship, edify and multiply the blessing in my friend's life for generations; to receive the peace God has for me by seeking peace in this foreign land. 

Isn't that the opportunity we are given each and every day until we are summoned home?

Hear Ye! Hear Ye!

I have a constant companion --well, relatively constant. There are places she certainly doesn't need to be, and times when her loyalty to me is tested by someone upstairs opening a tin of butter cookies. But overall, where I go, Luci is not far behind. I was thinking about that when I read Robert Alter's translation of Psalm 89:15 this morning:

Justice and law are the base of Your throne.
Steadfast kindness and truth go before Your presence.

The Hebrew word translated "steadfast kindness" here is hesed. Hesed is a wonderful level of God's zealous love for His people. Hesed is often translated as mercy, grace. lovingkindness, and compassion, but none of these seems adequate to express the depths of the meaning of God's hesed. It's not just His warm, fuzzy feelings toward us, but a mighty, passionate, aggressive even, work of love. Hesed is an essential part of His character, infinite in capacity and endurance. Steadfast kindness, God's hesed, is the herald of His presence.

Truth, we know from the Gospel of John, is what sets us free --completely. Jesus Himself is truth, and we, His followers, are sanctified by His truth, His Word. The Hebrew word translated "truth" is emet, and is in some contexts equated with His faithfulness. Jesus' hesed and His faithfulness, or truth --integrity --go before Him like heralds before a King. 

In Medieval history, a herald was a type of royal diplomat or agent. The herald's word came directly to opposing armies as though from the king himself. It was important the communication reached the intended recipient, obviously, so heralds had to master the identification of the crests and symbols of various ruling houses. As a result, they became experts in the histories and lineages of the sovereigns. And lineage was crucial to character and credentials. Eventually, heralds took on the role of Master of Ceremonies at tournaments and would proclaim the virtues and qualifications of competitors. Their knowledge of the inner workings of the kingdom and foreign policy has allowed them to evolve into the heralds of today: counselors to the king in important matters of genealogies, family crests, and ceremonies. Today's heralds maintain authority with regard to familial names and family crests. Heralds testify to the legitimacy of an heir.

Having said all of that, and back to the original point, the hesed of God and the truth of God are His constant companions. His lovingkindness and veracity testify to His legitimacy, His credentials, and where they are, He is. But He does not follow them, He is them. Steadfast kindness and truth are His character which cannot be separated from Him. Acts of mercy and the upholding of truth indicate God is present and at work; they call us to worship the One True King. Conversely, the presence of the Lord guarantees mercy and truth are present as well. Those who walk with the Lord are accompanied by His infinite mercy and His perfect integrity. Lamentations 2:22, 23 promises God's hesed, His inexhaustible mercy is available to all His people, and the very name of our Savior and Brother is Faithful and True. If Jesus is our constant companion, the steadfast kindness and truth of our Lord is present wherever we go --present that we might know blessing, and present that we might be equipped to bless others and bring glory to God.

And He would never leave us for a butter cookie.

Midweek: Insert Coins Then Make Your Selection (2009)

This week I'm going with another reprint from "The Archives." It's been fun going back through some of the things I wrote years ago. Some articles assure me I wasn't as "off track" as I thought I was back then. Some posts are just plain cringe. But I'm leaving them there to show me (and you, if you'd like to do the research) just how far God can bring us. 

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Behold the simple vending machine:

...lots of options, simple principle -- you get what you want when you give it what it wants.  Works every time -- right?

        We have a couple of vending machines at work that work on the "slot machine principle" -- lots of coin in, just enough payout to keep you coming back.  From time to time I will pack some sort of snack or sandwich just to get around the frustration of dealing with those manipulative machines.  Eventually though, I am compelled to return, dropping in more money than I would pay for a family-size bag of some artery-clogging mess and paying twice the price for a warm, slightly expired soda, only to have the machine jam and dangle my Bugles before me like one of those stupid cat teaser toys.  I bang and fume and kick.  I turn as if some hidden camera crew is waiting to jump from hiding and joyfully reveal to me their ruse.  Satisfied no one is watching, or annoyed to the point at which I will not be beaten by an inanimate object regardless of an audience, I exhale, shrug my jacket sleeves up, position my trademark stilettos on the floor, and slam the top of the machine for all I am worth.  It rocks back, and I catch it on the return, rocking it back even harder.  In the end, I win -- forcing the machine to drop its dislodged bounty into the tray.  I open the door and retrieve it with a smirk of satisfaction, straightening my suddenly fabulous attire, and standing just a little taller, pleased with myself for putting the kibosh on that malevolent machine's unscrupulous practice.

        It occurred to me yesterday, that sometimes we treat God like the vending machine.  We put our money, our time, our faith in, and we expect to get just what we want right back.  "Have it your way."  "I want it all and I want it now."  "...right at your fingertips."  (Insert your instant gratification, self-serving, entitlement cliche' here.)

        How many times have we fumed and raged because we gave of ourselves and our precious dollars and "nothing came out."  We are still struggling to pay our bills, we are still pressed for time between carpools and clean-ups.  "When does God payback what He owes?"  Our sinful, ego-bound hearts seethe with perceived privilege; we are determined not to be taken advantage of!

        Or how often do we live "good, faithful, righteous" lives only to get those things we do not want?  "I never asked for MS!"  "I earned the good parents."  We all want to give that vending machine a kick or a shake just to get what we think we deserve.

        And the immediacy with which we expect results?  Feed the homeless here, get a bonus at work there.  We look at each potential windfall as God working to finally dispense the good fortune we desire, the reward we deserve, the paycheck we've earned in His service.  When our bounty doesn't fall, our frustration builds.  We become disenchanted with our very Savior, the One who gave His Life that we might live.

        I've received the "bounty at the bottom of the machine," and I've learned it was my arrogance and my foolishness that dropped it there and allowed me to walk away satisfied.  In the light of God's abundance and grace, it was offal for which I fought so long and hard -- a bag of six stale, broken chips and a warm, flat, dented can of ginger ale with something growing over the opening at the top.  God had so much more planned for me; how could I have been so pompous as to think anything I could squeeze from His hand would be better than what He could graciously give?