What is the heart of the Bible? What is the passage, verse or story that sums up the whole? There are several iconic passages, sayings that almost everyone knows, Christian or not. “Do unto others…” “For God so loved the world…”
I think the one story that sums up the Bible, that tells us what the whole book is about and what God wants from his people, is in Genesis. Genesis 32:22-32. It is a strange story, and one that doesn’t often make the Sunday school list. Jacob wrestles at Peniel. This is the story that tells us what the Bible is all about.
A man on the run from one family member and trying make peace with another, sleeps alone at night. Alone and afraid of what will happen the next day. Completely unsure if this night will be his last. A stranger appears, and they wrestle. The opponent wins, he wounds Jacob, but Jacob just won’t let go until the stranger blesses him. So the stranger changes Jacob’s name.
I always thought that this story was weird, and I finally began to understand it when I read another near-eastern piece of literature called Gilgamesh. In this story, a man from the wilds comes to meet the king, Gilgamesh. They take one look at each other and start wrestling. They wrestle around the entire city until they are exhausted, and at the end of the fight, they are best friends.
How often do we make friends of the people we fight with? It is a constant theme in romance stories, two people sniping and bickering, sparring verbally or physically, until they decide they actually like each other. A relationship always beings with a time of testing, a wrestling match. When we fight we show our true colors, and we learn about each other.
The Bible is about humankind wrestling with God. Wrestling for understanding. Wrestling for truth. Wrestling for hope and grace and justice. We strive against God and strive to find God, we stretch and strain to understand who God is and what God wants. We try to figure out how we should live, even if it’s not how we want to live. We reach up and try to keep hold of the divine, and if we can hang on and refuse to let go, like Jacob, we will be changed.
God wants us to wrestle with him. God wants us to ask the tough questions, even if we can’t find straightforward answers. He wants us to take risks, get mad, strive to find the truth of who he is and what this world is all about. God wants to wrestle with us because that is how we draw close to him. We can’t grow if we avoid situations that teach. We can’t understand someone if we only look at the things we like at first glance. We need to dig deeper, go past the surface, get down and dirty and personal. The search to understand and love the creator is a fight that we can’t stop pursuing, can never let go of.
And if we can hang on, if we are willing to get into the ring and give it our all, we might come out with a limp. We’ll probably get hurt in the process, and we’ll be tired, very tired before the end. But we’ll be different. Changed.
Better?
I hope so. Because I think God is worth the effort. So I’m hanging on.
July 26, 2011
July 23, 2011
Wasteland
This is a short story that I found when cleaning out my computer files. I wrote it over a decade ago. I hope my writing style has improved since then, but when re-reading it I was drawn in by the symbology, although my teenage analysis of some of the issues surroundingd Eden are too simplistic. It is interesting to see how my thought processes and values have evolved since high school, and what has remained the same. I hope you will find this story to be food for thought.
The circle in the sky burns, sending light and heat to the cold ground below. But more often than not, it finds the people first. They gather the sunlight as it touches their skin, needing it’s warmth to live, using the light to see what they can through the dark, heavy cold of the air. They need it, and yet it withers their skin, every touch shortening their existence even as it keeps them alive. The people of the wasteland know no different. The light, the withering, the heat and the cold were there, have always been there, and always will be. That is reality, and they cling to it as they would a precious jewel. That is life.
The land is teeming with life, mostly human life. They go about their business, hardly bothering to pay attention to these matters except in passing, or as entertainment. Those that do any more than that have been nearly wiped out by natural selection and survival of the fittest. Humans can mostly be seen in packs, traveling together not because there are animals lurking in the wilderness but because loneliness is lurking in solitude. Strangely, as they love company so, very often they will gather in small, closed groups opening to none but their own. They have many other odd habits, though they have not always been so. But that is not something that most of them know about. Not until a certain meeting, a certain challenge, takes place. The challenge: know truth and accept it. The prize: Life.
It may happen like this.
The small group huddled in a circle, talking about this and that. Little things that had no real meaning. The point was companionship. And then, someone new joined the group. Her difference was easy to see. The skin was what most people noticed first. It was soft and almost smooth, unlike the wrinkled, dry, sun beaten skin the others wore; as if she hardly ever stood under the sun. Her eyes, though, caught their attention next. They were open and alert and did not absorb the light. But she saw better than any of them.
“Good evening, friends.” She greeted, hovering at the edge, waiting.
The two girls in front of her parted, making room in the circle for the newcomer. “Thank you.” She said, and smiled. “It is always nice to find an opening in such a long journey.”
“”A journey?” The man across from her asked. “Then you must have some good stories to tell. We have worn ours out with too much use.”
“I have a story that I think none of you have ever heard.” The newcomer said. “The middle is where I will start, in a beautiful garden full of life and happiness.”
“I want a true story, not a fairy tale!” The girl next to her whined, and shoved the new one roughly.
“But this is true, as true as any story and much truer than most.” Her lightless eyes looked around the circle, and all knew that although she gathered no light to see by, she was far from blind. “We were in the middle, yes? In the garden, where two people lived quite happily. Do not ask me for how long, I do not know. I do not think that time mattered in this garden, or if it even existed there.”
“What is a garden?”
“A place with growing things, and water and rain and a different sun. It was a place of happiness. No fear, no pain, just love and goodness. The sun was warm and gave life. The ground was carpeted by soft grass.” The stranger answered.
Her audience was paying close attention. This was like no story they had ever heard. But as she continued to tell it, some quickly lost interest. Others leaned forward in fascination.
All of the creatures of the earth, not just people, lived there together and they got along without any trouble. And they all got along with the maker. Everything was as it should be. The people lived together and ruled the garden well, tending it and keeping it healthy. The maker of the garden and everything in it gave them only one rule to live by. There was only one thing they could not do. They were not allowed to eat the fruit of a certain tree.
What happens when you do the forbidden?
“Why?” The other little girl asked. “If the garden was healthy, why was some fruit bad?” Her mother shushed her quietly.
They did it because they wanted to be better than him, to be more than they were. They did it out of greed. And they were sent from the garden into a wasteland. Because of what they did, no one can ever go back to the garden. No one, never. All have been banished to the wasteland.
“What is a wasteland?”
“This is a wasteland.” The storyteller gestured around them. “We are in it now, because we make the same choice made by the first two every day, and we cannot escape it. Not without help. We could get out of the wasteland, if we wanted to.”
“How?” The question filled the air, and the heart and mind of all but one present. The one who knew the answer.
The storyteller took a small, cylindrical container from her pocket and opened it. Putting it to her lips, she drank. With a steady hand, she held it out to the astonished people in front of her. “Drink.” Was her answer.
But the maker loved his people still, and so he gave them a second chance, another choice. The wasteland is ruled by the destroyer, the maker’s opposite. He perches on high in the sun and from there makes sure that the land lies forever in ruin. He whispers in the ears of the people, making them believe what he wishes them to. When they ate the fruit and entered the wasteland, they became his by their own choice. But the maker wanted them to choose again. So he wept over the land, shedding tears and putting a part of himself into this place. He pointed the way to a few who were willing to listen, and they have passed it on to us. Take a bit of him into yourself, let him undo what the destroyer has done, and we can escape the wasteland. Drink.
In the wasteland there is no water, there is no wine, there is no liquid except for the pools of it scattered everywhere. No one notices them. The sun that beats down on them through the sky by day and the earth by night tells them with each particle of light that touched their skin that they must not drink. It is forbidden. Everyone knows what will happen if they drink. They will be cast out. Cast out of the group, cast out of the wastelands to wander them and yet not be in them. And one day, they will be taken away and never be able to return to this, the only thing they have ever known.
Drink? What happens when someone is asked to do the forbidden?
The little girl by her side looked up with wide eyes. “Drink? What is that? Isn’t that bad?” Her father puts his arms around her, pulling her away from the dangerous flask.
“There is nothing bad about drinking, only good things.” The strange told her gently. “Look at me. I drink and I am happy and my skin is not withered. Look at the other people, who do not. It tastes good. Wouldn’t you like to drink? Are you thirsty?”
“We are always thirsty.” The girl says. “Does drinking make you not thirsty?” The woman nods. Her father holds her tight, but the girls reaches her head forward and opens her mouth. Water touches her lips, and she smiles. “That is good! Can I have some more?”
The woman smiles. “Of course, there is always plenty. Come with me and I will show you how to find it.” She turns to the group. “Won’t anyone else drink?”
“Why should we? You know as well as we do that it is dangerous! Besides, what you have told us is just a story. Nothing like a garden exists, ever, and you say that the people could not go back! Even if it was real..”
“And why should we believe you?”
The woman closed her eyes for a moment and answered, “Because belief is better than doubt. Can you not see my skin? Here.” She poured a few drops onto the hard, dry ground, forming a pool that reflected the scene above on its surface. “Watch the water.” Many leaned forward some eager, some just mildly curious. Some held back, afraid or defiant. These saw nothing, but those that looked saw something their eyes had never seen before, something never found in the wasteland.
The maker will not let us back into the garden. He is making a new one, without a tree. The choice represented by the tree has already been made. When we get to this garden, we will be there to stay. No more sun and painful light. Water and life will surround us. And love will continue unending.
A few turned away, a few look up, considering. And some of these reached forward for the flask. The woman held it firmly in her hand and looked each one steadily in the eye. “It is addictive. Do not drink lightly, because if you do, you will never be the same again. You know.”
They knew. “But you have drunk, and we can see that what you have, what you have shown us, is better than what we have known.” She nodded and loosened her hold. They drank. Their skin softened slightly. Eyes dimmed. The circle divided in two.
“It is wonderful!” A woman said, licking her lips to get the last drop of moisture. “Where can we get more? How can we find out more?”
“Come, I will show you.” The woman turned and pointed to a small spot on the ground. The people looked at what their eyes had before so readily avoided. Water, fresh and clear and good. They each found a flask, and filled it to keep at their side always. But they could always find another pool, easily.
The little girl looked up at the woman, her friend, and said “But what do we do now?”
“We take a journey. Some people call it life. It is a long journey, and hard. Through the wasteland, which is no longer your home. But it is worth it, because of where we are going.”
“Are we going back to the garden?”
“No, we are going to a better one. This one has no forbidden tree.”
“When will we get there? Will it be soon?”
“We will be there when the maker decides that it is time.”
The same story is happening now, every day. The details are always different. The truth is always the same. The outcome can only go one of two ways.
There is a wasteland where there once was a garden. In it is a pool of water, but all know that the pool is forbidden. It is as the garden was, with forbidden fruit at the center. Why do we not drink of the pool as eagerly as we bit into the fruit?
The circle in the sky burns, sending light and heat to the cold ground below. But more often than not, it finds the people first. They gather the sunlight as it touches their skin, needing it’s warmth to live, using the light to see what they can through the dark, heavy cold of the air. They need it, and yet it withers their skin, every touch shortening their existence even as it keeps them alive. The people of the wasteland know no different. The light, the withering, the heat and the cold were there, have always been there, and always will be. That is reality, and they cling to it as they would a precious jewel. That is life.
The land is teeming with life, mostly human life. They go about their business, hardly bothering to pay attention to these matters except in passing, or as entertainment. Those that do any more than that have been nearly wiped out by natural selection and survival of the fittest. Humans can mostly be seen in packs, traveling together not because there are animals lurking in the wilderness but because loneliness is lurking in solitude. Strangely, as they love company so, very often they will gather in small, closed groups opening to none but their own. They have many other odd habits, though they have not always been so. But that is not something that most of them know about. Not until a certain meeting, a certain challenge, takes place. The challenge: know truth and accept it. The prize: Life.
It may happen like this.
The small group huddled in a circle, talking about this and that. Little things that had no real meaning. The point was companionship. And then, someone new joined the group. Her difference was easy to see. The skin was what most people noticed first. It was soft and almost smooth, unlike the wrinkled, dry, sun beaten skin the others wore; as if she hardly ever stood under the sun. Her eyes, though, caught their attention next. They were open and alert and did not absorb the light. But she saw better than any of them.
“Good evening, friends.” She greeted, hovering at the edge, waiting.
The two girls in front of her parted, making room in the circle for the newcomer. “Thank you.” She said, and smiled. “It is always nice to find an opening in such a long journey.”
“”A journey?” The man across from her asked. “Then you must have some good stories to tell. We have worn ours out with too much use.”
“I have a story that I think none of you have ever heard.” The newcomer said. “The middle is where I will start, in a beautiful garden full of life and happiness.”
“I want a true story, not a fairy tale!” The girl next to her whined, and shoved the new one roughly.
“But this is true, as true as any story and much truer than most.” Her lightless eyes looked around the circle, and all knew that although she gathered no light to see by, she was far from blind. “We were in the middle, yes? In the garden, where two people lived quite happily. Do not ask me for how long, I do not know. I do not think that time mattered in this garden, or if it even existed there.”
“What is a garden?”
“A place with growing things, and water and rain and a different sun. It was a place of happiness. No fear, no pain, just love and goodness. The sun was warm and gave life. The ground was carpeted by soft grass.” The stranger answered.
Her audience was paying close attention. This was like no story they had ever heard. But as she continued to tell it, some quickly lost interest. Others leaned forward in fascination.
All of the creatures of the earth, not just people, lived there together and they got along without any trouble. And they all got along with the maker. Everything was as it should be. The people lived together and ruled the garden well, tending it and keeping it healthy. The maker of the garden and everything in it gave them only one rule to live by. There was only one thing they could not do. They were not allowed to eat the fruit of a certain tree.
What happens when you do the forbidden?
“Why?” The other little girl asked. “If the garden was healthy, why was some fruit bad?” Her mother shushed her quietly.
They did it because they wanted to be better than him, to be more than they were. They did it out of greed. And they were sent from the garden into a wasteland. Because of what they did, no one can ever go back to the garden. No one, never. All have been banished to the wasteland.
“What is a wasteland?”
“This is a wasteland.” The storyteller gestured around them. “We are in it now, because we make the same choice made by the first two every day, and we cannot escape it. Not without help. We could get out of the wasteland, if we wanted to.”
“How?” The question filled the air, and the heart and mind of all but one present. The one who knew the answer.
The storyteller took a small, cylindrical container from her pocket and opened it. Putting it to her lips, she drank. With a steady hand, she held it out to the astonished people in front of her. “Drink.” Was her answer.
But the maker loved his people still, and so he gave them a second chance, another choice. The wasteland is ruled by the destroyer, the maker’s opposite. He perches on high in the sun and from there makes sure that the land lies forever in ruin. He whispers in the ears of the people, making them believe what he wishes them to. When they ate the fruit and entered the wasteland, they became his by their own choice. But the maker wanted them to choose again. So he wept over the land, shedding tears and putting a part of himself into this place. He pointed the way to a few who were willing to listen, and they have passed it on to us. Take a bit of him into yourself, let him undo what the destroyer has done, and we can escape the wasteland. Drink.
In the wasteland there is no water, there is no wine, there is no liquid except for the pools of it scattered everywhere. No one notices them. The sun that beats down on them through the sky by day and the earth by night tells them with each particle of light that touched their skin that they must not drink. It is forbidden. Everyone knows what will happen if they drink. They will be cast out. Cast out of the group, cast out of the wastelands to wander them and yet not be in them. And one day, they will be taken away and never be able to return to this, the only thing they have ever known.
Drink? What happens when someone is asked to do the forbidden?
The little girl by her side looked up with wide eyes. “Drink? What is that? Isn’t that bad?” Her father puts his arms around her, pulling her away from the dangerous flask.
“There is nothing bad about drinking, only good things.” The strange told her gently. “Look at me. I drink and I am happy and my skin is not withered. Look at the other people, who do not. It tastes good. Wouldn’t you like to drink? Are you thirsty?”
“We are always thirsty.” The girl says. “Does drinking make you not thirsty?” The woman nods. Her father holds her tight, but the girls reaches her head forward and opens her mouth. Water touches her lips, and she smiles. “That is good! Can I have some more?”
The woman smiles. “Of course, there is always plenty. Come with me and I will show you how to find it.” She turns to the group. “Won’t anyone else drink?”
“Why should we? You know as well as we do that it is dangerous! Besides, what you have told us is just a story. Nothing like a garden exists, ever, and you say that the people could not go back! Even if it was real..”
“And why should we believe you?”
The woman closed her eyes for a moment and answered, “Because belief is better than doubt. Can you not see my skin? Here.” She poured a few drops onto the hard, dry ground, forming a pool that reflected the scene above on its surface. “Watch the water.” Many leaned forward some eager, some just mildly curious. Some held back, afraid or defiant. These saw nothing, but those that looked saw something their eyes had never seen before, something never found in the wasteland.
The maker will not let us back into the garden. He is making a new one, without a tree. The choice represented by the tree has already been made. When we get to this garden, we will be there to stay. No more sun and painful light. Water and life will surround us. And love will continue unending.
A few turned away, a few look up, considering. And some of these reached forward for the flask. The woman held it firmly in her hand and looked each one steadily in the eye. “It is addictive. Do not drink lightly, because if you do, you will never be the same again. You know.”
They knew. “But you have drunk, and we can see that what you have, what you have shown us, is better than what we have known.” She nodded and loosened her hold. They drank. Their skin softened slightly. Eyes dimmed. The circle divided in two.
“It is wonderful!” A woman said, licking her lips to get the last drop of moisture. “Where can we get more? How can we find out more?”
“Come, I will show you.” The woman turned and pointed to a small spot on the ground. The people looked at what their eyes had before so readily avoided. Water, fresh and clear and good. They each found a flask, and filled it to keep at their side always. But they could always find another pool, easily.
The little girl looked up at the woman, her friend, and said “But what do we do now?”
“We take a journey. Some people call it life. It is a long journey, and hard. Through the wasteland, which is no longer your home. But it is worth it, because of where we are going.”
“Are we going back to the garden?”
“No, we are going to a better one. This one has no forbidden tree.”
“When will we get there? Will it be soon?”
“We will be there when the maker decides that it is time.”
The same story is happening now, every day. The details are always different. The truth is always the same. The outcome can only go one of two ways.
There is a wasteland where there once was a garden. In it is a pool of water, but all know that the pool is forbidden. It is as the garden was, with forbidden fruit at the center. Why do we not drink of the pool as eagerly as we bit into the fruit?
July 20, 2011
Prophet's Call
We are his mouth, we are his hands,
Now we must go where he commands.
We are the fire, hope’s burning brand,
Now we must do all he demands.
As Moses walked up to the king
With fearless hearts now we sing.
As Joshua rounded Jericho
There is no place we fear to go.
As Daniel slept in the lion’s den
We rest in peace in a prison pen.
As Abraham went far from home
We do not shrink from the long road.
As Isaiah spoke to the crowd
So we will shout the news out loud.
As Paul sailed through the stormy sea
We do not fear the enemy.
We are his mouth, we are his hands,
Now we must go where he commands.
We are the fire, hope’s burning brand,
Now we must do all he demands.
Now we must go where he commands.
We are the fire, hope’s burning brand,
Now we must do all he demands.
As Moses walked up to the king
With fearless hearts now we sing.
As Joshua rounded Jericho
There is no place we fear to go.
As Daniel slept in the lion’s den
We rest in peace in a prison pen.
As Abraham went far from home
We do not shrink from the long road.
As Isaiah spoke to the crowd
So we will shout the news out loud.
As Paul sailed through the stormy sea
We do not fear the enemy.
We are his mouth, we are his hands,
Now we must go where he commands.
We are the fire, hope’s burning brand,
Now we must do all he demands.
July 13, 2011
How do I swear?
I have always thought it especially strange that Jesus Christ and God became swear words right along with damn and hell, since they are supposed to be polar opposites. Really, even people who don't 'swear' use these words. Isn't Jeeze and Jeesh just an abbreviated Jesus and Gosh a nicified God? How did the name of everything holy turn into something bad? Why is it such a big deal not to use these names as explicatives?
Some people trace this word fetish back to the Ten Commandments found in Exodus 20. “Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain.” Or, according to the NRSV, “You shall not make wrongful use of the name of the LORD your God, for the LORD will not acquit anyone who misused his name.”
Does this mean that God gets really mad when someone spits out a, “Oh my God!” or “Jesus Christ” when they are mad, upset, excited, startled, etc.? After all, we call using obscene language ‘swearing.’ It’s a term I never really understood. After all, ‘swearing’ means to make an oath. When you swear in court you swear by God that you will tell the truth. It gives more weight to what you say, because you do it in God’s name and He will punish if you go back on that word.
So what does that have to do with the use of dirty language? Nothing, as far as I can tell. The third commandment doesn’t have anything to do with that.
And does using OMG or JC as a ‘swear’ word really mean anything? I think that more people profane the name of God and his Son every day who use the name in worship than as a dirty word. They dirty the name of God when they call themselves ‘Christian’ and act with greed, lust or pride. They sully the word of Jesus when they claim to belong to him, yet read without mercy on the poor and destitute. They obscure the name and vilify it when they withhold forgiveness and grace in order to hold onto their hate and revenge.
A name is more than a label, more than a word. A name is who and what you are. I have come to the point where it no longer bothers me to hear swear words. The people who use them throw them around as empty syllables, nothing more. They don’t mean anything against God specifically, they are simply expressing frustration, fear, pain, and anger.
I heard on a Christian radio station once, in response to a debate about taking "Under God" out of the pledge of allegiance, one of the announcers claimed she wouldn't stand up if her own rights were being violated, but when God's name is vilated, that's different. I say it's the exact opposite. God stands for truth and justice and our rights are part of that. If I am experiencing injustice, chances are someone else is, too, and I need to fight that injustice for me and for them in the name of God. What we say in the pledge of allegiance...well, we're hardly a Christian nation, so what does it matter if we use the name or not? It's our actions, not our pledge, that tells who and what we are as a country.
It’s something to think about, another one of the strange ironies of our culture clashing with our Christian history and conservative mores. Don’t put the fish bumper sticker on your car or wear a cross necklace or WWJD bracelet unless you mean it. Unless you are ready to represent God and Jesus’ name by all that you do. Because that is far more important than the expressions of discontent and annoyance that you choose.
Some people trace this word fetish back to the Ten Commandments found in Exodus 20. “Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain.” Or, according to the NRSV, “You shall not make wrongful use of the name of the LORD your God, for the LORD will not acquit anyone who misused his name.”
Does this mean that God gets really mad when someone spits out a, “Oh my God!” or “Jesus Christ” when they are mad, upset, excited, startled, etc.? After all, we call using obscene language ‘swearing.’ It’s a term I never really understood. After all, ‘swearing’ means to make an oath. When you swear in court you swear by God that you will tell the truth. It gives more weight to what you say, because you do it in God’s name and He will punish if you go back on that word.
So what does that have to do with the use of dirty language? Nothing, as far as I can tell. The third commandment doesn’t have anything to do with that.
And does using OMG or JC as a ‘swear’ word really mean anything? I think that more people profane the name of God and his Son every day who use the name in worship than as a dirty word. They dirty the name of God when they call themselves ‘Christian’ and act with greed, lust or pride. They sully the word of Jesus when they claim to belong to him, yet read without mercy on the poor and destitute. They obscure the name and vilify it when they withhold forgiveness and grace in order to hold onto their hate and revenge.
A name is more than a label, more than a word. A name is who and what you are. I have come to the point where it no longer bothers me to hear swear words. The people who use them throw them around as empty syllables, nothing more. They don’t mean anything against God specifically, they are simply expressing frustration, fear, pain, and anger.
I heard on a Christian radio station once, in response to a debate about taking "Under God" out of the pledge of allegiance, one of the announcers claimed she wouldn't stand up if her own rights were being violated, but when God's name is vilated, that's different. I say it's the exact opposite. God stands for truth and justice and our rights are part of that. If I am experiencing injustice, chances are someone else is, too, and I need to fight that injustice for me and for them in the name of God. What we say in the pledge of allegiance...well, we're hardly a Christian nation, so what does it matter if we use the name or not? It's our actions, not our pledge, that tells who and what we are as a country.
It’s something to think about, another one of the strange ironies of our culture clashing with our Christian history and conservative mores. Don’t put the fish bumper sticker on your car or wear a cross necklace or WWJD bracelet unless you mean it. Unless you are ready to represent God and Jesus’ name by all that you do. Because that is far more important than the expressions of discontent and annoyance that you choose.
July 9, 2011
Bad Words
Words are funny things. They mean something different depending on how they are used. They can be polite and harsh at the same time, or crude and affectionate at once. The way we use language is a reflection on us.
All of us are familiar with the mythical image of an old granny washing out a vile mouth with soap and water. In our culture, some words are acceptable in polite company, around little children, and on formal occasions. Other are not. They are considered crude, rude, and vile enough to pollute the mouth. We focus so much on the words that we forget what they really mean.
Growing up in a conservative Christian household, I learned to watch my tongue. I still probably haven’t heard half of the good swear words out there. When I was ten we were even allowed to say ’stupid.’ Yet for each of those bad words I was never allowed to say, there is a corresponding ‘clean’ word.
Is it better to say fudge, drat or dang? When we let out a forbidden explicative or a cleaner version, does our word choice really matter? Because what we mean is the same. Christians are supposed to worry about the heart, about the state of a persons life, not the state of their mouth. If I say darn and you say damn, what difference does it really make? We have ostracized a group of words from ’appropriate’ language, but not the feelings behind them.
I'm not trying to give a directive here, or even a concrete opinion, because my vote is still out. But does it matter if I use 'bad' words? What difference does it really make? Is it okay to use the toned-down, aceptable versions? Is that really any different? Should I try not to make any exclamation at all when I am angry or upset or surprised? Does that exclamantion reflect an un-christian mentality? Or is it ok? And if the sentiment is the same, does it matter which words I use?
All of us are familiar with the mythical image of an old granny washing out a vile mouth with soap and water. In our culture, some words are acceptable in polite company, around little children, and on formal occasions. Other are not. They are considered crude, rude, and vile enough to pollute the mouth. We focus so much on the words that we forget what they really mean.
Growing up in a conservative Christian household, I learned to watch my tongue. I still probably haven’t heard half of the good swear words out there. When I was ten we were even allowed to say ’stupid.’ Yet for each of those bad words I was never allowed to say, there is a corresponding ‘clean’ word.
Is it better to say fudge, drat or dang? When we let out a forbidden explicative or a cleaner version, does our word choice really matter? Because what we mean is the same. Christians are supposed to worry about the heart, about the state of a persons life, not the state of their mouth. If I say darn and you say damn, what difference does it really make? We have ostracized a group of words from ’appropriate’ language, but not the feelings behind them.
I'm not trying to give a directive here, or even a concrete opinion, because my vote is still out. But does it matter if I use 'bad' words? What difference does it really make? Is it okay to use the toned-down, aceptable versions? Is that really any different? Should I try not to make any exclamation at all when I am angry or upset or surprised? Does that exclamantion reflect an un-christian mentality? Or is it ok? And if the sentiment is the same, does it matter which words I use?
July 6, 2011
Declaration Day
The United States just celebrated the Fourth of July two days ago. Cookouts and squirt-gun wars, sparklers and fireworks are all traditions that cannot be missed. Yet as with the Christmas tree and the Thanksgiving turkey, it is the meaning behind the celebration and the traditions that we strive to keep in mind always.
So what did we celebrate on the Fourth of July? What we carry with us through the rest of the year, once the fireworks are gone and the grills put away, is different for each person. I want to suggest that what we didn’t celebrate is every bit as important as what we did.
Liberty. Revolution. The Bill of Rights. Patriotism. The United States of America. These are all big Fourth-of-July words. Yet if you look at the date we chose to mark our national holiday, it is curious that not all of these words fit. Especially not the last.
We celebrate the signing of the Declaration of Independence, not the Constitution or even the unity of the United States. This date has nothing to do with the Bill of Rights or our current form of government. In fact, when the Declaration was signed, no one knew if the 13 colonies would become 13 independent nations, or one unified nation. We celebrate the day that the colonies said, ‘We will rule ourselves. We will make our own rules. The government serves us. We do not serve the government.”
It is a wonderfully ironic twist in history that the Declaration we celebrate on the Fourth of July was penned by a man whose political ideas lost out. In the subsequent political struggle that determined how our nation would be run, from Articles of Confederation to the Constitution to the Bill of Rights and deciding how those should be interpreted and put into practice, Thomas Jefferson’s ideals of a limited federal government and laborer ownership of business and land can hardly be seen today. We celebrate this man’s elegant prose, but do not come close to understanding his ideals.
Yet through the corruption and bickering, pride and bigotry, power-mongering and oppression that have riddle our history, one thing remains. We have the power to shape our government. It serves the people, we do not serve it. We can, if we want to, rip the Constitution to shreds and write a new one. We can make new laws and abolish old ones. We can overturn Supreme Court rulings and impeach presidents. We the people have this power, if only we choose to use it.
I don’t trust my government, and I don’t think that anyone should. To do so betrays the American ideals embedded in the Declaration of Independence, which we celebrated on the Fourth of July. If we sit back and let the government do whatever it wants, be betray everything our freedoms were built on. I do not celebrate the formation of a nation, but the spirit of a people and the power of a (as of yet not fully realized) ideal. I do not celebrate our government or our country, but the ideals that started it.
I think that Jesus would do the same. He did not give His allegiance to any government but rather to a set of ideals and values, a way of living that benefited all around him. When the government was wrong, He did what was right. He taught us to think about what is best for others and how we would want to be treated. He helped us find our independence on a personal level. I think He would agree with the principals of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness: to know your life is secure from harm, freedom to live with dignity, and the ability to own the means to provide for yourself and your family.
Life, liberty and property were the original core values written about by John Locke. The Declaration edited them because the rich guys didn’t want all their poor workers thinking they should own land, too. Our nation has been messed up from the start, and it is still full of problems. But on the Declaration of Independence Day and through the year I hope you will join me in remembering that we have a right and responsibility to change government and make it better.
So what did we celebrate on the Fourth of July? What we carry with us through the rest of the year, once the fireworks are gone and the grills put away, is different for each person. I want to suggest that what we didn’t celebrate is every bit as important as what we did.
Liberty. Revolution. The Bill of Rights. Patriotism. The United States of America. These are all big Fourth-of-July words. Yet if you look at the date we chose to mark our national holiday, it is curious that not all of these words fit. Especially not the last.
We celebrate the signing of the Declaration of Independence, not the Constitution or even the unity of the United States. This date has nothing to do with the Bill of Rights or our current form of government. In fact, when the Declaration was signed, no one knew if the 13 colonies would become 13 independent nations, or one unified nation. We celebrate the day that the colonies said, ‘We will rule ourselves. We will make our own rules. The government serves us. We do not serve the government.”
It is a wonderfully ironic twist in history that the Declaration we celebrate on the Fourth of July was penned by a man whose political ideas lost out. In the subsequent political struggle that determined how our nation would be run, from Articles of Confederation to the Constitution to the Bill of Rights and deciding how those should be interpreted and put into practice, Thomas Jefferson’s ideals of a limited federal government and laborer ownership of business and land can hardly be seen today. We celebrate this man’s elegant prose, but do not come close to understanding his ideals.
Yet through the corruption and bickering, pride and bigotry, power-mongering and oppression that have riddle our history, one thing remains. We have the power to shape our government. It serves the people, we do not serve it. We can, if we want to, rip the Constitution to shreds and write a new one. We can make new laws and abolish old ones. We can overturn Supreme Court rulings and impeach presidents. We the people have this power, if only we choose to use it.
I don’t trust my government, and I don’t think that anyone should. To do so betrays the American ideals embedded in the Declaration of Independence, which we celebrated on the Fourth of July. If we sit back and let the government do whatever it wants, be betray everything our freedoms were built on. I do not celebrate the formation of a nation, but the spirit of a people and the power of a (as of yet not fully realized) ideal. I do not celebrate our government or our country, but the ideals that started it.
I think that Jesus would do the same. He did not give His allegiance to any government but rather to a set of ideals and values, a way of living that benefited all around him. When the government was wrong, He did what was right. He taught us to think about what is best for others and how we would want to be treated. He helped us find our independence on a personal level. I think He would agree with the principals of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness: to know your life is secure from harm, freedom to live with dignity, and the ability to own the means to provide for yourself and your family.
Life, liberty and property were the original core values written about by John Locke. The Declaration edited them because the rich guys didn’t want all their poor workers thinking they should own land, too. Our nation has been messed up from the start, and it is still full of problems. But on the Declaration of Independence Day and through the year I hope you will join me in remembering that we have a right and responsibility to change government and make it better.
July 2, 2011
Anything Helps?
It was a hot, sunny day and I was sitting at a red light near the interstate exit ramp when a man walked out of the weeds with a cardboard sign. It read, “Out of Work. Hungry. Anything Helps.”
In an age of debit cards and online bill-pay, I don’t actually carry any cash that I could give him. He wasn’t the first I had seen at that interstate exit, and he certainly won’t be the last. There is always someone in battered clothes with a dirty beard and a cardboard sign in that area as long as the weather is warm enough.
It is always a wrench to pass them by. I want to do something. But I can’t.
Because I don’t think that the words on the sign are true. Anything helps? No, not really. Because things aren’t the answer. A few dollars or an offering of canned or boxed food will help fill an empty stomach for a day, but the problem will remain tomorrow and the next day. In fact, giving out food and money only enhances the true problem; that a man has no home and no means of working to earn his food.
Why are we so content to tackle the surface symptoms of a problem, but refuse to make real progress on the cause? We can give away as much food as we want, but the hungry will only come back and ask for more tomorrow. The problem of poverty is not that the poor lack things. These days, there is usually someone willing to give enough to keep them from starving. The true problem is that they lack the ability to sustain themselves. No work, no resources, and no hope.
When Helping Hurts by Steve Corbett and Brian Fikkert is an excellent book that speaks to the heart of this problem. It talks about all the things that we do to try to help the poor, and how these things actually make the problem worse.
I can’t help anyone by tossing a few dollars out of my car window. Not really. We can only help the poor by building a relationship with them. We can only alleviate poverty by providing access to jobs and resources, and helping to change attitudes of dependence. We live in a broken system, and that system is only made worse by simply giving, giving, giving things. Anything doesn‘t help at all. Things only make the problem worse.
When I look at the Bible, I see that Jesus never once gave a poor person anything. He didn’t hand out money, didn’t pass out free dinner except when the crowd had come out to hear him--people who could earn their own dinner on a normal day. When Jesus met a poor person, he only ever gave one thing. Healing. Peter does the same thing in Acts. A beggar asks for money, and Peter heals his legs.
Of course, in that day and age, beggars were usually cripples some how. That is why they were begging; they couldn’t work. Jesus healed them and gave them the means to begin to earn their own living. He didn’t feed them, he empowered them. It is no different today. In some way, everyone who is begging, who needs money or food, needs healing. Something in their life and in their heart is malfunctioning. They do not need a few dollars tossed out a car window. They need a relationship that can heal their soul and incentive and opportunity to get out and work for their own living. In a day and age of reasonable accommodations, very few people are truly too disabled to do some sort of meaningful work.
So do you hand out a few dollars to the beggar on the street, or let them starve? I’m not sure. But I know there is such a thing as a professional beggar, one who has rags he puts on ever day as he goes to work on the curb, and takes off when he comes home to a nice house, three-car garage. True story. This guy begs for his living, and it is a good one. Yes, I know most beggars aren’t like that. Most homeless have more of a psychological problem then a physical one, a brokenness of spirit that doesn’t allow them to stay in one place, at one job, in one home for long. But do we feed the problem, or reach out the hand of friendship?
So if I do have change to give to a beggar so he can get through the next day with a full belly, I don’t kid myself. I’m not helping him in the long run. Not at all.
In an age of debit cards and online bill-pay, I don’t actually carry any cash that I could give him. He wasn’t the first I had seen at that interstate exit, and he certainly won’t be the last. There is always someone in battered clothes with a dirty beard and a cardboard sign in that area as long as the weather is warm enough.
It is always a wrench to pass them by. I want to do something. But I can’t.
Because I don’t think that the words on the sign are true. Anything helps? No, not really. Because things aren’t the answer. A few dollars or an offering of canned or boxed food will help fill an empty stomach for a day, but the problem will remain tomorrow and the next day. In fact, giving out food and money only enhances the true problem; that a man has no home and no means of working to earn his food.
Why are we so content to tackle the surface symptoms of a problem, but refuse to make real progress on the cause? We can give away as much food as we want, but the hungry will only come back and ask for more tomorrow. The problem of poverty is not that the poor lack things. These days, there is usually someone willing to give enough to keep them from starving. The true problem is that they lack the ability to sustain themselves. No work, no resources, and no hope.
When Helping Hurts by Steve Corbett and Brian Fikkert is an excellent book that speaks to the heart of this problem. It talks about all the things that we do to try to help the poor, and how these things actually make the problem worse.
I can’t help anyone by tossing a few dollars out of my car window. Not really. We can only help the poor by building a relationship with them. We can only alleviate poverty by providing access to jobs and resources, and helping to change attitudes of dependence. We live in a broken system, and that system is only made worse by simply giving, giving, giving things. Anything doesn‘t help at all. Things only make the problem worse.
When I look at the Bible, I see that Jesus never once gave a poor person anything. He didn’t hand out money, didn’t pass out free dinner except when the crowd had come out to hear him--people who could earn their own dinner on a normal day. When Jesus met a poor person, he only ever gave one thing. Healing. Peter does the same thing in Acts. A beggar asks for money, and Peter heals his legs.
Of course, in that day and age, beggars were usually cripples some how. That is why they were begging; they couldn’t work. Jesus healed them and gave them the means to begin to earn their own living. He didn’t feed them, he empowered them. It is no different today. In some way, everyone who is begging, who needs money or food, needs healing. Something in their life and in their heart is malfunctioning. They do not need a few dollars tossed out a car window. They need a relationship that can heal their soul and incentive and opportunity to get out and work for their own living. In a day and age of reasonable accommodations, very few people are truly too disabled to do some sort of meaningful work.
So do you hand out a few dollars to the beggar on the street, or let them starve? I’m not sure. But I know there is such a thing as a professional beggar, one who has rags he puts on ever day as he goes to work on the curb, and takes off when he comes home to a nice house, three-car garage. True story. This guy begs for his living, and it is a good one. Yes, I know most beggars aren’t like that. Most homeless have more of a psychological problem then a physical one, a brokenness of spirit that doesn’t allow them to stay in one place, at one job, in one home for long. But do we feed the problem, or reach out the hand of friendship?
So if I do have change to give to a beggar so he can get through the next day with a full belly, I don’t kid myself. I’m not helping him in the long run. Not at all.
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