Thoughts on God

I've been thinking a lot about God, lately.  What I don't mean is that I've been thinking about how much I love God, or what some song says about God.  What I've been thinking about is the God of the Bible - the One Who could blast any of us to smithereens at anytime.

The God Who all but destroyed life on this planet through a Flood.

The God Who let His people be plagued by venomous snakes.

The God Who brought the Babylonians into Jerusalem, just so the Israelites would be taken into captivity.

I've been thinking about this God, and all I can do is be grateful, because this is clearly a God Who hates sin.

He hates sin so much that He destroyed His own life.

He allowed the Serpent to bite His heel.

He exiled Himself.

Why? Love.

So don't tell me that God is a mushy, softhearted god who overlooks sin, because my God is greater than that.  And don't tell me that God is a vindictive, petulant god who pouts when he doesn't get his way.  My God is greater than that, too.

A Leap of Faith

Like most people who've watched the show, Firefly is one of my favorite shows of all time.  One episode that really stands out to me, though, is the episode in which a Christians - a "Shepherd" - explains that the Bible isn't about errors or accuracy, but faith.  His point, of course, is that faith is a belief that one holds, regardless of evidence.  While I love the show, that is simply hogwash.

We use terms like "blind faith," we talk about not needing proof because we have faith, and we use the word "faith" as a substitute for thinking.  This is dangerous, and not what God commands.  Christ, in Matthew 22, Mark 12, and Luke 10, tell us to "love the Lord [our] God with all [our] heart, with all [our] soul, with all [our] mind and with all [our] strength" (emphasis mine).  Notice our minds are included.  This does not mean we are to check our brains at the door when we walk into church.  We are not to stop thinking when we read our Bibles, and we are never, ever to avoid seeking out the answers to questions we may have out of fear that they may "damage" our faith.  Our questions will not knock God off of His throne; if they do, he isn't much of a god (and probably not the God of the Bible). 

So what is faith, then, if not blind belief?  Hebrews 11:1 defines it as "the evidence of things unseen."  Other translations use the words, "assurance," "proof," "knowledge," and so forth.  In other words, God defines faith as belief in the unseen, but based on evidence. 

I look at the world and see a planet perfectly in balance.  If it were tilted just a fraction of a degree more (or less), life wouldn't survive.  If we were any closer (or further) from the sun, life wouldn't survive.  If the moon were any closer (or further) to us, tides would be affected, and life wouldn't survive.  The Cambrian Explosion reveals a sudden appearance of complex organisms on earth, without any sort of evolutionary development.  The universe appears to be "winding down," which implies that something "wound it up."   When I read, therefore, that "in the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth" (Genesis 1:1), I believe it.  Now, did I see God create everything?  No.  Did I see which method God might have used?  No.  Can I prove that it was God Who did this?  No.  But the evidence suggests that this universe was put in place, and this earth was designed to be perfectly balanced in the vastness of space, in order that that human life (and other life) could be supported. 

This is faith.  I believe what is unseen (God) based on what is seen (creation).

Was I there when the Bible was written?  No.  Did I witness, firsthand, the parting of the Red Sea, Noah's Flood, or the slaying of Goliath?  No.  But the Bible has proven itself to be historically accurate on more than one occasion, and has never been proven to be in error (there are many theories out there that suggest it, but they all fall flat, with no proof whatsoever). 

This is faith.  I believe in what is unseen (the Bible is the inspired Word of God) based on what is seen (it's own claims, as well as the archaeological evidence).

Did I witness Christ rise from the dead? No. Did I see, firsthand, His miracles? No. Was I there when He walked on water, multiplied fishes, or raised Lazarus from the dead? No. But I do have the testimonies of those who saw it, testimonies that, though challenged, have never been proven wrong. I have the change that He has wrought in me, as well. I have the promises that He made, as recorded in the Gospels, and I have seen those promises fulfilled.

This is faith. I believe what is unseen (that Christ is God) based on what is seen (the Scriptures and personal experience).

I have faith, then, in the unshakable character of God.  I have faith, then, that God is truly good, and seeks to work out everything that happens - the good, bad, and ugly - for His glory and The Church's betterment.  I have faith, then, that God loves me, even though I don't deserve it.  I have faith that He truly does expect me to live in a complete and total dependence on Him, without any trace of selfishness towards my fellow man.  I also have faith that since I don't do it, He did it for me.   And I have faith that I deserve to die for my sins, so He died for me.

There is nothing - absolutely nothing! - in the heavens, on earth, or below the earth that will ever convince me otherwise.

Pride and joy

It always starts the same:  hurt, scars, unmet expectations.  Maybe you had an absent parent (physically or emotionally).  Maybe it was abuse.  Maybe it was a lifetime of unkind words from peers who couldn't appreciate your differences.  The end result, however, is also the same:  hurt, scars, and unmet expectations.

So now there's a hole in your life, a need to fix the wrong; it's a need to find that happiness that was taken from you so early on.  So you pursue the things in life that make you happy.  You play video games, but they become boring.  You read books, but they become predictable.  As you grow up, you begin to pursue other interests: sex, movies, good times.  You throw yourself into schoolwork.  You pursue colleges.  You get in, and you pursue a degree.  You graduate, and you pursue a career, a spouse, a significant other.  But the happiness doesn't last, so you throw yourself into these things with a fervent passion.  You pursue a promotion, children.  You take pride in these things, because they are worthy goals.  But when the happiness doesn't last, you pursue more.  Your pursuits could be perfectly fine:  new hobbies, a new home, a new car.  They could be destructive:  alcoholism, affairs, drugs.  Regardless, the happiness doesn't last.

That's because you don't need happiness.  Happiness is temporary, and the things you pursue are temporary.  Movies end, books have a last page, and people can be taken (or walk away) from you; people die.  You will die.  Happiness is good, but it isn't what you need.  What you need is something permanent.  What you need is something that can't be spoiled by rain or snow, by car accidents and medical crises; you need joy.

Joy is permanent.  As such, it can only come from something that is permanent and eternal, and there is only one Thing in this universe that is eternal:  God.  So let me ask you:  are you pursuing happiness that will fade, or are you pursuing joy that will remain? 

The Dangerous Delusion of Control

Any of you remember the Caesar games for the PC?  I was introduced to the third one - called (appropriately) Caesar III - when I was in college.  It was one of those standard strategy games where you oversee the construction and operation of some sort of organization.  In this case, you were in charge of building Roman provinces.  You controlled farming, mining, fishing, and a whole host of other natural resources.  You were in charge of trade, festivals, employment, and so on.  Games like this were so popular - and are still so popular - because you, the player, have total control of the system.  And when things went wrong - an earthquake, perhaps, or barbarian invasions - it was your reactions and rebuilding that got the whole thing back on course.  I believe, in other words, that the games are popular because they appeal to our very human desire to be in control.  We think that if we can be in control, then things won't go (as) wrong as they otherwise would.


It's why we take vitamins and avoid bacon, right?  If I get all the nutrients I need and avoid all the stuff I don't, then I'll live a long and healthy life.  That's why I take cholesterol medicine, so that I won't die of a heart attack when I'm 40.  If I eat right, then I can control the span of my life.  It's also why I have an IRA - if I save for retirement, then I can live comfortably later without being a burden to my child. 



But it's an illusion.  If I don't take the medicine, if I eat lots of a bacon, if I stop taking vitamins and eating salads, will I die when I'm 40?  The answer is that I don't know; I'm not in charge of how long I live.  I could be hit by a car tomorrow, and then what did my diet get me?  What did the pills do?  Nothing.  What good was saving all of that money?  I don't know the number of my days . . . only God does.  "Eating right" is only the illusion of being in control.  Large bank accounts are only the illusion of being in control.

None of us can control our lives.


Now, don't misread this.  Our mission, as disciples of Jesus, is to bring as many people to Jesus as we possibly can, and to keep at it for as long as we can.  So we take care of ourselves in order to be at our peak performance as witnesses to the Gospel, knowing, at the same time, that our lives are no longer ours to control.  Our mission, as disciples of Jesus, is to take care of those around us, so that they can know the love of Christ.  So I save money, I spend wisely, and I am learning to give generously, knowing that my money is no longer mine to control. 



David's Fear
King David starts out Psalm 4 with a very intense - and human - cry of frustration:  "Answer me when I call to you, oh my righteous God!  Give me relief from my distress; be merciful and hear my prayer!" 


How many times in my life have you and I said the same thing when our prayers go unanswered?  How many times have I cried out in frustration when God was silent?  "Where are you, God?  Answer me!" or "Do something!"



How many times did I cry that as I watched my mother die?  "Heal her, God!  DO SOMETHING!"


How many times did I cry that when my struggle with lust and porn got the better of me?  "Take it from me, God!  DO SOMETHING!"


How many times did I cry that when relationships crumbled, when things went wrong, or when life got hard?  So when David says, "Answer me, God!" I can relate  My guess is that if you're reading this, you probably can, too.  Now we don't know exactly what was going on with David at this point, but we get a glimpse of it in verse 3.  After asking God - pleading with God - to answer him, David turns his plea to his subjects:  "How long, oh men, will you turn my glory into shame?  How long will you love delusions and seek false gods?" 


David's people were slandering him.  They had turned on him, perhaps they were blaming him for their problems.  Maybe it was a famine, a war - who knows - but his people turned their backs on their king.  More than that, they had turned their backs on God, too, and David wanted it to stop.  "How long?" he asks.  "Answer me when I call to you, God!"


Do.  Some.  Thing.


But then David seems to take a step back and remind himself of three things, three concepts that change his whole perspective on life.  The first is that no matter what happens, God is still God.


Check out verse 4:  "The Lord has set apart the righteous for himself.  The Lord will hear when I call to him."  No matter how silent God might be at your moment of crisis, He's still God and He's still on His throne.  He doesn't step out for a latte, He doesn't sleep, He doesn't have a potty emergency . . . He's God.  He's the God of the good, the bad, and the ugly, and, no matter what the situation is, He's in control.  God works all things for the good of those who live Him and are called according to His purpose, Paul reminds us.  This means that God's silence wasn't out of absenteeism or apathy, but was for David's good, our good and, most of all, God's glory. 


The second thing David reminds himself is that anger and fear are never an excuse to sin:  "In your anger, do not sin.  When you are on your beds, search your hearts and be silent" (5).  Note that very important phrase:  "When you are on your beds. . . ."  Sounds like it was written by someone who knows what it means to toss and turn, doesn't it?  The control he had was slipping away, and David, in the dark watches of the night, was afraid.  But God is still God, and we are to search our hearts and root out that fear, knowing that God knows the plans He has for us, and we should be awed into a reverent silence at His mercy and holiness. 


Then David hits us with what I think is the hardest point:  keep living out our faith.  "Offer right sacrifices and trust in the Lord" (6), he writes.  It's not enough to not overtly sin, we must continue to live and preach the Gospel of Jesus Christ.  Our fear of losing control is never an excuse to commit sin, but neither is it an excuse to sin by omission.  In David's time, that was the sacrifice offered at the temple.  In our time, it's ourselves.  "Offer yourselves,"  Paul writes, "as living sacrifices."  Remember when I said that our lives were not ours to control?  That, friends, is what it means to be a living sacrifice.


Now, after all of this, David reminds us that things haven't gotten any better:  "Many are asking, 'Who can show us any good?'" (7).  The problems still remain, morale is low, people are slandering him, but David's entire perspective has changed.  Instead of praying, "Answer me!" David prays, "Let the light of your face shine upon us, oh God."  In other words, "Be who you are, God."  And then. . . .


. . . "You have filled my heart with greater joy than when their grain and new wine abound.  I lie down and sleep in peace, for you alone, oh Lord, make me dwell in safety" (8).  David is more content, more at peace, than when his entire country is well-fed and drunk.  The man who was tossing and turning in his bed in verse 5 now sleeps like a baby.  And it wasn't - get this - it wasn't because circumstances had improved.  People were still hopeless and without morale, but David's entire perspective had changed because he realized one very important point:  God is our only security.


"For you alone, oh Lord, make me dwell in safety."


Think about it this way.  If God, for whatever reason, wanted you to be destitute, would He be capable of wiping out your entire savings account?  If God could bring a person to faith in Jesus Christ by having your home broken into, could He cause your fancy security system to malfunction?  These are not necessarily bad things to have, but we must always - always - remember that God alone makes us dwell in safety.  I am not guaranteed my next heartbeat, and neither is anyone else. 


Including my loved ones.


So I will fasten my seat belt, I won't leave my dryer running when I go to the store, and I will teach my daughter to look both ways before crossing the street.  But at the end of the day, I will try to remember that the belief that I can control my life is about as fruitless and pointless as believing that I was actually building the Roman Empire whenever I turned on my computer.  God is in control, and He will receive glory.  So if by my life - or death - that will happen, then all I can say is "Amen."

Fire and Rain

Hitler.  Dahmer.  Stalin.  Bin Laden. 

When we think of hell and the people that deserve it, names like these usually come to mind.  We're comfortable when serial killers, dictators, and rapists go to hell, but what about the average person?  What about mediocre sinners?  What about me?  Or you?  Most of us agree that severe sinners deserve hell, but what about slight sinners?

When I was 23, I was in a car accident.  Traffic was heavy, I was following just a tad too closely, and BLAM!  I ran right into the back of the car in front of me.  No one was injured, but the cars (particularly mine) didn't look too great.  One second I was looking out my front windshield, and the next second I was staring at the hood of my car, which had crumpled so badly that part of it was now vertical.  The smell of oil and transmission fluid mingled with the smell of the coffee that had splattered all over the front seat.  In one of the more surreal moments of my life, the first thing I did was turn off my cassette player. 

The whole thing was my fault, of course.

Now, up until this moment, my driving record had been perfect.  I had never gotten a speeding ticket, never run a red light, never even failed to use a turn indicator.  The police officer who arrived on the scene even commented on that fact . . . as he handed me my ticket.  Oh, and just for the record, following too closely carries a hefty fine.

Did I deserve the ticket?  After all, not only was it merely one single offense, it was my only offense.  If anyone deserved a break, it had to be me, right?  The officer didn't think so, because he still handed me my ticket.  The point, of course, is that while it may have only been one offense, it was still an offense.  It would have been more pleasant for the officer to overlook the crime, but the important question is this:  would it have been just? 

The job of any law enforcement officer is to enforce the law.  Now, the law is clear:  following too closely means receiving an expensive ticket.  If he had let me off the hook, then he would no longer be doing his job.  In fact, if he let me go - though generous - what would that say about his integrity?  What if he gave a ticket to the next person who was following too closely, but he didn't give me one?  At best, we would call him inconsistent.  What I am driving at is that not only was it just to hand me a ticket, it would have been unjust not to do so.  Remember, I broke the law, and there are penalties for breaking the law.

Something we must always remember is this:  justice demands payment. 

Now, for God (who is the very definition of justice) to look the other way when we sin means that He would cease to be just.  He would, in fact, cease to be God.  When He says that sin brings hell, for Him to then ignore His own Law, though more pleasant, would be inconsistent and unjust.

Of course, we could ask ourselves, what if the system itself were unjust?  What if God, just by declaring that one single sin deserves hell, is inherently unjust?  This is, on the surface, a wonderful idea.  After all, if there are no laws to break, then there need be no penalty for breaking them.  The "Christian" answer at this point is usually something to the effect of, "God is God, so He makes the rules." 

Frankly, that's a cop-out.

While I do believe that God is God, and I do believe that He can truly do whatever He wants, it doesn't explain why He chose to define selfishness as sin.  What that line of argument does is actually take God and put Him into a convenient box labeled "Unknowable."  That's just silly, because Jesus made it clear that he came so that we might know the Father the way that his disciples knew him.

So why does God care so much about sin?  Let's turn to the driving example again.  Why does following too closely carry such a heavy fine?  After all, shouldn't I be able to drive however I want with my car?  Not at all.  Following too closely is wrong because my actions don't just affect me; my actions affect others, as well.  The woman whose car I hit was (obviously) inconvenienced, but she wasn't the only one.  It turns out she was a nurse in a doctor's office and was on her way back to work from her lunch break.  Because the accident detained her, her co-workers had to pick up her slack until she could get a ride in.  My actions inconvenienced an entire office staff, as well as the patients who had to wait for the unexpectedly short-staffed doctor's office to catch up.  On top of that, I inconvenienced her friend who had to stop what she was doing, drive out to our location, take the woman to work, and then drive back home.  I also inconvenienced my mother, who had to pick me up, because she was on her way to meet a friend for lunch (so, technically, I ruined her friend's plans, too).

How many people did my actions affect?  Let's see:  the woman, an unknown number of co-workers, an unknown number of patients, the woman's friend, my mom, my mom's friend, and, of course, myself.

What about those people on the little two-lane road who had to wait for the tow truck to arrive, hook up my car, and take it away?  They were missing lunch breaks, meetings, appointments, who knows?  Maybe an on-call surgeon was on his way to the hospital to perform an emergency surgery.  Maybe the patient died.  Now I'm responsible for the death of someone, and the grief of that person's family.  Maybe someone was late for work and lost his or her job over it.  I'm responsible.  This is all mere speculation, of course, but the point is that, while I most certainly did affect many people, I may have affected many, many more.  And to top all of that off, I effectively told the lawmakers of our society that their rules don't apply to me.

Sin is the same.  Our sins carry consequences that affect those around us, often in ways of which we are unaware.  Every time you put yourself first, someone gets hurt.  We can rationalize it away and convince ourselves that our actions only affect us, but it's simply not true.  So the scary fact is that God wants us to stop hurting people with our selfishness, or face the consequences. 

But it's more than that.  God also wants us to stop worshiping lesser things and only worship Him, because He is the Creator of those lesser things.  And God says, "Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength . . . Love your neighbor as yourself"  (Mark 12:30-32).  Do you get the idea?  In order to dwell with God - in order to be sinless - you must never put yourself before anyone, and you must never put anything before God.  Paul, in 1 Corinthians 6, writes:  "Do you not know that wrongdoers will not inherit the kingdom of God?  Do not be deceived:  Neither the sexually immoral nor idolaters nor adulterers nor homosexuals nor thieves nor the greedy nor drunkards nor slanderers nor swindlers will inherit the Kingdom of God" (9-10).  David writes in Psalm 5:  "Lord, who may dwell in your sanctuary?  Who may live on your holy hill?  He whose walk is blameless and who does what is righteous, who speaks the truth from his heart and has no slander on his tongue, who does his neighbor no wrong and casts no slur on his fellow man" (5:1-3). 

With that in mind, I ask again:  is it unjust to punish sin with hell?  It would be unjust not to.

Lessons Learned From My Toddler

My daughter has been having trouble lately with obedience.  Now, she's only two, so I don't expect things to be perfectly unicorn-rainbow happy 100% of the time.  But still, shouldn't she know, by now, that we're going to brush her teeth at night, whether she wants us to or not?  We've only been doing it for 18 months.


Shouldn't she know, by now, that she can't stay in her pajamas all day?


Shouldn't she know, by now, that we're going to give her a bath?


Shouldn't she know, by now, that telling us "no" is more likely to get her disciplined, rather than a reprieve from whatever it is she's protesting?


Shouldn't she know, by now, that obeying us is better for her, because we have her best interests at heart?


The more I think about it, though, the more I realize that God probably gives us toddlers so that we'll better understand what it's like for Him to deal with us.  After all, shouldn't I know, by now, that spending time in prayer is vital to my walk with God?


Shouldn't I know, by now, that I can't watch certain television shows without stumbling?


Shouldn't I know, by now, that I can't afford for my time in the Word to be superficial?


Shouldn't I know, by now, that telling God "no" is more likely to produce unpleasant consequences, than a reprieve from whatever it is I'm protesting?


Shouldn't I know, by now, that obeying is better for me, because He has my best interests at heart?


So, yes, my daughter is having some trouble with obedience, but, then again, aren't we all?