reflections on a Christian life

On Friday we rented the movie Philomena. For those of you who are still waiting for it to show up on the streaming Netflix listing, here is your spoiler alert.

In the climax of the movie, Sister Hildegarde, the old nurse who was responsible for delivering Philomena’s baby and keeping Philomena from ever being reunited with her son who had been sold in adoption, unrepentantly reveals her heart. Hildegarde declares that whereas she kept herself chaste her whole life, Philomena had committed fornication so she and her child were deserving of punishment.

Hildegarde is looking for fairness in life and recognition for her perseverance. It is easy for me to identify with her struggle. I grew up in the church absorbing a mix of moral teaching and warnings to avoid transgression.

One of the earliest songs taught in Sunday school had the lines, “be careful little hands what you do, be careful little mouths what you say, be careful little feet where go”. There was also a line about the “Father up above looking down in love”, so it must have been hitting the shame button rather than the guilt button. I got the message: don’t screw up.

A particular Bible quote burned into my memory was “be sure your sin will find you out.” Other passages were more challenging to sort out: “The Lord is slow to anger, abounding in love and forgiving sin and rebellion. Yet he does not leave the guilty unpunished; he punishes the children for the sin of the parents to the third and fourth generation.” Did that mean that even though you were forgiven you were going to be punished?

Needless to say, I was sufficiently aware that I was supposed to do my darnedest to avoid sin. But there were supposedly upsides: Long life was promised if I obeyed my parents and the book of Proverbs was full of illustrations of the benefits of clean living. Rumor had it that there was also an award ceremony in heaven- kind of like handing out Sunday school pins. Those of us who were not only “saved” but also accumulated good deeds on earth would get crowns or something.

All of this great awareness helped shape my behavior and choices.   I tried to stay out of detention in school and steer clear of parties where I might be “tempted”.   Of course if I did slip up I felt that much worse for it (Remember that “Father looking down in love”?   Who needs the NSA?).

To order my world I built the following rationalization: People who pulled pranks, danced, tried drugs or sex, and drove their cars fast were not having fun- even though they related the stories as if they really thought they were having fun. Those of us who did the right thing and stayed home from the dances, turned down the joint, kept to the speed limit were having real fun even though we didn’t feel like it.

Every now and then there would be someone who would cross over from the darkness to the light and get “saved”. They would attempt to reinforce our view of things through sharing their story or “testimony”. The testimony would titillate the listener with a captivating retelling of what was like to enjoy the “pleasures of the world” reassuring us these things were not really fun (I keep thinking of Peter Boyle at the pulpit of the African American Church in the movie “Dream Team”). After thrilling us with the tale of their walk on the wild side, they would share how they now see things differently and wish they never did the things they had. We would leave the meeting remarking on what a “great” testimony that was. “Great” meant, “Wow, God had power to rescue them from even all that fun!” Of course, if I gave my testimony it wouldn’t be labeled “great”. I never set off a ladyfinger without supervision and you wouldn’t catch me stepping on the hose at the gas station to set off the bell. On giving my testimony I would typically get reassurances that I was protected from a lot of things so I should be thankful.

I mean that was the way it was supposed to work. Those sins left scars and did damage. I was supposed to be better off for not having given in. If someone fried their brain on drugs or smacked into a tree while speeding and later came to Christ, they still had to live with the affects of their sin. That’s how the world operated. God would not undo what was done or make it all better. My responsibility toward that person was to help them to make the best of things and to encourage them that Jesus was able to use their testimony to convince others to turn their life around so those persons wouldn’t suffer that fate- or at least that they were able to remind me that I should feel grateful to have avoided that pain. As for those who appeared to have gotten away with their “crime against God”: shoplifted without getting caught, had sex without pregnancy, smoked without contracting cancer, well, they had damage too even if it didn’t appear so.

Now I was not trapped in legalism. I understood forgiveness and grace and that salvation was not earned. So what was it that I was missing and what was Sister Hildegarde missing?

I think it was the second commandment of Christ: “Love your neighbor as yourself.” If I loved my neighbor as myself, I would suffer with their suffering, celebrate with their joy and work for their good with the same passion and energy I have for my own. I would not be sorting out who has received more from God whether it is more forgiveness or more blessings. And I would never accept that the kingdom of darkness deserves a single triumph in this world.

I used to give the simple definition of an evangelical as “someone whose parents were fundamentalists”.  It seemed to fit at the time.  There were various flavors of church history that I’d picked up from sermons and Sunday school classes.  The one consistent theme was that we were the group that had persevered since Pentecost whereas other denominations have lost the true teaching or diluted their message with the social gospel.  Of course, this was church history according to the fundamentalists (Conservative Baptists in my case).  The denominational splits were always necessary in order to preserve true Biblical belief and practice.  That seemed to be how things progressed through the mid 60s.  It was during the late 60s and 70s with the explosion of the boomer young adults that the relevance of denominations declined dramatically.  Churches sprang up around a pastor and those churches spawned their own clones so we now have Calvary Chapels, Willow Creek Associates, Vineyards, etc.  The denominational churches, feeling left behind by this trend gradually deemphasized their affiliations and many have dropped the name “Baptist” or “Presbyterian” from their title.  The idea, I think, is to disassociate from the negative stereotype non- Christians in particular might connect with the name.

Now if I walk into a church and ask about its history, I’ll hear about a legacy that counts back a couple years to a home Bible study or splinter group from some other local church.  The church will be defined by the style of the pastor, the style of worship, the quality of the youth group, and the range of “help” programs.  I’m lost looking for rootedness in organizations that are peddling relevance.

Maybe that’s why my kids are now Anglicans- they concluded that it would be better to align with a historical faith and practice rather than try to build a foundation under the latest pop “American Christian” trend.  Although I wince under the ecclesiastical hierarchy, I am thankful for the way it has preserved the God centered practice of worship.  Spiritual significance is infused in every activity of the service and through the church calendar. 

 The contrasts abound:

There, supplicants receive communion.  Here, we take communion.  There, the word of God is held up before the congregation and read.   Here, it is flashed on a video projector to supplement the points the pastor intends to make.  There, prayers are offered from the book of common prayer- intercessory pleas that have been poured over and refined to so that one may come before God in a theologically correct posture and conversation.   Here, the prayer is impromptu or a recap of the sermon – an opportunity to make sure that after 40 minutes of lecture we might come away with something useful.   Which is to say that here, the sermon is definitely the main event- in spite of any protestations otherwise.  Part standup comedy, part pep talk, with video or audience participation thrown in, the pastor does his darndest to keep our attention- as opposed to a homily that focuses briefly and earnestly on a single Biblical truth or passage and on many Sundays is connected to the proscribed plan in the church calendar.   For them, the main event is receiving communion which is certainly the climax of the worship rather than a supplemental monthly ritual the either forces an extended service or a shortened pastoral message.  And the calendar: well- we do the advent wreath during December and we do Palm Sunday (an opportunity to parade the children’s program into the auditorium with fronds) and Easter.  Ascension Sunday? Pentecost? What are those? And Lent? That’s a Catholic thing- we’re under grace!   If I hear about how the good Friday Service is going to be “fun” again next year I think I’ll just skip it an stay home to watch “The Passion”.

What keeps me here?

The Church.  The Church is the body of Christ and I can’t just decide that I want to hang out with others.  Our unity is in Christ, not in our zip code, economic status, life stage, or worship style preferences.  Yes, I have switched churches on occasion – usually associated with relocations.  When, after one relocation, I moved back to a community and didn’t resume attendance in our old church, I lost something as a result- a connection to brothers and sisters who would walk with me and worship with me in spite of differences or past hurts.

So I continue to worship and fellowship where I am.  If there is opportunity to encourage change or call people to a different way, I’ll try to do it gently.

Calvin deployed to Afghanistan last month.  It is his third deployment in the past 5 years.  Soon Janet will resume her weekly trips to the post office with supplies of coffee, peanut butter and magazines.    We once again go about our daily routine shadowed by a nagging uncertainty.  Each phone call home is a marker that declares, “so far, so good.”  But it doesn’t bring any assurance of the future.

Calvin is unmarried and unattached.  At the drop off on base, there were fiancés, wives and children lingering, wanting to stretch the departure and shorten the separation.  We said our goodbyes and he turned his attention to the last minute details necessary to ensure his company was ready.  He leaves behind his parents, sisters, aunts & uncles, cousins and friends.  He has been larger than life and filled our homes with his passion, enthusiasm, generosity and friendship.  We’d gladly exchange the pride in knowing he is serving in harm’s way for his presence in our living room, sleeping on our couch or taking in a NY Giants game.

We might consider ourselves singled out for some special burden- but that would assume too much.   I’ve come to understand that the cocoon that encases us has stunted our understanding of this world and the harsh realities of life.

There is a climactic exchange in Stephen King’s novel, Desperation.  The young boy in the story, David, having already lost his sister and mother in a battle against evil, has just seen his father die.  Johnny is a washed up writer about to redeem himself through an act of final self-sacrifice:

“Is God in you?” David asked.  “Can you feel him in there, Johnny? Like a hand?  Or a fire?”

“Yes,” Johnny said.

“Then you won’t take this wrong.”  David spit into his face.  It was warm on the skin below Johnny’s eyes, like tears.

Johnny made no effort to wipe away the boy’s spittle.  “Listen to me David.  I’m going to tell you something you didn’t hear from your minister or your Bible.  For all I know it’s a message from God himself.  Are you listening?”

David only looked at him, saying nothing.

“You said ’God is cruel’ the way a person who’s lived his whole life on Tahiti might say ‘Snow is cold.’  You knew, but you didn’t understand.”  He stepped close to David and put his palms on the boy’s cold cheeks.  “Do you know how cruel your God can be, David?  How fantastically cruel?”

David waited saying nothing.  Maybe listening, maybe not.  Johnny couldn’t tell.

“Sometimes he makes you live.”

I expect every soldier has struggled with the question, “why him and not me?”  I know Calvin has seen enough tragedy.   The fresh troops greeted by a mortar on their arrival at the FOB, his bunkmate who left behind his grieving bride to be and parents.  Perhaps the bitterest experience was returning to his room to see his NY Giants blanket returned by his buddy that morning prior to going out on patrol.  Their playful trash talk was escalating in anticipation of the weekend NY/Washington game.  News had come in during the day that Randy’s lower half was blown away while following orders on an ill planned mission.  He wouldn’t be taking his young son to any Redskin’s game after the tour

Is this God’s cruelty?   Or are we trapped in our own expectations of what ought to be?  What kind of God walked this earth during the Roman occupation of Israel and did not confront tyranny?  Instead of raising John the Baptist to life, Jesus merely wept at the news of his beheading.  Although he overturned the tables in the temple square, he did not return to ensure that they were not back in business the next day.  Christ didn’t fix the world.  He left a band of followers who would experience persecution and death and his apostles would invite us to share in his suffering even as they called us to know his peace.  To identify with Christ is to experience a fallen world and to be a source of redemption.  It is not to barricade oneself in a fortress of safety, skirting risk and exposure until our deliverance.

Singing the hymn “How Great Thou Art” used to transport me to the Adirondack wilderness by the upper Hudson River where I spent many nights alone with God.  I saw God’s greatness in his creation.  It was a refuge from the intrusion of cares and the inconvenience of real people who might break the mood.  Lately, the same hymn brings visuals of dusty scenes from Iraq and Afghanistan and my son moving through the grind of another day on patrol, pouring over target images and maps, slogging through mud on a primitive FOB, grieving over a buddy who will not be coming home.  Yes, God is great and that greatness is so much more than the created world.  His greatness takes in the full sweep of mankind, of good and evil, of kindness and treachery.   His goodness is better and his power is greater than any has yet understood.  It is not just in the extremes of the beauty of creation or the tragedy of war.  It also envelops my simple world of commuting, meetings, conference calls, encounters in the neighborhood and occasional escapes on my surfboard.   This reality is to be comprehended by those who live in him whether they experience wealth or poverty, oppression or liberty.  To live in him is to comprehend the desperation of a world in need of Christ and to walk in that world bathed in Christ’s goodness.

God’s fantastic cruelty is love.  I tremble at the thought of fully experiencing that love.  I’d rather keep my fond memories and cherished comforts.  But the history of God’s people is one of his sustaining love through all of human experience, transcending death itself.

Another deployment

Another time of waiting

“I wait for the Lord more than watchmen wait for the morning…for with the Lord is unfailing love”