So Many Rules!

I was thinking about the Old Covenant recently. Why were there so MANY laws and limitations?

I was reflecting that God had offered an AMAZING covenant relationship, very nearly the New Covenant way back then.

“‘Now therefore, if you will indeed obey My voice and keep My covenant, then you shall be a special treasure to Me above all people; for all the earth is Mine. ‘And you shall be to Me a kingdom of priests and a holy nation.’ These are the words which you shall speak to the children of Israel.” [Exodus 19:5-6]
 

The people chickened out, rejected that covenant, and proposed another covenant.

Then they said to Moses, “You speak with us, and we will hear; but let not God speak with us, lest we die.” [Exodus 20:19]

It was described more clearly in Deuteronomy:

“Go yourself [Moses] and listen to what the LORD our God says. Then come and tell us everything he tells you, and we will listen and obey.” [Deuteronomy 5:27]

I read that as the establishment of both the priesthood (“Moses, you go talk to God for us!”) and the Law (“You tell us what God says, and we'll do that!”).

And immediately afterwards, there's a mountain of detailed rules and regulations.

My thought has been, “Why would God do that?”

And then I realized: the Law was never intended to be the vehicle for God to relate to people; it was the vehicle for the people to keep God at a safe distance.

So God spiked the punch.

God never intended for the Mosaic Law (“The Old Covenant”) to succeed at forming the relationship between God and man. God intended it to fail (it wasn’t his idea anyway), but in failing, to point to the New Covenant, which now needed to be delayed for a while, until the people were ready for it.

“The law was brought in so that the trespass might increase. But where sin increased, grace increased all the more.” [Romans 5:20]

“So then, the law was our guardian until Christ came, in order that we might be justified by faith. But now that faith has come, we are no longer under a guardian.” [Galatians 3:24-25]

From that first moment on the mountain in Exodus, God was already planning to make his people ready for REAL covenant, for the New Covenant in Christ.

Dang, he’s amazing.

Growing Up With Jesus

 In John 7, there’s an interesting interaction between Jesus and his brothers:

Jesus' brothers said to him, "Leave Galilee and go to Judea, so that your disciples there may see the works you do. No one who wants to become a public figure acts in secret. Since you are doing these things, show yourself to the world." For even his own brothers did not believe in him. [John 7:3-5]
 

These are his adult brothers; they’ve lived with Jesus all of their lives, but they did not understand that he was more than just their big brother. It’s probably worth observing that these are his younger brothers, and younger brothers often are less than completely impressed with their big brothers, growing up, as they are, in his shadow.

More than that, as Jesus said to his neighbors, "A prophet is not without honor except in his own town, among his relatives and in his own home." [Mark 6:4] Not only did Jesus’ own brothers not believe in him, his hometown did not believe in him.
 
We know their names: “Isn't this the carpenter's son? Isn't his mother's name Mary, and aren't his brothers James, Joseph, Simon and Judas?” [Matthew 13:55, see also Mark 6:3]

Interestingly, at least two of these brothers became believers later, and even ended up writing books of the New Testament: James & Judas [aka Jude], so clearly they were leaders among the believers. In Acts 15, brother James even appears to leads the mother church in Jerusalem.

I observe that folks who have obstacles in their families to believing, once they have made it past those obstacles, often are pretty effective in their faith. Those who oppose the work of Jesus can often find themselves supporting and serving him when they are able to see more clearly.

I also observe that family was a big thing. We’re pretty sensitive about the topic of nepotism in the Church in the West, and I don’t think it applies to the first generation church. If nothing else, neither James nor Jude claimed anything special because of their relationship to their big brother. But it’s nice to see the change they went through over the years.

I Like Some Things That Some People Don't Enjoy

I like my coffee strong. A couple of times a week, I make a very large pot of “cold brew fork coffee.” One pot will last me a couple of days.

You probably understand the “cold brew” part. “Fork coffee” is coffee that will hold a fork upright in the cup. (Er… it’s a metaphor. It’s strong, but not that strong!)

I have friends who like more modest coffee. And I have other friends who drink “why bother” coffee: decaf with nonfat milk and maybe a sugar substitute. And I have friends who really enjoy <gasp!> tea! Oh my goodness.  

So yeah, I like something that other people – even people that I know and love – don’t actually enjoy participating in.

It’s amazing how that works, isn’t it? People are different. Who would have thought?

There’s another “brown brewed beverage” that I also enjoy. I had a pint of it the other evening, with a slice of pizza, with my sweetheart on our “date night.” I had an Oatmeal Stout. (It’s a kind of very dark beer.)   

It’s a rare thing to find a good beer in these days. So many people are content with corporate beer (Budweiser, Coors, etc), and most of the beer nerds in my college town prefer IPA’s (India Pale Ale: strong & bitter, so that it could endure the sailing trip from England to India, way back in the colonial days).

Interestingly, I’ve seen men’s Bible studies going on in the particular micro-brewpub that she and I favor: believers are becoming less afraid of being seen with a beer. Or maybe they like the “edgy” vibe of being seen with a high-end micro-brew? I don’t know.

I like meat. Well, most meat. I’m not actually a real fan of “organ meat,” whether liver, kidney, heart, or whatever. I’ve had some that was disgusting. I’ve had some that was actually pretty good, but it’s still not my favorite.

I have friends who absolutely love chicken gizzards. And friends who really like liver-and-onions. And we’re still friends, despite that.

I know some people that really love large, corporate worship services, both mega-church and conference-type big ol’ worship events. My preference is for small gatherings: six or eight is a large group for me, but one-on-one over a cup of a brown brewed beverage or another.

Yet again: the things that bring me life are not the same things that bring other people life. Or you could say that the things that my brothers & sisters love may not be the same things that I love.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think that people are different from each other.

For example – and I don’t know if you’re aware of this – there were a few holidays we just passed. There will be some more holidays this year! Did you know that some people have different thoughts and feelings about that holiday than other people do?

We’re talking believers here!! Some believers believe that the holiday belongs to the devil and they want nothing to do with it!

And other believers look at the holiday as an opportunity to reach people who are pretty much unreachable the rest of the year.

Look, there’s a really solid answer that we can all live by, as long as we’re actually going to let other people be responsible for their own life choices:

You Do You. Let Them Do Them.

If you like the events surrounding these holidays, and you can keep your heart in line with our King in the midst of them, then go have fun! I know a guy that was real tight with God and he partied with tax collectors and hookers and “sinners?” He took a lot of grief for it from the religious folks of his day, but the religious spirit pretty much always works that way.

If you don’t like parties, or don’t like holiday food, or the relevant holiday colors or sundry holiday accouterments, then don’t celebrate them. You follow God according to your conscience, not according to someone else’s.

You do you. Do whatever works for you. Be real. Be genuine. And maybe be respectful.

My mentor said it this way: “If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.”

Cussing Out God

I feel the need to talk about a turning point I experienced a long time ago. I don’t remember having shared this before. Please be patient with me; it’s hard to talk about, and hard to write about. I find it kind of embarrassing for six or eleven reasons.

Many years ago, my bride and I joined a missions team planning to plant churches in a foreign country. In hindsight, I suspect we followed my spiritual ambition more than we followed Holy Spirit. Live and learn. But we have some remarkable memories of God’s faithfulness. (And did you know that the Amazon rainforest is really beautiful?)

There’s this aphorism in Christian culture: “Where God guides, he provides.” That’s true. But God does not necessarily provide where my ego and my ambition have guided me. Oh, we have stories of miraculous provision for ourselves and our children, but the mission – since it wasn’t a God-directed event – did not go well. It went down in flames.

We eventually made it home, tail between our legs, having spent every dime we had, having spent every relationship we had, completely destitute and desperately depressed. We had a place to live for a few weeks, but after that, unless God did yet another miracle, we’d be raising our flock of kids under a bridge somewhere.

The depression, the presence of very real failure, my inability to “get a job” like everybody told me to, it was all on my back, a heavy weight, for months, and eventually, for years.

Someone recognized I needed help, and made arrangements for me to see a therapist (a practice I completely support if you need it – and I needed it!!), but that didn’t go well at all.

The sign outside his office instructed me to wait in the lobby, but it turned out that he had no lobby, and I ended up unintentionally walking in on someone else’s session at a really intense moment, and I did that only 10 minutes after a homeless guy had walked in on the same session.

The therapist lost it, and as I retreated in shame, the Christian guy that was supposed to help me get out of my depression opened his door and shouted imprecations at me. Not very encouraging, actually.

I kind of lost it. I had risked everything on this adventure at obeying (what I thought was) what God had said, and I had failed miserably at being a missionary, failed miserably at being a Christian, failed miserably at being a provider for my family, and was currently failing miserably at life. I was making plans for the most discreet way to kill myself, and this guy that’s supposed to help me rages at me and angrily slams the door on me, literally.

So God and I had it out.

You know, when we talk about powerful interactions with the Almighty, they’re supposed to be uplifting and what-not. There’s a standard of how believers are supposed to behave in the presence of Majesty.

Yeah, not so much. This was ugly. God had (as I saw it) betrayed me yet again, and I was done with enduring. I let him have it.

I stomped out of the therapist’s office complex, and stormed around the block (around a whole lot of blocks, actually), shouting my rage at God. I used every four-letter word I knew and made up some new ones to accuse him with. I yelled at him at the top of my lungs, my face flushed, my eyes streaming, gesticulating wildly. I cussed him up one side and down the other. If I could have reached him, I would have beat him up (yeah, right!), I was that mad at him. I beat up the air in his direction.

It felt like hours, and in hindsight, I’m really surprised that nobody called the police. Or maybe they did, but the police were too scared to confront me. I’m not a small boy, and I was really wound up; I was not safe to approach. I kind of expected God to smite me, and I wasn’t opposed to that idea: he’d abandoned me and betrayed and left me hanging so badly already; smiting was the next logical step.

And through it all, he didn’t say a thing. He didn’t actually smite me. I kind of had the distant sense that I had his attention, but he just let me go on about my rage. In hindsight, I kind of felt like he was holding my hair so I could vomit freely and not get it all over me. He took none of my foul accusations personally.

But it turned out that the rage was the turning point in my depression. Oh, I still couldn’t get a job that would pay the bills, and I still needed literal miracles to feed and house my family, and those came as they were needed. But the rage and the depression and the hopelessness had their back broken in that tantrum. Interesting.

A couple of weeks later, I had an evening with a friend that had been hung out to dry as badly as I had been. We commiserated for a few hours, but as I left, I recall really clearly saying to God, “Lord, to whom shall I go? You have the words of life.” And I recall, with similar clarity, recognizing that I really believed it. It shocked me, actually.

That was a bunch of years ago. I’ve told God (and a few others) that I’m actually glad that whole seven-year season is in my past: I’m glad I’ve learned the lessons of His faithfulness, his patience, that I don’t know I could have learned any other way. And I’m equally glad that season is not in my present, or (I trust) in my future. I don’t ever want to go through that again. But I know Him so much better these days, and I trust him so much more now, as a result of that crisis, which kind of culminated in that tantrum.

So do I recommend to folks going through their own hell-and-high-water crisis that they follow my example and cuss God out? Oh, hell no! Don’t follow me. I’m not the role model for your crisis.

But I absolutely recommend that believers, whether in crisis or not, to be absolutely honest and open with God, even with the ugly bits. And I acknowledge that it sure might take something extraordinary to get at the ugly bits that we Christians are so good at hiding, even from ourselves. Yeah, that needs to get out. Clean out every bit of that stinky refrigerator called the subconscious! And get help if you need it.

Oh, and that therapist and I eventually made peace. It turned out that nobody had ever walked in on a session before that day, and this was a particularly fragile client. He was completely freaked out when we eventually did meet, but by then, I don’t know that I needed his services so badly: Father had held my hair and let me vomit, and now it was all out. I just needed help rinsing out my mouth and stumbling back to bed.

Pizza With Jesus

My bride and I were young and optimistic. A long, long time ago, we'd signed up for an extended missions trip to a land far, far away, to tell the locals about Jesus. Since we grew up in a church that had never preached the gospel until the Sunday that I preached it myself, we didn't know much at all about sharing the good news of Jesus. 

We also didn't know much about rest. We were only there for a few months, and we were encouraged by zealous leaders to give ourselves to the job at hand, and keep nothing in reserve for the trip home. We bought into that value. 

We were on different teams. I was on the street preaching team and she was on a team that presented the gospel through song and dance. We were going hard, 18 hours most days, six or seven days a week. 

We were tired. We were also flat broke. We couldn't even buy a cold beverage of indeterminate origin at the Golden Arches place (they're EVERYwhere!!) and sit in their air conditioned space for a couple of hours. 

And even more than burgers and carbonated beverages, after many weeks, I missed pizza. But that was completely out of the question in that culture: they had no cheese of any sort (I was afraid to ask what yellow stuff was on the “cheeseburgers” that my wealthier friends had from time to time). 
 
I had been practicing what is now called Lecto Divina in my time with Jesus, and during these weeks, I had come to really value that hour or so in the wee hours before the rest of the dorm woke up. It appears that God's strength shows up particularly well when we're completely dry of our own strength. Who knew?

One morning, I'd been reading about God's provision of his disciples (probably the feeding of the 5000 miracle), and if I'm honest, I was whining about how broke we were. It was true that all of our needs were met, but it would be nice to do something special with my sweetheart once in a while. 

I felt something vaguely resembling faith (or maybe petulance) rise up in me, so I got specific: “I'd really like some pizza, please!” Ha! Fat chance of that! 

I spent the morning preaching on the streets within walking distance of the dorm, while my bride was making her way across town (in a taxi driven by someone who apparently idolized Mario Andretti!); we'd see each other at dinner for yet another plate-full of rice and corn. 

Mid-day, I headed back to the dorm (I never knew how wonderful siestas could be!) to relax a minute. A moment later, the building shook as the pack of 20-something young men stampede to their end of the dorm. Then quiet descended (relatively speaking). Another day in paradise. 

Then the single mother, on the mission field with her two young children hollered down the hallway. “Does anyone want some pizza? We've got too much!” It turns out that she'd found a Shakey's Pizza franchise in town (I told you this was a long, long time ago, didn't I?), and had bought some for her kids, but they had not been very hungry. 

My mind raced as I waited for the pack of hungry young men to speak up, but they never did. So I tiptoed down to the single mom's door and asked if she was serious? It turns out that she was. I have no idea what kind of pizza it was; it was round and flat and it had actual cheese on it. 

I spent a fair bit of time that afternoon marveling at God's tender provision, and while there wasn't enough for me to share with her, I was looking forward to telling my sweetheart my story. 

When she made it home (wide eyed at what a Formula One taxi driver could accomplish in the tiny streets and alleys of that town!), she told me her story about harrowing drives, mixed up ministry appointments, “But Sally-Ann bought us all pizza for lunch!” 

So even though we were on opposite sides of the city, God gave us both pizza for lunch, in different ways, through different people. On the day that I had asked in the morning for pizza. 

Please don't try to tell me that God is not attentive to his kids. I won't believe you. 

Eat the Meat. Spit Out the Bones.

There's an uncomfortable truth about the human species:

Ain't a single one of us that's perfect. Well, except the Creator God who became fully man; He is and was perfect, but other than him nobody is actually perfect.

"As it is written, There is none righteous, no, not one." [Romans 3:10]

And that means that it is inappropriate (and a waste of time) to expect perfection from any member of the human species. Excellence is good (and there is a lot of that), but don't waste your time looking for perfection in people.

• None of our leaders (political or religious) are perfect leaders.
• None of our teachers teach perfect truth.
• No book or class or video is perfect in all its content.
• No fellowship of humans will be perfect; there will be mistakes and failures in 'em all.

Does that mean that we should give up on leaders, teachers, fellowships, and just go solo, "Me & Jesus, and nobody else"?

That won't work. You're not perfect either. (Me neither.)

So we quit expecting perfection, and we look for the good.

"Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable--if anything is excellent or praiseworthy--think about such things." [Philippians 4:8]

Pay attention to the good. Overlook the imperfect. Which, of course, means the need to test things, to discern truth.

(Does this mean we never strive for improvement? Heck no.)
(Does this mean we overlook persistent sin, our own or our brother's? Heck no.)

Eat the meat. Spit out the bones. "Even a dumb ol' cow knows enough to eat the hay and spit out the sticks."

Testimony: God the Electrician

Some of the lights in the living room stopped working suddenly. Testing showed they had no power to them. No circuit breakers were tripped. No wiring had changed in the past several months. And they didn't know an electrician they could call on for help.

So they prayed. She heard the phrase, junction box. He saw a picture of a junction box in a particular place on the attic floor.

Sounds like a clue, he thought. So he crawled up into the attic, flashlight in the hand, looking for the junction box on the floor that he saw as he was praying.

But there was no junction box on the floor, and no junction box that looked like what he saw in prayer. But there was a different junction box on a post nearby, and it did what the junction box in his vision look like it would have done.

So he fiddled with some of the wires, jiggling them carefully, and when he did a light in the attic flickered on. Aha! A clue.

So he fixed the loose wire nut, made sure it was tight, and headed back downstairs.

Sure enough, everything was working fine now.

Lessons learned:

1. God is a pretty good electrician (although this is much less voltage than he usually works with).

2. He is willing to help homeowners with electrical problems in their homes.

3. Spiritual gifts are useful for practical matters, too.

4. A word of knowledge may be correct in its content, but incorrect in some of the details.