Bible Study

Challenge Authority

Last week I had the opportunity to worship at a nearby Bible Church. The pastor spoke on the desirability of trusing in God over man (Psalm 118:8-9) and the unreliability of the “carnal” (worldly) mind … as opposed to the spiritually-oriented mind. He began with a call to “Distrust Opinion” and included himself among those to be distrusted. While many give lip-service to the priority of scripture over man’s teaching or tradition, I have found that many pastors think that they are, by definition, exempt from being questioned, challenged, distrusted or held to account. Yet pastors are in no way exempt from falling into patterns of worldly thinking and some have led many astray. I found it very encouraging to hear a pastor declare from the pulpit that his congregation must carefully study and pursue the scripture as their primary source for God’s revelation, and that they should not just take his word as normative in spiritual teaching. Naturally, I didn’t take his word for that. :)

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Sarah takes her Biblical doctrine very seriously.

As it turns out, the scripture has quite a bit to say about this. One of the foremost examples is when Peter and John were dragged before the Sanhedrin for the terrible sin of healing a man (another example of the truth of my “No Good Deed Ever Goes Unpunished” motto!). They were instructed by the supreme religious leaders of their day to be silent on the “minor” doctrinal matter of the Deity of Jesus Christ:

“But Peter and John replied: ‘Judge for yourselves whether it is right in God’s sight to obey you rather than God. For we cannot help speaking about what we have seen and heard.’” Acts 4:19-20

Or there is always the case of Stephen, charged with blasphemy against the temple and the law, standing before the high priest, boldly rebuking the Jews who rejected their own Messiah:

“You stiff-necked people, with uncircumcised hearts and ears! You are just like your fathers: You always resist the Holy Spirit! Was there ever a prophet your fathers did not persecute? They even killed those who predicted the coming of the Righteous One. And now you have betrayed and murdered him … you who have received the law that was put into effect through angels but have not obeyed it.” Acts 7:51-53

The early church was founded by men of faith who were not afraid to stand up to the so-called and self-appointed guardians of righteousness, often blinded by pride and greed and fear. Throughout the history of the Church, men of faith and boldness have challenged and opposed the established authorities, as in the Protestant Reformation. Stephen was martyred, and many of the early reformers also died for their challenge to the Catholic church. There are consequences today as well, for those who hold to scripture and oppose a particular pastor or a church’s leaders. Look at the division within the Episcopal church as some attempt to uphold scriptural condemnation of homosexuality, in the face of those who attempt to marginalize the scriptures or pretend it doesn’t apply.

I was reading yesterday in I Corinthians, where Paul writes about the difference between the spiritually-minded man and his worldly counterpart:

“The man without the Spirit does not accept the things that come from the Spirit of God, for they are foolishness to him, and he cannot understand them, because they are spiritually discerned. The spritual man makes judgments about all things, but he himself is not subject to any man’s judgement:” I Corinthians 2:14-15

I am not advocating “Lone Ranger” Christianity. Each of us is an integral part of the body of Christ and is subject to various authorities, including those in spiritual authority over us. And yet, we require no high priest but Christ himself … we are empowered through the Holy Spirit to interpret scripture and to understand spiritual things for ourselves, to the extent that we have become “spiritually minded”. In II Corinthians, chapter 11, Paul warned against those who claim to have special spiritual authority yet teach contrary to the gospel and the scriptures:

For such men are false apostles, deceitful workmen, masquerading as apostles of Christ. And no wonder, for Satan himself masquerades as an angel of light. It is not surprising, then, if his servants masquerade as servants of righteousness. Their end will be what their actions deserve. II Corinthians 11:13-15

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David, illustrating his reaction to false apostles.

We are responsible to be on our guard against false prophets (II Peter chapter 2):

“Dear friends, do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God, because many false prophets have gone out into the world.” I John 4:1

Although it can seem a daunting task, we who call on the name of Jesus and are filled with the Holy Spirit are able to tell the difference between truth and falsehood. Sadly, many believers are carnally-minded and are deceived all too easily, cutting themselves off from the Holy Spirit:

“Those who live according to the sinful nature have their minds set on what that nature desires; but those who live in accordance with the Spirit have their minds set on what the Spirit desires.” Romans 8:5

The Church today is badly in need of reform. Bit by bit, doctrinal values once widely accepted have been compromised and traded away by the major denominations in our country. One group permits homosexuals to openly serve as pastors, while another elevates women to the role of elder. Many Christians hold to a “Health and Wealth Gospel” that reduces our God to a giant vending machine. Some no longer accept scripture as inerrant, while others wave away portions of scripture as “not applicable to the modern day Church”. Most churches do not exercise any effective form of church discipline or hold their flock accountable in any meaningful way. Less than 5% of evangelical Christians tithe, (let alone more sacrificial giving) according to recent studies. Ignorance of the scriptures (particularly the Old Testament) is rampant among lay leaders and teachers.

Those who have minds set on what the Spirit desires must hold firm against this attrition of the soul and speak out against the false teachers who chip away at faith in the name of tolerance and liberalism.

If you find your thinking dominated by fear, bitterness, hatred, malice, greed or pride; if your goals are set in terms of satisfying your flesh (personal comfort, gain, happiness), then you likely do not have your mind set on what the Spirit desires, and can easily be deceived.

Seek to practice love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control (Galatians 5:22) … set your mind on what the Spirit desires. This will protect you from all kinds of error and keep you busy in good works as a bonus.

But whatever you do, don’t accept another person’s word for what God desires. Weigh every doctrine, evaluate every teaching, question the authority and legitimacy of anyone who claims to occupy the spiritual high ground. Any godly person will be delighted to be held accountable in this way, and will be thrilled to see you thinking for yourself. False teachers will generally flee such accountability or will at least be revealed by their hostile reaction to any attempt to question their authority.

Each of us stands or falls to our own Master; and He is able to make us stand.

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People-Watching

Chutzpah — an Unsolved Mystery

Riding the ferry and rubbing elbows with a large sampling of commuters, I have the opportunity to see all kinds of people and many varieties of behavior. One characteristic which recently came to my attention is chutzpah, that special aggressive edge of indifference to societal pressures that some people seem to have. It is difficult to define, but it seems to include an habitual “me first” orientation and a sense of individual freedom in the absence of personal accountability. Chutzpah seems to contain a thread of entitlement and a “I’m going to get my share” mentality that (at least in some) overrides the constraints of politeness and fairness.

As you wait to board the ferry at the Bainbridge Island terminal, the passenger ramp is divided into two lanes by a series of cones connected by orange tape. The convention seems to be that the southern lane is for passengers boarding the ferry, while the northern lane is for those exiting the ferry. Nearly everyone follows this tradition, perhaps to avoid being trampled by the disembarking passengers; by the time I get to the terminal, there are usually upwards of 100 people waiting in the right-hand lane like cattle at a slaughterhouse (minus the manure and mooing).

There is a woman, perhaps Samoan or Filipino, who somehow manages to arrive at the terminal at pretty much the same time as me every morning. She habitually wears shorts and white or grey colors, and always carries a small backpack. Instead of waiting in line with the other cattle, er, passengers, she strides down the exit lane and places herself at the front of the line. Somehow she avoids being trampled, and she is among the first to board the ferry. The resentful stares of the other passengers seem to make no impression on her, she appears entirely unabashed and seems to accept the empty exit lane as her appropriate due.

We all would like to do this. How many times have you wanted to ride the shoulder and jump ahead of merging traffic? Many of us suspect that all the rest of the people on the planet were simply put there to provide a backdrop for the center of all creation, which is me (or you, depending on perspective). But we are hampered by our own socialization, the inculcated sense of the rights and prerogatives of others … ultimately we care more about social opinion than we do about squeezing maximum advantage out of life.

The funny thing is, we are all arriving at Seattle at pretty much the same time. Unless she is willing to stand at the front of the ferry for the entire trip, it will be much more difficult for her to be among the first to disembark. While there are certain seats that are preferred, there is a lot of room on the ferry and little difference between those who board first and those who board one hundred and first.

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I couldn’t stand it. I had to discover the dire purpose that drove this woman to disregard all social mores and push herself forward in this way. I walked to the front of the boat and found the woman (pictured here) sitting among the forward seats. Sure enough, as we approached Seattle, she positioned herself so as to be among the first of passengers to disembark. But she could be the last to board the ferry and still be among the first to disembark, since people don’t gather outside until a few minutes before we arrive in Seattle. A more casual investigator would have concluded that she was “just one of those ferry wackos”, but I am made of sterner, curiouser, stuff.

I followed her in my best Inspector Clouseau manner to see if she hurried to catch a bus or some other form of transport, but she proceeded at a slow pace and took the foot ramp across Alaskan Way into downtown Seattle. I can only conclude that she is one of those who hates to be behind other people. Maybe one day I’ll dare to ask her why she does it … although I’m not sure I really want to confront someone with that much chutzpah. Until then, it is an unsolved mystery.

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Musings

A Bad Deed

My older children read my recent “Pantless in Seattle” blog entry and found it wanting. “It wasn’t very funny,” they said.

You would think that, with all of Seattle to choose from, I would have little difficulty in finding humorous content. But, then, maybe the problem is with me. It is true that I tend toward dry and sardonic humor rather than slapstick comedy … I can see how my children would find that disappointing.

The makers of Jelly Belly candies are marketing a new candy-coated chocolate that they call “JBs” — a recent radio commercial suggests that a lot of fun things could be even more fun. They propose a birthday party on a roller coaster (you hear the voice of an anguished boy shouting, “My presents!” over the clank and roar of a roller coaster, suggesting the havoc that centrifugal force and gravity would play on a birthday party). They also suggest adding clowns to baseball games, which I think would probably liven-up an otherwise boring sport, especially with the Mariners in last place.

“It’s a line drive, off Crazy Tom at third base, picked up by the shortstop … who gets a pie in the face from Laughing Larry Briskin!” says the announcer. The world could definitely use more slapstick.

But sometimes life is not so funny, especially when there is sin involved. Yesterday I was a little late leaving the house, and hence was driving a little more aggressively than I usually do. Exiting the highway at Poulsbo, I roared around the left-turning traffic in the right lane (legal, but not at the speed I was traveling) and cut in front of a small red sedan in time to make my subsequent left turn at the next traffic light. My reckless antics did not go unnoticed … the two men in the red sedan were shaking their heads, and the motorcycle cop in the oncoming traffic gave me a few seconds of close attention.

My relief that the motorcycle policeman did not turn around was short-lived … soon I became aware that the red sedan was following me to my bus stop. As I parked, I reflected on the fact that I much prefer my reckless driving to be kept on an anonymous level … I’d rather not be held to account by a real flesh & blood person. I sighed, and walked over to the red car to apologize. The passenger, who I now recognized as a fellow-commuter, looked particularly disgusted. He dismissed my excuse about being in a hurry to catch the bus: “You had five minutes to spare.” After renewing my apologies (this time without an excuse) they grudgingly forgave me. As I walked away, they mentioned that my left front tire was nearly flat (having had a recent opportunity to observe it at close quarters).

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This is the bus that I ride. I didn’t think the guys I cut off would appreciate having their picture taken.

I am not a very observant person. How long would it have taken me to notice that something was amiss with not one, but both of my front tires? I suspect that, had I not apologized, those men would not (in a passive-aggressive sort of justice) have mentioned anything about my tire. Where would I have been, when one or both of those tires finally gave up the ghost? In the evening the car was still (barely) driveable and I was able to limp to a filling station and fill the tires long enough to get to Costco, where I had them both replaced.

When I was in the Army, I acquired this motto: “No good deed ever goes unpunished.” I have found this to be nearly true … many “good deeds” result in negative consequences, sometimes from surprising sources. While this line of thinking is a bit on the cynical side, I find it helpful to consider the likely cost of a good deed in advance, not allowing that cost to discourage me unduly. My Dad even lettered it on a small plaque for me, and it hangs on the wall above my desk. But it would seem that I have overlooked a possible corollary, “No bad deed is unforgiveable.”

Of course, this is only possible within the context of the grace of God and the forgiveness available through the blood of His Son, Jesus Christ. If you don’t love God, and if you haven’t accepted Jesus as your Savior, then your bad deeds are, indeed, unforgiven (along with your so-called good deeds). If you find yourself in that case, I recommend you repair that condition immediately … write to me and I’ll be glad to tell you how.

The moral of the story is twofold: 1) always apologize quickly, and 2) God’s power is able to turn a bad deed into a good outcome.

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Silliness

Pantless in Seattle

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Today I went to work in my boxer shorts. Don’t worry, I won’t be posting a picture of my pasty white legs … some things just shouldn’t be visualized, even on the internet.

I had intended to dress a little more conservatively, but I couldn’t find any shorts in the bedroom. I had already slammed several cupboard doors in the bathroom, and I feared that any further noise would bring me to Kathy’s negative attention. I threw on a shirt from the bulging dirty-clothes hamper, velcro-ed on my sandals, and was out the door.

Even in Seattle, such attire would raise an eyebrow or two (even if the eyebrow was pierced) … but I do have an explanation. Well, sort of.

Over the Independence Day weekend our well stopped pumping. It had grumbled for some weeks … low pressure, failure to restart when we have power outages, that kind of passive-aggressive behavior. But for the last four years we have come to expect (at least when we have power) a reliable and plentiful source of clear, cold Duckabush water.

On Monday, in a flash of prescience, I took my shower early, and thus missed out on the subsequent outage. By the time my sweet wife made it to the shower, the water supply had become intermittent at best, and required a steady hand on the switch down at the pump house. (Sadly, my hand was less than steady, since I was still trying to figure out how to make the pump work.)

We called in a local well guy (I suppose he is actually called a “water system specialist” or something a little more impressive than ‘well guy’) … he made a brief call Monday night & concluded that they would need to ‘pull the pump’ (a non-trivial task, since our well is 220+ feet deep). By evening Tuesday, we heard the fateful news: our pump was cracked and would require replacement — $500 in parts alone, I fear.

As it turns out, we are very much used to running water. Without flushing toilets, working dishwashers or washing machines, without water from the tap, our household is slowly grinding to a halt. I’m only keeping it all together by reading the tips on unclutterer and on here and there on the internet. Rachel said to me last night, “I don’t think I’ll ever have clean pajamas again. (She’s prone to a bit of exaggeration, I’m afraid … I’ll bet she gets new pajamas for Christmas, at least!) We brush our teeth with water from a 2-liter bottle and we lug in scores of milk-jugs of water for the toilets which David flushes with wild abandon.

Once again, our faithful pool saves us … what luck that we have a huge reservoir of water just outside our back door! It doesn’t do for drinking water, but that is graciously provided by our faithful “foul-weather” friends and neighbors.

Sadly, we lack the one thing that separates civilized man from his savage counterpart: hot showers. A hot shower is very important to me … I think perhaps that is why I was born in this modern milieu in spite of my medieval mind-set. On Tuesday I had a series of job interviews and I wanted to be clean and reasonably fresh. So I had Joshua go down to the pump house Monday night and hold the control switch on while I took a shower. He amused himself by showing Rachel how it worked, turning it on and off with gleeful abandon, not realising the havoc that this would play with the shower temperature and pressure. (There was a certain poetic justice in this, since I had done much the same to Kathy.)

In the morning I stuck my head in the pool and (after a few minutes’ chipping ice out of my hair) declared myself reasonably clean and passably fresh. The interviews went OK … no one commented negatively on my personal hygiene, which is always a good sign in an interview.

The wily Kathy managed to wheedle a shower out of our “foul weather” neighbors (the Bringhams) — and there was much flushing of toilets by the children who missed such civilized niceties.

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This little girl didn’t get a shower or a bath.

By Tuesday night the pump had been dismantled, with the vague promise of a new pump to be installed on Wednesday. Perhaps in dread of my incessant whining, Kathy solicitously arranged access to the nearby Wilderness Northwest Training Center shower through our neighbor and camp director, Jody Weed.

As more and more people flee the cities and seek to scratch out an existence in rural communities, there has grown up a need for the mentoring of urban tenderfeet, as we find ourselves dealing with arcane mysteries like “septic field maintenance” and “the safe and lawful operation of a chainsaw”. In a cooperative program with State and local governments, Jody was appointed as our benevolent guardian. He takes his mentoring duties seriously, and can be relied upon to steer us away from costly mistakes and dangerous practices. His casual oversight of our property is a source of frequent and considerable relief to me. Working in the city, I was unable to observe the progress of the water system repair or otherwise ensure that I ended up with a working well.

So I headed out this morning with my clothes in a knapsack, intending to shower at the nearby Training Center. Unfortunately, I am a bit absent-minded and habit-driven, especially before I’ve gulped my first Diet Coke of the day. Imagine the driver’s surprise when I boarded the bus in Poulsbo, still fetchingly attired in my sandals and boxer shorts! As it turns out, they have city ordinances against that sort of thing in this conservative Scandinavian bedroom community. How convenient that the State Police have a branch office directly adjacent to the Park ‘n Ride where I catch my bus!

What luck for me that one of my fellow passengers happened to be a lawyer for the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU). With his masterful grasp of logic and political correctness, he convinced the bus driver and investigating police officer that they were infringing on my right to freely express myself and encouraged them to go pantless in support of my bold stance. The passengers all followed suit, showing that they were hip, tolerant people as well.

Or maybe that isn’t what happened. Truth be told, I did drive past the Camp facility, but remembered my undressed condition before I got to the foot of the valley. I turned my car around, enjoyed a hot shower with excellent water pressure, and made it to Poulsbo in time to catch the bus, fully clothed. (I was clothed, not the bus.)

I wonder if I could have pulled it off? This is a crazy town … people wear the strangest things. One guy that rides my bus, wears winter camouflage pants and swimming-goggle sunglasses pretty much every day, rain or shine. Another long-haired guy wears a full-length, dark green trenchcoat even in the warmest weather. I had two meetings today … it is probably best that I wore pants. Maybe I should adopt that as my new motto — “When in doubt, wear pants.” It’s catchy, succinct and achievable … I like it.

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Later in the day I heard the good news … the well is repaired and Kathy has water again. No more scrubbing clothes on a washboard down at the river … her solidarity with the pioneer women is ended. It is probably just as well … we were getting tired of those cornmeal flatcakes and that dubious rabbit goulash.

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Musings

Time is on my side

This summer the weather has been horrible. Usually we can count on a good bit of rain, and clouds are the rule, rather than the exception during the months of May and June. It often remains cool, as well … a day that reaches 60 degrees Fahrenheit is considered warm. We don’t usually make any plans that require good weather until after the July 4th weekend, during which it often rains.

Since May we have faced an unremitting monotony of warm, sunny days. Oh, there have been a few cloudy days, and there was one promising stretch where it looked as though the rain might settle in, but that passed all too quickly and the sunshine returned.

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(This is not actually the pool I bought. It is the kiddie pool, now three years old.)

What’s a guy to do? I finally broke down and bought a pool for my children, even though the shade around our home and the deep chill of our well-water don’t promote comfortable swimming conditions. A visiting missionary-in-training and I whipped up a solar heating system for it (it is important to keep those missionary-types busy) and the kids are often able to enjoy the pool for whole minutes at a time, at least once they break up the ice and chase away the penguins.

Last summer I was unemployed (or self-employed, depending on how you look at it) and I was able to squeeze every last drop of sunshine out of a nearly cloudless season. But this year I’m working in the city, and am confined to a small cubicle deep in the bowels of a former hospital, bathed in unattractive fluorescent light. As midsummer’s day approached, I began to resent the blue skies and bright sun, often only experiencing the sunrise and sunset on a given day. Each day seemed a priceless treasure that was sinking uselessly into the past, exchanged for the dubious privilege of scratching out a living wage in support of my family.

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This is the new pool. The penguins said their agent didn’t permit pictures without compensation.

Then one day it came to me as I listened to a song on the local Christian radio station. I don’t know the name of the song, but the words (sung to God) go like this:

If I know you, and I think I do, you’ll turn this day into a perfect surprise.

I remembered that I am not a finite being, nor am I limited to a finite number of deep blue skies. However many days I spend (or even waste) in this life, I have an unlimited number of better days to enjoy to the full in heaven. I had been thinking as though this life was all there was … and it changed my perspective when I began to think in terms of the spiritual reality I enjoy. The real tragedy is not in losing this day in terms of personal gratification or material gain … it is in making this day spiritually useless. If I work all day in a way that honors and obeys God’s current will for me, then the day is surely redeemed. God promises that He will return a hundred-fold anything that we give up for Him. Call me greedy, but I’m hoping for a lot more than 100 blue-sky days in exchange for each of these that I am missing.

This kind of thinking changes the way that you protect your time from the depredations of others, and makes you more available to minister. I can afford to help you move to a new house, or can take the time to listen to your troubles, because I am on the eve of a permanent vacation in the best of resorts with all the people I love most.

For many people, the days and weeks before a long vacation can be very stressful. There are projects to be handed over, e-mails to be sent out, details to nail down. But with respect to Eternity, when God calls me home, I can go right away! There is nothing in particular that I have to accomplish between now and when I go to be with Jesus … the hard work has already been done. Without minimizing my responsibilities in this life or my desire to qualify for the very best beach cabana, I’m mostly just hanging around until my vacation begins.

I missed the shuttle to the ferry dock today, and then the next ferry was late arriving. Just now, they have announced that the other ferry is late leaving the Bainbridge terminal, and so we are further delayed. No doubt the express bus will have gone, and I’ll be even longer getting to my car. And of course I’m low on gas, so I’ll have to stop on my way home. All this means that instead of getting home at 7:30, I’ll probably walk through that door just before 9:00 … just time enough to check my e-mail and post this blog entry before I head for bed at 10:00 pm.

Ha. I just got home at 9:20 … there was construction on the bridge to top it all off … I lost another 35 minutes. But for some reason I don’t mind. The sun is still shining, and my family seems to be doing OK even though I’m rarely home. Whether I’m killed on the way home tonight or live to be 95, these days will seem like a passing shadow compared to the millenia I will spend in Heaven with my Lord. I hope to see you there!

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The musings and ravings of a bloggart family