Looking Like Jesus

This is a little illustration I developed for my Bible class a few years ago. I used it again with my 7th and 8th grade students this week.

I begin by choosing one student volunteer to serve as a model. I have them stand far away from the rest of the class. In this most recent Bible class, I had our model stand at one of the end of the main hallway of our school, and the rest of the class stood at the other end of the hallway. I instructed them to draw our model, drawing only what they could see of him.

Most of the drawings ended up looking more or less like this:


I asked the students how well their drawing lined up with what they saw of the model. Most felt that their drawings were pretty close to what they could see.

Then we moved closer to our model. He was only five or six feet away and everyone could see him clearly. Once again, I had them draw the model, again drawing what they could see. Here the students’ artistic limitations really began to show. Those who weren’t naturally gifted artists, had a hard time drawing a good quality representation of the model. I asked the students to compare their drawings with the model, and they all agreed that their drawings did not look very much like the model at all.

For the final part of the activity, I had the students show the drawings to our principal, Mrs. Arthurs, and asked her to identify the student they’d drawn, looking at both drawings. In every case, Mrs. Arthurs could not identify the student based on the first drawing (the one that the students agreed was “pretty good.”), and in almost every case she recognized the student in the second drawing (the one from when we were closer that the students felt was a poor likeness) right away.

The lesson? This is what it’s like as we grow in Christ. When we are far away from Him, we tend to look at ourselves and look at Him, and think we’re pretty much the same. “I’m a pretty good person,” we say. However, as we grow closer to Jesus, and see more of his matchless love and His unparalleled goodness, the more we realize how much we fall short of that Ideal. We realize that we’ve got a long way to go to “look like Him” and that we don’t have the skills or talents to do it in our own strength. At the same time, though, as we grow closer to Jesus, we do resemble him more, as clumsy as our “drawings” may be, and others looking at our lives will see the resemblance between us and Jesus.

The irony is that the closer we are to Jesus, the more we look like Him, but the less likely we are to know that we look like Him.

In God We Trust

"In God We Trust." Those four words are engraved on every piece of U.S. currency. While for most people, that's just a nice little slogan, for those of us who are Believers, those words are supposed to be engraved in our hearts--and they're supposed to mean something. Well, lately I've been wondering what we mean when we say we trust God? What do we trust Him to do? Is it really Him that we trust, or is our faith actually in something else--like maybe those useful little pieces of green paper with the words "In God We Trust" written on them.

A couple of things have gotten me thinking about these questions recently. For one thing, Elijah's birth is coming up in just a few months and I'm finding my outlook on the world is changing pretty radically. Not long ago, I read an article online about how when you have kids you start thinking about things like global warming and nuclear warfare because you worry about what kind of world your kid will grow up in. I totally get that now. Lately, it seems like the world has been rocked by disaster after disaster--the cyclone in Burma, the earthquake in China, tornadoes, floods, and fires in the United States. Food and oil is running low while their prices are skyrocketing worldwide. Even right here at home, Saipan sometimes seems on the brink of implosion with the increasing instablity of our power grid and the continued free fall of our local economy. It makes me wonder what kind of life my child will inherit.

Also, many of our friends have departed Saipan in recent weeks and we don't know when--or, God forbid, if--we will see them again. Suddenly, in their absence from our everyday lives the Pacific Ocean seems awfully huge, the distance between us all, vast. My mind has wandered to the many, myraid tragedies big and small that could befall any of us at any time and make these recent goodbyes permanent ones.

And finally, I'm sure it doesn't help that I'm currently working on a novel that imagines a worldwide failure of every kind of electrical and fuel-powered device--the entire planet flung 200 years back into the past. My story is set here in Saipan, and of necessity, I've had to imagine every implication of such a disaster on a little island like this. It's a little scary, actually.

In short, I've been reminded of how fragile this precious thing we call life really is.

And I've wondered: What do we mean when we say we trust God? Often, I think we often mean we trust God to keep us safe. But what happens when He doesn't? And let's be honest--He doesn't always. Is it really God we trust or is our faith is actually built on regular electricity, fully-stocked stores, and money in our pockets. What happens when these security blankets are stripped away--as they have been for many in Iowa and China and Burma? What happens when the God we put our faith in seems to let us drop? About two weeks ago my friend and fellow church elder Paulo Restauro's mother died. She was only 53 years old, in an accident, and was in the hospital for several days. Paulo was certain that God would heal her. His faith was being put to the test and he was rising to the challenge. And then, just like that, he lost her. I've watched his faith sway under the weight of his grief. He seems to be shouldering the burden well, all things considered, but I know it's been hard for him (especially since immigration issues made impossible for him to fly back to the Philippines for her funeral). His faith has been pummelled because there is no good answer for what happened. It is unfair. It is wrong.

And yet it is life. And sometimes such harsh realities are hard--if not impossible--to accept. The night before I took my students white water rafting in Australia, I went through a spiritual panic of sorts. Actually, I've gone through this panic the two other times I've taken students whitewater rafting as well. I'm lying there in bed and suddenly visions of one of my students being washed out in the rapids, cracking their heads on a river rock rise up before me. I pray: Dear God, Please keep us safe tomorrow. I trust You. But then I wonder: What if He doesn't? Everyday people who are trusting God to keep them safe, lose their lives (unless you want to suggest that every person who dies in accident did so because they didn't trust God or "forgot to pray." Try telling that to Paulo and see how far you get). What do I mean when I sayI trust God? Imagine doing that old teambuilding standby, the trust fall, with the unsteady assurance that "we can catch you--we have the power to do so, we probably will catch you, and even if we don't you'll grow through the experience." Not too many of us would take the fall. And in fact, it's this inherent uncertainty that leads many to turn their backs on faith all together. You've heard the accusation before--"What kind of God would allow. . ." and you fill in the blank. And it's a good question. What good is trust if I don't have an ironclad, inviolable guarantee that something bad won't happen?

I think everyone in the world wants that deal from God. Many religons--including the Christian faith--often to seem suggest that God offers such a bargain. It's tempting to believe that our rituals, our appeasements, our rule-keeping, our sacrifices (or faith in His sacrifices) might somehow get us absolute security in an uncertain and random world. But here's the hard truth that nobody wants to admitt. That deal is not on the table. It never has been, never will be. It's not available to the saint, the sinner, or the atheist--not for anyone. We are all at the mercy of this sin-sick world.

And it's important to accept this reality if we are to have any hope of building a trust in God that can withstand the inevitable tragedies of this life. "Life is pain. Anyone who says otherwise is trying to sell you something," says the Dread Pirate Roberts in the comedy classic The Princess Bride. Improbably, Charlotte, in the movie Sex and the City recognizes this truth when she worries--and I'm paraphrasing her very loosely here --"that my life has gone so well, and how can that possibly continue--everyone has to have their share of pain." When she said those lines, I knew exactly what she meant. I've thought it a thousand times as I've wondered at the incredibly blessed life I've lived so far. When will the other shoe drop, I wonder? And so I start to bargain with God. "Okay, things have been great so far--but if you're going to take something don't let it be my son." etc.

So if there is no guarantee of personal safety for ourselves or for those we love what does it mean to trust God? Lately, I've been reading in the 11th chapter of the book of Hebreww in the New Testament about the great heroes of faith--Abel, Enoch, Noah, Abraham, Joseph, Rahab and manyh others. And I think they got it. These men and women didn't place their faith in the rosy idea that God would always keep them safe. After all Joseph ended up in jail at one point and Abel ended up dead. In fact pretty much all of them did--"they did not receive what was promised" it says. So what was this great faith they had? First, I think it was faith in the presence of God. It was a belief in His guidance and leading and care, in spite of the tragedies they encountered. But more than that--and Hebrews 11 makes this abundantly clear--their faith was in the Big Picture. Their faith was in something bigger than the ups and downs of this life.

We tend to want God to come through in the here and now. And often He does, and we rejoice in that. But we forget that tragedy, not triumph is the default setting for life on earth. Each day that we finish secure in health and strength, friends and family is a precious gift from God. It is not, as we often behave, a birthright owed to us by God. It's not often that we ask "Why has God protected me today?" Perhaps we should. We're often too comfortable here in this world and as a result often unprepared when the world, as it is wont to do, gets uncomfortable. The heroes of faith undertood this--they "confessed that they were strangers and exiles on the earth. . .that they were seeking a country of their own. . .they desire a better country, that is a heavenly one." Call it "pie in the sky" if you will, but the fact is, there isn't any better deal being offered out there. Those who put their trust in God know this world isn't it. Bad stuff happened to all of them, and while it hurt, it didn't faze them because their eyes were on a bigger, better prize.

To escape storms is not the point. To have peace in the midst of them is. Our trust in God is not that He will protect us from tragedy--though He can, and everyday, He does. Our trust in Him is that He will enable us to endure whatever may come and that we will ultimately obtain something beyond the sadness that often accompanies and finally ends this life.

God is here. He cares. Pain and death is not the end. This is the peace that passes all understanding, the joy that no one can take away.

All these died in faith, without receiveing the promises, but having seen them and having welcomed them from a distance, and having confessed that they were strangers and exiles on the earth.
--Hebrews 11:13

I'm ready to make a Rock my home.
I'm ready to build with bricks of gold.
--Mat Kearny "Lifetime"

Defense Against the Dark Arts: A Christian's Cautious Case for Harry Potter

"Any kingdom divided against itself is laid waste; and a house divided against itself falls. And if Satan is divided against himself, how shall his kingdom stand?"
--Luke 11:17-18

"There is no good tree which produces bad fruit; nor on the other hand a bad tree which produces good fruit. Each tree is known by it's own fruit."
--Luke 6:43-44

"The last enemy that will be abolished is death"
--1 Corinthians 15:26 (this passage appears in the final book of the Harry Potter series, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows and J.K. Rowling, the author, claims this scripture is the theme of the entire series).

Would it surprise you to learn that J.K. Rowling, the author of the wildly popular Harry Potter series is a Christian? A lot of the Christians I know would look with skepticism on such a revelation, but for those of us who have read and appreciated the books nothing seems more natural.

Harry Potter has been much vilified, especially among conservative Christians. His story is said to be glorifying witchcraft and promoting Satan. And indeed, Harry and virtually all of the leading characters in his world are wizards and witches. The argument goes that these books encourage a careless attitude towards magic and the occult. If our hero Harry can cast spells, what's the harm in me investigating using magic in real life? Harry sets us up to be lured into a world of Satanic deception.

It's a legitmate concern, I suppose, except that anyone who actually reads Harry Potter will quickly recognize that the values that are exalted in the Harry Potter tales are diametrically opposed to those promoted by Satan. This is a story whose abiding theme is that "love is the most important force." And by love I don't mean just warm, fuzzy feel-good emotion, the cheap and easy love glorified in pop songs and sentimental movies--I mean sacrificial love. Love that lays down it's life. Love that conqueors death. Satan is the father of lies but the Potter books lift up truth. Satan's kingdom is built on the primacy of self. The theme of Rowling's stories is power of selflessness. For these books to be the province of the devil, he would have to be pushing people toward embracing everything he is fighting against. What would Satan have to gain by encouraging people to be more selfless, more sacrificial, more loving?

But what about the witchcraft you ask? Well, all but the most casual reader, will quickly recognize that the world Rowling has created has nothing to do with any real-life sorcery. This is a made-up world. Her wizards and witches aren't human beings tapping into supernatural powers and using them for their own ends--her wizards and witches aren't human beings at all! They are a "magical race" who live in fantastical world invisible to ordinary human beings (who are known in magical parlance as Muggles). In other words, her creations are complete fantasy--and if they bear any similarity to any spiritual realities it would be to the spiritual realm of angels and demons rather than the world of the occult. The presence of unicorns, dragons, and all kinds of other imaginary creatures make it abundantly clear that her characters are not meant to be analogous to any real-life counterparts. Even a child can understand this distinction (though, it might be important for parents to explain to their children that there is such a thing as real-life witchcraft and it is not the same as what they read about in Harry Potter). In this respect, the book is not much different from C.S. Lewis's Narnia series. In fact, the biggest reason that more Christians haven't accepted and even promoted Rowling's books may be because of her refusal to claim a religous agenda. She insists--ironically--that she's not trying to convert anyone to Christianity, and perhaps this is her great crime in the eyes of many Christians, whether they realize it or not--that she refuses to evangelize. But whether intentionally or not, her books draw clear parallells with Christian themes. Just because someone (or a book) doesn't carry the name "Christian" does not make it any less so, just as merely labeling something Christian doesn't make it so. We know the true nature and origin of someone or something not by their labels, but by their character, by their principles. We will know them, as Jesus said, "by their fruit." What are we to make of a book that carries the label wizard and witch but bears the fruit of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness,and self-control?

"Well," some may argue, "God would never use something that is theologically false or misleading to communicate spiritual truth." I would disagree that statement, and if you're a Seventh-day Adventist Christian and have read Luke 16:20-31, I'm willing to bet you'd disagree too.

Thoughts on the Nature of Magic

"Why doesn't God let us do magic?" One of our students--a fourth grader asked me that question not too long ago (and no, we weren't talking about Harry Potter). It was an interesting question, one I'd never thought about until then, but in thinking about and answering this kid's question I realized a lot of about the nature of magic. Magic is ultimately about power. It's about being able to make objects, the elements, and even people bend to your will. There is no faith in magic--one only needs to learn the secrets and apply them and the magic will work whenever you want it to. The magician is self-dependent, and in this sense magical power is ultimately a selfish power, and this is why God does not give us the power to do magic and in fact warns strongly against it. Magic is about getting whatever I want whenever I want without having to follow the regular "rules" that limit everyone else. No wonder it has always held such an appeal to our sinful human natures.

So what does this have to do with Harry Potter? Simply this, the magic in Harry Potter is not the magic I described above. In Potter's world magic is as common place as electricity. The magic may fascinate the reader, but for the characters in the story magic is like math--a subject to be learned in school, to be applied to the practicalities of every day life, to be used as a tool at work, and yes, used as a weapon by those eager for power. In Potter's world magic lacks the allure it has in ours because everyone--or at least, all magical people--have everyday access to it. Yes, it is powerful, much as technology in our "Muggle" world is powerful, and as such it can be hoarded, abused, and selfishly used. The temptations and pitfalls of power are one of the big themes in the Potter books. Furthermore, the Harry Potter books make a simple truth clear--magic does not solve all our problems.It is very clear that Harry's ability to zip through the air on a broomstick or "apparate" from one location to another in seconds does nothing to address the fundamental problems of the human heart. While, I suppose it's possible for someone to come away from the Potter books wistfully dreaming of having magic powers, it's unlikely because, ironically, magic is not what Harry Potter is all about.


I'm not suggesting that Christian parents must go out and buy the Harry Potter series for their kids. If someone is personally convicted that the Harry Potter series unnecessarily confuses spiritual imagery and messages, I can respect that and I recognize the legitmacy of that concern for some Christians. It's the reason my case for Harry Potter is a cautious one. (That, and I that I'm always wary of hype and mania over anything--and Harry Potter is no exception. That sense of caution comes from my mom, who when were kids always would taper off our access to any cartoon or superhero we became too overly consumed with). Still, though it may not be for everyone, I believe Potter can do a lot of good for those out there who would ordinarily shut down at the first sign of a Christian agenda. Potter is a modern-day parable--and like all parables, not everyone will get it's deeper meaning. For many it will just be an exciting, well-written story, with some worthwhile themes. But for those who have ears to hear, there may be a deeper message. Someday those people may hear the story of a Man who was willing to lay His life on the line in order to defeat evil and death, a Man who won His victory and saved the world through the power of love, and they will, think--"But wait, I know this story. I've heard this before. Who knew it was actually true?"

There is the Christianity of outward appearances--the faith in being right, in having everything fit the way I think it should, the trappings of language and culture. And then there is Christianity of the heart--faith rooted in elemental principles that transcend the our shopworn imagery and religious jargon, faith that can appear in the strangest of places, in the most contradictory of disguises. The world of sorcery Harry Potter inhabits is the modern Nazareth (can anything good from there?) from whence God unexpectedly makes Himself known.

God's Work

What is God's work? And whose responsiblity is it to get it done? How much of it rests on our shoulders? How much belongs to the work of the Holy Spirit? To what extent can we help or hinder the work of God? I've been thinking a lot about these questions as our two week evangelistic effort (now stretched--sort of--into a third week) begins to draw to a close.

I've always been ambivalent about evangelistic series and if I'm being honest, this recent and rather successful one that our church held in the village of Kagman was no exception. There are a number of reasons why these events--the Revelation Seminar, Prophecy Unlimited, and all the other various names they go by--rub me the wrong way. Some reasons are merely stylistic. There's something almost anachronistic about them. Everything about the evangelistic series from the style of presentation to the music , where a "modern" song is one written 30 or maybe 25 years ago, seems to presume a common language that many in modern society no longer speak. The programs often seem out of step with our culture. And I'm sure for many of those enthusiastic about evangelism, that's a good thing. While I would tend to disagree with that conclusion, I will concede that God does not a need the "cool factor" which is so vitally important to me to do His work. And indeed, the only thing more laughable than a quaintly old-fashioned evangelistic series is a hyper-modern, trying-too-hard-to be cool attempt to ingratiate ourselves with whatever's hip right now.

But there are other reasons beyond fashion sense, that I am uncomfortable with public evangelism. One of the biggest reasons is that I don't like to see sales techniques used in evangelism. Now I admit I'm biased against sales in general--I hate having to sell anything. But I do understand the place of sales in our capitalist society. Selling vaccuums and vehicles, I'm okay with. Selling the gospel, or even using the methods of sales, not so much. I also don't like to see fear tactics used. In general, I don't think fear should be used as "tactic" ever. If there is real and imminent danger, then fear is not "used"--it is just the reality of that moment. If the house is burning down, screaming at some one to get out now is not a "tactic" (and I should probably add that the person who doesn't panic is more likely to get out of the burning building).

Unfortunately, I saw both sales techniques and fear tactics used at times during our evangelistic efforts. I don't knock the good intentions or sincerity of heart of those that used them, but I still disagree with them. I understand why evangelists use them. At least in the case of fear, they may actually believe the urgency. Especially Christians who believe in an eternally burning lake of fire (we Adventists don't), will obviously be strongly motivated by fear. And even many Adventist preachers really do believe that the "windows of mercy" may close at any moment. I realize that a starting place for dialogue among Christians over the place of fearful warnings in preaching really begins with deciding the level of urgency. If I believe the threat level is at "yellow" and you believe it's at "red" we're obviously going to disagree as to what needs to happen next. I'm glad to say though, that as far as I know, fear was not a central theme of our meetings. Hope, for this life and the life to come was the emphasis. Still at times the ominous tone would creep in, particularly when it came time to make an appeal, to lean on the audience for a decision.

Which brings me to the issue of sales. "Get a decision every night. Start with the easy ones--yes, I want to learn more--and work your way up to the big ones--yes, I want to be baptized." "Make sure the choir's singing during the appeal." I don't know how intentional all of this is, but intentional or not, it's clearly manipulative. And again, I understand why evangelists use these techniques. Like fear, they work. At least in the short term and on the surface of things. You can get someone to come on down to the altar by getting the choir crooning in the background, and pushing the hard sell--"Now is the time, don't put if off, today if you hear His voice harden not your heart, tomorrow is not promised to you." Understand I'm not here to argue that anyone should put off making a decision for the Lord or that tomorrow is promised--but tell me this: What happens to that person who came to the altar in a thrill of fear and emotion when tomorrow does come and the rush subsides?

This raises the larger question of how God's work is actually done. What really motivates someone to give their heart to the Lord, to come forward, to be baptized? I told a friend and fellow church member about the remarkable 22 baptisms that we had this past Sabbath, and she broke into a sponataneous joyful grin, but then skepticism shaded that grin and her first words were a question: "Was it real?" She clearly wondered whether some folks hadn't been "hustled" into the church. My answer to her, was "Yes, I believe it was." I realize I can't really know that for sure. None of us can know what is truly motivating the heart of another person. But I do believe that God touched the hearts of these people in a real and precious way, and they responded.

What I've learned is that God does His own work. He operates above and byeond our various schemes and machinations. Yes, sometimes he works through us, but just as often He works in spite of us. I saw that over and over in Kagman. God worked in spite of our disorganzation, in spite of our petty frustrations over who and how and what would be in the program, in spite of my cynicsim, in spite of the frailty of the physically and mentally exhausted volunteers, and in spite of the hard sells and spiritual theatrics. God really is "in the business of changing lives" as my pastor loves to say. And God really doesn't need His children to get His business done. We really are kids, after all. Kids who God lets be involved in His great work. He lets us play a little part because it's good for us and because He wants to share the passion of His heart with us. We are the four year olds helping Daddy fix the car. We get to hold the tools, run and fetch this or that, maybe turn the wrench a few times--and often as not we manage to muck up even those simple tasks. And when we get tired and whiny, as kids do, Dad doesn't frown at us and say, "Well, junior, how am I going to get this car fixed now?"

Somewhere along the way we developed this idea that it's all about us. We must preach and we must pray and we must convert. It all falls on our shoulders--the eternal fate of millions--the salvation of the world--depends on us. What a thought! How gratifiying to think that we are that absolutely vital. The cross is powerless without. . .Me. What a classically human and basically self-centered conclusion to draw. But it's not about us. We cannot save the world. Only One can and He already did it. We forget that this is God's business. He who could cause the very rocks to cry out if need be, does not need our sales plan to hustle His love to the masses. I think of a woman I know who found God in a hotel room in Guam, alone with nothing but a Bible someone gave have her. There was no choir, no pleading preacher, no conducive atmosphere. Just some mundane hotel furniture, the droning hum of the air conditioner, and the loving presence of the Spirit of God. There was nothing else to "motivate" this woman other than the pure presence and kindess of the living God.

So is there nothing left for us to do? Might we just as well head off to play with our toys while God does the work He could do better on His own? No. I'm not advocating a ban on evangelistic series or other mission activity. While we cannot do more than provide our childish help to God's Big Work (and I do believe God wants us do that), there are tasks that God has given us, that are exclusively ours.

First, we can tell our stories. That's really what it means to be a witness--to tell what I've seen and heard, what I've experienced. God can't tell the story of what He's done in our lives for us. We have to tell it. (And let's be honest, many Christians, ironically especially those who have been Christians their whole lives, don't know what He's done in their lives). And telling isn't restricted to talking. We can--and do--live our stories, letting our lives be testament not of our goodness, but of His. We can stop pretending. The world cries for people who are real and authentic, genuine and transparent, and often believers are the fakest ones of all.

The second thing we are tasked with is to love. And here's the hard truth. "Love is not the easy thing." By and large, Christians like me who are turned off by all the old-school pulpit thumping and soul-winning--we find it easy to talk about love. "We just need to love people." "We just need to reach out and be kind and be done with this business of trying to convert." "We just need to show God's love." Sounds good, right? And it is good, except for one thing.

We don't actually do it.

If we're brutally honest, we postmodern Christians have pretty much dropped the ball too. We don't love. We don't care. Just what look what happens at Sabbath potluck. The new family sits alone in their corner. The new member talks to the Pastor--and that's about it. And where are all the people who talk about love? Huddled up at their own table, talking to the people they're comfortable with--the people who share their language, culture, and interests. It's so much easier than making the admittedly awkward effort to make someone else feel at home. And I'll admit, I'm chief of sinners in this regard. The pathetically few times I've actually made an effort to take an interest in someone besides my little "cool clique" I've done so grudgingly, harangued by my wife or by the quiet insistent voice of God. We complain that our church is cold, unfriendly, unwelcoming. Well whose fault is that?

The sad truth is that a key task that we do have to do, a task God can't do for us, many of us--fire-breathing evangelist and chilled out contemporary Christian alike--fail to do. We fail to love. I think we fail because love is both something that can't be manufactured--thus it can't truly be faked--and something that is rooted in action more than feeling. Love is a decision, and too often we're waiting around until we "feel like it" to reach out in love. The solution to our lovelessness is twofold--to ask God to fill us with His love--to bring our love to life, and then to reach out in love, regardless of how we feel at the moment. One might argue that Truth brings people into the church, but it is Love that keeps them there. And the interesting thing is that love is not necessarily dependant on a certain theological outlook. I've known people with most repellant theology that just shine, irresistble heartwarming love. And I've known people with the most beautiful theology imaginable who can't be bothered to learn your name. And I've also seen the reverse. In all cases, love trumps all.

It's God's work to convict, to convert, and to save. We tread on dangerous ground when we start trying to do His work for Him. Our work is to love--a work given to all human beings regardless of their beliefs--and we are deeply remiss and do Him a great disservice, if we leave that work to God.

By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.

John 13:35

Getting Abraham & Isaac Right

You know the story. It is a tale precious to believers of three different faiths--Judaism, Christinity and Islam. Abraham atop a windswept peak, his arm raised high, a knife clenched in his fist over the submissive body of his son, ready to make the ultimate sacrifice in obedience to his God.

Old Abraham is held up as a paragon of faith, of obedience, of loyalty to God.

Bu doesn't it bother you? That God would demand such an awful sacrifice? And that Abraham would so willingly go along with it? It bothered me, and in the summer of 2005 after reading Under the Banner of Heaven, Jon Krakuer's searing tale of a man who killed his wife and infant child because he believed God had told him to do so, I knew in my heart of hearts that if God came to me with Abraham's test, I would have flunked. I would have said, No. You can keep Your covenant and Your promises. We're done here. I think I felt that way because I had it wrong. I didn't really understand the story, or at least the point of it. I suspect many of us don't.

Have you ever wondered what we might have thought of the story if God hadn't intervened at the last minute? What if God had let the knife fall? What if God had approached Abraham, shaking with grief as Isaac's lifeblood ran down the stones of the altar and pooled at his feet, and said "Now, I know that you fear God, since you have not witheld your son your only son from Me." The obedience would still have been there, wouldn't it? God's words recognizing Abraham's faithfulness would have been no less true, right? But lets face it, we would not be celebrating Abraham's fealty nor would we be worshiping God out of anything more than a dreadful sense of fear and loathing.

No, it wouldn't be much of a story if God hadn't provided, and yet so often that is how the story is told, as if Abraham were the hero and obedience to God's demands no matter how abhorent, the lesson. But we're getting it wrong. The hero of this story is not Abraham, but God, who provided, and the lesson is in deep faith and trust in that provision. Faith deep enough to make the ultimate leap because you know, somehow, some way that God will catch you. You see, Abraham obeyed not because he knew God would take his son, but because He knew, against the ever-mounting evidence, that He wouldn't. Go back and read the story again. It's all over the account. Verse Five: "And Abraham said to the young men, 'Stay here with donkey and I and the lad will go yonder, and we will worship and return to you." Verse 8: " God will provide for Himself the lamb for the burnt offering, my son." Everywhere is the implication that Abraham was trusting that some way of escape would be provided. The author of Hebrews, in his account of Abraham's mountaintop test, makes it clear that Abraham placed his faith God's miraculous power to provide. And the take-home message at the end of the Genesis 22 account? "And Abraham called the name of the place 'The Lord will provide'and it is said to this day 'In the mount of the Lord it will be provided.'" He didn't name the place "I will obey". That is not the legacy of Moriah. He named it "The Lord Will Provide."

I'm not trying to knock obedience you understand. I'm simply saying that radical obedience, obedience that flies in the face of everything that seems to make sense, can only come from deep trust and a true a knowledge the One who's asking you to make the leap. It does NOT come from blindness, but seeing with the eyes of faith.

Granted, nobody's life was at stake, but our long wait for Judith Edwards is what taught me the true meaning of Abraham's journey to Mt. Moriah. We waited, because we were certain that God would provide. In the face of mounting evidence to the contrary, we beleived that God would bring us a teacher for grades 5-7. While both Barbara and I went through moments of doubt, periods of struggle and anger at God, on the whole there was this pervading sense that somehow, someway, God was going to come through. We didn't know how, but we just chose to believe that He would provide. And He did. I realized then, that this was the faith of old Abraham on that mountain (and really, Isaac too). For Christians, especially, this is the message of Genesis 22--that God Has Provided. And that--at least from where I am, descending the mountain, relieved and happy--is getting the story right.

Can I Get A Witness: Burdening the Woman in Kagman

“I’m sorry I just take it anymore. I just can’t take it.”

Even though she sat facing away from us, wearing dark sunglasses, I could read the tension in her body clearly. Her mouth was set, her muscles tensed. I felt sorry. Sorry for whatever had led her to this place of frustration in her life. Sorry, too, that we seemed to be the most recent addition to whatever burdens she was bearing.

It was a beautiful Sabbath afternoon in Kagman. A soft breeze tempered the tropical sun. The sky was blue, the ocean in the distance vast and calm. And here we were—Barbara and I--in this woman’s carport, breaking the proverbial camel’s back.

What had we done to her, you may ask? Well, we offered to pray with her. The offer flustered her. She wanted to know, who were we again? We told her we were members of the Seventh-day Adventist Church. She pleaded that she wasn’t an Adventist. We assured her that didn’t matter. She floundered about for a few moments looking for some way—any way--out. She told a child lurking by the door to call someone else—presumably another adult—but it turns out that no rescue would be forthcoming. The relative was in the bathroom. That was when she’d had enough..

“You people, you just won’t stop. I’m sorry. I can’t. I just can’t. It’s against my principles.”

“Oh, it’s no problem,” I replied smoothly. “We understand. Don’t worry about it.” And we took our leave.

She was our last visit of the day, and as we walked back towards the car past all the homes we’d prayed at or attempted to pray at, I thought a lot about that woman. I wasn’t hurt or feeling rejected, but I wondered a lot about her response and whether we in fact, were somehow adding to her burdens rather than relieving them. After all, all we’d offered to do was pray with her, right? That should be a blessing not a burden!

But clearly, this woman felt that we had some ulterior motive, some agenda that we were pursuing. Clearly she’d misunderstood us and what we were about.

Or had she? After all, my right pocket was stuffed with Discovery Bible School pamphlets, my left pocket with a tract entitled “40 Bible Facts about the Sabbath.” And despite what we said in our pitch about “just going around the community and praying for people”, as if we’d just been sitting at home one Sabbath afternoon, and decided—“Hey, lets go out and pray for people”, the fact was that we were part of a campaign. As elders in our church it was our turn to lead a group of church members in what doing what’s known in evangelism parlance as groundwork. We were going door to door. Passing out tracts. Doing visitation. Witnessing. We didn’t really just want to “pray for people.” We were looking for Bible study interests, preparing the way for an upcoming evangelistic series planned for Kagman, and the ultimate goal: a new church planted in Kagman. The woman was right. We had an agenda. She knew it right away, and she wanted no part of it.

I realized that Sabbath afternoon that this kind of witnessing isn’t for me. Oh, it wasn’t so bad really. I’ve done this sort of thing before and there have been times when I’ve dreaded it so much it made me sick to my stomach. There have been times when every rejection was like a kick in the gut. But this was not one of those times. There was no dread, and the rejections we got didn’t sting. I’d simply shrug my shoulders, smile, and move on. It was actually a good afternoon. Most people declined our offer of prayer, but there were a few who did accept. These graciously invited us into our home, politely let us pray for them. And it did feel good to actually pray for those we met—either with the family, or as we walked back down the street after a rejection. It felt good to wish someone the best—to ask on their behalf for good health, encouragement, joy, safety, prosperity and know that God would honor those requests. It felt especially good, when the tracts stayed in our pockets and we walked away having genuinely done what we said we were doing “just praying for the people in the community.”

But I also saw a lot of wariness in people’s eyes. I saw lot of minds whirring away trying to figure out what we really wanted, who we really were. I sensed that a lot of the people we visited felt trapped somehow, the way you feel when you pick up the phone and the person on the other end of the line says: “Good evening, I’m Jeffery with Cingular Wireless and we have a special offer right now. . .” One person said they prayed at their own church. It’s not these people were necessarily irreligious. They just weren’t interested in the hassle of a sales pitch. Think about what the response of many Seventh-day Adventists would be to a Jehovah’s Witness or a Mormon at their door. Unless they’re like me and love theological debate, most Adventists would be thinking “Oh great. How can I get rid of them.” Even the people who responded positively to us understood, I think, what we were up to. They just had more confidence about their ability not to get roped into anything they didn’t want to be a part of. They had enough self-confidence to “give us a break” and let us do our thing and be on our way. That’s me too, by the way. I’m the door to door guy’s best friend because I’ll happily welcome you in, listen to your pitch, and consider your product—because I’m confident that you can’t sell me something I don’t really want. But not everybody is like me. In fact for many people the only thing worse than having a salesman show up at your door, is to be the salesman showing up at the door.

It’s not that I think this shotgun-style (with a shotgun you shoot in the general direction and at least some of multiple “shot” pellets will hit the target) approach to witnessing is inherently bad. It just not for me. I just don’t like sales. I spent a couple years in Amway (or Quixtar as it is now known) so I know sales and I know I don’t like it. For awhile I wondered if maybe it’s because I don’t really believe in my own product. One of the first rules of selling is that you have to genuinely believe in the product you’re selling—and I wondered, is my faith really so shallow, is my love for Jesus so tepid, my sense of urgency so mild—that I can’t convincingly sell the product. Perhaps, that’s part of it, but I don’t think I would ever enjoy selling the gospel door to door no matter how excited I am about Jesus. I love my mother too, but I can’t stand the thought of going door to door telling people about her. I know the urgency of the dangers of smoking. I don’t want to go visit smokers and try to get them to quit. Perhaps it’s a failing on my part, but I just don’t like this kind of witnessing.

But as I reflect on that poor, harried woman we left behind in that carport in Kagman, I’m not so sure that it is a failing to not want to be part of the army of Christian street soldiers of various denominational stripes “Do you know what will happen when you die?” “Do you know the Lord?” “What is the true church of Jesus Christ? “Are you looking for happiness?” “What day is the true Lord’s day?”—part of the parade of religion hawkers that have tromped through her carport. I’m not sure that Gospel should be sold like a set of steak knives or an exciting business opportunity. I’m not so sure that it’s a failing to feel that simply doing what we claim we’re doing “just praying for people” is enough, to believe that God doesn’t need us to help Him out by shoving a tract in their hands, or making this the first stage of a campaign to win souls like athletes try to win a game. It seems like we could just trust that prayer in of itself is powerful enough, and God cares enough to connect us to the people who are looking for Him without us having to help things along. Sadly every time I’ve ever done this little prayer thing we’ve always taken a tract or book with us, as if prayer by itself wouldn’t be enough.

I’m not saying that no one should go door to door. After all there are people out there literally waiting for someone to show up at their doorstep and tell them about Jesus. But I don’t think door-to-door witnessing is a church wide mandate. There are those with the gift for it, and the passion for it, and they are welcome to do it. But the rest of the church shouldn’t be made to feel guilty that they don’t want to be part of the sales force.

But I would suggest that those eager to beat the streets, hunting for lost souls, that you leave the tracts at home, and just go and pray like you say you’re doing. Don’t make it a “stepping stone” to some larger effort unless that person shows clear interest in going further. Or at the very least, be honest about what you’re about. Just tell them up front what you’re really after and let them make an informed decision. After all our job is to relieve the burdens of people like that lady in Kagman, not add to them.

When Jesus sent out his disciples he told them to “proclaim the kingdom of heaven is at hand, heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons. . .” Matthew 10: 7,8. This is a world a way from the more pedestrian goal of getting people to assent to our set of beliefs, join our church, buy what we are selling.

The thing is: People really need prayer. People want prayer. They appreciate prayer. I guarantee you 99% of those people who declined our offer of prayer would actually have appreciated being prayed for. Like the R.E.M. song says “everyobody hurts.” And when people are hurting, in trouble, in need of comfort they turn to prayer, and they appreciate the sincere gift of another concerned person, even a stranger, offering to pray for them. Even people who are not believers are touched and comforted by someone who shows their desire to comfort them and share their pain through prayer. So why were people so reluctant for us to pray with them that Sabbath afternoon? Because they knew that our prayer was like the offer you get while on vacation of a free tour which includes a brief presentation on a time share opportunity. We weren’t offering to give, we were looking to sell. And it doesn’t matter how great, how vital the product is. A sale is still a sale. We didn’t know them. We didn’t know their lives, their pain, their needs. We just showed up at their door.

Tonight as I write this, three young people have died this afternoon in a drowning incident. I’ve received several calls from people asking me to pray and Barbara and I have gladly done so and will continue to do so. I think if I let the families of those who died know I was praying for them, they would appreciate the care and concern. I think if I offered to pray with the families of those who died, they might accept. But, if I showed up on their doorstep with a tract in my hand, I’m not so sure they wouldn’t shut the door horrified at my insensitivity.

We need to pray for others, believing that in the hands of our all-powerful, all-loving God that is enough and more than enough. If more of us showed our faith and love through that kind of prayer, that would be a witness indeed, a witness that would ease the burdens of those around us—even that lady in Kagman.

God Vs. Science: Reflections on Reconciling the Two

The following is my reflections on the November 13 cover story of TIME magazine, an article entitled “God vs. Science”. The feature is “a spirited debate between atheist biologist Richard Dawkins and Christian geneticist Francis Collins.”

Perhaps the solution to the God vs. Science debate boils down to two things: Humility and personal experience.


First, humility. A lot of the discord when science and religion tangle is the result of a natural lack of humility. No one wants to admit he or she is wrong, yet both the believer and the atheist must put aside pride for faith and science to reconcile. It’s as simple—and as difficult—as this: when a believer encounters scientific discoveries that seem to contradict his current religious understanding, he should reevaluate his current understanding. This does not mean abandoning faith completely or even in part. In fact, it’s the complete opposite. The humble response is: “Wow, obviously I thought I had God figured out, but clearly I don’t because here’s this scientific finding that contradicts what I thought I knew.” Unfortunately, the faithful are often far too certain of their understanding of God, of Scripture, of religious Truth to reconsider long-revered beliefs, so they insist that “No, the Bible says that the earth is the center of the universe” finally relenting long after everyone else has accepted the new scientific finding. Today even the most fundamentalist of believers have no problem seeing that the Bible does NOT say that the sun revolves the earth and easily read texts that suggest otherwise as being either metaphorical or representing the knowledge of the Biblical writer at the time.

This problem is particularly evident when certain religious “truths” aren’t even shared by all religions. For example, the TIME article says: “Brain imaging illustrates the physical seat of the will and the passions, challenging the religious concept of a soul independent of the glands and gristle.” Well, the thing is, not all religions teach that the soul is independent of the glands and gristle. In fact, not even all Christian faiths teach this doctrine. My church, the Seventh-day Adventist Church, for example, believes that the Bible teaches that there is no division between body and spirit. We believe that most other Christians are mistaken in their understanding of what scripture teaches about the soul. So such scientific discoveries cause barely a ripple in our understanding of our faith, and if anything confirm our belief. However, I can promise you there are many Christians who will resist tooth and nail such a “radical” concept as the non-existance of “the immortal soul”, rather than re-evaluate it, and think perhaps they’ve read the Bible wrong.

The problem is not that God has failed to match the scientific evidence. The problem is that our understanding of God has failed to match the scientific evidence. Dawkins says that a true scientist says “We’re working on it. We’re struggling to understand.” I think the faithful would do well to say the same thing more often.

Arrogance born out of a need for certainty, an insecurity about being “unsure” is a human trait, and is not limited solely to the believer. The atheist has essentially the same problem. The atheist when encountering something of a religious or “supernatural” nature will automatically dismiss the possibility of God. Wouldn’t it be reasonable—and humble-- to conclude that God MIGHT exist in the realm of science that we do not yet understand. One of the first things Dawkins says is: “The question of whether there exists a supernatural creator, a God, is one of the most important that we have to answer. I think that is a scientific question.” But here’s the thing: It’s NOT a scientific question. By its very definition, science can not address the supernatural. Science is, at its core, about the “natural”—that which can be observed, measured, tested and retested, that which can be assessed with the senses. The supernatural, by definition, exists outside of the realm of what can be observed, measured, tested and retested, it is “the evidence of things not seen”, and thus science cannot address it. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m certain that all spiritual or supernatural things actually have a rational, scientific explanation, but those things, which, FOR NOW, science can’t explain, science does not have the authority to dismiss. At the present time, science is ill-equipped to answer the “why” questions. Why are we here? What is the purpose of life? Why do good things happen to bad people and vice versa? Or as Collins asks: “Do humans have more moral significance than cows?” Here is where faith speaks to morality. Many atheists make the mistake of thinking that religious people need God to tell them what’s right and what’s wrong. I don’t think it’s so much that as it is that faith provides a PURPOSE in morality. Dawkins raised a fascinating implication about altruism when viewed from a materialistic, non-spiritual point of view. He says that “altruism is rooted in our prehistoric past, we would have lived in extended families , surrounded by kin whose interests we might have wanted to promote because they shared our genes. Now we live in big cities. We are not among kin nor people who will ever reciprocate our good deeds. . .it doesn’t cross our mind that the reason for do-gooding is based on the fact that our primitive ancestors lived in small groups.” It would seem that Dawkins is implying that altruism is the moral equivalent of the appendix. An evolutionary left-over, now useless. Which, if you’re a materialist, raises the question of whether altruism will eventually disappear from the human species since it is no longer necessary.

The atheist scientist simply says there is no why, there is no “purpose”—beyond reproducing your species--and ends the discussion there. Science cannot address it, so it must not be real, it must not exist. But humanity seems to show little sign of being able to live without contemplating the whys and as long as we do, faith will continue to thrive. Like Collins most of us ARE interested in the “whys”.

The second key to reconciling faith and science has to do with accepting something that neither believer or unbeliever wants to deal with: the reality, as I see it, is that whether we choose to believe or not has very much to do with the subjective, with personal experience, with what we want to believe. This stings our pride, insults our sense that we’re able to be objective, to see ourselves as “we really are” But nonetheless it is this subjective experience that helps us decide what is most plausible, what is reasonable to accept. This was particularly evident in the exchange between Dawkins and Collins, as both scientists traded accusations of implausibility:

Collins: “When you look at the evidence, it is very difficult to adopt the view that this was just chance. But if you’re willing to consider the possibility of a designer this becomes a rather plausible explanation for what is other wise an exceedingly improbable event.”

“I actually find the argument of the existence of a God who did the planning more compelling.”

Dawkins: “But that God himself would be even more improbable [than a universe that came into being by chance]”

“What I can’t understand is why you invoke improbability and you will not admit that you’re shooting yourself in the foot by postulating something just as improbable, magicking into existence the word God.”

Here we have two learned men, incredibly brilliant and talented scientists, looking at the same evidence and yet they cannot agree which is more implausible: A Creator God or a random universe. So what is the difference? What causes one man to swing one way, the other to conclude the opposite?

The answer is personal experience. And again both sides seem loathe to admit the impact this has, both on their own thinking and on that of their opponents. Collins lets the cat out of the bag when he replies to Dawkin’s challenge from the quote above: “My God is not improbable to me.” That says it all. “My God”. . .”to me”. This is a man who has a personal experience with God. It is his sense of God speaking to his heart, guiding in his life, providing him with a richer and fuller experience than he’s ever known, that causes him to see a Creator as the far more plausible explanation. And that personal experience has all the more weight for him because he wasn’t always a believer. He can’t write it off as “having been socialized by a religious family” or “just kidding myself into believing stuff I’d been taught.” No, there was a time when he didn’t believe--until God cracked into his world, and became real to him. I find life-long atheists really have a hard time understanding the experience of believers on this point. They apply their own perspective on faith to believers. “How can you believe in some book written by a bunch of dead people 2000 years ago?” “How can you believe in some magic Guy in the Sky.” They have no concept of how intense, how personal, how REAL the relationship of a believer to his or her God (or gods, or spiritual energy etc) is. When a believer is asked to dismiss the idea of a Creator as implausible you’re also asking him or her to dismiss their own experience as implausible as well, and not many people are that devoted to that level “objectivity” outside of the lab.

Atheists on the other hand do not have any personal experience with God. Perhaps at one point they did—if they were once believers, but at some point the well dried up. The prayers just seemed to bounce off the ceiling. No one answered. What they saw was a lot of people manipulating religion and spirituality. But God was nowhere to be found. So for the atheist, a random universe is infinitely more probable than a Creator that has failed to show up in their personal lives When an atheist is asked to accept the idea of a Creator as plausible you’re also asking him or her to dismiss their own experience as implausible, and not many people are that devoted to that level “objectivity” outside of the lab.

The two men come close to common ground, before dancing away again, when TIME asked:

“Could the answer be God?” [In reference to the inexplicable or unknowable]
Dawkins: “There could be something incredibly grand and incomprehensible and beyond our present understanding.”
Collins: “That’s God.”

I’ve yet to find an atheist who really wants to believe in God, but can’t nor a believer who really doesn’t want to believe, yet must. None of us can claim complete objectivity. All of us are bound to some degree but what we have or have not subjectively experienced.

I’d like to conclude my reflections with my favorite quote from the article, which ironically was by Dawkins, the atheist: “If there is a God, it’s going to be a whole lot bigger and a whole lot more incomprehensible than anything that any theologian of any religion has ever proposed.”

The Bible says essentially the same thing. “Eye has not seen and ear has not heard. . .” “My ways are not your ways, My thoughts are not your thoughts. . .”

At this place, I think both science and faith can rest.