Inhumane-ity

As we talk about giving good gifts this season, perhaps this is a good time to pick up on another note that I left myself some time ago while thinking about a friend. This friend has been in and out of the prison system (more in than out, sadly), and at last report, I heard he became a fugitive, walking away from a work release program. (I heard this third- or fourth-hand and have no idea where he is.)

My heart broke. This young man has such a tender heart; he always has. All you had to do was look in his eyes, and you could see his fire. He was that kind of guy. And I wondered what it was that would bring him so low that he would rather live life as a fugitive than have a real shot at getting back on his feet. It didn't take much prayer and thoughtful consideration before I knew the answer:

He could not stand being treated humanely. It broke every tender thing in his spirit.

This probably sounds ridiculous to a lot of you, but here's the thing: we have invested so much of our energies trying to figure out how to treat each other humanely, particularly how to treat humanely those "types" of persons that we think somehow less worthy of humane treatment (prisoners, drug addicts, prostitutes, the poor, the sick, the lame - you know, essentially everyone that Jesus actually ran toward), that we have forgotten how to treat them humanly.

It seems like such a subtle difference, maybe, but it's actually all the difference in the world. The idea of being humane, as we conceived of it many moons ago, was to treat non-human objects/beings with the care and dignity that we would treat a fellow human being. It's how we ended up with places like "the Humane Society," which is not for humans, but for animals, who are treated with a special interest and dignity. We talk about being humane in times of war, signing treatises with other countries, ensuring that each will treat the other's troops and prisoners "humanely," even though they are seen as less than human in the enemy's eyes. When we send aid to other countries, it's in the name of being humane, not of being human. And, of course, this type of humane-ity has crept its way into our prison system, as well. 

Everywhere we turn, we act as though we are doing others a huge favor by treating them humanely when our inclination might be to do otherwise. We think it's a generosity, a restoring of some measure of dignity. But to treat a human being humanely actually does just the opposite - it strips them of their very personhood. Because it's an implication that they are somehow less than human.

Turning back to my friend - as I thought about what it was the would lead him to run away, especially at a point where he was almost free of the entire prison system, I knew that his tender heart just wouldn't take it. He couldn't live any more in a place where he was searched every time he went out or came in. A place where he had no privacy at all, no private space to even think, let alone pray. No place to shower without being exposed to the world. Living under the watchful eye of camera and guards. Knowing that wherever he went, people thought they were doing him some grand favor by pretending he was human, all the while stripping away whatever small shreds of human dignity that he was trying to hold onto. 

It's no good thing at all to treat a man humanely when he is, in fact, an actual human being. 

And I can't help but wonder what our world would be like if we stopped treating humans humanely and started treating them humanly, if we started restoring to them the special dignity of being a being created in the very image of God. I wonder what would happen if we started looking prisoners, drug addicts, prostitutes, enemies straight in the eye and recognizing something holy in them. Not only recognizing it, but honoring it. I wonder where my friend would be on a day like today if someone had had the heart to look him in the eye and say, "Brother! Behold the glory of God in your eyes!" 

I wonder where our world would be if we all did more of that. 

Give Good Gifts

The Christmas season is a beautiful one, full of trees and lights and hope and love. As it should be. Though we must guard ourselves from investing more in the myth than the Story, there is no reason we cannot partake of the season's festivities and yes, even give gifts. In fact, we should.

But we should give good gifts.

When the wise men arrived, they came bearing gifts for the young Jesus. Each of these gifts represents the sort of thing we ought to be giving to one another, but each also has a powerful distortion of which we must be aware.

One wise man brought gold. Gold had tremendous value in those times, and it was a gift given to show honor to the recipient. Often, it was a gift given to kings. But it was not a gift to make a man wealthy; in fact, it was assumed that anyone who would be worthy to receive a gift of gold already had more riches than he really needed. It was therefore a gesture, really, of honor and respect. 

This is the kind of gift we need to be giving - a gift of honor and respect. But too often, we try simply to give riches. People demand the latest and greatest, the newest and the best. They beg for the status symbols. They want the new iPhone or iPad or the popular new sneakers. And at Christmas, we try to give them all of the things that will make them wealthy in the world's eyes. But do these gifts honor them? Do they respect the very nature of their hearts? Are we bringing gifts that have a hefty price tag or gifts of true investment?

Another wise man brought frankincense. Frankincense was very aromatic and often used in perfumes. It was also commonly used in the oil of anointing. You could smell it a mile away and know that this person had been set apart for the Lord. 

This is the kind of gift we need to be giving - a gift of anointing. But too often, we try simply to give perfumes. We try to give others the gift of attraction, all the things that will make them stand out in the world. We want them to be seen from miles away, to be noticed. We want others to be drawn to them, and we think that the best way to do that is to make them smell good. But what if we gave gifts of anointing this season? What if we gave gifts that set our loved ones apart for the Lord? There is something radiant about confident assurance, something unavoidably attractive about a person who knows who they are. Why not pour our the oil of anointing this holiday season, rather than drowning each other in rich perfumes?

The third wise man brought myrrh. Myrrh was used most prominently as a burial preparation. You might think it's weird to give the gift of embalming at Christmas, but it's not about death at all. It's about honoring and preparing the body for its next journey.

This is the kind of gift we need to be giving - a gift of preparation. What is it that the people in our lives are about to step into? Where are they going? What are they poised to do? What has God set before them and how can we invest in that? These are the questions we need to be asking ourselves when we go shopping. This is what we must be mindful of when we start wrapping.

We have a tremendous opportunity in the Christmas season to honor our loved ones in a unique way, in the same way that the wise men of old honored the young Jesus. But too often, we settle for the shallow gift - gold, frankincense, and myrrh the way the world sees them. Too often, we are giving riches, perfumes, and poison. 

But it's time for us to take holy back and start giving good gifts. It's time for us to celebrate something sacred this holiday, not just in a manger in Bethlehem, but in the holy seed that is in the heart of every man and woman created in the image of God. It's time for us to throw away the riches, perfumes, and poison and give real gifts of honor, anointing, and preparation. 

On Santa

A little over a week ago, right after the Thanksgiving holiday, my go-to Christian radio stations made the switch to Christmas music. All Christmas, all the time. And there are some amazing Christian Christmas songs out there - so beautiful, so serene, so still. I love settling into the Christmas season, letting the early evenings and star-lit nights wash over me, singing about a little town named Bethlehem and a babe in a manger and a Savior of the world.

But the Christian radio stations are playing songs about Santa, Rudolph, and longed-for hippopotamuses. (In addition, of course, to all of the beautiful Jesus music they are also playing.)

Here's the thing: I don't want to come off like one of "those" Christians, but...I guess I'm one of "those" Christians.

The Santa music is a distraction. It takes me away from a little place tucked aside where a man and his soon-to-be wife look for lodging on a long winter's night. It takes me away from wise men from afar and shepherds in a field and angels pronouncing the birth of Christ the King. It takes me away from stars of wonder and silent nights. It takes me away from the Savior of the world and to somewhere much lesser, like milk and cookies, and, of course, a few carrots.

There are those who don't get this, who don't understand. There are those in the church who say, hey, now, slow down. They think it's great that the church, even through Christian radio, is making the statement that we can do Christmas the way the world does. That we're not opposed to this whole Santa thing. That we're not grumpy curmudgeons, intent on making this Christmas only about our Lord and Savior. They absolutely love that we'er showing the world that we can do Christmas their way.

Uhm...it's Christmas. 

Did you know that most of our children, even our Christian children, believe that Santa is more real than Jesus? Did you know that even those children who wait anxiously for a baby Jesus to appear in the manger think that the presents under the tree are more real than the Holy Spirit? Did you know that our kids are living in a world where Santa is long-expected and Jesus is a nice holiday sentiment?

Come, thou long-expected Santa. 

It's because we're living in a time in which the church feels this completely weird need to prove to the world that we can do things their way. To show the world that we're not so different after all. To tell them that we're not so bent on this Jesus thing that we can't have a little fun every now and then. 

But our fun has brought us to a place where there's a baby in a cradle at the North Pole, surrounded by reindeer. And the only place that most of our Christians are going to celebrate Christ this Christmas is at a token church service, where we will sing carols, light candles, rejoice, and then go home and set out milk and cookies for the one who is actually supposed to come that night.

Look, I'm not saying we should boycott Christmas; that's not it at all. There is a place in our celebrations for the lights, the decorations, the gifts, the dinners - all the things that the world is doing. But we have to make sure that they myth doesn't overtake the story. We have to make sure that Christ is the center of our celebration, not Santa. 

Because the church wasn't meant to show the world that we can do it their way. The church was meant to show the world another way to do things. And there's no such thing as a Ho-ho-holy Night. 

On Believing

The other night, deeply troubled as I was in my spirit (over something, I might add, that is so very small in the grand scheme of all things), I laid in my bed and prayed for God to come over me and, without getting into the details, "handle it." A sudden, but complete, sense of peace washed slowly over me, and I fell asleep with a small little smile on my face.

But upon waking the next morning, I began to consider again the plight that I had prayed over the night before, the one that God had so powerfully responded to. I began to consider my options, to investigate potential next steps I might be taking, to make phone calls and start to put some plans in place.

And then I marveled at how quickly, how seamlessly, how easily I went from needing God, to receiving Him, to thanking and praising Him, to dismissing Him and going after it again on my own. And the honest truth is that what I prayed for that night, what I received from God in that very instant, I didn't really think was the kind of thing God actually does. He did it. I mean, He absolutely did it, and still, I fell asleep grateful and still knowing that it's not the kind of thing God does. 

At least not permanently.

To be honest with you, I'm not quite sure where I picked up this theology, this idea that God is able to do things, but He only does them temporarily, to give us a chance to catch our breaths and faithfully, diligently go back after them with fresh energies. He only does things to give us a glimpse into what it will be like, to fuel our desire to make them permanent in our own lives. He only does them, maybe, for show. Or to prove that He can. Then, He turns around and says, "Now, really trust Me, and maybe you can have it forever."

This is not the God I worship, but apparently, it's the one I pray to. This is not the God I read about in the Bible. This is not how I think God works in anyone's life. Except, apparently, mine. 

I don't read the Scriptures, the Gospels, in particular, and think that the blind men probably went home and fell back into darkness after only a short time. I don't think the deaf had their ears closed once more. I don't see the demonaic walking into the city and then figure that later, he returned to the cemetery and chained himself up. I don't see the lame getting halfway home with their mats, then lying down on them again. 

But I see myself waking up and having to do something about the very real problems that God very powerfully responded to just hours before. 

I am well-slept, but ill-kept. 

The funny thing is, I would tell you that I don't have trouble believing in God. I don't have trouble trusting Him. I know who He is. I turn to Him with my troubles routinely. I believe in the things that He's done for me, trust in the ways that He's guided me. I live my life by faith; it's my go-to. And yet, there are still these things, still these moments, when I, too, have to cry out, "Help my unbelief!" But it's not even that I don't believe; it's that I believe only shortly, when what I need is a persistent faith.

What I need is a faith not that goes to sleep praising, but that wakes believing. (Or, you know, both.) That's harder. I don't know why, but that's harder. In that split second before your heart remembers, it forgets, and that's where doubt pounces. 

I'm getting there, I think. At least, I hope and I pray that I am. In the mornings, I pray for persistent faith, for a faith that continues to believe in all of the things I've received at night. And one day, perhaps, in that split second before my heart remembers, it will remember, at least, to not forget. I'm getting there.

I think. 

Anchored

If God is not good, but simply is, then He becomes all of the things that we need Him to be - a constant in a constantly-changing world, an anchor in the storm. No matter what happens in this world or to this world, we can be assured that God still is. And isn't that the greatest of all things?

That's not to say that He is not also good; it is just to present the argument that His goodness is not the most vital thing about Him. His essence is. His very being is. His is-ness is.

Indeed, we know that He is good. His character reveals that much. His faithfulness reveals that much. In fact, we know a great deal about this God from all of the things that He chooses to reveal to us again and again, through His story and ours. It is not wrong to say that God is good. Not at all! But if we say only that God is good, then we have missed God altogether.

This is the problem that we fall into with ourselves, as well, and with others. We learn one thing about someone, and we think that must be the most true thing about them. From that point forward, that is all that we can see in them. Everything else they may or may not ever do is judged from its relationship to this one thing.

For example, we look at a man who is in prison, and we say he is a criminal. From that point forward, everything else we may ever come to know about him, everything he may ever do or not do, is evaluated from the starting point of his criminal nature. We forget, then, that he is a man worthy of dignity, since he is foremost a criminal. And we are amazed when he does anything meaningful for society. After all, he is a criminal! We are surprised to find him calling his mother on Christmas day from the cell block; he is only secondarily a mother's son - since he is primarily a criminal. Even when he is released, he remains a criminal in our eyes. He takes his good skills and attempts to put them to work in our economy, making a good living for himself and, perhaps, his family, and he is an able mechanic...but still, above all else, a criminal. Do you see the boxes that we have painted around such a man? We have missed the very depth of his true nature because we were unable to see past the one thing we thought for sure that we knew of him.

The same is true for God. We have created in our minds this image of a God who is good, and everything we come to know about Him, everything He may or may not ever do, is judged from this point. Our God may become angry with us, but we need not take His anger seriously, since He is foremost good. He may reference this condemnation for those who do not believe, but He is a good God, so how could He condemn anyone? (We have far too often confused 'good' with 'nice,' among so many other lesser things.) We have heard Him demand our undivided loyalty, but we have dismissed that as ideal only; His goodness will embrace our own goodness, and we'll be okay.

And we spend our lives trying to put God back into the "good" box. It is this that is most frustrating, perhaps, for the faith, for we live in a fallen world where bad things happen. Where things happen that are not "good." But in a theology in which our God is good above all else, we must either find a way to explain bad things in light of His goodness or else we must just throw up our hands and say we know, actually, nothing about Him. Neither has been an answer sufficient for the world, let alone for our own hearts.

This is why we must get out of this smallest box that tells us that God is, above all, good. This is not how He has revealed Himself, even though it remains a core component of His character. No, His revelation has told us that the greatest thing about our God is that He is. And if He simply is, then that makes room for all things that we come to know about Him, all things He may ever do or not do.

Now, when we consider what is bad in this fallen world, or what is at the least "not good," we have no fear of losing our God. No, He is just where He has always been, being in the midst of all. A constant in a constantly-changing world. An anchor in a storm.

So you see, when we stop saying that God is good and embrace that He primarily simply is, we do not diminish our theology. Not in the slightest! Rather, we expand it. And perhaps it may one day even be big enough to hold all of Him.