A Theology

One of the challenges that I face in ministry and, indeed, in life, is that there are just some things about God, about the world, about humanity, about persons that I believe. These are non-negotiables for me, and they make up the core of my theology. Often, I have had conversations that tend to go something like this:

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I have what you would probably call a conservative theology.

Oh, so you're a bigot.

No. Not at all. When I say that I have a conservative theology, what I mean is that...

You're a bigot.

Again, no. Please do not confuse theology with politics. They are two fundamentally very different things. A conservative theology means that I embrace...

Bigotry.

...a biblical view of Jesus, rather than a cultural view of Him. I recognize the ways in which the Jesus of the Scriptures is a dynamic God-man, a full human being with a wide range of emotions and responses and experiences, and I refuse to diminish the God that I see in the Scriptures to merely what our culture is willing to accept of Him or how they have twisted what He intended to be. It means I love fiercely the way that Jesus loved, and that I define that love the way that Jesus did, not the way that culture does. 

So you're a bigot. What if I forced you to interact with a homosexual? How would you handle that?

Exactly the way I handle everything else - the way that I believe Jesus would, to the best of my ability. And that means...

Like a bigot.

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I promise I am not making this up. And often, this is a conversation I am having with Christians, not with the world. We live in a time that can't imagine the full depth of Jesus and has so caricatured Him that they don't even know who He is any more. If you say you have a conservative view of Jesus and that you hold to a Scriptural understanding of Him, you're lumped in with the political conservatives who invest their lives in legislating morality, which wasn't very Jesus-like at all. On the other hand, our culture is too willing to diminish Him and declare that He was a man of pure love with no standards; He doesn't require anything of you, just loves you with a blanket affirmation of exactly who you are today, turning Him into a man of liberal politics. That's not biblical, either.

Fairly recently, I wrote a bit of what was called a treatise by others on Facebook, in response to a local news station continually reporting a protest scheduled to take place by those disappointed that a Christian school wasn't adhering to the "Christian value of acceptance." Which sounds like, "Gotcha, you hypocrites," but honestly? Acceptance has never been a Christian value. There is no one in all of Scripture that God encounters and decides to leave just as He found them; He wants more for everyone, including you and me. He wants us to grow. He wants us to develop. He wants us to get better every day, more and more sanctified, more and more holy. That's the aim of the Christian life. So to say that Christians ought to be accepting is false, at least the way the world uses the word - which implies a blanket affirmation. We ought to be embracing, welcoming, encouraging - yes. Absolutely. We can't draw lines about who is welcome and who is not. But accepting? Nope. We should never be willing to leave anyone exactly as they are. 

We ought to desire wholeness and fullness of life for each and every person we encounter, just the same way that God does. 

What my "conservative theology" really means is that I'm not swayed by the cultural winds of this world. I believe there is a way to navigate tricky terrain and murky waters with grace, with authority, with truth, and with love. I know there is because Jesus set an example of just how it's done. I believe we don't have to bow or bend to the world's interpretation of anyone; we can interpret the world through God's eyes and see more if it than it can ever even imagine of itself. I believe I am called to invest myself in the place I've been given and the persons in my community in a way that builds us up toward holiness and that there's not room for me to try separating wheat from chaff; that's not my job. 

What my "conservative theology" really means is not that I'm super-busy judging the world, but that I'm super-busy judging myself and the way that I live in accordance with what I believe...and the ways that I fail to live up to that. I'm constantly looking at the Example that I've been given and trying to do better, not by the world's standards, but by the Father's. And that's enough for me. 

To the question that always comes up - well, what if you "make" me interact with a homosexual? First, you don't "make" me interact with anyone; all are welcome here. I don't care who you are, you are welcome here. But second, that rests on another fundamental idea in my "conservative theology" - I believe that everyone is made in the image of God and that means that every one - every single person on this planet - has something to teach me about God. Saint or sinner, black or white, gay or straight, left or right, poor or rich, religious or not, winning or losing, fighting or fleeing, happy or sad, sure or uncertain - if I am willing to listen, I will learn something about God. Every time. 

That's what I think Jesus was about. We learn so much from the persons in the Bible who would have been too easy to write off for whatever reason. The Pharisees wanted to condemn them, the communities wanted to cast them out, the people tried to shun them, but Jesus engages with them and we learn something. We have so very much to learn. 

So that's what I'm holding to. That's what a "conservative theology" means to me. It means I have the example - the full, dynamic example - and I don't need the politics or the interpretations or the pressures or anything else. No need to complicate things, no need to make it harder than it already is. 

Does that make me a bigot? Not at all. Am I still going to get called one? Absolutely. Because the world can't fathom this kind of love. They say it's impossible. They say it's naive. They say it's an illusion. I am, after all, human. 

But I'm trying to do better. 

Because Jesus did better. And He shows us how. 

The Benefits of God

What is the benefit of being God's child? What does it "get" you? 

A lot of Christians would say, well, that's easy - it gets me eternity. It gets me a home forever in Heaven, a new life after this one is over. A chance to live in glory forever with all of those I have ever loved and who have loved God. A chance to walk with the saints. (Notice how easy it is to paint a wonderful picture of the next life as we have come to fathom it...and not even mention that the Lord Himself will also be there. That should trouble you.) 

That's what a lot of us would say, but just as many of us live as though a life with God is supposed to be pain-free living. It's supposed to be perfect. It's supposed to be nice and safe and without the same troubles that everyone else faces. In fact, this is one of the reasons persons leave the faith so easily - they have this expectation of what God "gets" them, and those of us who have lived it for any length of time know that this just isn't the case. 

And yet, the answer cannot also be "nothing." We cannot let ourselves believe, as the world would tell us, that there is really no benefit at all to faith. That believing in this God over any other or over no god at all is fundamentally no different than what we haven't chosen. That we all basically live the same life and then die the same death and the only difference "faith" makes is that it somehow changes the way we believe we're living, without changing the reality at all. 

Thankfully, the psalmist puts for us in clear terms what is the distinction of the Christian life, what it is that our Lord God gives us that does change the reality of things. That is real. To the psalmist, these are the benefits of God (Ps. 103):

- God forgives. 

- God heals.

- God redeems.

- God crowns.

- God satisfies. 

Notice that these are not the things that we go to immediately when we're asked about it. Notice that these are not the things we are most expectant for from our God, even though they should be. 

Notice also that these fly in the face of the prosperity gospel that promises a good, comfortable, easy life without trouble or pain or trial. In fact, each of these is based on our brokenness, our sin, or our aching desire. 

We have to sin in order to be forgiven. We have to be broken in order to be healed. We have to be fallen in order to be redeemed. We have to be humbled in order to be crowned. We have to long in order to be satisfied. Which means that the life we should expect as we live out our faith is a life of sin, brokenness, fallenness, humility, and longing. 

It is God who makes it worthwhile. 

In order that it is God who gets the glory. 

No matter how much we think it is us who are deserving of the glory for our lives. (Ouch.) 

So what does your faith get you? What are the benefits of believing God? It's not that we are somehow less human, somehow exempt from the realities of this world. If anything, we become more human...so that God can be shown more holy. So that God can be known more glorious. 

And that's okay. We should be okay with that. Because being forgiven, healed, redeemed, crowned, and satisfied...so loved...seems a pretty good life to live to me. How about you? I mean, we get to live in His glory. How cool is that?

Faithful

How, then, should we live? It is an intimately important question for the Christian, who always seems to be torn between grace and truth. Do we proclaim what we know is right or do we welcome those who we believe are wrong? Do we hold a high standard in accordance with the holiness of God or do we humble ourselves, that more might come to Him? 

The answer is both, but that doesn't really help us. It leaves us with the same question: how, then, should we live? 

Or in layman's terms: "Huh?"

But we have an example in the Lord Himself, who has always chosen to walk with us and to demonstrate for us what a holy life is. Today, we look at the Psalms to see how it is that we should live, taking our cue from the Lord who lives among us. Specifically, Psalm 96. 

This Psalm declares that God is righteous with the world. When He is interacting with the world at large, it is His righteousness that is prominent. Righteousness is an internal characteristic; it depends upon one's own adherence to one's own covenant and promises and character. One can be righteous all by him- or herself; it does not require any external circumstance or verification. 

But this Psalm equally declares that God is faithful with people. When He is intimately engaged with someone else, it is His faithfulness that is prominent. Faithfulness is a relational characteristic; it depends upon one's chosen way of interacting with others. One must be in relationship to be faithful; it requires two parties. 

For those of us trying to figure out what it means to live holy lives in this world, this is it; this is how, then, we should live. 

We should live with integrity to ourselves, what we would call righteousness. When the world looks on at who we are without any outside influence, what they should see is a people who hold themselves to a high standard and embrace that. A people who adhere to their own covenant and promises and character. They should see our steadfastness in what we know to be truth, and it should be a witness to the watching world. 

And when we are in relationship with others, we should live with faithfulness. Making a commitment and keeping it. Being there, showing up, engaging, and delivering on what we believe it means to be in intimate relationship - or fellowship - with one another. They should see our commitment to them, in grace, above all else and know, through interacting with us, what love is. 

Is it grace? Is it truth? It's both. Is it righteousness? Is it faithfulness? It's both. Is it us or is it them? It's both. The emphasis shifts depending upon where we are. There is one way that is best when we live with the world watching; there is another way when we live touching the world. We have to figure out what the dynamic is, where we're at. Are we in a place where our measure is internal or external? Is it about being consistent and true and steadfast or is it about being trustworthy and dependable and welcoming? What is the world witnessing...and why? 

The difficult truth, of course, is that it should always be both. We do not stop being righteous in order to be faithful, and we do not stop being faithful in order to be righteous. That would defeat the purpose and negate the witness. But what we have to understand is how the world is witnessing at any given moment, what the world requires in a moment. What the world needs to see of us. 

The difficult truth, of course, is that it's always both and often even more than this. But look at the way God does it - His default is righteousness; that's who He always is. No matter what. In relationship, however, He is more. 

So should we be. 

Why Hope is Hard

Hope changes things; we who live in hope know this. But what we also know is that often, hope makes things harder. 

It's not what you'd think. You'd think that looking forward to something, believing expectantly for the future, would make it easier to endure the present. It would re-energize you and re-focus your strength. Just a little bit longer that you have to hold on, just a little bit deeper that you have to dig. Just a little bit more and then glory breaks through. Shouldn't that be easier? 

But it's not. 

Ask the pregnant woman. The closer she comes to delivery, the more miserable she seems to feel in her own body. The things that she took for granted as just part of the process become intolerable as they near their completion. She doesn't understand how she can go one more day with swollen feet and little sleep and indigestion and bathroom breaks every five minutes as the baby pushes on her bladder. She becomes increasingly weary of the whole thing and is just ready for it to be over. Not because, as they so often think, she is tired of being pregnant, but because the hope of holding her baby is so very near. 

Or ask someone who's been stuck in a broken body for far too long. An illness that has ravaged him down to his bones, doctor after doctor after doctor. He's pushed through because he's had to, and he was willing to do it as long as it takes. But now, he has a diagnosis and in two short weeks, he'll begin treatment that promises to alleviate his pain. All of a sudden, he feels every ounce of that pain once more. When it was something he had to put up with, he didn't, but now that he knows it's going away, it eats at him in his final hours. Now that he knows relief is just around the corner, he can hardly stand it. He doesn't know how he can make it another two weeks, despite the fact that he's made it fourteen years. It's impossible. Because now, he has a real hope that it won't always be this way. 

Or ask someone in an abusive relationship. She's resigned herself to living like this, knows all the dangers, knows the trip wires that exist in her household. She's spent her adult life tiptoeing around them and making the best of it, standing by her man and presenting a harmonious front to the public when necessary. But now, she's made plans to leave. In just a few short weeks, she'll pack a few of her things and run out of there, never looking back. Because she's dreaming of the life she will live out from under his harsh thumb, she doesn't know if she can take any more time to plan. She wants to do it now. She wants to just go. She can't wait until it's safe; she realizes it's not ever safe. It gnaws at her until she can hardly stand it. Because she has hope for something better, and that makes what she has unbearable. 

You see, when we think things just are the way they are and that we're stuck with them, we lock ourselves in. We do whatever it takes because that's just what it takes, and we don't honestly think much of it most of the time. It's just life. It's just our life. It is what it is. 

But give us hope - give us a promise of something better, an expectation for more - and suddenly, we can't do this any more. We can't live like this. We can't take one more moment of this broken life. It's unbearable.

And that's why heaven changes the world. 

Because when we know eternity is so much better than this, all the brokenness of this mess starts to eat at us. We can no longer live complacently, no longer just endure. It's not about getting by, it's about getting better. And we can do better than this. 

Hope creates in us not only an expectation, but a dissatisfaction. We're not willing to settle. We're not willing to accept less, not when we know that more is within reach. It makes things harder, especially when we're still "stuck" here, when we still have to live in this broken place. But it's worth it. 

Hope changes the broken places. It changes them through those of us who aren't content with them any more. 

Which is why we need hope, even though it's hard. 

A Refuge

Whether we like to believe it or not, Christianity has become a Temple religion - we've put God in one place to dwell among us, and it is there that we go to find Him. It is there that we go to worship Him. It is there that we know we will see Him if only we look. We do not keep fires burning all the time, with the smoke to remind us of His presence, but we know it nonetheless.

If you're looking for God in this world, look no further than the building on the corner from which praise songs go out one hour each week. This is where the Lord lives among His people. 

That's what changed so dramatically in the Promised Land. Once God's people became settled, so did their God. And we see it even in their exile. Once Israel was sent away from the land that God had given them to inhabit, all of their thoughts remained on the Temple. They felt separated from Him because they no longer lived in the same land; they continually longed for the place where He dwells. And the first thing they do when they get to go back is to rebuild and rededicate the Temple, for God is still there; He never left, even when they did. 

But Psalm 90 reminds us of a greater truth, a truth that is not just in the past but also in the present and the future. It paints a picture of the Lord who is our refuge, a dwelling place Himself - before and after the Promised Land. He is the place in which we dwell in the wilderness. 

Which means that He is with us even in our wandering. He moves with us, just as He always has. 

Remember, this is the Lord who walked with Adam and Eve in the Garden. When they discovered they were naked and hid in shame, He was walking about, moving about in such a way that He came upon them. He wasn't tucked away in His own little hut so that they knew where to find Him; He found them. 

This is the Lord who climbed the mountain with Abraham and Isaac, to provide for them a ram in the bushes at just the right moment. This is the Lord who wrestled with Jacob at the Jabbok and changed his name to Israel. 

This is the Lord who dwelt in a tent among His people in the wilderness so that He could guide them, so that He was right where they were by fire and by smoke, so that He could move with them as they journeyed through tough terrain.

Even Jesus never sat down and declared, "Let anyone who desires Me come and find Me here!" Rather, He went out to where the people were; every time we see Him, He's out and about. 

Throughout His history, this is the God who has always moved with us, who has always been near us, who has always found us. And then we settled and put Him in a box and told Him to stay there, forgetting that He doesn't want to be there; He wants to be here. He doesn't want to be in a "safe place;" He is our safe place. He is our refuge, the Lord so near that we are covered in the shelter of His wings.