Not Built By Human Hands

Acts 7:48-50 - “However, the Most High does not live in houses made by human hands. As the prophet says:

‘Heaven is my throne,

    and the earth is my footstool.

What kind of house will you build for me?

   says the Lord.

Or where will my resting place be?

   Has not my hand made all these things?'"

Acts 17:24 - “The God who made the world and everything in it is the Lord of heaven and earth and does not live in temples built by human hands."

It's funny that for 2,000 years we've devoted so much effort and resources to building things for God. We build all sorts of physical structures for Him, everything from modest little buildings to ornate cathedrals.  We create all sorts of institutions and summon up various movements. And then we act like God should feel obliged to inhabit the tidy little boxes we've built for Him.

The real tragedy of it all may be that by trying to confine God to our man-made structures, we miss Him in all the places He's at work.  We miss Him in the mundane experiences of day-to-day life, in our cubicles and offices, in the supermarket and playground, on buses and planes, in the midst of children crying and dogs barking, during sleepless nights and dreaded mornings.  We miss Him in the very thing He calls His body and temple - beautiful, frustrating, transcendent, fearful, glorious, shame-scarred humanity.

We build teachings and doctrine and demand that He abide by them.  We put together the perfect formula so we can manipulate Him to serve our whims.  We construct a building and call it "God's House" and talk about how He dwells in the sanctuary.  And by creating this idea of building something for God, we forget where He's been this whole time. 

The amazing, humbling truth is that He is already perfectly at home in our hearts, gently inviting us to see Him at work all around us.  He's eternally whispering to us that we are loved beyond imagination, secure in His affection, invited to share in His life instead of having to summon up one on our own.  The illusion of separation died on the cross, the curtain was torn in two, and our eyes were opened to what He meant by "Immanuel, God with us".  This is truly Good News, that we can enter into a Sabbath rest from trying to build something that could never contain Him and instead enter into what He has already built.

 

 

 

The Challenge of Staying Engaged

I really like the idea of staying engaged in life.  It seems wonderful in a kind of abstract theoretical construct.  I want to live my life, to be an active participant.  I want to be constantly aware of what Father is saying and doing, to be deeply involved in the lives of loved ones.  I hate the idea of being a passive spectator simply watching life pass me by.

But on a Tuesday evening after a frustrating day of work filled with mindless tedium, annoying people, and stupid questions that waste much of my time?  Or talking through a difficult life/relationship issue?  Or facing one of life's inevitable disappointments after daring to get my hopes up once more? 

I'm sorry, but I often check out.  The medium doesn't matter - it can be TV, a book, video games, whatever.  It's just . . . easier.  So much easier than staying engaged.  So much easier than working to see something good in the midst of an incredibly tedious, frustrating work day.  So much easier than poking and prodding at some deep hurt to find real healing instead of a quick fix.

I mean, I'm going so far as to get "This is Water" tattooed on my chest (soon I hope) in order to remind myself of the importance of finding true life in the day-to-day grind.  But still, time after time, I find myself sitting back and letting my eyes glaze over as I disengage.  I virtually fast forward through the boring/monotonous/frustrating/slow/tiresome periods by daydreaming or fantasizing about a much more interesting life.

So this is the challenge: not necessarily to make something better, but to see the good in what is there.  To try, to make the effort, to persevere in searching for what is wonderful and lovely, hidden as it may be within the mundane and undesirable.

I'm moving forward with the basic premise that my eyes do deceive me, that I am blind and senseless to much of what the God of Love is doing around me.  A paradigm shift may very much be called for here.  I may need to stop calling certain things "bad" or being so narrow-minded in what I call "good".  I may need to be open to a correction of vision, a new pair of glasses to see life through.

And I do admit, I tend to be a bit of a pessimist and cynic.  It's easy to say life taught me to be that way, but that's the poor excuse of a weak man.  I'm not pretending that changing how I see things will be easy.  It's not a switch I can simply turn on. 

But I'm beginning to believe that it must be worth the effort.  The alternative seems unbearable, that this gray world full of gray days is all there is.  I do not believe that to be true. I have seen sparks of color, beams of sunshine.

"The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." 

Grace for the Least Deserving

For the past decade or so, it seems that most of what I've been learning about has to do with Love and Grace.  These themes have been pretty constant - learning about God's grace and love for us, how we in turn extend this toward others, etc.  For the most part I feel like I'm beginning to get it.  I'm starting to understand Father's incredible affection for us and I'm getting better at identifying how to extend grace to others.

Lately, though, I've run into a problem.  It seems that there's a certain someone that I just can't quite extend grace toward.  I feel like they've had enough excuses, that they just need to get it together and do better.  This person is like a black hole, sucking up so much grace that they can't possibly deserve any more.

This person . . . is me.

Maybe it's because I feel that I know myself so well.  Maybe it's that my excuses ring hollow to me and that I'm privy to all my secret thoughts and motivations.  It's like knowing someone who is horrifically addicted to drugs and asks you for some money to cover their rent.  You know that money is going straight to their dealer, so maybe you pause a moment before pulling our your wallet.

Me, deserve more grace?  You must be out of your mind.

But that right there perfectly illustrates how often I still misunderstand grace.  The fact that I can't extend it to myself because I "don't deserve any more" shows that I'm not defining grace the way Father does.

The truth, though, is that I think it does take some audacity to be fully loved.  It's never been easy for me to say, "Yes, I am often selfish, I do screw up, I do have a negative impact on other people's lives . . . and I am fully, completely, unconditionally loved."

Through my faults, my failures, and my fears . . . regardless of action or attitude . . . in selfishness and sin . . . for every moment of every day of my entire existence . . . I am absolutely, mind-blowingly, incomprehensibly loved beyond my ability to imagine.  No matter what, I simply can't stop Father from loving me.  It is beyond my power to dampen his love in the slightest.  I can not forfeit it, I cannot run from it, there is nowhere to hide.

I am loved.

The question is this - dare I receive it?  Do I have the audacity to celebrate Father's unfailing love for me even in the moments when I feel that I can't love myself?  Can I learn to extend grace toward myself the way I want to extend it toward every other person who's fallen, screwed up, and
made a mistake?

Instead of trying to climb out of the pits I've dug, to clean off the mud and muck, to dress myself up real nice so that I finally feel deserving of being loved . . . do I let him love me out of these situations?  Do I let his love and grace achieve what all my stress and striving never could?

Do I dare be loved?

Yeah, I think I do.

Messiness

Lately my biggest frustration has been . . . me.  I know there are myriad issues I need to work on, to grow in, to resolve.  One of my biggest weaknesses, however, has been facing issues head-on.  I am the king of ignoring, of finding distractions, of burying my head in the sand.

So time goes by and nothing gets better.  I don't even know how to talk out loud about this, words fail me every time I try.  I'm so far from where I feel I should be and for the life of me I can't see a path that gets me there.

Tearing everything down and starting over is an incredibly seductive idea.  I don't know how to be the person I'm supposed to be and I don't know how much longer I can keep trying.  Neither running away or clinging to the status quo seems like a viable option.

So I may crumble.  I may fall apart.  I may be on the verge of becoming a complete mess for a little while.  I'm not handling life very well at the moment.  And trust me, no one is sicker of all these "wha-wha" moments than I am.

But I am more fortunate than many.  I have a wonderful wife, good family, and the most fantastic friends you could ever ask for.  I feel like I need to apologize to them all in advance for the fact that I'm going to be bleeding all over them for a while.

Even though I keeping saying this, I never do it - I need to let go.  Timelines, expectations, goals, aspirations . . . I'm like that guy spinning plates.  No matter how much I run from one to another, I can barely keep them from falling.  Well, maybe some of them need to fall.

I don't know what Father has been saying to me lately.  I haven't really been listening.  I suspect he's simply been inviting me to know him, to find rest and peace and life in him.  Why does something so simple seem so impossible?

All I can do is stress about jury duty and work and rent and car payments and not having my shit together.  Even when I'm ignoring things, burying myself in the latest distraction, I'm not truly at rest.  It's more that I'm immobilized by fear and stress.  When things get too intense, I just shut down.

So let's try this again . . . for the 22nd time or whatever.  Let's try letting go of stuff I really don't need to be holding onto.  Let's try being active in rest, rather than passive in turmoil. 

Weakness

It doesn't take more than a glance to ascertain that I'm not the most physically imposing person.  Sure, I can call myself "wiry" as much as I like, but the plain truth is that I'm just scrawny.  Physical strength has never been part of my repertoire. 

But it's always been important for me to perceive myself as being strong in other ways.  I like to feel as though I'm self-reliant, able to take care of my own issues without bleeding onto others.  I hate the idea of being needy, of relying on other people to prop me up and keep me going. 

Whether I am actually strong in this fashion is surely up for debate, but the point is that at least I see myself that way.  I do my best to present a picture of someone who doesn't need anybody else, who is self-sufficient and secure. 

And it is fucking exhausting.

I've been to the doctor's office twice in the last few weeks.  Nothing serious, just a constant fatigue that I can't seem to shake.  Blood tests came back negative for the flu and other illnesses.  During this last visit the doctor asked me if I thought I might be depressed.  I told him I had been going for counseling the last few months, trying to work through some issues.

He told me something interesting that he'd observed in his many years of practice.  He's noticed that people (especially younger people) who were struggling with anxiety or depression seemed to suffer from a suppressed immune system. 

It certainly made sense in my case.  Since this past September it seems I've been battling one cold after another.  And maybe it's no coincidence that at the same time I've felt frustrated, stifled, and depressed.  I feel like I'm unraveling, coming apart.  I try desperately to keep it together so I don't have to face one of my worst fears . . . appearing weak. 

But I'm starting to think that being weak isn't a flaw, it's just part of being human.  Maybe there are times to be strong so others can lean on me . . . and times to lean on others.  Maybe asking for help isn't selfish, just honest. 

Maybe I'm missing a big part of sharing life in community by trying to be someone who never needs anything from anyone.  I think I'm starting to realize that the truth of the matter is that I do need other people and it is okay to ask for help.  Trying to pretend otherwise leaves me in the same old place of working hard to build a great exterior while everything inside is crumbling.

Being messy like this feels embarrassing.  But I'm tired . . . and frankly my strength isn't sufficient to keep this monstrosity of self-effort propped up any longer.

I'm going to crawl into Father's lap, create a space of stillness and quiet, and let him speak to me.  Maybe I'll need to let go of some things that I thought were essential.  Maybe I'll even learn to cry again.

And perhaps in my weakness and messiness I will find him to be strong and his grace boundless. 

Resurrection: Graveyards and Gardens

This seems like a somewhat appropriate time to write about this topic.  Two words have been coming to mind a lot lately - resurrection and redemption.  I think (hope) this is going to be a theme for a while, so hopefully I'll be exploring these concepts in more depth.

I haven't been too shy about the fact that I've felt frustrated and stagnated.  I'm caught between learning to relax into Father's unfolding revelation of what he's doing in my life and a strong desire to make some sort of change just so I feel that I'm moving forward.

It seems the longer I wait, the more I'm being forced to let go of all my expectations.  C'mon, we all have that little time-line in our heads, don't we?

"I'll be married when I'm X years old."

"I'll have a house by the time I'm Y."

"I'll find a good job I enjoy within Z years."

Tick-tock goes the clock, the days pass by and nothing ever changes.  Pardon my melodramatic expression, but I feel like I'm sitting in a tomb littered with the skeletons of old hopes and dreams.  I feel stuck in never-ending winter, the landscape of my life gray and barren.

At a certain point I just started wondering if maybe I had missed the boat with this.  Maybe I've been wrong all along about what God's been doing in my life.  Maybe he's not preparing something for me, or me for something; maybe he's just sitting there and the only person who can change my life is me.  Maybe it's all up to me, it all rests on my ability to make something happen.

Or maybe all those things I hoped for, things I thought God planted deep within my heart . . . maybe those things are dead.  Maybe they'll never happen.  Maybe all I really have to look forward to in life is tedious repetition, long days in small cubicles, one soul-smothering day after another.

But sometimes . . . I remember I'm not alone.  I remember that just because something is dead, it doesn't mean it will stay that way.

After Lazarus died, Jesus traveled to the town in which he had lived.  He was met by Martha, and he comforted her by telling her that Lazarus would rise again.

“I know he will rise again in the resurrection at the last day," she replied.

But then Jesus corrected her understanding of the resurrection.  He told her that it wasn't an event, it was a Person.  

"I am the resurrection."

So yeah, maybe sometimes I feel like hope has died.  I get all mopey and emo-y and do silly things like compare my life to a tomb.  But a tomb with Jesus in it is really no tomb at all.  For Jesus, a tomb isn't where dead things are buried and forgotten, it's a place where dead things come to life.

And so I remember that I know Someone who is the Resurrection.  I know Someone who turns graveyards into gardens.  I know the One who turns winter to spring, despair to hope, a funeral dirge to joyous laughter. 

And yeah, things aren't moving according to my time-line.  Learning to trust Father and walk with him instead of trying to force something on my own is quite difficult.  I do often struggle with doubts and fears as to why things aren't unfolding how I thought they would.

But I get to walk through all that with Someone who is the Resurrection and the Life.  I get to respond to his invitation to join him in what he is doing in me and around me, to learn his timing and rhythm, and to find the security of his love and grace that make all things new. 

Today is April 2nd and it is snowing.  But Spring is coming.

One-Sided Relationship

Sitting in a church service the other day, I finally realized why most sermons kind of bother me.  I should rephrase that, I don't mean it to be that negative.  Let's back up a bit so I can give some context here.

I was raised in a Christian family, attended church very regularly, and heard hundreds of sermons growing up.  For the most part, the pastors at the churches I attended were good people and for the most part there wasn't necessarily a lot that was wrong in the sermons.

But somehow I still grew up with this view of God as Someone who was distant, disengaged, and indifferent.  I've always had kind of a hard time figuring out exactly why that was.  I had been told God was love, that he desired relationship, etc.

Then, seated in a Sunday morning service and listening to a sermon on prayer, it finally clicked.  I finally realized that the vast majority of sermons/teachings/books were focused on only one side of the relationship.

Mine.

It's been pounded into my brain that I need to maintain my relationship with God, I need to fix things when they're broken, I need to find ways to strengthen it.  It's all up to me.

I need to pray more, read more, commit more.  I need to fix my flaws, unearth my hidden sins, change my heart.

I . . . I . . . I . . .

Even without it ever being said explicitly, the clear implication is that I am the initiator in my relationship with Father.  I need to say a prayer to start it, I need to do certain things to keep it healthy, I need to avoid certain things so I don't lose or damage the relationship.

So is it any wonder I saw God as indifferent if I was the only one working at this relationship?  Thankfully he began to win me out of that illusion, showing me that he was the initiator, he was the one reaching out, he was the one invested in our relationship even when I was distracted or flaking out.

And I think scripture bears that out.  Whether you take the creation story as literal or figurative, it was God beginning the process.  It was God who started the conversations with Abraham and Noah.  It was God who came to live with us in human form.  Just look at how Jesus interacted with people.  He started the conversation with the Samaritan woman at the well.  He approached fishermen and invited them to join him as his disciples.

Jesus didn't act much like my picture of God.  He wasn't unapproachable.  He didn't keep to himself or demand that people jump through a number of hoops before they could be near him.

He drew people to him.   He sought out people wherever they were at.

That's incredible to me.  There was something about Jesus that communicated to people that they were welcomed and accepted and desired.  Even the people that the culture rejected.  Even the people that religion called "unclean" or "unacceptable".  

I think the disciples had a view of God that was much like mine.  When people tried to bring their little children to Jesus, the disciples tried to keep them away.  After all, didn't they realize how important this man was?  But Jesus insisted that the children be brought to him, even declaring that the kingdom of God belonged to these little ones. 

How long did I labor under the impression that Father only accepted the good, the pure, the put-together, the have-all-the-answers, the committed?  How long did I kill myself trying to become "good enough"?

Yes, I heard that God loves.  But everything I read between the lines told me that God only really likes people who are doing all the right things to be a "good Christian".  And the overwhelming message was that it was all up to me.

In the end, that really created a self-centered brand of Christianity.  I was only focused on making myself good enough for God to love.  I totally missed the fact that Father was at work all around me and inviting me to join him in what he was doing.  I missed the fact that as his beloved child I get to engage him and walk with him through life.  I thought I had to get certain areas of my life fixed up before he would be welcome there, but instead I get to invite him into my pain and my anger and my doubt and learn to rest in his love in the very midst of all my struggles.

One of the most wonderful revelations of the past several years it that there is actually no space at all between Father and me.  There is no separation, we have become one.  And it's all because of Father!  He was the one that reconciled the world to himself, that drew me to him, that replaced my old heart with a new one.  He is the author and perfecter of faith, he started it and he completes it.  I am invited to respond to Father, to join him in what he is doing, but there is no burden on me to become something that is acceptable to him.

All those times I was begging God to come down from heaven, to meet with me, to have some sort of experience that would change my life . . . he was already there.  He had already destroyed anything that could separate us, I just wasn't aware of it.  I'm still learning to respond to his rhythms, to join him in the midst of day-to-day life, but I no longer feel the need to try to earn what I already have. 

It's always nice to learn that you've already been given that which you've been trying so hard to earn.

The Tension In Between

I don't know why, but I hate saying "God is teaching me [insert virtue here]."  Having said that, I think God's been trying to teach me about patience lately.  Or maybe he's teaching me about courage or humility and I'm totally misreading things.  Actually, that seems much more likely.

But let's move ahead with the assumption that in some capacity I'm learning about patience.  Something that has struck me is how different things are when there's an end in sight.  If I knew I was starting a new job on June 1st, these next few months would be quite bearable.  Any frustrations I encountered would only be temporary.  Pushing on is much easier with the finish line in sight.

But what if there's no end date?  What if you're stuck in an undesired situation and you feel that it's not time to move on yet?  What do you fill the meantime with? 

http://ninapaley.com/mimiandeunice/2010/08/09/patience/

My biggest struggle recently is feeling like I'm just wasting time.  I'm stuck in the tension between my current situation and whatever is coming next. With no timeline, I'm not sure what kinds of things I should put off for now.

Should we buy a house?  Start a family?  Is it a time to settle down or be prepared for a change?  Are we staying in Syracuse or moving elsewhere?  Should I look for advancement in my current job or check out opportunities in other fields?

And in the midst of this tension I feel like . . . a loser.  I do.  I feel paralyzed by the fact that I simply don't know what to do.  How do you plan for what's next when you don't know what, where, or when it is? I'm treading water and searching for a glimpse of the shore.

Maybe what much of this is revealing is my obsession with control.  I often find it difficult to let go of my need to be in control of whatever is going on in my life.  But like I wrote in the post about finding the end of my rope, maybe this loss of control is a good thing.  Maybe it will open my eyes to more of Father's goodness, bring more assurance of his unfailing love, affirm my identity as his beloved child.

Could it be that the issue is not patience, but trust?   Am I simply not trusting Father to be all of who he is?  If I trust Father and believe he'll take me to the right place at the right time, maybe I can learn to relax and simply engage in the moment. But it seems that all too quickly I take my eyes off Him and go back to examining my situations, searching for answers, growing frustrated once more. 

Deep breath . . . relax . . . trust.  Let's try this again.

Maybe there's no end in sight, but perhaps there are some beginnings.

The End of the Rope

I try to make it a point, in life and on this blog, to be completely honest.  I have certain ideas about God, theology, etc, but I don't want to be someone who espouses ideas without experiencing their reality.  I'm pretty adamant about Father's love because I believe it's shown in Scripture and I've experienced it in my life.

When it comes to matters of heaven and hell, the role of other religions, how "church" should look, I tend to hold these issues lightly.  I have ideas and thoughts, but nothing I've experienced makes me feel like I can give an absolute answer with 100% certainty.  

But anyway, I digress.  I want to be honest, both about the good and the bad.  I fear being a fake more than a failure.  So let me say honestly that I very much hope that this following passage hints at a truth that will soon be manifest in my life. 

Matthew 5:3 (The Message) - “You’re blessed when you’re at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule."

I very much feel at the end of my rope.  I want to believe that something amazing will happen when I let go, that I will fall into the arms of Father.  I hope that exhausting my own resources will lead me into a reliance on Him.  

I find myself at wit's end, unable to think myself out of my worries and struggles.  I simply don't know anymore.  I've run out of answers.  I feel like I've reached a point where situations are simply intolerable, but I see no escape.  

However, I do find myself encouraged by this passage from Infinite Jest:

"He hadn't quite gotten this before now, how it wasn't just the matter of riding out the cravings for a Substance: everything unendurable was in the head, was the head not Abiding in the Present but hopping the wall and doing a recon and then returning with unendurable news you then somehow believed." (emphasis added)

It's an interesting thought that things only become unendurable when we envision them lasting forever.  I know that's much of my struggle.  I want to learn to simply abide in the present, engage in what God is doing in the moment, love whoever surrounds me.  Instead I find myself imagining a bleak future where nothing gets better, and it is far beyond my ability to endure.  I fear that reaching the end of my rope results in me swinging from it.   

So I pray for the courage to let go of my craving for control, to let go of my pursuit of comforting answers, to let go of my need to peer into the future, to let go of my rope . . . and to grab hold of Father.  

To find grace for today, for this hour, for this moment . . . and to let that be enough.


Edit: I was just reading in Colossians, and this seemed so appropriate.  It's from Chapter 1, starting around verse 10 or 11 (in The Message):

"We pray that you’ll have the strength to stick it out over the long haul—not the grim strength of gritting your teeth but the glory-strength God gives. It is strength that endures the unendurable and spills over into joy, thanking the Father who makes us strong enough to take part in everything bright and beautiful that he has for us."
  

Being a Type B Christian in a Type A Christian World

Let me try to paint a picture for you.  There's a guy on an ultra-modern, hip looking stage.  It may have some nice LCD displays.  There's probably a stool and a bottle of water somewhere.

The guy is dressed casually, but looks pretty sharp.  A v-neck is probably involved in some fashion.  His hairstyle is funky in a non-threatening way and he may be wearing hipsterish glasses.  Most of all, he is earnest and sincere.  There's a whole vibe of "We're cool, you're cool, let's all be cool together". 

Sound familiar to anyone?

Everything seems to be designed in such a way as to maximize my ability to connect with the guy on the stage and the message he's sharing.  There's humor, bullet points, profound stories, etc.  But here's the problem . . .

I don't connect.  At all.

It's not because there's anything wrong with this cool dude up on the stage.  It's not necessarily theological differences.  I just don't connect and lately I've been wondering why.

I think it's because there are certain assumptions being made.  One assumption is that I have a goal, want a goal, or need a goal.  Another assumption is that I'm looking for principles and tools to reach this goal. 

But what if that's not really how I'm wired?  There doesn't seem to be any room for that.  I begin to infer that the problem must be on my end if I'm not connecting with what's being shared.  But lately I've been questioning that.

Based on a cursory reading of a Wikipedia article, the Type A and Type B Personality Theory is somewhat controversial and far from proven.  But nevertheless, let me share the the definitions of each from the article:

Type A

"The theory describes a Type A individual as ambitious, rigidly organized, highly status conscious, can be sensitive, care for other people, are truthful, impatient, always try to help others, take on more than they can handle, want other people to get to the point, proactive, and obsessed with time management. People with Type A personalities are often high-achieving "workaholics" who multi-task, push themselves with deadlines, and hate both delays and ambivalence."

 Type B

"The theory describes Type B individuals as a contrast to those with Type A personalities. People with Type B personality by definition generally live at a lower stress level and typically work steadily, enjoying achievement but not becoming stressed when they are not achieved. When faced with competition, they do not mind losing and either enjoy the game or back down. They may be creative and enjoy exploring ideas and concepts. They are often reflective, thinking about the outer and inner worlds. Furthermore, Type B personalities may have a poor sense of time schedule and can be predominately right brained thinkers."

I certainly don't fit perfectly into a Type B mold, and I'm sure many pastors and speakers aren't prototypical Type A's.  However, I think this may explain some of the disconnect I feel.  One phrase from the Type A description really jumped out at me - "want other people to get to the point".

This isn't a bad thing.  I know there are certainly times at work when I really want people just to get to the freaking point already.  But when it comes to sharing life and talking about God and all that fun stuff, I'm not very interested in just getting to the point.  The journey, not the destination, is what I'm interested in.  I don't want tools and principles to get me from point A to point F.  I'm just loving being at point C and if I take a detour to point L, that's fine with me.

Some people really want to get to the conclusion or figure out the answer.  I'd rather have a conversation and discuss all the questions.  And I think there's room for both in the body.  I think it's a good thing we're wired differently and everyone has something unique that they bring to the table. 

And this has been healthy for me.  Too often I dismiss what others are saying because they're not wired like me and I feel somewhat condemned for not fitting that mold.  I'm hoping to get better at listening to what a person's heart is sharing instead of getting hung up on all the terminology.  It's easy to dissect a sermon and discard what I don't agree with.  It's harder to remain humble and to be open to being taught by someone outside my comfort zone.  I'm not advocating forsaking discernment, but I can be a more gracious listener.

Just don't expect to see me on a stage sharing 3 steps or 4 principles to be a better Christian.  Ain't nobody got time for that.

You Just Need To Have Faith

I'm sure just about everyone at some point has heard the familiar refrain of "You just need to have faith".  This generally occurs when someone is struggling with a difficult question or inner conflict.  While this phrase may seem like encouragement on the surface, I think often it is simply a cop out from having to address an uncomfortable question.

Telling someone to have more faith often infers that they need to stop asking their difficult questions and rocking everyone else's boats. 

"Why is there so much pain in this world?"

"You just need to have faith."

"If grace is really free, why do people have to say or do anything to be saved?"

"You just need to have faith."

"What about people who never hear the real gospel, do they still go to hell?"

"You just need to have faith."

Is that really good advice?  Does telling someone to have faith do anything to address their quandary?  Does it endear them to Father?  Sometimes I think it's just an impulse answer, something we toss out when people start asking things that make us nervous.  We feel the need to protect our gift-wrapped, spoon-fed theologies at all costs, even if that means giving superficial encouragement to others.  We worry that if our comfortable ideologies are examined under too harsh a light, we may be confronted with some ugly truths.

But does it need to be that way?  Do we need to pressure other people to accept trite answers just so our own reality can remain unexamined? 

And let me make something clear - I am not opposed to faith.  Actually, I think encouragement to grow in faith is a wonderful thing.  But simply lobbing that answer at someone is, in my opinion, actually counterproductive to developing faith.

Let's say I was driving around the frozen tundra of Upstate New York, down one of our many poorly plowed roads.  Then, all of a sudden, I see a pair of eyes staring at me out of the dark, my headlights illuminating an idiot deer standing there motionless.  A quick swerve, a patch of ice, and I'm suddenly 50 feet into some guy's snow covered corn field.  And just my luck, my AAA coverage ran out 2 days prior and I didn't renew yet 'cause I'm strapped from the holidays.

So I call my good friend Matt, or maybe one of the Ryan's or Josh's.  They promise they'll be there in 30 minutes to drag my sorry ass out of trouble.  And y'know what?  I believe them.  I have faith in them. 

Why?

Because I know them.  I know they're people who keep their word, I've experienced their friendship and they have absolutely earned my trust.  Knowing comes before trusting.

So I think we're doing a disservice to people when we urge them to simply have faith.  I don't really think faith is necessarily something a person can drum up on their own.  I think real faith is a byproduct of knowing . . .

Knowing Father's love.

Knowing Father's faithfulness.

Knowing Father's wisdom.

Knowing Father.  Period.

So instead of trying to silence someone's question by implying that they should just shut up and trust God, maybe we'd do better to point people toward Father.  Maybe we should validate their questions instead of giving pat answers.  Maybe we should encourage them to take that question to the God who is not afraid of questions, the God who is not threatened by doubts.

Maybe it's actually in the midst of those uncomfortable struggles that we get to know Father better.  What if by urging someone to drop their question, we're actually keeping them from engaging with God in a very special way?  What if Father is more interested in the journey than the destination?  What if he enjoys walking with us through doubts and frustrations?

I wonder if struggling with questions and doubts, instead of being a sign that we're lacking faith, is actually the beginning of a journey to grow our faith by engaging Father in the midst of our turmoil. 

I keep thinking of that scene from the Christmas Carol with the Ghost of Christmas Present.  His entreaty to Scrooge is, "Come in! And know me better man!"

Maybe that's the same invitation being extended to us as we wrestle with difficult questions.  I don't think Father is saying, "Stop asking questions and just have faith."  I think he's saying, "Come and know me better, child."