Off By One Degree...

There’s an old sermon illustration about an airplane leaving New York for some island destination hundreds or thousands of miles away. Only there’s something wrong with the aircraft’s navigation system and it winds up being off by one degree. Needless to say, when the pilot has logged the planned flight (or thinks he has), he looks all around and cannot see his destination anywhere because he has missed the mark by a considerable number of miles. It’s all open sea, and the pilot is in trouble.

I thought I might do a little simple math here to flesh this story out, but it turns out the math is anything but simple. Apparently, to figure out how far off one would be from the intended destination, you must divide the original angle by two, take the sine of the result, multiply that by the distance traveled, then multiply the result by two. So, yeah, I’m not going to do that. I had calculus in 1995, but I don’t remember what a sine is. Let’s just agree that if your course was off by one degree, you wouldn’t get where you were trying to go. And the further away your destination, the greater the error. And so, if you were trying to arrive somewhere a thousand miles away, you’d be further off than if you were only traveling a hundred miles. And if you were hoping to land somewhere infinity miles away . . .

Yet, despite this common sense/advanced math, this is exactly how we tend to arrive at an understanding of God. We point ourselves in his general direction (usually, like, up), nuance our flight path based on where we expect him to be, and put the petal to the metal. This continues to be the most popular way for people to try and encounter their Creator. And it’s even popular in the Church. This is what we call natural theology—starting with man and extrapolating our way up to God. It’s enduring and popular, partially because it assumes that God is basically like us. I often hear people say things like, “I just can’t believe in a God who would ___” or “If I were God, I would never ___.”

The world especially loves this approach. Problem is, it’s ridiculous on every level. I mean, in an attempt to discover the mind and character of an infinite, eternal, omnipresent God, I start with me and my values and preferences, which are largely determined by the rather arbitrary variables of where and when I happen to live? Think about how many sins of fifty years ago are now considered okay, or even worthy of celebration. Or how many criminal acts in one country are vanguards of freedom and free-thought in another, even today. When we set our divine-navigation systems from the ground up, they are calibrated largely based on what little speck we happen to inhabit in the vastness of space and time. And then, based on that set of circumstances and my own personal proclivities, I make my way up infinity miles and there I find “God,” who just happens to be the best version of me I can imagine (again, based on the shifting sand of my particular mind in my particular time and place).

This is foolishness to the N^th degree. You and I would never board a plane if the pilot were using this approach, even for a flight of a couple hundred miles. And yet, not only in the world, but in the Church, this is standard practice. The result is a god who changes with our own whims and our society’s values (rather than a God who is unchanging, who can help us establish our own desires and our communal values), and looks increasingly like a hype-man and enabler for human kind.

...and a good hype man is hard to find.

Sounds kind of hopeless, doesn’t it? I mean, how could we ever hope to know God if we can’t start with what we find in our own sinful hearts and work our way up to him? Well, that’s the good news! Instead of us lamely trying to grope our way up to him in the dark (which is impossible, Rom 10:6), he came down to us, shining as light in the darkness. He came to reveal God to us directly. This is the only way we can truly know him, his character, his will, or his plan. And yet our culture continues at every turn to insist that we dictate upward to God what he should be, what he should command, what he should value, what he should think—and continues to mock those who cling to God’s self-revelation, rooted in his coming down. They don’t even mind that this would make God the most fickle, indecisive, unprincipled, spineless follower to ever exist. They’re just happy that it comforts them with false assurance that God is indeed most concerned with affirming fallen men and women—not saving them, and certainly not demanding that they deny themselves and take up a cross..

Yes, God is an ever-changing being by this way of thinking, even bleeding into the church visible. Sure, we acknowledge that God has revealed himself, but then we accept the parts of his revelation that we like and bounce back up the stuff that doesn’t work for us, along with orders on how he needs to adjust to meet our felt needs and conform to our sophisticated sensibilities. As we waffle back and forth, condemning A and affirming B (or vice versa), we think we can upload these preferences back to God, sort of updating his firmware.

We all have this tendency within us, to re-make God in our image, instead of pleading with him to remake us in his. When we find this in ourselves—when we find ourselves thinking, “God wouldn’t do that or say that or command that because I wouldn’t,” where we tend to subconsciously think of God as growing and evolving with us—repent and abandon those thoughts. Such a god would not be worth knowing and certainly not worth following, as he would himself be a follower. In fact, he would be our creation, not the other way around.

Let us recommit to knowing God on his terms, listening and obeying, and trusting an infinite God’s navigation system to be infinitely more accurate than ours.

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If I Enjoy It, It Must Be Bad . . .

I recently told someone that photos of big city skylines are “like porn” to me. I immediately recognized that it was a pretty crude thing to say (which isn’t surprising; the taming of my tongue is my greatest struggle, and the old gab-box has to be slapped back down from time to time as part of my sanctification), but it also planted a weird seed of thought in my mind that germinated over the next few days.

Here’s what I started to ask myself: was there maybe something to that analogy? Was there something sinful about my love for leafing (or clicking) through pictures of Chicago, Detroit, LA, Beijing? After all, these are images of places that, according to the Scriptures, are passing away. Why do they do it for me? Was this an indicator that I was setting my eyes on “earthly things,” and not on “things above” (even though skyscrapers are both earthly and, ya know, above)? 

 

The Scripture passage in question is, of course, Colossians 3:1-3, “Since you have been raised with Christ, set your hearts on things above, where Christ is seated at the right hand of God.  Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things. For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God.”  And, given that context, it becomes quickly clear that setting our minds on “things above” does not mean having our head in the clouds, avoiding anything physical, or making sure we don’t enjoy the wonderful creation God has given us. In fact, the more we set our minds on things above, the more we’ll find them right here at ground level.

So how can I tell if my ground-level interests are harshing my piety? Well, first off, let the Scriptures themselves tell us what they mean by “earthly,” “worldly,” and “fleshly.”

Here’s a montage (provide your own power ballad):

• “Put to death, therefore, whatever belongs to your earthly nature: sexual immorality, impurity, lust, evil desires and greed, which is idolatry.” (Col 3:5)
• “You are still worldly. For since there is jealousy and quarreling among you, are you not worldly?” (1 Cor 3:3)
• “Now the works of the flesh are evident: sexual immorality, impurity, sensuality, idolatry, sorcery, enmity, strife, jealousy, fits of anger, rivalries, dissensions, divisions,  envy, drunkenness, orgies, and things like these.” (Gal 5:19-21)

So I check my tendency to thoroughly enjoy cityscapes against these works of the flesh and worldly things. Is it leading me to anger, division, and fighting? Nope; that would be weird. Into idolatry? i.e., if I’m honest with myself, am I looking to these images for comfort that I should be receiving from God? (This isn’t as crazy a question as it may initially sound). I determine: no, I’m not.

Nor is it giving birth to lust (as would be the case with actual porn) or lust’s cousins, jealousy, greed, and covetousness. Again, this is not so far fetched; I’ve heard from several people in the last year or so, who tell me that thumbing through pictures of houses, cars, cottages, etc. online or in magazines (a seemingly innocuous practice) has led to incredible covetousness and a sense of deep discontentment. That practice, then, is sinful, insofar as it reinforces a focus on earthly things, as defined by Scripture. However, I have no real aspirations to owning a skyscraper or having a penthouse view and I don’t find myself coveting these things. Ironically, flipping through catalogs of theology books has often led me into covetousness, but looking at an impressive crop of steel, glass, and concrete buildings does not.

And I think it’s fitting that this little case study involves cities—particularly when we consider that the first city was built in direct opposition to God’s command (Gen 4:12, 16) and the next major city planning/building project was an example of full-on insubordination against the Most High (Gen 9:1; 11:4). There’s something dodgy about cities from the very beginning. Perhaps that’s why many people think of them as being full of crime and corruption, when, in reality, you find sin and corruption everywhere you find people.

But there’s good news (as always) and it’s rooted (as always) in Redemption. Sure, cities as a phenomenon got a sketchy, sinful start in the first book of the Bible . . . but check out the last book: “And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband.  And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, ‘Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God.’” (Rev 21:2-3)

You see that? God redeems the very concept of cities! As Abraham Kuyper said, “There is not one thumb-breadth of the universe about which Jesus Christ does not say, It is mine.” Remember that when you’re worried that your pastime, hobby, interest, or mode of blowing off steam might not be quite “heavenly enough” for a Christian. If it’s not causing you to sin (including coveting what others have or consuming your life and time to the point of becoming idolatrous), you are free to love things on this earth. To steal a line from my friend Dr. Michael Wittmer’s, we were created for this place; we’re earthlings, for heaven’s sake!

It's incredibly telling that Christians often have a subtle sense that “if I really enjoy it, it must be bad.” That kind of quote/unquote “puritanical thinking” comes not from the Puritans, but from the Gnostics. And the Bible straight-up condemns that kind of thinking. “If with Christ you died to the elemental spirits of the world, why, as if you were still alive in the world, do you submit to regulations—‘Do not handle, Do not taste, Do not touch’ (referring to things that all perish as they are used)—according to human precepts and teachings? These have indeed an appearance of wisdom in promoting self-made religion and asceticism and severity to the body, but they are of no value in stopping the indulgence of the flesh.” (Col 2:20-23) Trying to avoid everything in the world doesnot make us immune to the pull of the world and the works of the flesh.

So enjoy the city skyline. Enjoy hiking and picking wild berries. Enjoy punk rock, hip hop, folk, or reggae. Enjoy studying history and mythology. Enjoy reading fiction and watching films. Remember: your maturity as a Christian is not measured by how miserable you are or your lack of enjoying life. People today might call that view “puritanical,” but our Puritan forebears didn’t believe that for one minute! They enjoyed good food and drink (yes, drink!, although in keeping with Col 3, they were careful to never drink to drunkenness), music, and relaxing with family and friends.

This year, may we too work hard, serve God with all our might, and acknowledge him as the giver of all good gifts, letting all good gifts cause us to return thanks and give praise.

(If you're interested in reading more on this topic, you should check out Dr. Wittmer's book Heaven Is a Place on Earth and his newest work Becoming Worldly Saints, which comes out in less than a month.)

Revival

It's a new year and everyone wants a new start. People want to be thinner, more energetic, more productive, and to enjoy life more.  We writers want to write more regularly and crank out some really inspired stuff. Pastors like myself want to reach more people with the Gospel and to feed our sheep a diet of rich, biblical truth. But more than that, we want to see God moving in our midst. In short, we want to see Revival.

The word revival, of course, is not found in the pages of Scripture (at least not in any version I’m familiar with), but the concept surely is. Despite the evangelistic thrust of “tent revivals” and the like, the biblical notion of revival begins with those inside the church, the saints.  For example, in Psalm 85:6, David asks, “Will you not revive us again, that your people may rejoice in you?” Re-vive means to return life to something. Now, I certainly don’t pastor a “dead church,” but I do believe that any of us could stand to re-discover the New Life that we have in Christ, the joy of our salvation, and the certain knowledge that we have been rescued from the darkness and now dwell in the light.  All of us can use a re-infusion of that sense of life. Revival is when a whole congregation re-discovers this at once.

Praying for revival is an essential pursuit for any congregation wanting to be used by God and to see his power to save the lost and transform us more and more into His image. We pray for it, because the movement of the Holy Spirit is not something we can control—not with emotional music or human excitement or perfectly written statements of purpose or doctrine. But I’ve realized that simply praying for revival may be akin to an able-bodied young man who wakes up every morning and prays for food, but never gets off his couch to go earn some money, purchase the food, bring it home, and prepare it. He just sits there and prays. One of my favorite preachers of all time, A.W. Tozer had a few things to say on this very subject. In his book, Born After Midnight, he writes:

"Have you noticed how much praying for revival has been going on of late - and how little revival has resulted? I believe the problem is that we have been trying to substitute praying for obeying, and it simply will not work. To pray for revival while ignoring the plain precept laid down in Scripture is to waste a lot of words and get nothing for our trouble. Prayer will become effective when we stop using it as a substitute for obedience."

Tozer is just echoing the words of Jesus who complained of a generation of religious people whose lips were working double time in the religious department, but whose hearts were far from Him. (Matt 15:8) To obey, He reminds us, is better than sacrifice. If we pray, “Lead me not into temptation” while willfully leading ourselves into temptation, we’re acting like spiritual schizophrenics. Again, Tozer writes:

"Revivals come only to those who want them badly enough. The problem is not to persuade God to fill us, but to want God sufficiently to permit him to do so. The average Christian is so cold and so contented with his wretched condition that there is no vacuum of desire into which the blessed Spirit can rush in satisfying fullness."

I think this is why the Bible never refers to salvation simply in terms of something added to our lives. It’s never just “Jesus coming into my heart” . . . it’s much more violent than that. It’s the upturning of everything, the expelling of many things, and the rearranging of all things under the headship of Christ. 

For Christmas this year, I received a little gizmo called a “Boogie Board,” which basically lets me jot down notes to myself and then erase them with a push of a button. (No more little scraps of paper and sticky notes floating all over the place).  When I came into my study at church the following day, I brought the new device with me and set it down right next to my tape dispenser. Everything on my desk—my lamp, my blotter, my cards and pens and such—is still there and very much organized in the same way. I’ve just added one more thing.  Salvation is not like this. Salvation does one of those cinematic moves where you clear the whole desk in one big motion, knocking books and papers to the floor, then it starts over from scratch. Some items are placed back on the desk in a different spot. Some are tossed in the trash. And when habit kicks in and we find ourselves slowly putting things back the way they were, that requires repentance, asking God again to swipe everything off and put it back in order.

Revival brings this about on a larger scale. When the Holy Spirit moves to convict Christians and we don’t plug our spiritual ears, entire congregations can find this process taking place—both individually and corporately. And when that happens, there’s no question of whether revival has taken place.

Church history scholar J. Edwin Orr has written about a great outpouring of the Holy Spirit during the Welsh Revivals of the nineteenth century. As people sought to be filled with the Spirit, they not only looked to add some spiritual passion and excitement to their lives, but to expel anything that was not in keeping with their faith.  This led many people to make reconciliation and restitution. This caught on to the point of creating a serious problem for the shipyards along the coast of Wales. Over the years workers had stolen all kinds of things, from wheelbarrows to hammers. However, as people repented of their “addition-only” Christianity and listened to the Holy Spirit, they began to return what they had taken, with the result that soon the shipyards of Wales were overwhelmed with returned property. There were such huge piles of returned tools that several of the yards put up signs that read, If you have been led by God To return what you have stolen, Please know that the management Forgives you and wishes you to keep what you have taken.

Would that we had such problems today! In 2013, I’m praying for revival—huge revival—and I hope you’ll join me in doing so. But I’m also, with God’s help, going to obey in the little things as well as the big. I’m going to ask the Holy Spirit to move, but also to move me. And I hope you’ll join me in that as well.