Left-of-Center

Left-of-Center.  Besides being an awesome name for a potential garage band, Left-of-Center can uniquely alert one’s senses to hyper-awareness. It happened far too rapidly to react, a work truck drifted more than halfway across the double yellow lines into the on-coming lane of morning commuters. Kapow! My driver’s side mirror never had a chance; its plastic and glass remain scattered across Arrington Bridge Rd near the bend at Casey Mill Rd. It was a near-miss, a few inches from a head-on collision at 55 mph. No other damage occurred than the lost mirror, which was estimated as “not enough damage to meet your deductible.”

I saw the whole thing play out, plus a whole lot more. In addition to watching the dude speed away without even tapping his brakes, I saw my life pass before my eyes: wife, kids, work, half-finished projects around the house. My typical hit-by-a-bus scenario perhaps ought to change its central metaphor to a left-of-center white Ford F150 pickup. Either way, whichever metaphor applies, a brush with death has a strange way of affirming life.

The sense that remains, after my adrenaline-soaked senses returned to their default settings, is that there is still work to be done, much more than on my never-ending garage-to-apartment renovation. The gospel has prepared me for my inescapable death by the promise of resurrection, for sure, but there is still work to be done in the ministry sense. Disciples of Jesus are half-made. Disciple-makers of future disciples of Jesus are half-launched at home and around the world. My left-of-center experience has forced and focused an unplanned evaluation of my life, values, and relationships.

“For me to live is Christ, and to die is gain” (Phil. 1:21). I’d never considered how personal that statement was to Paul himself when he languished in prison irons. Not everyone can speak such a sentence and mean it, especially after the left-of-center moments when everything involuntarily snaps to attention. But Paul could. He was not teaching at that point as much as testifying. Paul did not signify a death-wish but concluded that important ministry remained still unfinished. “If I am to live in the flesh, that means fruitful labor for me. Yet which I shall choose I cannot tell. I am hard pressed between the two. My desire is to depart, for that is far better. But to remain in the flesh is more necessary on your account. Convinced of this, I know that I will remain and continue with you all, for your progress and joy in the faith, so that in me you may have ample cause to glory in Christ Jesus, because of my coming to you again” (Phil. 1:22-26). Paul retained purpose in life.

Frankly, retaining purpose in life is worth more than a side mirror, or the $106 it will cost for the generic replacement part. There is still work to be done. Dust off and carry on.

Begin Again

Begin Again.  The math may be straightforward, but the journey is a winding road: get back up more than you fall down. “The righteous falls seven times and rises again, but the wicked stumble in times of calamity” (Pro. 24:16). The distance between seven and eight is greater than the distance between one to seven combined; a gap too great to measure in inches. Getting up the eighth time must be measured by grit, determination, humility, and faith.

Begin again, the Spirit whispers, though it sometimes seems like common sense to stay down on the canvas and accept the knock-out. However, if it is worth it, then begin again. Even if it is not worth it, begin again but in a different way. Or, as one mentor put it, which at first seemed like fingernails on a chalkboard, “If it is worth doing, then it is worth doing poorly.” Translation: it’s too easy to say, “If it is worth doing, then it is worth doing well.” Of course, an obviously worthy task deserves excellence! But if a thing is truly assessed as worthy, then it, itself, is more significant than failing seven times than leaving the worthy thing undone, untried, unfulfilled. Righteousness overrides failure. No one else is speaking out, but I have not written a script. Okay, here goes nothing. No one else is showing up, but I can spare an hour a week on it for the remainder of this year. Okay, mark it down as the old college try. No one else is stretching beyond minimum effort, but I can limber up and give it a go … or two, or eight. Okay, this is worth more than any potential dinging to my reputation.

Worth is not measured in the seven inadequate attempts by the subject, but in the worthiness of the object that requires, emboldens, and fuels an eighth attempt. Faith bounces back, floats to the top, dusts off, and begins again. In this way, it is the weak ones who know experientially more about worth than the strong ones, who never fail mostly because they never try anything that is beyond their reasonable capacity to win. The weak ones who fall regularly know a different reason for rising again an eighth time. For them, it is more than a determination to win, but an inclination to value the best stuff. Raw strength is brittle. Resilience is refined strength, malleable and adaptable. Getting up eight times is packed into an unlikely term: meekness, which could be translated as pliability, the characteristic under pressure to begin again. “Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth” (Matt. 5:5).

Could Not Contain

Could Not Contain.  It is immensely satisfying to run through a pen’s ink, which I did about once a week when I was in student-mode. If I could cap that feat by also hitting the trash can with the empty Paper-Mate® on a fade-away jump shot, then that would be even better!

Learning is a gift. May our literal and metaphorical ink pens be steadily running dry from jotting down notes, like gemstones from our Teacher. Most of the world’s pastors, however, have never had even one theological credit hour from even one formally trained mentor. Granted, those pastors throughout the world are not in a state of deficit since they have the Holy Spirit and at least some portion of the Bible in a language that they sort of know how to speak. Furthermore, we who have been well-trained (and every Christian in every pew in every church throughout America has, at the very least, had access to excellent spiritual instruction) are not better-off than our Majority World brothers and sisters. In many ways, we need them to teach us: about the cost of discipleship, about suffering, about contentment with godliness, about priorities. We have information, but they have wisdom.

It is a staggering sight to look at all the filled composition notebooks that I have filled with ink over the years from so many excellent teachers, mentors, and pastors. That is opulent wealth—unlimited access to learning. However, at the end of the day, we don’t need more and more data contained in a shelf of notebooks; we need Jesus Christ proclaimed in life, illuminated by light, and demonstrated through love.

The Apostle John gave an incredible, albeit parenthetical, word picture illustrating the same concept. He wrote his epistles, his gospel account, and his book of Revelation after all the other biblical writers were dead and gone. The others had said so much, Peter and Paul and the rest, but the Spirit pressed upon John to tie things off in terms of the special revelation of God given to humankind. While he was tying things off, he dropped a bombshell commentary about his own task of putting ink to parchment. “Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book” (John 20:30). Many other signs? Wait a second! While the Bible is complete and completely true, it is not comprehensive—there is vastly more that could be written on the subject of Jesus! “Now there are also many other things that Jesus did. Were every one of them to be written, I suppose that the world itself could not contain the books that would be written” (John 21:25).

Could we with ink the ocean fill, / And were the skies of parchment made,

Were every stalk on earth a quill, / And every man a scribe by trade,

To write the love of God above, / Would drain the ocean dry.

Nor could the scroll contain the whole, / Though stretched from sky to sky.

—"The Love of God” (Frederick Lehman, 1917)

A Mighty Fortress Is Our God

A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.  Words and Music by Martin Luther (1527). Luther posted for debate his Ninety-five Theses on the Wittenberg (Germany) Chapel Door on Oct. 31, 1517.

1. A mighty fortress is our God,

A bulwark never failing;

Our helper He, amid the flood

Of mortal ills prevailing;

For still our ancient foe

doth seek to work us woe;

His craft and power are great,

and armed with cruel hate,

On earth is not his equal.

 

2. Did we in our own strength confide,

Our striving would be losing

Were not the right Man on our side,

The Man of God’s own choosing:

Dost ask who that may be?

Christ Jesus, it is He;

Lord Sabbaoth, His name,

from age to age the same,

And He must win the battle.

 

3. And though this world, with devils filled,

Should threaten to undo us,

We will not fear, for God hath willed

His truth to triumph through us:

The prince of darkness grim,

we tremble not for him.

His rage we can endure,

for lo, his doom is sure,

One little word shall fell him.

 

4. That word above all earthly powers,

No thanks to them, abideth;

The Spirit and the gifts are ours

Through Him Who with us sideth;

Let goods and kindred go, this mortal life also;

The body they may kill: God’s truth abideth still,

His kingdom is forever.

Aspire to Live Quietly

Aspire To Live Quietly.  Having ambition in life is generally applauded, and rightfully so, especially by dads of young adults. However, if a technical distinction persists as it seems in the biblical sense (though there is a very small sample size), then holding an aspiration is better than having an ambition. Aspiration is an aim, whereas ambition is a drive.

In truth, ambition and aspiration are morally neutral, sharing the same root in the New Testament (philotimeomai)—what matters most is the heart that steers the pursuit. Selfish ambition, however, is always immoral (eritheia), sharing a connection with greed and coveting (Psa. 119:36; 1 Thess. 2:5). To distinguish between these similar words woodenly, aspiration is a love for honor, but selfish ambition is a grab, often disguised, for unjust gain. The only four examples of pure aspiration in the Bible belong to Paul: his desire to preach in a place where Christ has not yet been preached (Rom. 15:20), to please God (2 Cor. 5:9), to pursue a quiet life (1 Thess. 4:11), and for qualified men to obey when called to serve in church leadership (1 Tim. 3:1). The only two examples of selfish ambition are supplied by James: “But if you have bitter jealousy and selfish ambition in your hearts, do not boast and be false to the truth … for where jealousy and selfish ambition exist, there will be disorder and every vile practice” (James 3:14, 16).

Paul’s advice, then, to the young, isolated, persecuted congregation in Thessalonica is doubly remarkable: “Now concerning brotherly love you have no need for anyone to write to you, for you yourselves have been taught by God to love one another, for that indeed is what you are doing to all the brothers throughout Macedonia. But we urge you, brothers, to do this more and more, aspire to live quietly, and to mind your own affairs, and to work with your hands” (1 Thess. 4:9-11). In other words, Thessalonians, you’re doing well in the most important sense, you are actively loving one another. Therefore, (1) do that and (2) keep doing that—full stop. Not, reform the city. Not, change the world. Simply love one another, which in God’s providence could very well reform the city and change the world. 

Love sounds so simple, almost naïve, but being and remaining simple is not simplistic. Simplicity is rare and powerful because the general trend in the Christian life tumbles away from simplicity toward complexity. So, Paul appropriately encourages the church to excel more and more in love. Whatever else they might do, they must love! 

Love is demonstrated in these ways: quiet living (opposite raucous or splashy), minding your own affairs (not everyone else’s business), and working with your hands (following Paul’s example of tent-making) steered toward this end, “so that you may walk properly before outsiders and be dependent on no one” (1 Thess. 4:12). Aspire to love well, live quietly, and be content with simplicity. That’s the summary of a very good life!

Conscience

Conscience.  Conscience is a curious thing. Is it a principle, an ability, a mechanism? Different from consciousness, which is the mind’s self-awareness (e.g., “I think therefore I am” [René Descartes), a conscience is more like one’s inner lawyer constantly assessing before decisions and evaluating after actions for moral purity. When the conscience is clear, the result is relief. When the conscience is conflicted, the result is guilt. But relief and guilt sit on a sliding scale, capable of eliciting both true and false relief as well as true and false guilt.

A conscience can be awakened, aligned, and matured by knowing and submitting to the revealed word of God. However, a conscience can be corrupted, defiled, and seared by actively suppressing the truth. Conscience is a tool, therefore, whether for good or evil.

Every human has a conscience in the way that Solomon described it: “[God] has put eternity in man’s heart” (Eccles. 3:11a), with the important caveat, “yet … he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end” (Eccles. 3:11b). Therefore, a conscience is placed by God in all humans but bent by sin in all humans. By itself, a conscience is an unreliable guide without the truth and power of God to guide and govern it. “For when Gentiles, who do not have the law, by nature do what the law requires, they are a law to themselves, even though they do not have the law. They show that the work of the law is written on their hearts, while their conscience also bears witness, and their conflicting thoughts accuse or even excuse them on that day when, according to my gospel, God judges the secrets of men by Christ Jesus” (Rom. 2:14-16). Conscience is not the judge, but God is.

The unrighteous do whatever they can, whereas the righteous do whatever they must. But the unrighteous and the righteous may, internally, while acting in diametrically opposite ways still operate in accordance with their own consciences. Thus, a conscience alone is insufficient to navigate morality. For instance, it is unconscionable for some Palestinians to acknowledge the existence of Israel, not to mention concede to the reality that it is Israel that allows Palestinians to live in cultural enclaves, such as Gaza, inside Israel’s internationally recognized territory. [Last weekend’s invasion by Hamas into Israel was abominable in every way.] Likewise, it is unconscionable for the Jews to permit passively and interminably the rocket attacks, invasions, kidnappings, bombings, and murders of its citizens by Hamas, Iran, Hezbollah, Lebanon, Syria, etc., without swift military responses. [This week’s retaliation by Israel into Gaza is politically and morally legitimate.] Either way however, while the individual’s conscience internally legitimizes his or her action, it is the truth of God and not the human conscience that establishes right and wrong. Humans have a conscience but need the Spirit.

Each According to Its Kind

Each According to Its Kind.  The myth that continues to deceive many, “The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence,” was cleverly debunked by whoever it was who said, “The grass is always greener wherever you water it.” Unless the Lord suspends his own natural law, which he has been known to do from time to time, we can typically expect his pattern of Creation to hold: “bearing fruit in which is their seed, each according to its kind, on the earth” (Gen. 1:11, 12). What grows is what we intend to grow, except for crabgrass, which always sneaks its way into everything green.

Literally or figuratively, when we cultivate the soil, sow the good seed, eliminate the weeds, nurture the process, and harvest a crop, fruit bears fruit “according to its kind.” The end of growth is connected to its beginning, whether toward good or toward evil. Life begets life. Corruption begets corruption. Involuntarily, a flood of clichés follows: “You made your bed, now lie in it.” “Stupid is as stupid does.” “Garbage in, garbage out.” “You can’t make a silk purse from a sow’s ear.” “Get a taste on your own medicine.”

Christ applied his own Creation principle to the important skill of discerning the religious leaders, “You will recognize them by their fruits” (Matt. 7:16, 20). “A healthy tree cannot bear bad fruit, nor can a diseased tree bear good fruit” (Matt. 7:18). Similarly, Paul wrote to the church about evaluating the fruit of a person’s life to discern its true source, as either from the flesh or from the Spirit: “The works of the flesh are evident: sexual immorality, impurity, sensuality . . . . But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace” (Gal. 5:19, 22a). “Whatever one sows, that will he also reap” (Gal. 6:7). Hosea said the same thing another way: “They sow the wind, and shall reap the whirlwind” (Hos. 8:7). James, too, picks up the refrain: “And a harvest of righteousness is sown in peace by those who make peace” (James 3:18). Peace begets peace, “bearing fruit . . . each according to its kind” (Gen. 1:11, 12).

Faced with an incongruence between one’s visible fruit in life and one’s stated values in life, God throws his weight of wisdom to the visible fruit as the true identifier of the person instead of hollow words and best intentions. When we evaluate our own fruit, let alone when we evaluate someone else’s fruit, and discover a divergence, it is an opportunity to “repent and believe in the gospel” (Mark 1:15), knowing that “if we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness” (1 John 1:9). The greatest problem with an inconsistent life is not inconsistency but the unwillingness to repent and turn to the Lord in faith, especially when we know the truth that could set us free. The antidote to evil fruit, then, is not to try harder, but to stop trying and start believing in Jesus.