Spiritual Gifts, Part 1

A friend of mine is a pastor of a fairly large church. For the sake of anonymity, we will call him Derik Vaun. Derik shares an opinion with me in a particular matter of taste: we both hate interpretive dance. I’m not sure if you have ever seen an interpretive dance or a mime done in a church setting. If you haven’t seen an interpretive dance, imagine a less-talented, vertigo-suffering, slightly-drunk, cirque du soleil troop (or look at this). Faces paralyzed in an “isn’t this fun?” grin, they wave streamers, they prance in leotards--all while dancing to an uncomfortably intimate Christian pop-song (sample lyric: “Your fragrance is intoxicating in the secret place.”).

If I am in a church situation where this happens, and I miss the opportunity to slip out to the bathroom for the duration of the interpretive dance shenanigans, the only hope is to sit politely, attempt to block out what is happening, and try to force a facial expression that falsely conveys that I am a patron and loyal fan of all things involving leotard and streamer. But even if I manage to fake the facial expression, I am unable to ignore the grave voice in my head: “Friend, this is where testosterone comes to die.”

Anyway, (many years ago, in a far off place that no one who is reading this knows about) I was in attendance at the church in which my friend, “Derik,” is a pastor. Again, for the sake of anonymity, we will call the church “Five Elms.” Apparently there was a member of the church who for a reason that I do not know, had taken issue with the pastoral team on a previous occasion, had approached someone about the possibility of voicing a heartfelt apology publicly during Sunday worship. Upon arrival for said apology, the young lady slipped a tape to the soundman (a la Napoleon Dynamite). Taking the stage in the minimalist but garish dress of an out-of-work Belarusian Dance Instructor, she voiced a sincere apology, which was followed by a stated desire, in the spirit of reconciliation, to present Derik with a “gift”. I didn’t see anything on stage wrapped or covered up, she was empty handed, and she did not call Pastor Vaun to the stage. What could this gift possibly be? It was too late by the time I saw the dimming of the lights. A gift is a difficult thing to define…but I think that the scene that followed missed every essential characteristic one could possibly imagine.

I will spare you the gory, choreographed details. It had all of the usual elements: pantomime butterflies with thumbs interlocked flying free from the chest, the exaggerated reenactment of being blinded by an unapproachable light, running in a non-linear pattern with tiny steps—all standard fare. Her music choice was interesting: “In your eyes” by Peter Gabriel. I quietly listened to the song I had once liked, trying to think of inconspicuous ways to gouge my eyes out. Nothing seemed like it could work. I try to talk myself through: Escape in your mind, Ben. They can’t take your imagination. It will be over soon. I try to think of what this imaginary place that I could escape to could be. What if I was Amish? Then dancing would be out of the question. Suddenly a life of renouncing worldly pleasures such as television, buttons, and musical accompaniment seemed like a small price to live in a world free of interpretive dance.

When I was at my cheese threshold, I saw the dancer assume a serene, half-bowed pose. I welcomed the tag-ending of the taped dance track. Uncertain of what to do, the congregation clapped. Shortly later the service ended. As people mingled in the aisles, I approached Derik, who appeared to be wondering what the return policy was on the gift he just had received. “How did you like your gift?” I asked.

“I would have preferred brownies.”

Wouldn’t we all.

Even though I have exaggerated this story, and inserted “color” and non-essential details to some of the areas where my memory is lapsed (okay--so it’s only about 75% true), it does show the nuanced issues of things like taste and empathy that govern the use of our “gifts” to edify the body in our life together in a Church. It also shows, in my opinion, the sometimes rather arbitrary, and often less than Biblical categories by which people determine what their spiritual gifts are. (For example, is there a spiritual gift of Dodgeball?).

I guess I am trying to get at an idea that there is an extreme way of talking about one’s spiritual gifts that puts a spiritual veneer on all of one’s abilities. While I do believe that there is a sense in which all of one’s God-given abilities can be harnessed for redemptive purpose, I see a danger in allowing “spiritual gift” to be thoughtlessly stamped on all of one’s abilities. The perceived danger, in my opinion, is that one could have an overreaching sense of authority in an area that is not a point of need for the church (locally or globally). The primary reference point is not, “What is the point of need that I can meet for the Church?” but rather, “How can I find a way to insert my area of interest into the church?” Am I saying that there is never a place to use a God-given ability at dance, or, for that matter, dodge-ball? No. But I do think that clinging to your own little domain as the only means that you will come behind God’s people at their point of need misses the boat. Just because I own a salt-mine, doesn’t mean that it is the only thing to offer someone who is dying of thirst. Just because I am a gifted butcher, it doesn’t mean that I should use my gifts to heal your appendicitis. Our gifts are not always the only means to serve or the appropriate means to serve. Obedience before ability.

There is another approach to spiritual gifts that is more pragmatic in nature. “Finding your spiritual gifts” is somewhat of a Christian cottage industry. There are several surveys that can supposedly help determine what your areas of giftedness are. In some circumstances a mega-church will use it in their “assimilation” programs—somewhat akin to a C.E.O of a large corporation giving a new hire the Myers-Briggs. Today, I went to an internet site that “takes inventory” of such gifts (you can find it here). In slightly over a half hour, I answered 108 questions that whittled away at what my areas of “task-oriented” spiritual giftedness are. Each question was essentially a statement for which you could choose, “almost never”, “sometimes”, or “almost always.”

During the whole exercise, I oscillated between narcissism and guilt. The only questions to which I could state “almost always” were of the more inane variety. Among them was the statement, “Pronouncing words correctly is very important to me.” I was happy to be able to dimple the righteous, “almost always” chad. That’s right. Some people build the body up with giving, mercy, and exhortation. I do it through my intuitive phonological sense of the English language. The guilt kicked in for more difficult questions, like, “I am willing to try impossible things for God.” I suppose on the best of days I would go to the lion’s den. But is that something that I am looking for opportunities to sign up for? Slightly padding my stats, I selected "occasionally." I had to remind myself of the preface given on the survey stating that it is merely an instrument to find, “[one’s] dominant ‘task-oriented’ gift.” Implication: it's not about what is right, just what I am good at.

After finishing the test, the web site generated an itemized report gauging my perceived areas of “Spiritual Giftedness.” It looked a lot like the reports of aptitude tests that one would take in school, listing spiritual gifts on a vertical axis, and giving a number and a proportionately-sized horizontal bar next to each of the gifts, going from left to right. As I looked at the shape of the bar graph, I saw an inordinate amount of whitespace to the right. If the test was akin to an aptitude test, my results looked something like the aptitude someone who had undergone a full lobotomy. I had a moment of dread. I just failed a Spiritual Gifts Test.

Maybe it’s that I’m a right-brain kind of guy, maybe it’s that I just failed the test, but, somehow, get the sense that the quantitative analysis approach does not work for something of the nature of spiritual gifts. It is not just that it is a reductionism for something rather complex, but it is also the fragmentation of something that should be whole. Perhaps you should seek opportunities to serve in your areas of “task-oriented” giftedness, but isn’t it also true that God’s “power is made perfect in weakness”? Doesn’t it seem to follow the general story-line of the Bible that to be chosen is precisely to be thrown into our area of weakness in order to show His strength? Speaking of God’s strength, hasn’t that been conspicuously absent in our conversation thus far?

But in looking at these two extremes, what I really see is the same problem. If ability is the starting point of our action, then what becomes of faith? Surely, for Jesus to be "tempted in every way as we were" involved being pushed to the very threshold of his human abilities. To gratefully acknowledge “the measure of God’s grace” poured out in our respective areas of giftedness is important. But it is a base-line in a pretty dynamic spiritual journey where God seems to be pretty clear that he is going to stretch, refine, discipline, and transform us. It is not like membership in some sort of spiritual labor union that absolves you from all work outside of the collective bargaining agreement.

• So how do we begin to speak about gifts in a way that is God-centered? I’ve probably created more questions than answers, but I think that it is important that from the outset of this discussion we begin with how spiritual gifts are understood, and then diligently search for what Scripture actually teaches. In moving towards our discussion, think about these questions:
• What are the essential qualities of a Spiritual Gift?
• What is the difference between a Spiritual gift, and a mere ability or talents.
• When should knowing my spiritual gifts be a factor in the choices that I make?
• What do you perceive your areas of giftedness to be? How are you using them to help others?
• Why are Spiritual gifts brought up in the context of these three main passages (1 Corinthians 12, I Peter 4, Ephesians 4)?
• Also, if you have a free devotional time take a look (or a listen) to this sermon.

Also, to preview, I’ll throw out some of my initial opinions that I hope to discuss later.
Spiritual gifts are not…

• Exhaustively listed in the New Testament (either in the central passages or combined between them)
• The governing factor in our day-to-day decisions.
• An excuse for disobedience in our areas “outside of” your giftedness.The same as “talents” or “abilities.”
  

Spiritual Gifts are…

• Fluid and able to change throughout one’s lifetime.
• Things that God’s grace can refine or our disobedience can marginalize.
• Sometimes in the area of “signs” (of the miraculous, charismatic type).
• Able to be abused (even though they are legitimate gifts, given by God).
• Often coupled with certain propensities and weaknesses that God often helps through their Spiritual Gift.
• Given by God, through the person possessing the gift, to his church as a whole.
  
  

grandpa, god, and stuff: a story of redemptive generosity.

a member of the greatest generation (on steroids)...
About a year ago my grandfather passed away at the age of 84. I grew up with my grandparents frequently visiting, staying in touch, and, particularly in the case of my grandfather, conveying their life stories so that they could be passed down. My grandfather grew up in the depression, dealt with an untimely death of his mother, took care of both his alcoholic father and blind sister, started his own business, and served in the pacific theater in World War II all by the time that he was my age. To sum it up, just imagine a Tom Brokaw "greatest generation" story on steroids and you have my grandfather. Grieving my Grandfather took on a unique shape. Usually death is made hard to deal with because of a sense of untimeliness, or an undue amount of suffering, or some sort of unfinished business. I can say that, for my own part, I had none of these things. My Grandfather took heaven for granted and spoke of it quite candidly, was at an age and health which made an imminent passing something that was expected, and he spent his retirement nearly constantly visiting his seven children and twenty-eight grandchildren. (I did say seven children and twenty-eight grandchildren. My grandfather, like many WWII vets, was a proud shareholder in the baby-boom.) None of the above issues, for me, presented themselves in the stages of grief. The difficulty I had is learning how to remember him. How could I remember and tell his story in a way that was relevant to people like me who are in a generation in which values, affects, sensibilities, and culture has been inverted from the time in which he grew up?

Essentially, my grandfather was a hero. World Mythology expert Joseph Campbell defines a hero as someone who chooses to act based on the authentic demands that are in his soul and psyche at the expense of things that their culture has deemed as norms. They risk, and indeed face, rejection. They embody a faith and authenticity with a shelf-life that outlasts creature comforts, and upon the birth of this faith return to the world from which they came offering it the blessings which came at great expense. For Campbell, this process that makes a hero mirrors the process of the coming of age to adulthood. Interestingly enough, many young men my age (myself included) would say that both embodying heroism and maturity are the holy grail that lies perpetually beyond their grasp.

Stories of this caliber have existed at all places and all points of history from Jason facing the Argonauts, to Luke Skywalker and the Imperial "Dark Side" to my Grandfather and a hurting, lost world. The odd thing is that my Grandfather's story is true. He really existed. I can show you pictures if you want. For some reason, I did not have the generational empathy to really understand this until after my Grandfather had passed away. While my Grandfather didn't embody the gut-spilling transparency that seems to be the virtue-du-jour in modern Christian circles, but I've began to see that he did embody something more fundamental. My Grandfather understood the heroic identity of what it means to joyfully and contentedly embody Jesus in a world of hurt.

My grandfather's conversion to Christianity came at the end of the war. There were a series of events beginning with a miraculous survival of the attacks on Pearl Harbor, and culminating by an incident with a young, Korean orphan boy at the end of the war. My Grandfather saw this young boy on the street and upon being solicited for help, told him that he would take him to go get some food. While they were walking they were swarmed by an entire group of orphans who unlike the previous boy were asking, not for food, but for whiskey and cigarettes. When my grandfather refused to give him these things, the first young boy asked him if he was a Christian. This was a question that my Grandfather later said was echoing in his head for months. My grandfather articulated this in a very accessible way, being from a blue collar, midwestern background. But in retrospect, I think that he had an existential crisis. He stood at the end of a long, sacrificial, tour of duty and began to ask himself what the underlying motive was for what he did.

This brief season culminated in him visiting a chapel service in which a Presbyterian missionary who happened to share my Grandfather's Swedish heritage, happened to be presenting the gospel. My Grandfather, through the rest of his life, would repeat what this evangelist said. "There are two kinds of people in this world: sinners and sinners that Jesus saves." Upon hearing this distinction, my Grandfather didn't have to put a whole lot of thought into which type of person he wanted to be. It is at this time that my Grandfather began his life as a fanatic Christian. While this has pejorative overtones, there is no other word that seems to quantify his degree of zeal. There was a new Swedish missionary in town, and he had a story to tell.

Upon my Grandfather's return to America he had a bank account that consisted of most of the money that he had been drawing during his different tours as well as an ice business that he had sold upon enlisting in the military. I don't know what the exact dollar amount is, but an uncle of mine explained that it was enough to buy a car, make a down payment on a house, and start a decently comfortable life. In an overture of divine affection, he decided to empty his account out and literally give all of his savings to different Christian missionary and humanitarian organization. My grandfather had a particular soft spot for Korean children and heard about a man named Everett Swanson (another good Swede) who was starting a ministry providing food, shelter and schooling for 35 Korean orphans. He decided to give $1,000 to this man. I found an article on the Web that told about this event:



Evangelist Everett Swanson travels to South Korea to preach the gospel to the troops in the Republic of Korea army. During his visit he encounters children orphaned by the war. Rev. Swanson is challenged by a missionary friend: "You have seen the tremendous needs and unparalleled opportunities of this land. What do you intend to do about it?"

Two checks are presented to Rev. Swanson ($50 and $1,000) upon his return to America to help the orphans of Korea. "This was conclusive proof to me that God was in it," Swanson said.

What was a relatively small but sacrificial gift became a ministry that we are now familiar with as Compassion International. Their website, from which the above quote was taken says that this man's ministry has outlasted him, now helping half a million children in over 50 countries. Interestingly enough, I never heard my grandfather articulate his giving as sacrificial. My grandfather looked at the relationship of his belongings to people in need the way that I would look at receiving a $100 gift card to itunes. It wasn't sacrificial. It was recklessly indulgent. He was a grace junkie looking for another fix. When my Grandfather died, some of my Uncles were going through his checking account records and they said that it seemed that donations were outweighing the bills. My grandmother had never even heard him talk about a lot of the people and organizations that he gave to. I'm sure that many people who face the loss of a spouse discover "little secrets" on the bank ledger of the deceased: fast food binges, online gambling, fishing gear, maybe even something elicit. My grandfather's secret was his generosity towards others. It was more than one would expect--even his own wife.

The hard part about remembering my Grandfather has been in comparing and contrasting his world and mine. He came from a time when expectations were more clear, where there was still the black and white distinction of good guys and bad guys, and where it seems that those in power could be more trusted. Maybe I'm wrong, but I always had an impression of his world that was less fragmented and complex. In the world that I am in, it is much more difficult to be heroic. But when I think about the story that I just told, I am reminded of the heroic virtues of contented generosity, and I know that this is even more possible in the world that I live in. I have not realized this in my own life, but I'm sure that God smiles and Satan shivers at the thought of churches filled with heroically generous people.


Picture of Elmer Rund (my Grandfather) being presented with an award by a man named Colonel Sanders. Not to be confused with the guy with the secret delicious chicken recipe.








































My grandfather on the right with the 1948 James Dean Look-alike champion.






















My Grandfather on far left (half cropped out) , again being honored by someone who is apparently important, as demonstrated by the mismatched hat.

Murder

this is actually a piece that i wrote quite some time ago. it is, however, relevant to what we spoke about this week: murder.

My neighbor, Rich, is a public defender in the next county over. The other day we were sitting on his porch and I asked him about the most intense cases he has ever had. One of them was an attempted homicide case in which the defendant stabbed his girlfriend 13 times with a steak knife. The defendant, who was unfamiliar with our legal system, and didn’t speak English, insisted that the only reasonable defense he would use is that he “is not that kind of person.”

Obviously we approach murder with some emotional baggage. Other moral shortcomings—lying, stealing, cheating, blasphemy, coveting, treason, rebellion—all of these can be undone or at least pacified by some degree of restitution. Murder isn’t like that.

Rich also told me about another case in which he sat in on the selection of a jury for a man who was facing the death penalty. The main idea of this process is that the prosecution has to make sure that all of the people who make it through have no problem sentencing people to death. In other words, they have to support the death penalty (at least in some cases) and have no problem deciding that it should be administered.

On this particular occasion, one of the final people in the screening process was an old blue-haired lady from the south. She was wearing a flower print dress and had skin that looked like a freckled catcher’s mitt. She was every grandmother who lived below the mason/Dixon. The prosecutor was unconvinced that she would be the right person for the job because of her evidently sweet disposition. The prosecutor looked her in the eyes and asked with Matlock-esque intensity:

“Ma’am, we are trying to find out if you would have a problem putting the defendant to death. Could you do this?”

She looked puzzled. “Well that depends, will he be sent to Rayford prison if he is found guilty?”

“Why, yes ma’am he will.”

“Will it take place on Sunday?”

“It usually takes place during the week.”

“Well it will be a long drive, but I suppose I could make it up there and pull the switch, or whatever you do.”

The prosecutor then realized that this woman was under the impression that she would personally pull the switch. “Ma’am, you don’t have to actually kill him. You just decide if he gets the death penalty.”

“Oh.”

“We’ll take her.”

It was a funny story, but it was kind of grim thinking about an old lady from this cracker county in central Florida, strolling into the room with the electric chair and flipping the switch. It is hard to picture a human with the moral hardware to make a decision of that magnitude with that kind of certainty.

I remember the first murderer that I ever knew. He worked in a restaurant that I used to work at while finishing up college and for a few months after. It was a Pizza place in Tallahassee. He was a dishwasher. His name was Dwight. This was hard for me to forget, because he had “Dwight” tattooed in cursive on his neck. This restaurant was open until four in the morning and we would close together on three nights a week. A lot of our dishwashers were on work-release from prison. I assumed this was the case with Dwight. I would try to ask him questions while we were closing the restaurant and he would only answer with single words. His voice was barely above a whisper, but had the qualities of a yell. The words seemed to sever the air in front of him. Single words moving like a slow motion replay of a boxing match: “Yes.” “No”. “Soon.” “Good-bye.” Within ten seconds of knowing Dwight, I knew he was a badass.

He would strip down to his wife-beater undershirt and sling through the dishes while mouthing the words to rap music that was playing in the dish pit. He would move with a certainty and force that I wished I had when I played sports in high school. The dishwasher was always the lowest paid person in the restaurants, but Dwight seemed to own the job with an uncanny sense of pride. He seemed to say with his action to everyone else, “if you want to be where I am, you’ve got to earn it.” But it was a statement that I believed. That is the only way that I could think to describe it. In a way he embodied our cultures idea of masculinity—very distant in his words and very present in his actions.

After Dwight and I had worked together for a couple of weeks, he asked me for a ride home. It was past four in the morning and I didn’t want to be anywhere besides my bed, but I didn’t want to tell him “no” either. I also kind of liked the idea of him riding shotgun in my old, beat up Honda Accord. I would pretend it was a ’64 impala with fins and custom suicide doors. I would pretend that we were out at 4am with our night just beginning. I would pretend that we were John Trivolta and Samuel Jackson in Pulp fiction.

He said he lived near me. I could already picture where it was. It was around the corner. Down Macomb Street. Right on Alabama. Right on Joe Louis. He would live in the back of a dilapidated public housing development. He would have a Rotweilder with a scar on its face. He would offer me a quart of domestic malt liquor from his fridge and we’d sit around for a little while before I went home.

Dwight was a different person than I imagined when he was sitting in my passenger seat. I had never heard him speak in complete sentences. The boxer started his combination move:

“So are you in school?” The combination move felt more like a pirouette.

“Yeah. I’m a religion and classics major.” I assumed he wasn’t in school, but I decided to go with the reciprocal conversation format. “Are you in school?”

“Yeah. Business major.” Dwight was in college. “Turn right here.” Dwight lived in a set of luxury condominiums.

There was some sort of mistake. I had figured Dwight out, and he was messing it up. He spoke up again.

“That would be good to study religion. If you studied enough of them you could probably find out which one was right.” Dwight was a simpleton.

“Yeah. I guess that’s why some people are there.” I decided to answer with accommodating diplomacy.

He sensed some of what I thought about his idea in my response, and I could tell this. He looked down and he turned his head towards the passenger window. Dwight was intimidated by me. As horrible as it is to admit this. I found this exhilarating. I’m not even sure why. Maybe it’s because I found him so intimidating initially.

I gave Dwight rides home a couple more times after that. We still didn’t really talk a whole lot.

He quit in June. Tallahassee was sweltering. I was sweating so much that I would have to put on a new T-shirt in the middle of the day. It was the suffocating, greenhouse heat of the deep south. Around this time they found a body in the retention pond of an apartment complex near FSU campus. Now you have to realize that Tallahassee hardly ever has homicides. You hear about one maybe once a year. By the time they found the body, it was impossible to identify. It had been rotting in the heat and had been chewed nearly to the skeleton by the fish in the retention pond.

That week, an investigator came into the restaurant and questioned a manager. The murder had been linked to Dwight. They found a gun with his fingerprints on it.

Evidently someone owed Dwight money. The events were sketchy, but Dwight shot this guy twice in the chest and once in the head, wrapped him in a bed sheet, dragged him down a street and through a parking lot to a retention pond. This had happened sometime around the first time I gave Dwight a ride home.

I won’t pretend I knew Dwight well. I won’t even pretend that I liked him all that much. But, from what I did know, Dwight (much like my neighbor Rich’s client) “wasn’t that kind of person.” He wasn’t a calculated, heartless, killing machine. He was a shy lummox. A kid scrubbing dishes to get through college. A young man in a world that was bigger than he thought.

After we heard what happened, some of us sat around at the restaurant bar after work and talked about it. Some of the waitresses said they always hated Dwight because he would stare at their bodies and not their faces. One of the bartenders said that he was used to reading people and they could tell that “something was wrong” with Dwight. One of the managers said that they knew that the cops were going to ask questions about Dwight. We all sat behind the bar and circled around the drama of mortality like vultures...and somehow I knew that they were all lying.

I knew that they would never have guessed that Dwight took someone’s life. That they were as shocked as I was. I also knew that they were trying to reconcile the fact that Dwight was a person who was a lot like them. I knew this because that is what I was doing. Dwight faced the same chaos as we did. Dwight was in a world in which decisions came at him to quick—like a game of three-card monty. Not only were the decisions too quick, but the interests were all conflicted and messed up. He found himself in the mess that we all find ourselves in, and he chose wrong.

Alexander Solzhenitsyn said this:

“If only there were people somewhere, insidiously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?”

I am made up of the same stuff as Dwight. So are you. This is a grim reality. We are all tempted to draw the “dividing line” outside of ourselves.

This is the reality that I think of on this “good” Friday. In our identification with the “bad guys” lies our hope of transformation. This is the night when Christ himself, willfully went to his death between two thieves. This is the grim backdrop behind the hope of Easter resurrection. This is the guilt that must be acknowledged for another to carry our cross, and, with this acknowledgement, comes the passion to carry others’ crosses ourselves.

Cain and Abel

today eric spoke to us about the cain and abel story and how the gospel is embedded even in the very embryonic stages of the bible...i am looking forward to talking about this. i am not going to add a lot personally since i am still meditating on it. but here are a couple of overlapping discussions that are taking place in "secular" (=sacred) culture.

on the first selection of this episode of this american life (it is about 18 minutes) jonathan goldstein, a regular contributor and author of lenny bruce is dead, who is not particularly religious, gives a pretty imaginative rendering of the cain and abel story (after clicking on to the attached page, you will have to select "full episode" from the left side of the page. it is at the very beginning of the recording.

secondly, i was reminded as eric was preaching of a billy collins poem called flock. collins (former poet laureat) who i am not sure is particularly religious, seems to have his finger on the fact that sacrifice is intrinsic in the communion between god and man:

Flock

It has been calculated that each copy of the Gutenburg Bible
required the skins of 300 sheep.

I can see them
squeezed into the holding pen
behind the stone building
where the printing press is housed.

All of them squirming around
to find a little room
and looking so much alike
it would be nearly impossible to count them.

And there is no telling which one of them
will carry the news
that the Lord is a Shepherd,
one of the few things
they already know.

- Billy Collins

cain and abel is a bible story with concepts that seem somewhat authoritative even to those who don't hold the bible itself as authoritative ...any thoughts?

The Ten Commandments

The next few Sunday's in church will be devoted to understanding the Ten Commandments. The 10 commandments are something that most Christians have at least a symbolic attachment to. But the evangelical conversation about the ten commandments has to do more with their display (in public places and such) than their correct understanding. Correctly understanding the Decalogue (another word for the 10 commandments) is something that most saints, past and present have gone to a lot of trouble to do. With all due comedic props to Mel Brooks, perhaps the following video is more indicative of our attitude towards the law than the reverence of Saints past.



Consider the following:

In the Reformed Community, the Heidleberg Catechism, written in 1563, is centered around the issue of comfort. The gospel is pictured, rather beautifully, as "my only comfort in life and in death." To know this comfort man must know three things (the second question tells us): 1) "The greatness of my sin and misery.", 2) "How I am set free from such sin and misery." , and 3) "How I am to thank God for such deliverance." Towards the 3rd of these ways, about 43 of the Catechism's 129 questions are devoted. The bulk of those come from the Ten Commandments (the rest from the Lord's Prayer).

In the Westminster Standards (written by the more Anglocentric Reformed folks), the 10 commandments are used not as a means of grattitude but rather as a Springboard into indicting man's sinfulness. In subject matter it moves seamlessly from talking about the gospel to the "moral law" as "the duty that God requireth of man." The statement that is "most summarily comprehended in [is] the ten commandments." Though the meaning of the Ten Commandments is essentially the same in the Westminster Shorter Catechism as the Heidelberg (See questions 39-82), there is a vastly different nuance. delivering the final sucker punch of asking "Is any man able perfectly to keep the commandments of God?" The answer, in short, is no. It is at this point that the Catechism begins to speak about the Gospel. The commandments are viewed as a cause of needing the gospel, rather than (as in Heidlelberg) an effect of recieving it. It is important to note that these are not contradictions, just difference in emphasis.

The Anglican tradition weighs in on more of the essential nature of the Commandments. The longest treatment (but perhaps the most useful--even to us WASPY Protestants) of the Ten Commandments in all of the Catechisms is given by the Roman Catholic Church.

Martin Luther, although he is reguarded as the most anti-nomian (against the law) of the reformers, still holds up the importance of the ten commandments, not only continually mentioning them in the preface of the Small Catechism, but also beginning the entire Catechism with them.

I don't know about you. But looking at the documents that have been (and are currently) used to educate young believers in the faith, it seems like maybe we don't emphasize correct understanding of the Ten Commandments as much as we should.

May we discover the riches that lie buried in God's law.

10 Things I Hate About Commandments

Moses Ten Commandments - Mel Brooks

one take on the orgin of the decalogue

The Story of My Pencil Sharpener

Many of you know that I am, by profession, a Middle-School Language Arts teacher. In the front right corner of my classroom, on a small cart, there is a wire basket, which students turn their completed work into, a three-level literature rack that contains all of the day's handouts, and a black, “X-acto” brand electric pencil sharpener.

It is the pencil sharpener that I wish to talk about. It is the first in a long line of pencil sharpeners that have had a short but laborious and sordid career before being laid to rest in the Eugene J. Butler Middle School dumpster at the northern edge of the faculty parking lot. Every time that I go to sharpen a pencil and realize that the current electric pencil sharpener refuses to work, I wonder if it, in some previous life, was one of my students. Each time there has been a changing of the guards and a new pencil sharpener has been placed at its post, I give it a little speech before it's first tour:

“You have been asked to serve in the front lines. Many have come before you
and many will come after. You have been given a job that very well may cost you
your life. Godspeed, little guy ...Godspeed...”

The pencil sharpener has come to represent everything that I loathe about a job that I otherwise love. In the world of my classroom, it is a necessity. But while it is necessary, it brings with it a whole set of accompanying circumstances that I must judiciously wade my way through as I teach tech-age adolescents that look at books like they are some sort of nostalgic but unnecessary artifact that people used to have to use (like the hand-crank phonograph or the cotton-gin). Before I taught, the dynamic of teacher-student/sage-disciple/sensei-understudy/jedi-padawan was relatively simple:

1. I have information that the students do not. We both understand this.
   
2. We spend time in the same place where I talk about the said thing that I know and they do not know.
3. When an adequate amount of time has passed there is some sort of test that determines whether the information that is in question is something that now we both know.
4. The cycle repeats itself, and at some point (if we both know enough of the same things), the student moves on to a higher level, or (if we do not) does the whole thing over.''
   
   

While this is the basic gist of the teaching profession, a whole set of circumstances that has something to do with the nature of these unique little snowflakes, that makes this a fraction of what actually occupies my day-to-day activities. What I did not know about middle-schoolers before I taught them in a classroom, is that a love of the written word is not a driving force in their day-to-day life.

This is the case to the point that in a gaunt room with a group of desks, a white-board, a few computers, and some peppy posters, there are literally thousands of other things that you can do besides ingesting and practicing the skills that one needs to master reading and writing the written word: drawing on a desk, text messaging, practicing jamming out break-beats by banging on a desk with your fist, fighting, and so much more. In fact there are some students who, even if it was just me and them in a plain-white room with no distractions, would gnaw their arm off before listening to my clever and insightful instruction.

It is here that I return to the pencil sharpener. At the beginning of the year, I decided that it would be a waste of time to install the hand-crank, district-issue pencil sharpeners that have a working shelf-life of about one hour, before they mysteriously fall apart or are so dull that they sharpen the pencil to where it little more effective than a large hunk of charcoal, or a reed dipped in crushed berries. Because I appreciate how technology improves our lives, and because I am not above dropping some coin on the supplies in my classroom, I spent $20 on an electric pencil sharpener at Wal-mart.

The pencil-sharpener became one of the many areas in which my role was stretched beyond teacher to legislator (creating rules for correct use), judge (deternining instances of misuse), and jury (enforcing penalties for habitual misuse). The infractions centered around three basic areas: disrespect of property, untimely usage, and disorder based around its usage. I am not sure what the “top ten most interesting things in Mr. Steigner's classroom" would be, but I am almost certain that Mr. Steigner would, in fact, be ranked below his pencil sharpener. This would seem slightly less self-abasing if you saw, in fact, how interested my students are in the electric pencil sharpener. Students wanted to use it so badly that I have actually watched some intentionally break the point of their pencil on the sole of their sneaker so that they could approach the holy of holies and sharpen it.

Initially I relied on an unspoken understanding that "this little gadget is part of the class that we all loved, and we'll treat it with respect." My governing assumptions were, as usual, misguided. When I first placed it in my room, I assumed that students would reason:

1. This is a loud appliance that is near Mr. Steigner.
   
2. Mr. Steigner wants students to hear him.
   
3. Ergo, I will not use this while Mr. Steigner is talking.

It was soon apparent that I had over-estimated my students ability at formal logic. Logic had to be replaced by legislation:

“When you have to sharpen your pencil, and there is whole
class instruction, raise your hand and ask, and you will be told when the
soonest appropriate time to sharpen your pencil arrives.”

Hence came the first wave of the legislation, prosectution, litigation, and sentencing that would be centered around my pencil sharpener.

It was a week later when I had to replace the Wal-mart pencil sharpener with a mid-level version of Staples' line of X-acto pencil sharpeners (cost: $34) that I had to provide yet another amendment to the pencil-sharpener legislation. I noticed students who, even when sharpening their pencil would bang on the top of the contraption when it was not performing at the desired speed. I had to explain to students that while the “hit something to fix it” method may work with a television that has bad reception, or a puppy that pees on your carpet, it does not work with an electric pencil sharpener. The law was amended to include a clause to stipulate that when using the pencil sharpener:

“You may sharpen your pencil, and you may empty the small drawer of shavings, but under no circumstance may you hit, throw, or shake the pencil sharpener in Mr. Steigner's class.”

Some time later, shortly after my upgrade to the $49.99 version of the X-acto line, I noticed that when students realized that they were free to sharpen their pencil whenever it was needed when they were working independently on an assignment and the whole class was not being addressed, there arose yet another problem. When two or more students had to sharpen their pencil at the same time, there would be a race to the pencil sharpener, sometimes culminating in an argument whether prior usage should be awarded to the student who touched the pencil sharpener first, or the student who actually inserted his pencil into the pencil sharpener first. After this fight had occurred several times with varying levels of severity, I decided that it was, once again, amendment time:

“If person A realizes that their pencil needs sharpening, but they find that
person B is already en route to the pencil sharpener, person A will wait to
approach the pencil sharpener until person B is seated. When person B is seated
person A may approach the pencil sharpener, so long as they do not strike,
shake, or throw the pencil sharpener, or interrupt Mr. Steigner's whole class
instruction.”

As I am writing this, I am on my fifth electric pencil sharpener. I have spent somewhere in the range of $150 on them in the course of this year on electric pencil sharpeners alone. I should probably just get a good manual sharpener, but it sucks to downgrade, and there is something inside me that wants to see utopia bloom from this humble corner of my class. The fiery-eyed children wield their sharp pencils, writing insightful expository essays about our text du jour. I know it can work...just a couple more rules. In fact there are a couple more rules concerning pencil sharpeners that go beyond the aforementioned amendments. I can say, with near certainty, that, though there are only 10 weeks and 4 days left in the school year, there will be yet more rules as we move towards a world where every child has a sharp pencil and every pencil sharpener has dignity and appropriate use. Until then, it's just a dream.

I must admit, I am a bit doubtful that I will ever see a day that the electric pencil sharpener does not pose a problem. In fact, I'm pretty certain that the next edition will be an old-fashioned crank-set that is drilled to my wall. But this ongoing saga has given me some insight into how rules shape the state of a relationship (especially a hierarchical relationship that involves an authority and a subject) and how, in turn, the state of a relationship effects those rules. Up until this point in my life, I have been more on the consumer end of rules. Now (in the world of my classroom) I am a producer. Not only do I make rules, but I must enforce them.

This is hard. I have always been annoyed by litigious pencil-necks and nosy whistle-blowers. My mentality has always been that rules should help ensure an outcome, not be the focus of our every action. I think this is what annoys people about a “suck-up” or a “teachers-pet.” They are, by-and-large people whose merit is based on not breaking the rules. In other words, there accomplishment is not what they do, but merely what they don't do.

As we looked into the first part of Exodus 19 last week in Gardner's sermon, it seems clear that God seems that God feels exactly this way about laws. God's exacting moral laws get so exhaustive and specific throughout the rest of the book. But God is continually reminding his children of the bigger command, the bigger purpose, and the bigger promise. As a teacher infinitely better than I am, God is able to continually infuse his laws with meaning and purpose. He always connects them to our fullest life and our greatest joy. Amazingly enough, we still sometimes only see a dry list of permissions and prohibitions. Still sometimes, we sinfully keep the law, hoping that we can be a cosmic suck-up who earns special privileges. In the first part of Exodus 19 we see the preamble of what is going to be a very long and exhaustive constitution.

My experience, and Jesus' later revelation seem to indicate that God would have been happy to stop at the first commandment. Unfortunately, the human condition warrants a clearer picture of what union with God and bearing the image of God looks like. This is why this book of “boring laws” was worth the tedious lives of centuries of scribes that has now been passed down in the book of law that we now study. I sometimes wish for some of the abilities that Divinity would afford (i.e. knowing people's thoughts, turning water to wine, etc.). But I would never wish upon myself the task of having to come up with an external description for what it looks like when someone has experienced the profound inward reality of a love by God and a love for God. But God graciously and painstakingly does just that.

I have labored tediously to come to a working set of rules that describe what a life of flourishing in my classroom looks like. But in this, I have failed to see myself in the students who either obey the rules in an empty way, or manage to find a way do disobey the rules without actually breaking them. We do this all the time. We skip this precious preamble and jump straight into the letter of the law...because we are sinful. At the core we are God's treasured possession. We have the mission of being his kingdom of priests. The law is a description of people flourishing as treasured priests in a trashed world. It is not a prerequesite of God's favor. Wouldn't it be amazing if during this look at “the law” if we caught a vision how to obey it lawfully? I'm sure Satan trembles at the thought...

The Matrix, The Pentateuch, and Twenty-First Century Gnosticism

It is important that I tell you up front that I am going to reference a movie that for three short months in 1999 was actually discussed more than the Bible in some evangelical circles and was still discussed even several years later. I am in fact, talking about the film, The Matrix. Because of how rampantly it was discussed, trying to mine any significant and original spiritual parallel from this movie is like a mosquito sucking on a mummy. In the words of Jack Handey, “Forget it, little friend.” However, I still can't help myself. It fits too well with Gardner's sermon.

If you were perhaps, in a Benedictine monastery, or a Homeschooling farm co-op during this movie's hay-day, let me recap what the movie was about: A middle aged corporate tech geek finds out that the world as he knows it is in fact a computer program that was created by a group of artificially intelligent robots who became self aware and routed the vast majority of humanity into sustained pods in which they were cranked with artificial stimuli and nourishment as the computers simulated a life in their brain that was, in fact, a computer program called (wait for it) the Matrix. The aforementioned computer geek (Thomas Anderson, or Neo, depending on which of the said worlds you happen to be in) is contacted by a renegade group of enlightened human rebels who bring him from the illusory Matrix, into the more dismal “real world” to tell him that he is, they believe, the one who will rescue humanity from the Matrix and restore the world as it is meant to be. To adapt the Reading Rainbow tag-line: if you want to find out how the story ends, check it out for yourself.

In the later half of Exodus 17, the children of Israel simmilarly come face to face with the dual reality of their tangible struggles in the wilderness, and the ultimate, but more ethereal spiritual battle that they find themselves in the midst of. While Moses is on a mountain interceding for the people, Joshua is in the valley struggling against the Amalekites, who have been sweeping in on camel-back and killing and pillaging the weaker children of Israel who are tagging along at the end of the line. It is here that we see a glimpse of the underpinning reality that the struggles that are occurring in the “Matrix” of their day to-day reality are, in fact linked to the more spiritual reality of their dependence upon God.

The children of Israel are, like Neo, placed in a situation where they have to acknowledge the link between the spiritual/internal struggles and the physical battle. Here is a clip from the Matrix that illustrates the reality that God is confronting the Israelites with. For, Neo, this is the point in which he has to decide whether to merely acknowledge the external world or move into the realm where he is, in fact looking beyond the true struggle that is happening around him. He is being spoken to by Morpheus, who is the head-honcho of those raging against the machines.

WARNING: this clip is spooky, and, at points, gross. If this is a problem, don't watch it. Viewer discretion is advised.

As Moses stands on the mountain and offers intercessory prayers for the children of Israel, lifting up the staff that has up to this point signified the power of God which leads them into the promised land, they are forced to reckon with the world as it really is. Unlike the Matrix this world is not merely and illusion, but is rather governed in a way that is personal and powerful by a God who is totally distinct and independent of it.

There is a tendency to presume that our spiritual lives have little to do with our day-to-day experience. We believe that God is able to take care of internal issues such as emotions, or our sense of fulfillment (or the lack thereof), or how we think about our past. While all of this is in the sphere of God's domain, the Bible seems to affirm that God's power over us and help for us, is also very much about the real, physical world (the one that we experience with our senses). God has as much to do with our next meal as he does with our search for meaning. He has as much to do with our feelings as our financial life. While this “internal” and “external” distinction is one that is helpful us in thinking about our world, God doesn't seem to really distinguish between the two. He is both the God who “teaches truth in the inmost parts” (Psalm 51), and the one who created, governs and redeems the same world that we live in.

Our tendency is to either be totally concerned with the issues concerning this world or totally concerned with issues that are “beyond” this world. Our concern is to be both. Are we to be concerned with those who do not have a Bible translated in their language or with those who don't have clean water in their village? Are we to focus on our performance at work or our membership in the church? Should we love our neighbors as ourselves or love God with all our heart mind soul and strength? The answer to all of these questions is yes. Both. All of the above.

Perhaps we shouldn't pray merely for God to change our attitude towards a person who we are in conflict with, but to also change the circumstances that are causing the conflict. Perhaps we shouldn't merely advise our straying loved ones to start going to church again (where they can be "filled up"), but we should look for ways to physically demonstrate Christ's love.

Who is the hero in the battle against the Amalekites (besides God, of course)? Is it Joshua, or is it Moses? It is, once again, both. God calls us not only to the costly obedience of battling the evil, injustice, and need that is around us, but also the priestly intercession that begs him to act on our behalf. It seems that most of us are living with only one half of this story. It will make sense, only when we incorporate both. We are saints and pilgrims. Life is “doing” and “being.” We are “heavenly-minded” people and we are called to do “earthly good.” Perhaps it is time to allow Jesus to re-introduce our inner and outer world.

Rich God, Poor God

Here is a link to Gardner's sermon from last Sunday. I have a couple thoughts about it. There are probably a lot of typos. deal with it.

I normally don't read books about money, but a friend told me that the book entitled Rich Dad, Poor Dad gave some interesting insight on the differing views on money in respect to social class, so I have been listening to it on my i-pod on the way to work. The gentleman who wrote the book invented the Velcro wallet, has thrived as a real-estate mogul, and is retired at the in his forties. The book is a series of principles on essentially how to be rich that are all given in the context of contrasting the views of his two fathers: a socialist college professor, and a streetwise entrepreneur. The former, “poor dad”, although very educated, receives all of his wealth from his profession. The latter, “rich dad” (actually his best friend's dad) believes that wealth is grounded in having your money work for you. For rich dad, this means, accruing assets. At the beginning of the book, the young narrator and his friend approach rich dad and ask him to teach them how to be rich. He then proceeds to teach them in a Mr. Miyagi-esque, experiential, lets-make-you-do-all-the-wrong-things-until-you-get-it-right. Rich dad ultimately teaches the young men that how he is wealthy is grounded in the way that rich people treat money (as opposed to how poor and middle class people treat money.

Essentially, Rich Dad explains that the money of the poor and middle class goes directly into the paying of their basic living expenses, and their liabilities (depreciating assets such as a car, new furniture, etc.). Conversely, the wealthy have found a way to receive their income from their assets, and to generate more income producing assets in a growing “snow-ball” effect. So essentially, rich people are rich, because they are fine with living below their means and devoting the surplus money into accruing assets. Poor people are poor because they live at or beyond their means (and are, hence, dependent on the assets of the rich).

I know that this is a pretty basic premise, but what is interesting about it to me is not the what it says about economics, but what it says about both the human condition and the condition of the world that we find ourselves in: The desire to consume is one that implodes on itself, while the disposition of contentment almost invariably results in flourishing. There is something counter-intuitive about the way God has linked humanity to the rest of creation. Mere consumption is a loss for both man in particular and creation as a whole. It is a loss for man because it creates insatiable appetites. It is a loss for creation as a whole because it produces a demand that even she cannot supply. It is only through contentment that man is fulfilled and creation is preserved.

Interestingly enough, Gardner's sermon this past week chronicled how Israel's time in the dessert was teaching them how to flourish in the promised land. In a way that is more profound than the aforementioned “Rich Dad,” God also was trying to move Israel past the poverty of consumption into the riches of contentment. In Exodus 16, we see Israel once again in the consumption/contentment dilemma. As Gardner aptly pointed out, in Israel's training there is one skill (obedience and dependence) but there are continually changing contexts. Once again the complaint of present discomfort, and the selective nostalgia of past comfort (oddly enough, when they were in slavery).

The complaints of Israel regarding their hunger are once again met with miraculous provision. But God's provision is linked to Sabbath. That is, it is linked to a time when they can rest, explicitly where they can look back at God's provision in the past and his promises in the future. The provision of manna is gracious, but it is not enough if it does not draw us to remembrance of past grace and the hope of future grace. Our need is not the focal point of God's provision. What ultimately steals the show is God's glory. In fact, the manna is mainly a reminder that “it is God who has brought you out of the land of Egypt.”

Once again, before we are to quick to judge these grumbling idiots wandering around in the desert we must look at ourselves: Does God's continual provision serve as a reminder of his past and future deliverance? Are we aware of the things that are provided every day, or merely blind to them?

I am reminded of the half-hearted “grace” that I say before a meal in a world in which so many starve. I am reminded of how my health is something that I never thank God for; yet somehow when I am sick, I feel as if I have been robbed of something that I am entitled to. The list goes on, but what are we to make of this contentment issue? In the book I mentioned earlier, Rich Dad teaches his two mentees that ultimately, the lack of wealth (as he defines it) enslaves you to other people. Your pattern of mere consumption puts you in the control of others. It is no differently for God's children. If we can move beyond the poverty thanklessly snatching provision from God's hand, we can move into the richness of seeking his face.

-fin-

Passages for further reflection:

• Contentment with little: 2 Corinthians 8:1-15
• Learning from Israel's Discontent: 1 Corinthians 10: 1-22
  
• God's purposes in our waiting for unmet needs and desires: Deuteronomy 8:1-10
• Learning Contentment: Philippians 4:10-20
  

1. What is the “fake nostalgia” that blinds you to God's provision? Are there “good 'ole days that are in your mind that are in fact slavery?

2. Is there a particular realm of God's provision that you realize you are blinded to?

3. When is it that you feel content? What is it that produces this? Is this an an example of “eating and drinking to the glory of God?”

Overcoming Obstructions to Wilderness Worship: Affirming God's Faithfulness

This past Sunday, Gardner resumed our look at Exodus. In Exodus15:22-27 and Exodus 17:1-7, we see a nation that has finally been delivered from slavery and oppression. The continuing refrain of Moses' prophetic demand to Pharoah: "Let my people go, so that they may worship me..." (see Exodus 8:1, 8, 20, 21; 9: 1, 13; 10:3, 7, etc.). Two things are abundantly clear in the preceeding chapters of Exodus:

1. Israel's slavery is unjust, oppressive, and pretty much miserable.



2. God is delivering and leading the people from Egypt "so that they may worship."
   

What Gardner pointed out to us on Sunday, was that these two realities were ignored and obscured by the complaints of the children of Israel. When we pick up the children of Israel in Exodus 15: 22-27, it is important to remember what has just happened. They have seen God part the Red Sea so that they can pass through on dry ground, they have seen their enemies and former oppressors defeated, and they have just erupted into a million people partying in the desert to celebrate God's goodness in a way that probably would make the burning man festival look like a lame office Christmas party.

It is right after they wake up and move on from this celebration that they are found complaining that God has led them to a spring of bitter, unpotable water. God miraculously turns the cesspool into crysal-clear, "sweet", delicious, refreshing Aquafina. We then pick up on Exodus 17: 1-7 and the children of Israel once again demonstrate their remarkable short-term memory lapse regarging God's goodness as soon as they run out of water again.

When I read the Bible, I am left with two impressions. The first impression is that the God being discussed is a deliverer who is both powerful and loving in a way that I cannot begin to fathom. The second impression is that the people who are following him are...stupid. I definately mean all due respect to the "great cloud of witnesses" that is observing us as we speak--but, COME ON! My reaction to the children of Israel is simmalar to the sacreligious (but accurate) reaction that Haulden Caulfield, the main character in J.D. Salinger's Catcher in the Rye:

I like Jesus and all, but I don't care too much for most of the other stuff in
the Bible. Take the Disciples, for instance. They annoyed the hell out of me, if
you want to know the truth. They were all right after Jesus was dead and
all, but while He was alive, they were about as much use to Him as a hole in the
head. All they did was keep letting Him down. I like almost anybody in the Bible
better than the Disciples. If you want to know the truth, the guy I like best in
the Bible, next to Jesus, was that lunatic and all, that lived in the tombs and
kept cutting himself with stones. I like him ten times as much as the Disciples...

I know that this might be a little blunt and profane. But if seeing the clueless doubting Thomas, or the carnal Corinthians, or the complaining children of Israel doesn't produce a simmilar response in you, then you are reading the Bible all wrong. In fact, as Gardner pointed out, Paul reminds the Corinthians that "these things took place as examples for us, that we might not desire evil as they did..."

As has been pointed out to us better than I can do here, the picture that should pop into our minds when we read about these memory-lapsed suckers is a picture of ourselves. It is a reminder that the urgency of our trials is not an excuse to neglect the importance of remembering and hoping in God's faithfulness.

This is a bit of a spiritual sucker-punch to me, as I have spent a great deal of time complaining in the past week. About difficulties at work. About different ways in which my efforts seem to fall short. About the time I can't seem to find. Most recently, about the cold that I ironically caught from my roomate because we both like to gulp orange juice straight from the carton (a juice which otherwise actually prevents colds). What has failed to enter my mind during all this complaining is that my complaining, like Israel's, stands in the way of worshipping God in the wilderness. I guess I can add my name to a long list of saints with short-term memory issues.

-fin-

Some questions (please post a comment and tell us which question you are answering):


1) What, in particular, about Israel's situation caused them to forget God's deliverance and neglect their worship to him? What are the simmilarities and differences between this and your own situation?

2) What are your favorite things to complain about? How does this undermine God's faithfulmess?

3) I find, personally, that some of my most stimulating conversations involve complaining to or with someone. How can we be empathetic, yet point people to the hope of their deliverance?

4) What is the difference between pleading our case to God (see Psalms 13) and the complaining about God?

5) This is a video of Joel Osteen, who has like a gazillion people in his church (the sanctuary was formerly the arena that the Houston Rockets play in). He certainly has a message of hope to people in the midst of "wilderness wanderings". Is there anything missing? If so, what?

Whatever bad we have to say about this guy, I think we can all agree that he has great teeth.

I love that new blog smell...

For those of you who have stumbled upon this blog...it is primarilly a means of a for those who attend a Tuesday night Bible study at our church to stay up with what is going on and to begin the discussion that we will later continue on Tuesday night, 7pm, right at this location. All are welcome to join our discussion online or in person.

We are discussing a sermon that we have all heard. You can find it here, if you are interested.