Problems with Militant Atheism

While I've been sick this past week, I've watched a lot of movies. One of them was Ben Stein's "Expelled," a documentary that looks at the scientific establishment's militant push to silence those in their field who believe the universe could have been designed by an intelligent force.

Between films, I read C.S. Lewis' book on miracles, aptly called "Miracles," a sprawling philosophical work that defends the Christian belief in God's ability and desire to interfere in nature's course. His ultimate goal is to prove the possibility of what he calls "The Grand Miracle," the Resurrection.

Though created some 50 years apart by authors with different objectives, both works get at the heart of the fallacy espoused by those who think the notion of a supreme being is utterly unreasonable.

Whether a naturalist (Lewis' foe) or an ardent evolutionist (Stein's target), the objections raised by religion's opponents always presuppose something about the universe and what's possible within its bounds.

I probably only understood about half of what Lewis was saying, but I did get this part, which he said infinitely more eloquently than I'll put it here: Miracles don't break the laws of nature. They validate them. The very fact that nature is expected to take a certain course is what makes unexplainable events exceptional. Miracles are exceptional by nature. They operate outside the observed patterns.

Lewis' point is that naturalists presuppose that Nature - that which we see and perceive with our senses - is all there is, or "the whole show," as he calls it in his oh-so-British prose. But this outlook is needlessly closed-minded, because we observe supernatural events each time an idea pops into our heads. Our thoughts, because they are controlled by a conscious force beyond mere molecular reactions in the brain, are miraculous. They are not part of "the whole show," Lewis argues.

Unlike Lewis, Ben Stein didn't have to make his own convincing argument. He just asked evolutionists simple questions, and the most brilliant minds in their camp started spinning in intellectual circles.

Darwin's theory of evolution speaks of how species changed into other species over millions of years of genetic mutation. When a mutation helped the organism survive, it lived longer and was able to propagate that advantageous trait to more offspring. Over time, these mutations multiplied and complex organisms are thought to have evolved from single cells.

Stein's movie proved that you don't even have to begin to dismantle the theory's problems to get under evolutionists' skin. You just have to talk about the uncertainty that evolution - even if true - leaves about the nature of the universe and its beginnings.

Stein posed the question: How did life originate? It was almost unbelievable to watch these "intellectual giants" squirm to find the answer. Even more remarkable were the lengths they reached to in order to keep from admitting even the possibility of an intelligent designer.

One guy who called religious people stupid earlier in the dialogue thought that life originated when natural forces blended together to create crystals. That was his explanation: Crystals, which are inorganic, created organic matter. And just when I thought they couldn't get more audacious, in stepped one of today's most celebrated - and militant - atheist thinkers, Richard Dawkins, author of "The God Delusion."

Stein gave him the chance to bestow his omniscience on the masses by telling us where life came from.

His answer? It's possible that higher life forms could have seeded life on earth. In other words, aliens could've put us here. And get this: the aliens could've been created by an intelligent force.

Seriously? This is a man who demands empirical proof from religion and calls believers in God ignorant? Why does he have to create three degrees of separation to admit the possibility that intelligence could have created the universe?

His presupposition is that God, by any name, is not possible. Better aliens than a personal being who demands something of him.

A Token of Protection

Smaller than a penny and lighter than a dime, the piece of metal Liz handed me wasn't very substantial. In her mind and heart, though, this token carried the weight of God's protection.

I had stepped into Liz's domain, a Spectrum store in Columbus, to grab some caffeine before hitting the road back to Atlanta at 2 a.m. She milled behind the counter and we began to talk when she asked me what I was looking for and whether she could help me.

I plunked a Starbucks double shot on the counter, and she knew I was in for a long journey. That's when she forked over the oval-shaped coin that featured the likeness of the Virgin Mary. It would protect me on the trip if I'd keep it close at hand, she said. These days, you never know what awaits you on the open road.

I immediately saw this as an opportunity, not to prove her wrong or to make myself feel better, but to speak some truth into a lady that was obviously filled with faith, albeit probably not in the right things.

"Thanks," I said, taking the silver-colored piece. "I really appreciate this. But I believe in Jesus, and I believe that God will protect me, whether I have this or not."

She replied with something about honoring Mary and something else along the lines of "a little extra protection couldn't hurt."

Though cloaked in Christian imagery, I recognized this as basically the same idea that I'd seen Buddhists cling to in southern China. If we just hold onto these images, then evil spirits, forces and influences will have no access to our lives.

"The problem is that by saying you need something extra, aren't you saying that God's power is not enough?" I said this as tactfully as possible.

I don't say the following to act as though I was winning an argument, because it was more of a cordial discussion than a dispute, but at this point she began to stumble over her words, talking about how trusting in this token is like having your mom's protection in addition to your dad's. Her gist was that Mary gives an added bonus to the protection God has, that when he sees this token, he sees your faith.

Apparently my comment about God's sufficiency didn't stick, but I saw one more opportunity to speak truth:

"It's not that I believe that we shouldn't honor Mary. God chose her to bear Jesus and said she was highly favored among women. But when she and Jesus' brothers went to see him, what did he say? He said, 'those who do the will of my father are my mother and my brothers.' She, then, though worthy of our admiration, is not any higher than any other believers."

She wouldn't be reasoned with, but the two-minute conversation never got heated. Katy was waiting in the car, so I took the token and hurried out. It was in my wallet, but I believe God was the one who ushered us safely back to Atlanta.

Preparation: The First 30 Years

I'm six years away from 30. I feel like I've lived a pretty interesting and full life. It certainly hasn't lacked drama and action, but I still believe I have a lot left to do. There's much I have missed in my first 24 years, a lot I should've done better, tons more projects and deeds left undone completely.

It's not that I lack ambition or drive. I can't remember a big goal that I set in earnest but haven't achieved. I'm married and well on my way toward a happy family. College was a breeze; sports always came pretty easily. I'm a published writer with a pretty stable, exciting and largely stress-free job. Things are good.

Still, there's something nagging me. There's a sense that follows me - poking me like a cattle prod, yanking me like the bit in the horse's mouth - that where I am at present is not my final destination. Things are good, but they could be better. Things are good, but are they just what God had planned when he crafted my gifts, talents and personality?

To that last question, I think the answer is no. Some people call it a calling, when you've found the thing you know you were made to do, that occupation that puts you where the world's needs and your abilities intersect at the highest levels. I'm wondering whether this calling is something you hear, or just something you discover along the way.

For people like Moses and some other fathers of the faith, the calling was quite literal. God spoke and said the Egyptian-raised Israelite would have his destiny wrapped up in his ancestral people. Abraham, the father of that nation, was called to leave his homeland and settle in a foreign place. In the New Testament, Paul was called through a blinding vision to become the apostle to the Gentiles, a mission that would consume the rest of his life.

Others seem to just have fallen into their fates. Joseph was sold into slavery and ascended from the prison to the Egyptian throne, preserving the fathers of the 12 tribes of Israel during a great famine. Jonah could run from Nineveh, but he couldn't hide from God's plan. Rahab the prostitute was simply at the right place at the right time. She deceived the authorities of Jericho and her family was spared.

The common denominator in these stories is that each of the characters fulfilled the purpose that God had laid out for them, whether it felt like they were willingly following an external call or being pulled by an unseen magnetic field to what God demanded from their lives. In one sense, this is encouraging. If God's got things under control, if he's working the puppet strings I'm dangling from, then I'll probably end up where he wants me to be.

But I don't want to get there floating on a current. I want to be deliberate. I want to have full map, a compass, and maybe even a GPS.

The problem is that God's blueprint for life sometimes seems kind of like a road trip I took a few years ago. My friend Evan and I are trying to visit all the Major League Baseball stadiums, and we were planning to knock out three more. We were trying to get to a Mets game in New York City. Shea Stadium, where the Mets play, is in Queens.

As I was driving on the freeway, New York's endless horizon of buildings came into view. Evan had always been the navigator, and we'd always relied on a certain trusty atlas to guide us to stadiums. Only this time, Evan forgot the atlas. He'd printed directions online instead.

"So where to, Ev?" I asked, assuming he knew the way to Shea.

"Umm, I only got directions to New York City," he said. By this time we were in the middle of the city, a sea of people passing on the sidewalks, cars honking, swerving, almost nailing us from every angle. We had no clue where we were.

"To New York City? Are you serious?!" We just had to laugh. We called a friend who used an online mapping program to get us to Queens in time for the eighth inning.

God's map for us is like the folded sheet of paper Evan printed from Mapquest: limited in scope. He only tells us one destination - one phase of life - at a time, and like colorful little gamepieces moving toward the winner's circle, our next move doesn't become clear until His current objective or lesson is accomplished.

The hard part about this is that we're always being prepared for something, but we don't know what crisis we're gearing up for until it hits.

To me, it's a little scary to think that much of my day to day journey is preparation for something grander. If I have this much time to spend on preparation, what great task must I be called to? And what if I screw it up? What if I'm not preparing like I should be? What if I'm eating Twinkies and watching TV when I should be following Rocky Balboa on jogs through the Siberian wilderness and doing sit-ups on 24/7?

We know that Jesus lived on earth for about 33 years. Scholars generally agree that he began his ministry at about 30 years old. That means 10/11 of Jesus' life was spent preparing for his destiny, not living it like we see in the pages of scripture. At 12 years old, he was in the synagogue sparring intellectually with the religious leaders, but it's unclear as to what he did with the rest of his time as a child and young adult.

For some reason, it makes me feel good to know that Jesus (as far as we know) wasn't casting out demons before he could speak. God in the flesh had to pay his dues, had to be tempted in every way, do chores, share with younger siblings, buy groceries and work on carpentry projects with Joseph to help build the family business.

As God, Jesus knew his fate. As man, he marched toward it slowly.

I'm six years away from 30. I don't know my fate, but may I be content to move to the next destination and enjoy the preparation the same way our Savior cherished his first 30 years.

Photo: Shea Stadium, behind home plate. Copyright Trevor Williams, 2007

The Interpreter

Ever since Babel's tower, learning languages has been the main hurdle in cross-cultural communication.

At that time, man's pride was so audacious that he felt he could do anything, even build a stairway to God's dwelling place. It's interesting that God recognized man's nearly limitless potential, and to hear the Bible tell it, he had to twist their tongues to keep them from reaching it.

Generations in the future, even with all our advances in computers and technology, our inability to talk to each other still limits our capacity to work together across borders.

In college, I thought I'd take a step toward fixing that by learning Chinese. I had been on missions trips to China and felt I'd have a better chance at communicating with sensitivity on future journeys if I used the people's heart language. Not to mention that it would help me travel, and it wouldn't hurt my job prospects if I could speak a language that almost a sixth of the world's population uses every day.

It's been hard. Chinese is a tonal language, and a word like ma can have 5 different meanings depending on the inflection of the voice. Chinese is also monosyllabic, meaning one word is usually one syllable, represented by one character. But today's Mandarin Chinese employs a lot of compound words like feiji, the word for airplane. "Fei" means to fly, and "ji" means machine, forming the literal and quite logical "flying machine."

Even with my struggles, I've had one strength in Chinese that a lot of foreigners don't have (and I'm only saying this because people have told me so): I can keep myself from imposing a standard of what the language should and shouldn't do based on my English-tinged mind.

The point of learning a foreign language is that it's foreign, something outside the realm of what your mind has processed before. This is both the maddening and the beautiful part of tackling the task of conversing in a different tongue. Getting there can be tough, but even in little victories you feel like you've opened up another identity, taken up a new self and joined an exclusive club.

Following God is like that, too. He's so holy, set apart, so other, that everything about his character is incomprehensible to us, infinitely more difficult to understand than Greek or Chinese to the English speaker.

I think it's pretty obvious that spiritually, weakness, sin and selfishness are our vernacular, and it's going to take some hefty studying in life to get to the point where our conversations are seasoned with salt and productive for his kingdom.

I like to say I'm "studying Chinese," probably because it makes me sound impressive and exotic (to people who don't already know better). Truth is, I rarely pick up my many Chinese books, and I've failed to get a language partner who can help smooth my conversational skills.

The same goes for learning God's language. The vocabulary of forgiveness, grace and peace pop up in my head too infrequently. The textbook is often too heavy on unfamiliar themes. I rarely speak to God on his terms or listen when he pronounces how I should order my steps. A language is a way of life, and I disregard with my actions that which I desperately desire to master in my head.

Good thing God sent an Interpreter who makes plain the complex realities of who God is. His Word is my spiritual dictionary.

Potty Training

My three-year-old niece is potty training. She did something really hilarious the last time we saw her. This is only funny because she is my niece, not my daughter.

She talks pretty well now, so she came and announced to us that she had to use the bathroom. Number 2, it was. So we all urged her to go sit on the potty and deal with the business that had arisen.

She didn't make it.

But she's a considerate lass. She walked into her bedroom and dug out the wet wipes, brought them back into the living room and handed them to her dad (my brother).

"Here's some wipes, daddy!"

We all burst into laughter. The consensus around the room was that if your daughter can hand deliver the means to cleaning up the mess, there's no reason it should have been created in the first place.

As amusing as that was, it's sobering to think that the same principle applies to me sometimes. God has given me guidelines. He's showed me the neatness of his commands, how his direction can save me from the soil of sin, apathy, passivity and laziness.

But many times, I don't make it. And my response is the same as my little niece.

"Daddy - Lord - Here are some wipes! Clean me up!"

God is a good father. If we come to him and ask to be cleaned, he washes us. But he probably shares a similar brand of amusement every time we fail. Shouldn't I be past the potty-training phase of Christianity?

18 Years Adrift

I became a Christian at age 6. Impossible, you say? Not at all. Children understand better than adults the dynamics of punishment and the need to be rescued from it. And like Jesus said, kids are more likely to latch onto faith. This is rare for grown-ups, whose minds and hearts have been subjected to the gradual erosion of calloused education.

At that tender age, I only knew a few things. I had done wrong. I had acted against my parents' will. I had lied, cheated, stolen, hated, physically harmed others, discriminated, made fun of people, overindulged, complained, neglected God and acted in a generally selfish manner since the womb. Conviction, the nagging sense that I was imperfect, did not need to be proven from scripture. Experience was enough.

This guilt provided the foundation for faith. My step-dad was a pastor, and every week I heard about the option to leave guilt behind by trusting in Jesus and the work that he did through his cross and resurrection. This grace, this unmerited acceptance, was life's get-out-of-jail-free card, and I knew - however childishly- that I needed to break free from the prison of my young heart's crimes.

That's what led me to ask God to save me and to guide my life, allowing the punishment Jesus' received to become my own. Email me if you're curious...

We need the faith of a child to enter the kingdom of God. Jesus said as much. But he didn't intend that we keep drinking spiritual formula and never move on to solid food. At 6, I was saved, but there was no way I was a finished work. Just ask my elementary school teachers.

As I grew, I began to put flesh on my scrawny skeleton of faith. I memorized the order of the books of the Bible backwards, a useless skill to be sure, but impressive to fellow church members. I started highlighting things in my teen study Bible and really listening to sermons. As my spiritual digestive tract began to churn, I devoured books and conversations and teaching throughout high school.

In college, I weathered the intellectual assaults of Buddhism class and the evolutionary mindset of anthropology. I led Bible studies and played worship music. I raised money and traveled across the world to build God's kingdom. I built a network of like-minded believers.

I'm now 24, a year and a half out of college, with both feet in the real world. My intellect and my intentions are full of the words of God and a desire to do his will. I've now been a Christian for 18 years.

Still, I mostly fail.

I'm packed with ideas, knowledge and ability, but I see little fruit. I'm spurred on by compassion for the needy, but I don't act on their behalf. I burn for those who don't know the freedom of Christ, but I rarely tell them.

In many ways, I'm still adrift, floating backwards from the place I began at 6 years old. Then, I was enamored with God. I loved him and felt his comfort. I really knew something not just with my head, but with my heart.

I've moved onto solid food, but I've forgotten to devour each day the meat of the Gospel, that Christ has saved us from our misdeeds and brought us into freedom - not just from this detached notion of sin - but from ourselves. We no longer are slaves to the patterns of the world. We don't have to live the lie of self-indulgence. Like our savior, sacrifice is our fulfillment. Obedience is our mission and joy.

I pray God will reinvigorate my faith with the love of a child. Only then will my spiritual muscle spring into action.

Ready for Heaven?

As I pulled into the bank today, the radio was playing a Kenny Chesney song. He sang in his usual lighthearted twang, staying true to the beachy feel that runs throughout many of his hits.

He was singing about heaven, how everyone wants to go, but only after they've soaked up all this world has to offer.

"Everybody wanna go to heaven, but nobody wanna go now," he crooned.

Sad, I thought, but true. When most of us consider the idea of heaven that has been ingrained in our church doctrine and circulated through pop culture, our hearts sink.

The vision goes something like this: We die, leaving behind all those we love. Wings sprout from our backs and halos appear above our heads as our disembodied spirits ascend to a cloud where we'll laze around for eternity, playing harps and singing 1990s worship music as our bearded, venerable God basks in the praise while seated idly on his golden throne.

Or as Chesney sees it:

"Someday I want to see those streets of gold in my halo
But I wouldn’t mind waiting at least a hundred years or so"

Why not wait? If what we've believed is true, we're not missing out on much. Is it better than eternal suffering and everlasting fire that cannot be quenched? Sure. But not by much.

Randy Alcorn offers us a different view of heaven in his book by the same name. He explains why the image we've concocted is so disheartening, why the prospect of this ethereal dwelling place can't inspire us.

"We do not desire to eat gravel. Why? Because God did not design us to eat gravel. Trying to develop an appetite for a disembodied, non-physical existence is like trying to develop an appetite for gravel. No matter how sincere we are, and no matter how hard we try, it's not going to work. Nor should it" (7).

Instead, we desire what our savior has promised, through his word and actions. We are physical beings designed for a physical place. We want to live in communion with the resurrected Christ in a new body, on a new earth, and surprisingly to many of us, "our desires correspond precisely with God's plans."

Through a nearly 500-page comprehensive study filled with theological evidence and experiential research, Alcorn reconstructs a view of heaven as he interprets it from scripture.

Here's how he addresses a few misconceptions:

-Heaven, in its final state, will be on a resurrected earth, not in some galaxy far away.

-We will not be disembodied spirits. Instead, we will be like the resurrected Christ in body. He ate and allowed his disciples to touch him, but strangely he was also able to walk through walls.

-We will be restored to the dominion we were promised before the Fall. We will not become pudgy cherubs but will have real, tangible rewards, real territories to look after, real dominion over a real realm.

There is more. Alcorn makes it clear that we should not presume to know everything about heaven, but we can know something. We can use our imaginations to interpret our day-to-day experiences in a way that gives us glimpses of eternity.

In other words, when sin marred the earth, it didn't take away all that God had pronounced good. The taste of fresh fruit, conversation with the ones you love, beautiful scenery - they all point us back to God's ideal, the perfection that we've lost through the decay of sin but which Jesus will restore when he comes again and institutes his kingdom on earth.

Part of the reason we have trouble seeing this is that we've made Christianity more about tenets than the experience of the Gospel, more about articles of faith than the trust and hope they're supposed to point us to.

Christianity is not just right in an intellectual sense, like bullet points you'd use in a throwdown argument with an atheist. Christianity jives with the way we all experience the world, and it explains things that we know inherently.

-We're screwed up, unable to do what we know is right.
-We long for community but are terrible at fostering it.
-We desire beauty, safety, love, adventure and peace, and we notice when those things are lacking.
-We've had thousands of years of history, and our basic inclination toward self has not changed.

Jesus fixes our sin for us. He gives us sacred communion through sacrificial love. He tells us that the beauty we desire is a foretaste of things to come. Through his death, he shows us how submission and obedience to God's will frees us from the bondage that comes with self-love.

In essence, all the things we long for at our core are restored when God's will is done earth as it is in heaven.

So don't lose heart. Eternity is adventure that's already begun to happen.

For more, check out the resources at Randy Alcorn's Eternal Perspectives Ministries.

Photo: Meditation in Xinjiang province, China. Copyright Trevor Williams, 2006.

Forbidden Fruit

I've solved the mystery. The forbidden fruit that caused the fall of man was not an apple. It was definitely a pomegranate.

The sinfully sweet and sour sphere is amazingly tart and delicious. I had my first one today. After Katy chopped in half and picked out a few seeds, she turned it over to me, warning me that my shirt would suffer its splatter of red wrath if I wasn't careful.

I wasn't. My shirt paid dearly. It's now tossing and turning in the washing machine, and I hope the detergent can destroy the splotchy evidence of my carelessness.

Despite the way it mercilessly marred my shirt, I couldn't stop eating the pomegranate. I kept going until I ruined an undershirt as well.

As I was digging out seeds with a paring knife, deep crimson juice running over my fingertips, I couldn't help but sympathize with Adam. How could he have resisted when Eve was holding this in her hands?

How ridiculous they must have looked when the Lord found them walking in the garden, mouths stained with red, fingertips looking as if they'd stabbed someone.

No wonder they hid. Pomegranates take commitment, and there is always collateral damage. There is no playing it off with a pomegranate. If they stayed in view, they'd be caught red-handed.

Break Fast

Sometimes when I watch people of other faiths live out their rituals and practices, I feel inadequate, like my faith is nullified by my lack of piety.

Case in point: A few weeks ago I went to an iftar celebration at the Istanbul Center, a cultural institution in Atlanta that a missionary here described to me as a sort of "soft power" way for Muslims from Turkey to introduce their views into the community.

The iftar is the breaking of the daily fast during the month of Ramadan. Ramadan is observed during the ninth month of the Islamic lunar calendar. During the entire month, Muslims abstain from food, drink and sex during daylight hours. When the sun goes down, everyone gets together and eats a meal to celebrate the passing of a God-filled day.

You see, the idea behind Ramadan is that by forgoing bodily necessities, the practitioner is able to wean himself from self-dependence and focus more on devotion toward God. The idea is basically the same as Christian fasting: giving things up makes us realize how much they detract from our worship of God. Not eating makes us focus on Jesus as our food, just like he said we should do.

In Islam, the Qur'an requires that worshippers pray five times per day toward the holy city of Mecca. During Ramadan, they are expected to observe this minimum prayer threshold and even up the ante a bit. All the extra time that could have been spent eating is often devoted to what Muslims sometimes call "remembrance"of God through prayer.

Sins, already considered intolerable on normal days, are especially frowned upon during Ramadan. The facilitator at the Istanbul center read us a verse (or ayat) from the Qur'an that basically showed how God does not consider your hunger or thirst worthwhile if you're showing no regard for his commands. I see this as an echo of Jesus' call to avoid becoming like the Pharisees, who always wanted to pad their pride by making it obvious when they were fasting. To fast for personal gain - just like sinning while fasting - is a negation of the promise that the ritual represents.

The outside observer might assume that the special Ramadan month and the Islamic faith in general imposes considerable obligations on the adherent. That observer would be right, but it's the same in Christianity, and I think both are beautiful in that they point to this basic tenet: Loving God requires obedience, which often requires submission.

But here is where I get the most troubled about this whole thing. As far as I understand Islam, under its system the believer can never really tell whether he or she is saved. You can say the shahada, that there is no God but God and that Muhammad is his messenger, but that proclamation is not a fail-safe formula for salvation. Works and faith are needed to escape the great wrath of God.

To complicate matters, Islam has no doctrine of Original Sin. Instead of being an ingrained condition as it is in Christianity, people are considered inherently good, but they sin when they fail to remember God, when the devil draws them from the right path with his crafty temptations.

So, in my outsider's view, the act of faith in Islam is never a cold-turkey turn from death to life or the regeneration of spirit through grace that Christians believe occurs when we trust Jesus to repair our broken relationship with God through his sacrifice. In Islam it seems that salvation is always a guessing game, and those dreaded scales that weigh our deeds must be appeased.

Which brings me to my point (putting aside the question of how "backslidden" one must be to lose his Christian salvation or validate that it was never real in the first place). If Muslims can love God enough to sacrifice him even as they (on some level) try to earn his approval, shouldn't Christians, who have supposedly already received an unconditional pardon through the sacrifice and resurrection of Christ, be able to give up a few things for God?

Jesus said that if we love him we'll keep his commands. I feel like I love him, but in my experience, the second part is of that statement is much more difficult act out. But maybe that's the beauty of how we Christians believe that God dreamed it up. My lack of piety doesn't nullify my faith. It shows why I needed in the first place, why I keep returning to it when the scales aren't tipping in my favor. And that trust is the key to salvation. As the Bible says, perfect love casts out fear.

I welcome any corrections in the comments on this site about my interpretations of Muslim belief. I want to get it right, and I've been careful here to say "as I understand" as much as possible.

Captions: A tour through this mosque in Amman, Jordan, gave me a new appreciation for Muslim architecture - and modesty. I wore shorts that day and was forced to wear robes like the women.

Left: Ever wondered how people determine the direction of Mecca from 30,000 feet in the air? This screen is your answer.

Balancing with the Book

Beijing-branded Bibles distributed in China will highlight the government's volatile stance on civil liberties.

China's human rights critics have had ample fodder for attacks in the run-up to the Olympics in Beijing. Concerns over the handling of riots in Tibet, arms deals with a genocidal regime in Sudan and arrests of key religious leaders in unregistered churches and groups all seem to indicate that China has not lived up to the human rights promises it made when awarded the bid to host the Games.

China's defenders, however, have a picture of their own to paint. The government's swift and effective response in aiding grieving citizens the aftermath of the devastating Sichuan earthquake, its designated areas for approved protests during the Games and handling of supposed terrorist threats in remote areas have all been lauded as signs that the country is moving in the right direction. All this, and the fact that China’s economic situation and the daily degree of personal freedoms have improved dramatically since the country opened its borders three decades ago.

The challenge for those examining these conflicting portrayals of the world's most populous country is to figure out whether one is a mirage distorting reality, or whether both have semblances of truth that fuse to form an entirely new image.

In light of a few recent developments and conversations, I can only support the latter idea. With a land as huge, dynamic and varied as China, nothing is set in stone, and the only thing it's safe to be dogmatic about is that dogma here is the height of arrogance and a sure precursor to a lesson in intellectual humility.

The question of the dissemination of the Bible and the treatment of underground Church leaders in China highlights this unpredictable environment. Last year, the Catholic News Agency reported that Bibles were on the government's list of banned items for Olympic athletes. That article, which was actually false, ignited a firestorm of criticism from Christian groups. Authorities quickly denounced the rumor, saying that athletes were allowed one Bible in the language of their country.

Now, in an apparent effort to allay concerns that China is not friendly toward religion, the government has made an extra step that at least looks like freedom. A recent China Daily article announced that thousands of Christian texts will be distributed freely to athletes and visitors to the Olympic Village. Some 10,000 bilingual Bibles, 30,000 New Testaments and 50,000 books featuring the four Gospels have been ordered, as if to scoff at those who warned of China’s intolerance.

This sounds encouraging, but as I kept surfing the Net, I came across an article that noted the crackdown on unregistered house church pastors and foreign missionaries over the past year. According to the article, which cited experts on the subject, the Chinese government expelled more foreign missionaries in 2007 than in the entire 59 prior years of communist rule combined. Voice of the Martyrs, an organization that tracks persecution of Christians around the world, is asking supporters to buy bracelets that remind them to pray for the mistreated Christians of China during the Games.

Only a nation as complex as China would leave us to reconcile the conundrum of a government that simultaneously persecutes a faith and disseminates its texts. The danger from a Western perspective is to chalk the Bible plan up to a ploy and completely ignore its potential for helping to spread the Gospel. And the government would be well-advised to realize that Christians can’t be duped into thinking that printing the Word erases trespasses against it. As a Chinese friend from Shanghai told me tonight, “In China, there are many sides, and you have to look at them all.”

Photo: Mao keeps watch over tourists at Tiananmen. Copyright Trevor Williams, 2006

Good Night, Jesus

I've never been much for ritual in my faith. I grew up in a country Baptist church where we called Communion the "Lord's Supper" and observed it quarterly, on special holidays or fifth Sundays, which didn't come around often. When they did, boy were they a treat: cardboard crackers and grape juice in morning service and an assortment of potluck dishes including Miss Evelyn's infamous tire-textured cubed steak in the Fellowship Hall after "Singspiration" (an all-singin' service) that night.

Those were good times, and that was a good church. I was taught the foundations of the Bible there. VBS, Bible drills, Sunday School and memory verses got me to the point where I could recite the books of the Bible backwards, a useless skill that I retain to this day. But outside of the rare observance of the sacred meal and the occasional convert getting dunked in the baptismal pool, rite was nowhere to be found.

I remember going a few times to my friend's Lutheran church. It felt stuffy. Robed acolytes carried a flame down the aisle and lit the fuse for a less-than-dynamite performance by men in funny outfits who droned on with collective chants and readings I couldn't really understand. Maybe I was projecting my state of mind, but the people seemed to drool with boredom. In my view, there was no pep, and I couldn't wait to wake up from the liturgical nightmare I'd fallen into. Rituals made no sense. They were mindless gestures by sad people steeped in lame traditions. And grape juice tasted much better than wine.

It's possible that I was right about the collective attitude of that church, but I was definitely off about the idea that structured, metered worship is useless and irredeemable. Because I hadn't seen it modeled in a constructive way, I assumed rite was wrong. In the past few years, worshiping in different churches and cultures, I've adjusted that view. I maintain that recitations and protocols without the flair of heartfelt spontaneity can lead to spiritual malaise. But now I realize ritual's potential to regularly revive hearts that are constantly being pulled down by the weight of our sin nature and the cares of the world. Predictable actions as symbols, the sacraments, give us an anchor with the saints of old and help us to - like Paul said - proclaim the Lord's death until he comes.

On the first night of our recent trip to Savannah, Katy and I wandered the rain-slicked streets looking for something to do. It was a Sunday night, so the old city's restaurants were closing down even earlier than usual. Driving through one of the town's scenic squares, we noticed an old church with a new banner inviting everyone to "Come say good night to God." Sounded pretty awesome to me, even though I had never heard of a "compline," which I later found out is a night prayer that draws on 1,500 years of monastic tradition.

We returned to Christ Church Savannah that night for the event, which the sign promised would involve some sort of Gregorian chant. This Anglican church, established in 1733, is as old as the city and the Georgia colony. That became evident as choir members entered the sanctuary, breaking the subdued silence with steps that creaked the floorboards. Four candles stood at the front of the sanctuary, casting a soft glow on the stained-glass Jesus, who stood with arms outstretched as if to bless the gathered worshippers.

The robed singers disappeared into the balcony and proceeded to bathe the sanctuary in their chanting voices, singing in unison, not harmony, presumably to help focus participants on words and not the music. It worked, and voices that would have grated on my Baptist nerves in the past gave rise to a flow of meditation. Capped off with the Apostle's Creed, a poignant Father's Day sermon and a classical guitar number accompanied by an unseen booming voice from the balcony, I can't think of any better way to say, Good night, Jesus.

For another out-of-the-box worship experience, read about my first Mass, spent with reclusive Irish Travelers in Edgefield, S.C. here.

Maintenance

Keeping house is a tough job, even with just two adults in the home. My wife is an excellent housekeeper, and I have to say that I contribute a decent amount myself. But in the past few weeks, my wife and I have tried to up the ante by progressively maintaining the elevated level of cleanliness often only achieved when visitors are coming.

We've done a pretty good job. Our laundry is sorted, dishes caught up and living room as cozy and put-together as ever. But taking the small steps of maintenance has been more difficult than I expected. It has required us often to forsake a momentary desire - for television, the Internet, reading - for the benefit of our goal. It's surprising how little the virtue of self-sacrifice is practiced in American life, even when the brunt of what we call "work" is taken on by machines.

But aside from the denying ourselves, there's another parallel to the Christian life in our quest for a clean home. Without the small sacrifices, the larger picture can't take shape. If we don't act on today's task or the next day's, our tomorrow will be a mess, and we'll spend it in a cleaning spree rather than doing something we desire.

I think my Christian life suffers from a lack of maintenance. Rather than a tidy, disciplined heart picked up as I go, I'm often between the clutter and filth of inconsistency and the sparkle of full-on devotion. More maintenance in my daily life is in order. God knows my heart is not.

Andy's Journey

My most recent trip to Panama was spent in business mode. Traveling with a trade delegation from Kansas City, I visited the Panama Canal, ports on both sides of the isthmus, logistics outfits, diplomats and U.S. companies. It was interesting to see what makes Panama tick on a commercial level, but it wasn't my idea of an ideal trip.

Before I joined the workforce in July of last year, my international trips were focused almost exclusively on building God's kingdom through missions. Crazy adventures marked with whimsical itineraries were part of the territory, especially on journeys to China. In 2006, I visited Panama with a different agenda, though the elements of danger and stupidity were still present.

Our mission was much simpler than in China. Instead of bringing souls into saving faith, our goal was to save ourselves from all that can go wrong on a tropical island known for its role as a former penal colony and covered with virgin triple-canopy jungle. Not a mission trip per se, but during the expedition I learned a lot about preparation and how it pertains to my faith. It also deepened my hunger for international travel, a desire I feel is God-birthed.

This year, I thought I'd leave Panama without any kind of spiritual experience. I did visit a cathedral, but it was cold and empty. I did pray a few times, but up until the last night, work had sucked much of the life and energy out of the journey.

But a window of free time opened up, and I spent it with a friend who coincidentally had flown in from the U.S. to speak at a men's retreat. He had recently lived in Panama City for six months and had just moved back home to the States. The day I found out I was going to Panama was the day he moved back. I was sad, but then I found out that the retreat would bring him back at the same time as my trip.

When his plane touched down, he invited me to hang out, but only if I was "up for a little praying." Bone-dry spiritually, I took him up on the offer and hopped a cab to a small church.

We gathered around a table, three white guys and five Hispanics, all men save the one woman who had come with her husband. They started in Spanish. By the fourth prayer, I was understanding about a third of what was going on. I was last, and I thanked God (in English, of course) for the privilege of being around people that wanted so desperately to see his kingdom come. I also asked for him to give my friend strength as he spoke to the more than 100 men registered for the retreat.

Afterward, on the way to a restaurant, my friend and I rode with Andy, one of the men administering the retreat. In what was an affirmation for me that the bond of Christian brotherhood is vastly different and stronger than any other fraternity, he shared his testimony with utter transparency.

Andy's father had lived a double-life for more than 20 years, visiting another each week while his wife and kids thought he was teaching night classes at the college where he was a professor. When Andy's family caught wind of the rumor, they followed their dad and found him coming out of the woman's apartment.

A sick feeling still rips at Andy's gut every time that image comes to mind. His mother's pain was similar. Confronted, begged for her to let him stay, claiming that he didn't love the other woman. Andy's mother consented, but the wounds persisted. Heartbroken, they decided to get him help for what was nothing less than an addiction. They tried everything in the realm of superstition. When nothing worked, they gave a Christian pastor a chance.

That was the turning point. Andy's mother accepted Christ and forgave her husband. He eventually followed suit. He mailed his mistress a Bible. In it, he highlighted the verses that God had used to deliver him from her grasp. That was his last contact with her.

All this time, Andy was still an unbeliever, working his way up the corporate ladder, showing little regard for spiritual things. He found a beautiful wife and earned plenty of money. But there was unease, and his father's legacy began to creep up on him. Around the time the whole family moved to Panama from Colombia, Andy began thinking that an affair of his own wouldn't be too bad of a deal. He traveled often for business, and a lot of the men he knew had engaged in similar flings.

Soon, his wife began, ironically, going to church with his parents. She drew him there, and he stubbornly came along. He became a believer before ever acting on his adulterous thoughts, and now his whole family knows and serves Jesus.

"We must remember," he told me, "when we are ministering to men, we are not ministering just to men. We are ministering to whole families. Tomorrow, we will be ministering to 100 families at our retreat."

Andy knows firsthand the devastating impact a man has when he shirks his fatherly and husbandly responsibilities. I do too, having come from a somewhat broken home.

I shared my testimony with Andy as he drove me back to the hotel. He told me that he is planning to quit his high-paying job to become a missionary to a West African country. His co-workers will think he's crazy, but he prays that it will be an opportunity for him to share the Gospel.

I realized that he had touched on the theme of both of our stories. As in our lives, God's plan often looks ridiculous. But with him, broken families and illogical career choices are chances for unworldly forgiveness, power and sacrifice to be made known. With a God who writes the rules, impossible circumstances become prime opportunities.

The Real Aga Khan?

I recently wrote an article about the Prince Karim Aga Khan IV, the supreme spiritual leader and imam of (some say) about 20 million Ismaili Muslims around the world. I hadn't heard of them before, but I found out that the Ismailis are a Shi'a sect mostly found in South Asia - India and Pakistan - and in pockets in more than 30 other countries around the world. The Aga Khan is revered as their 49th generational imam and is said to have descended directly from the Prophet Muhammad.

Although I'm not clear as to Shi'a beliefs in general or those of the Ismailis in particular, I know that the Shi'a/Sunni split originated in a dispute about the who should succeed Muhammad as spiritual leader of the Ummah, the Muslim community. Sunnis believe the Caliph, as they were first called, should be elected from the community, while Shi'as hold that he should be a relative of the Prophet stemming from the line Ali, the Prophet's cousin and son-in-law.

As the holder of such a pious office, the Aga Khan is an interesting character. He's not only called "Your Highness" and regaled with head of state status as he travels the world, but he also has a huge bank account stockpiled with billions of dollars gleaned from the offerings of his Ismaili followers. He's received countless awards for his philanthropy, and he founded and chairs the multi-million-dollar Aga Khan Development Network, a conglomeration of nine separate but overlapping agencies that focus on alleviating poverty throughout the developing world.



He recently came to Atlanta, and I was able to listen to him speak about education in an age of increasing globalization. I found him quite eloquent, and it was easy to see why many have labeled him a modern and progressive Muslim leader. He engages crowds with a light European accent. He gives off an air of humility, and he calls for peace and tolerance from his followers while encouraging them to engage with their communities for the good of humankind. He wears western suits and travels by private jet, a walking contrast to the extremist, militant Islam that many Americans mistake as the only interpretation of the 1,400-year-old faith.

The Aga Khan is a pretty popular guy. Nearly 1,000 people have viewed the article I wrote and more than 2,000 have watched the video on YouTube that we posted of his speech. Just so you know, those numbers are huge for our small, local publication.

But according to one reader all the way from Denver, Colorado, the Aga Khan is just a bit too popular, especially among Ismaili adherents. Although they are reticent to reveal this to the outside world, some actually call him God, said a man who made a cross-country call to tell me the "true story" behind the Aga Khan. While he refers to himself as the Ismailis' imam, the Aga Khan is an extortionist who demands the worship of his Ismaili followers and uses the amount they give as a gauge of their devotion. Believers must buy their way into certain congregations, and they sometimes ask the Aga Khan for the forgiveness of sins. The Aga Khan and his forefathers are carousers and cult leaders, according to the caller, who identified himself as Alex.

Alex claims to be an insider, a Bombay, India, native and former Ismaili follower who was chosen by Jesus Christ to be brought into fellowship with the true and living God of Christianity. He said he had personally bowed the knee to the Aga Khan and to pictures of him. His family made the same mistake. Alex said were often transfixed by Satanic spirits as they participated in the mindless incantations that he says are a regular part of Ismaili worship. But they never received the truth, and they died in their sins, without the saving knowledge of Jesus Christ. The Aga Khan, Alex said, had "stolen the eternity" of his mother, father and sister. Now, Alex wants to expose the Aga Khan, not for revenge, but so that the leader and his followers might shake off their ignorance and come to know the Lord Jesus Christ.

So who is the real Aga Khan? Is he a cult leader who earns billions of dollars a day by keeping people in spiritual bondage? A rich guy who does good with the offerings entrusted to him? A shameful liar who builds the legitimacy of his regime on the salaries of his constituents?

Whatever the answer is, I hope to find out, and I think I'm in the right place to do it. I'll be in contact with Alex, whom I like to think of as an "apostle to the Ismailis." And I live less than five minutes away from the largest Ismaili community in the Southeast, the Ismaili Jamatkhana (house of worship) on Dekalb Industrial Way. Anyone out there who can offer some clarity on the true nature of the Aga Khan, please leave your comments, and stay tuned for more...

China 2005 Trip Narrative

This is the first ever chronological compilation of my blog posts about my March 2005 trip to China. For most people, this is probably way too much to read, but I have had requests from some readers to put it in this reader-friendly format, rather than the bottom-to-top way Blogger puts posts in order. This way, you'll be able to remember where you left off, if you're really that interested. The links are dated by the time I wrote them, but they're also chronological as far as the events recounted within the post.

This menu will be linked from the "China 2005" icon in the sidebar on the homepage and will always be accessible from there.

You'll notice, if you read all the way through, that the trip ends abruptly. There was plenty more where that came from, but it took me almost a year to get that far. On subsequent narratives I got a bit more concise and timely in my trip summaries.

I hope eventually to have a YouTube page with all my videos linked to these posts. Stay tuned for new developments as I'll be updating the other trip narratives soon, and enjoy reading up on Yunnan province, China.

1. 3/3/05 – Freedom Fighting
2. 4/7/05 – Gametime
3. 4/21/05 – The First of Many Sunrises – Day 1
4. 4/25/05 – Our Humble Abode
5. 4/28/05 – An 8-Part Body
6. 4/28/05 – Two by Two
7. 8/9/05 – In Search of Three Circles
8. 8/9/05 – We Are the Pavement
9. 8/9/05 – Village 1 – Our Test Run
10. 8/23/05 – Bus Station
11. 8/23/05 – Linear Perspective
12. 8/23/05 – Service Road
13. 8/23/05 – Village 2
14. 8/23/05 – Seeing the Future
15. 8/23/05 – Bearing a Bamboo Burden
16. 8/25/05 – The Kingdom Belongs to Such as These
17. 8/25/05 – Kingdom Bearers
18. 8/27/05 – The Next Generation
19. 8/27/05 – Alley-oop: A VCD Drop Highlight Reel
20. 8/27/05 – Deep Roots
21. 9/8/05 – Perspectives of Pain
22. 11/17/05 – Our Chariot
23. 11/21/05 – Another Helping Hand
24. 11/21/05 – The Colonel
25. 11/28/05 – Blind Faith and Passes
26. 11/28/05 – Movable Beds
27. 11/28/05 – Crouching Driver, Whistling Steve
28. 11/28/05 – Tired Sun
29. 11/30/05 – Good Night
30. 11/30/05 – Success
31. 12/24/05 – The North Road
32. 12/24/05 – Hat Trick
33. 12/24/05 – Bamboo Storehouse
34. 12/24/05 – Quick Change
35. 12/24/05 – Uncharted Villages and Strange Prayers
36. 12/24/05 – Temple Sideview
37. 12/24/05 – Courtyard
38. 12/24/05 –Breakfast with the Fangs – Part I
39. 1/9/06 – Real China
40. 1/9/06 – Breakfast with the Fangs – Part II
41. 1/9/06 – Refuge
42. 1/11/06 – Rubber Trees
43. 1/27/06 – Home
44. 1/27/06 – Harvesting Mud

The Proper Post-Sin Posture

Using sin's shock to power a spiritual comeback

As mornings come and nights pass by, some people use the words “daily grind” to describe the routines that make up the time in between. In my world, I’d have to say that “weekly suck” more aptly describes the doldrums of working life.

I don’t say this because my weeks “suck” in the figurative sense of the word, the way that vocab-strapped teenagers describe an uninteresting or inconvenient phenomenon. My life is actually quite enjoyable. I say it because of the way the pages in the calendar so quickly become obsolete, as the vacuum of time rips them from the binding and slurps once-anticipated days and milestones into the oblivion and forgetfulness of past.

My spiritual life often seems to suffer the same fate. A prayer pops up here, a confession there, but each is an isolated event, a seed scattered on the path and pecked away before it can take root as a consistent pattern. Sin becomes less recognizable, as does the grace that acknowledges that sin and glories in its defeat. Soon, what was a brisk walk with God gradually slows to a zombie’s stagger.

When such malaise occurs in my life, our loving God uses one of a few methods to resuscitate me, and they usually come in the form of extremes. He gives me a spiritual plateau—a heartfelt prayer, a piercing sermon, a moment of obedience—which often results in a crash back to mediocrity and routine. Or he lets me feed my sinful nature, opening my eyes to the miserable reality of evil and the necessity relying on him.

Strange as it may sound, I find the latter to be drastically more effective in waking me from a life-induced stupor. The spiritual effects of sin have an ouch factor, like sitting on a tack or touching a hot stove burner. Once you feel the jolt, it’s easy to remember why you gave up the behavior that caused it. The failure shows the need for the savior.

The idea of sin as spiritual CPR seems a bit strange at first glance, but this is a perfect example of the brilliant manner in which grace and justice work together. God’s gets to be right, we get our punishment, and then restoration highlights his mercy and revives our gratitude.

But the key in turning your own sin into a weapon is in striking a proper post-sin posture before God. This is an age-old balancing act for Christians, as we've always struggled to express the appropriate level of remorse without sliding into the hopelessness of condemnation.

For some, a quick turn to grace makes them feel shallow and insincere, like a widow who marries again as soon as her husband is buried. To these people, the wages of sin is death, and any wrongdoing needs a solemn period of mourning. At the risk of sounding like I’m writing a Christian horoscope, these folks tend to emphasize the justice of God, and they’re more susceptible to feelings of condemnation.

At the other end of the spectrum are those who think that because Jesus has taken our punishment, there’s nothing to get all gloomy about. To these people, God is satisfied in Christ’s suffering, so no matter how we’ve damaged the relationship, we can jump right up into his lap. These folks tend to emphasize the grace of God, and they’re at risk of losing their reverence for God’s holiness.

Because of the strange dichotomy of grace and justice, the proper posture is somewhere in between, and it’s a delicate medium to find. Since this is a relationship, the best way to uncover the right response, I think, is to see how Jesus dealt with people in scripture.

As far as I know, he never reacts with happiness to those who are flippant about disobeying God’s word or encourage others to do so. He wants to see a contrite heart (see Psalm 51, a great help in these matters). But at the same time, Jesus attracted sinners, those who knew he disagreed with their lifestyle choices. Why? Because he affirmed wrongdoing without affixing it to their ultimate identity. See the principle at work in his reaction to the woman caught in adultery: Neither do I condemn you, now go and sin no more.

The woman missed the mark, but because she had met Jesus, a slip-up didn’t result in her demise. That same reality is at work in our own hearts. We lament a temporary lapse because in reverting to our old state, we cheapen our blood-bought salvation. But we rejoice in the coming restoration because in taking hold of forgiveness, we're reminded that we’re on the friendly side of the great chasm between our fallenness and his acceptance.

Dallas Seminary Offers Online Theology Courses in Chinese

A few months ago, I wrote about why America couldn’t afford to boycott China, and in light of all the human rights incursions and trade disputes since that time, I offer an interesting article that lends a little more credence to my claim.

The AP reported today that Dallas Theological Seminary is responding to the growing number of Chinese Christians and the dearth of theological training in the Asian nation by offering government-approved online distance courses in Mandarin Chinese. The article, which appeared in Saturday’s AJC, began with an anecdote about a female Bible study leader living in Hong Kong, so I naturally assumed that the courses would be limited to that city, which operates under the “one government, two systems” policy.

As I kept reading, I was surprised to find that a group of students from Beijing—the Communist Party’s center of power—has enrolled in the courses. According to the article, it took years of talks with the Party to the go-ahead from the strict government.

With the launch of the program this fall, the 2,000-student, nondenominational seminary could only accommodate 30 students in the program, but capacity is expected to double in the spring, due to the high level of international interest it attracted.

The seminary received hundreds of applications, and Chinese-speaking students in Malaysia, Australia and the Ukraine are currently enrolled.

The online courses allow students to follow video lectures of normal class periods in Texas, conducted in English. Chinese subtitles scroll across the bottom, allowing students to follow along. Christians looking to learn both English and theology get the double benefit of being able simultaneously work on their language comprehension and study the Bible.

A quotation at the end of the article left me a little wary about the government’s intentions for letting this program penetrate the “Great Firewall of China.” Chinese laws guarantee religious freedom, but it’s a freedom tightly regulated by the government. Religious groups must be sanctioned by the government and, at least in the case of Christianity, must register churches with local officials meet at approved locations. House churches and other groups meeting in undisclosed locations, like Tibetan Buddhist groups, are banned.

Of course, every positive development in China must be taken with a shaker-full of salt. Amid concerns voiced by a China Aid Association representative that the government would try to exert its influence over the teachings of the program, a DTS spokesperson offered this answer:

Yarbrough [the spokesperson] added there have been no recruiting restrictions. "We asked that question, and the government representative made the phrase, 'As long as they can access the computer, what can stop them from taking the course?' And he said that in a positive light."

Having been to China a few times and studied the language, I know that the Chinese rarely say what they mean. For that reason, the above statement is dripping with irony, as the government goes all-out to censor dissent as the Olympic Games approach. I presume that the government will be watching DTS’ program, and if it doesn’t lead to exponential proliferation of believers, they’ll continue to allow it as an example that they are opening the doors to religious freedom and outside influences. It may be all for show, but I still stand by my belief that enough feet in the door will eventually pry it open. And maybe with theological training, the Chinese will begin to send missionaries to America.

On a related note, last week I did a video interview (now posted on YouTube) for GlobalAtlanta with a U.S. special envoy to China, Ambassador Alan Holmer, who was visiting Atlanta to spread the word about the economic issues that would be discussed during his upcoming trip to China. To read or watch the video, which addresses the trade imbalance, product safety issues, and the U.S. role in speeding China’s economic reforms, click here.

Photo by Brad Kinney, 2006

Presidents and Paupers - Humility

This morning at church the pastor preached from Philippians 2, one of the greatest chapters on humility in the Bible. The apostle Paul reveals that the struggle to be humble and inclusive toward your brothers in Christ is to remember that Jesus, though in the very nature of God, emptied himself of the position that was rightfully his so that he could rescue us and draw us into fellowship with himself. Once we realize the indicative—that we have been captured by the experience of his humility—we can actualize the imperatives to go and do likewise, having the “same attitude of Christ Jesus” and “considering others better than ourselves.”

Tonight I was leafing through my journal, which I don’t keep up with very well. Inside the leather-bound volume, I have firsthand accounts of events spanning half a decade. The most recent entry came a few weeks ago, and the first was written before I even began dating Katy, who became my wife June 16 after more than five years of dating.

I can remember writing the entry by lamplight after an amazing day doing mission work in Washington. How we got there is a long an interesting story that will soon be published in Breakaway magazine, so I won’t reveal it now. But I remember that night, sitting at a desk in an apartment on the top floor of a barn in Damascus, Md., trying to process all that had gone on that day as we had toured the monuments downtown and scouted the area where we would do homeless ministry in the next few days. My whirling mind stopped on the intersection of two different human encounters and how God used them to show me that he was working on humility in my heart. So I began to write:

Feb. 22, 2002

Today was our fun day in the great city of Washington D.C…I had a few highlights during the day. First and foremost is that I saw the president taking his afternoon jog. They had shut down all direct views to the White House because the president was outside. We had to wait about 20 minutes in brisk cold for the North Vista to be reopened, but it was well worth it.

But, surprisingly enough, that was not the [biggest] highlight of my day. The pinnacle of the day’s activities was found in the filthy face and dirtier speech of a homeless man we came to know as Frank Nitty. He was a friendly and intelligent man, adorned in conventional homeless garb, engaging in the normal activity of begging for change. His sickly, sallow eyes told the story of a harsh life with little hope remaining.

It’s interesting how Christianity changes your views. Who, in the right (worldly) mind would value an encounter with a “nobody” more than a peek at the president? When Christ’s humility grabs a hold of you, whether pauper or executive, you consider all better than yourself. Only when you do this can you begin to implement his mercy, grace and love in life’s situations. I came across the two extremes of our country: the chief executive and the common pauper. The most important and the least important crossed my path, and I didn’t mind investing my time and wonder in the lesser.

I went on to talk about Mr. Nitty’s views on God and the church. He saw the world as a house of cards that would soon be blown to pieces. God was an supernatural agent worthy of respect because of his power, but not deserving of our love and worship. We parted ways cordially but without agreement. I think I ended up giving him a dollar. The lesson in humility he gave me was worth much more:

God has shown me that before my acceptance of his gift, I was just like everyone else. He has forced me to remember that the world is lost like I once was, but it doesn’t have to be.

Photo: The White House, Copyright Trevor Williams 2o07. This picture was taken this year during my bachelor party baseball trip.

Syncretism or Redemption?

I have a strong Christian friend who has reservations about celebrating Christmas and Easter because some of the traditions associated with these holidays have historical roots in pagan rituals. For him, the fact that they are now widely considered Christian holidays doesn’t matter. If the root is bad, he reasons, then the whole tree will wither.

But what he sees as syncretism, the dangerous blending of the profane and the sacred, some consider redemption, the metamorphosis of one to the other. Advocates on this side of the debate says that if God can turn sinners into saints and pagans into priests, it logically follows that he can take a days meant for ignoble purposes and use them for his glory.

He’s certainly done it before. The cross, an instrument of death comparable to the guillotine or the electric chair, is now seen as a symbol of hope, reminding us simultaneously of the wrath we deserve and the grace we’ve received.

I’ll concede if we take this premise to an extreme conclusion, we walk a perilous path that could lead is into a place where meaning becomes relative and good becomes indistinct from evil.

But I think we need to put faith in God’s ability to appreciate variant cultural contexts. When Peter exempted from the Gentiles from following the Law, he wasn’t condemning them to eternal unrighteousness. He was recognizing that God’s grace was going to reach them in a different cultural milieu, and that grace would have to be sufficient as God started to move in a new way.

With regard to this debate, I think we should take the Romans 14 approach and allow our individual consciences to decide. As with any activity we undertake, we should use this litmus test for holidays: In light of God’s word and my conscience as monitored by the Holy Spirit, is what I’m doing glorifying God? Anything is permissible as long as the answer to that question remains a firm “yes.”

Vapor

"So, you're welcome," my wife Katy said after a long spiel about how married men live an average of three years longer than those who fly solo.

We had just pulled into the Target parking lot, and somehow we had gotten into a discussion about lifespans. Katy had seen something on Martha Stewart's TV show where they calculated a projected lifespan for audience members, based on parameters like smoker/non-smoker, married/non-married and other categories. By sticking these numbers into a formula, the guy on the show was diagnosing how long audience members had left to live, based on their current lifestyle and barring catastrophic events.

Katy and I just celebrated our birthdays, which are one day apart in successive years, and I think the talk about our ages is how the whole thing got started. We then began discussing the fact that we've only been married four months and that every passing week brings a new sense of achievement.

"Imagine what it will be like when we've been together 20 or 30 years," I said. "I'll be so proud to say it. And even after that, we'll only be a little over 50 years old, if God allows us to live that long."

"I hope he does."

"Me too."

As the thought of death hung in the air, I think both of us had a pang of fear. What if he doesn't allow us that many years? With that thought front and center in our minds, we were blind-sided with a moment of clarity.

"Even if I live to be a hundred, my life is a quarter of the way over," Katy said.

"Yep, life's like that. It's a breath of steam, and then it's gone in a puff of smoke."

May we use that breath well.