Siblings

I was at Shari's about a week ago, enjoying some conversation with a side of hamburger-and-fries. The question arose, "If you could fight anyone, who would you duke it out with?" 

One of my friends named a coworker. Another had a long-standing grudge with a "frienemy"to work out. I named Fred Phelps.

As soon as I said it, I remembered a truth that I've let slip into the deep forgotten recesses of my jumbled mind. I felt convicted about the whole thing later and decided to give myself a refresher course on the lesson.

One of the things I think the average Christian forgets - and I include myself in this - is who, exactly, our enemy is. In Scripture, the only enemy I see for the Christian is Satan. There is talk about people making themselves enemies to God; but that is His prerogative, not ours.

Le 19:17-18, Mt 5:43-47,  Mt 22:36-40, Jn 13:35 and 1Jn 4:20 are just a few of the passages that clearly state the Christian imperative to love people. Even the people we think are our enemies are people we are called to love!

Why? Because Jesus died for them just as much as He died for me.

Allow me to backtrack for a minute.

When I was about 18, I began to discover that a lot of what I had been told about the Bible wasn't so. Things I had regarded as fact for the preceding 4 years turned out to be little more than denominational opinion and speculation. As I discovered more truths about the Bible, I developed a general frustration with the state of Christendom and the ignorance a lot of people had about what Jesus taught. I found myself at odds with teachers at my Christian high school and people I came to regard as "churchy-folk" - believers who were steeped in church culture, but didn't spend time reading the Bible for themselves. The more I learned about all I'd been missing, the more annoyed I became with people who propagated the misconceptions I'd bought into.

By the time my friend Bri  yelled at me in December of 2010,  it wasn't unbelievers I had a hard time loving - it was believers. I had no patience for anyone, theologically. I was merciless in my criticism of people who held what I thought of as unbiblical views, or did un-Christ-like things. I boasted about how annoyed I got with televangelists - because, let's face it, a lot of them don't read their Bibles very closely.


We were at Denny's, Bri and I. The plan had been to meet with a bunch of friends and hang out until we got bored. Bri and I were the only ones who showed up. We talked for a good long while about a bunch of different things. 

At one point, Bri asked me about my plans to be in ministry one day and why I hadn't started at a Bible school yet. I explained how I had misgivings about Bible school because I had encountered too many people who'd gotten a bunch of letters after their names and come away with little more than strong opinions. I also bemoaned the churchy-folk I'd have to deal with. I even said that I sometimes hated associating myself with a lot of other Christians because they've so perverted the message of our faith.

After a short silence, Bri gave me a verbal lashing for my unmitigated arrogance. 

She asked me if I actually thought I'd be the only one at that school who was earnestly seeking God. She pointed out that my lack of love for my fellow believers, because of their unloving deeds was hypocritical, at best. She asked what made me think I had all the right answers - that my understanding of Scripture was somehow infallible, or that I wouldn't learn anything valuable from people who'd made it their profession to teach on the topic. She brought me down off my high horse in a most merciless fashion.

When she excused herself to use the restroom, I sat back and thought, "She's absolutely right." 

That night, I began re-working my attitude about the Church; I also developed a small crush on that girl. (We later went out for about five minutes, but decided we were better at being friends.)

Since then, much of my growth in faith has been about learning to love both truth and people - two pieces of the Christian walk that are often at odds with each other. I've also learned a lot about loving the Church - understanding that we are all broken people trying to serve God; and we all get it wrong sometimes.

Back to the present...

Sometimes, it feels like we have enemies everywhere - people who sit opposite us in political spheres, people who put the worst possible picture of our faith on TV, people who hate us when we try to help, people who want to control or illegalise what we  consider important freedoms or regard God as a joke. 

There are times when my enemy is the crazy driver ahead of me or the loud customer at work.

When I see the Westboro Baptists spreading their lies,TV  preachers selling magic handkerchiefs or people saying you're not "really" saved until you do this or that extra thing that isn't "believe in Jesus Christ",  I want to explode. It seems like my enemies sometimes wear cross necklaces and lead worship.

The beautiful truth about all this is: I'm mistaken. When I find myself face-to-face with an unbeliever, I'm not facing an enemy, but someone Jesus loves. When I talk with believers, I am in fellowship with siblings.

Even when I see believers acting like idiots, I have the opportunity to help them sort it all out (Mt 18:15-18). I also have a responsibility to love them and forgive their misdeeds (Mt 18:21-22). I also know that, when I make a fool of myself, there are plenty of believing friends to hold me accountable.

So, no matter how frustrated and embarrassed I am by his behaviour, no matter how badly I believe he's missed the plot of our faith, it's not my place to deny this truth: Far from being the enemy, Fred Phelps in my brother.

I don't get to judge him (Ja 4:11), because Someone better at judging has already handled the case (Ja 4:12). I don't get to hate him, because Love, Himself is my boss (1Jn 4:8). I don't need to worry about what will happen to him, because my only task is to love God and love people as best I can (Jn 21:22).

All the rest is just petty sibling rivalry.

-isaac

Dinner With Eternity -or- Fun With the Link Button

For most of my walk with God, communion was an informal thing; for that matter, so was most of our relationship, including prayer.


God was someone I joked about, chatted with and made up songs about. The benefit of this attitude was that He was real to me - real, the way other people in my life are real. The down side was that my faith was an immature faith, a self-serving faith. I knew God was real and that I was His friend (Jn 15:15); so I expected Him to do all the things a pal would do. He was the one who made me feel better when I was sad, fixed my problems when I couldn't and  made everything I wanted and needed magically appear. He was my magic genie in the sky.


Sadly, when my life took an ugly turn, a faith that I thought was child-like in its informality turned out to be more childish in its self-service and impermanence. By the end of it all, I'd actually had the gall to get mad at Him.


I was silly the way a seven-year-old is silly:


Kung fu is the coolest thing in the world...

... until someone takes a kick to the face.

 Then, the only reasonable reaction is to whine about how unfair it is.

After I got my head on straight again, time spent in Scripture and reading a bunch of CS Lewis caused me to adopt a more reverent take on Christianity. God stopped being my Big Buddy and started being my Holy Father. (Jn. 15:14) Our relationship stopped being about "us" and started being about Him.


For some reason, communion stayed informal. I knew that, historically, communion was part of a potluck-type thing the early Christians did. They'd get together, have a big ol' dinner and take communion. So, I associated this sacrament more with fellowship than worship. Because I think of friendships as informal, it seemed like communion would follow suit. I didn't really think about it as much of a big deal- or any deal at all.


Then I threw a party.


Toward the end of my Birthday/Goodbye party on January 2nd of 2011, I got all my closest friends together and proposed we share communion. I was about to pass the cup when the best man I know interrupted. He warned us about taking this communion too lightly. He quoted 1Co. 11:17-34, mentioning that some who made a habit of coming to the table with the wrong heart died of it.


I did some studying of my own and found out that I was guilty of disrespecting God at His own dinner table.


1) I didn't devote myself to the attitude and practice of communion.
Communion, as it's recorded in Lk. 22:19 and 1 Co 11:24, is performed in remembrance of Christ. We remember HIM - not only His sacrifice, but everything He did and said when He walked with us. Our attitude should be one of gratitude, humility and teachability. Gratitude, because He is the source of all the good things we have, do and are; humility, because we don't deserve an ounce of it; teachability, because three of the five things He came to earth for had to do with what He was going to say.


When I took communion, it wasn't because I was remembering all that God had done for me. Until I became a believer in September of 2000, communion was snack-time for grown-ups. After that, it became just another monthly happening at my church.

Acts 2:42 tells us that communion was the sort of thing people devoted themselves to; it was not a hiccup in their Sunday morning routine - it was a lifestyle and habit.


2) I took communion with unconfessed sin and ungodly demeanors.
Jesus was never one to shy from high standards. After all His talk about forgiveness, and the ills of an unforgiving heart, He put the shoe on the other foot. In Mt. 5:23-24, He told his disciples, "Hey, if you're ever having a barbecue for Me and you remember that someone's got a grudge against you, go sort that out before you burn the burgers." Not, "If you've got a grudge against someone", it's of he's got something against you. Never mind that he's supposed to forgive you; never mind that you're probably at the altar to seek forgiveness in the first place; never mind that you've already put the first patty over the coals - stop what you're doing, and set things right anyway!


The passage in 1 Co. 11 tells us that we need to come to the table with a clean heart. We need to come to the table as we would the Holy of Holies - honouring the privilege of His presence in our minds and hearts.


3) I took communion selfishly.
Paul, in 1 Co 11, reacts harshly to selfish diners at the potluck. He asks if the more impatient guests don't have homes to eat in. Communion is a meal; but it's not about the food. Communion is like a family dinner, where the Father of all fathers takes His seat. Just as dinner around a family's table is as much about the people there as anything else, the Lord's Table is three parts worship to one part fellowship to 1/100th part food.


The first communion supper had God on all fours, washing people's feet!


How dare I take part in that, thinking only of how blessed I'll be by it, or how holy I look in my fancy jacket?

Communion is about me the way Star Wars is about water farming on Tatooine. I am a participant in something bigger than myself. I am an adopted child at a family dinner with the King of the Universe.


When He takes His seat at the head of the table, I want to bless Him with impeccable manners.


-isaac

Onomastics

Sometimes, I try to imagine what people think when they read things I write. I'm often wrong; but it's a fun exercise. For example:

"'Twopence' is a strange name for a blog, isn't it? Really, 'twopence' is a strange name for anything that isn't two pennies - and it's a strange name for even that!" 


Was I close?

* * *

"Twopence", as a title for this blog, refers to three different ideas:


1) "Even in literature and art, no man who bothers about originality will ever be original: whereas if you simply try to tell the truth (without caring twopence how often it has been told before) you will, nine times out of ten, become original without ever having noticed it." - CSL


I like this quote because I have always loved originality. I like ideas and stories that break the mold. When I was in high school, I would sometimes wander in to an empty classroom and write the single most random thing I could think of on the board. (Like, "Ten morbid butterflies sing abreast the palm boat when chuckles eat the blockbuster frame.") When my sister went to that school a few years later, she was approached by a teacher who referred to me as "the king of random". At the time, I was honoured.

The problem is, tricks like that don't work when you're trying to communicate something worth communicating. Usually, when a person tries his very best to be original, it's his very best efforts that foil his aim. I didn't know that until I read this quote. Up to that point, I'd spent years trying to conjure originality and failing. I wasn't until I began to enjoy writing and storytelling as arts to their own, and focused on being good at those things - original or not - that I developed a style and voice of my own. It wasn't until I'd done that that I saw how futile most forced efforts at originality are.

Originality is not manufactured, it's born. It comes about organically, through the unique perspective and personality God gave each of us. It's also born out of truth - whether in principle or fact. The truth is the most odd, original, unpredictable thing we bewildered humans have encountered. So, if we simply tell the truth with the arts we're using, originality will come about on its own.

The title of this blog reminds me of that lesson. It also reminds me that the hipster movement won't really accomplish much.


2) "Twopence" is a fancy old English word for two cents. When I was thinking of a title for this blog, I tried to come up with a non-presumptuous way of saying "These are my thoughts". The issue I had with this task was that I didn't want to come across as saying, by any means, that you should necessarily care what my thoughts are. Then again, that's all I'm offering - a series of thoughts and stories - nothing more useful than that. All you will find in this blog is "Isaac's two cents."


3) As I was closing in on the title "Twopence", I was reminded of this story:


"And [Jesus] sat down opposite the treasury, and began observing how the people were putting money into the treasury; and many rich people were putting in large sums. A poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which amount to a cent. Calling His disciples to Him, He said to them, 'Truly I say to you, this poor widow put in more than all the contributors to the treasury; for they all put in out of their surplus, but she, out of her poverty, put in all she owned, all she had to live on.'”(Mk 12:41-44)


I mentioned in my last post that this blog is my effort toward ministry right now. Compared to six months in Uganda, trips to the Dream Center in LA, missions to Mexico, being a youth pastor or any of the other things God's set me about doing in the past, this isn't much. It feels pathetic, even - like I should be able to do something more practical and helpful. I am at a point in my life where I can promise neither time nor money with consistency; but  this passage reminds me that, if I give the best of what I do have, Jesus will count it a great offering.


So, whether it's two copper coins, two cents or "Twopence", it's to God's glory.

-isaac

Aerodynamics

I noticed something recently about our fallen nature. 

It's a basic tenet of Christianity that we were designed to be perfect. When humanity was crafted from the dust of an idealised planet, our Designer had wonders in mind. He dreamt of a race devoted wholly to love and goodness, capable of reaching its full potential without darkness clouding the way. When sin, death and thorns entered the picture not two chapters later, our natures were corrupted. Our potential became hidden from us; and neither love nor goodness seemed nearly as great and possible as before. For the past ten years or so, I've been describing us as "broken" people; and I think that's an accurate image - we were made for better, but there are springs loose in our clockwork.

At the same time, science seems to keep pointing to an incredible mastery of design in how we broken people work. Physically, mentally and emotionally, we are really quite skillfully assembled. When we do healthy things, make healthy choices, we can even feel the goodness of it.  Think of how you feel after eating an apple as opposed to pizza or how you feel after a run as opposed to a day lazing about. When you've spent some time thanking God, aren't your spirits higher than they would be if you'd spent that time whining instead? It is clear to everyone who does what is best that "best" is what we were built for.

Yet something is off. If we are so well-made, why do we do all the stupid things we do?  Why do we let ourselves get SO unhealthy? (When I say "we", I definitely include myself.) Why do we fall into the silliest traps? Why is it so hard to do the things we were built to do, if in fact we were built to do them?

I've come to the conclusion that there is a distinction between our design and our nature. It seems counter-intuitive to make this distinction, I'll admit. After all, if wind is designed to blow, won't it also be in it's nature to do so? If a lion is designed to eat meat, won't it run counter his nature to convert to vegetarianism? How can a designed thing's nature be counter to its design?

My favourite author, the good mister Clive Lewis, defined "nature" (actually, "natural") this way:

I begin by considering the following sentences (1) Are those his natural teeth or a set? (2) The dog in his natural state is covered with fleas. (3) I love to get away from tilled lands and metalled roads and be alone with Nature. (4) Do be natural. Why are you so affected? (5) It may have been wrong to kiss her but it was very natural.

A common thread of meaning in all these usages can easily be discovered. The natural teeth are those which grow in the mouth; we do not have to design them, make them, or fit them. The dog's natural state is the one he will be in if no one takes soap and water and prevents it. The countryside where Nature reigns supreme is the one where soil, weather and vegetation produce their results unhelped and unimpeded by man. Natural behaviour is the behaviour which people would exhibit if they were not at pains to alter it. The natural kiss is the kiss which will be given if moral or prudential considerations do not intervene. In all the examples Nature means what happens 'of itself or 'of its own accord': what you do not need to labour for; what you will get if you take no measures to stop it. The Natural is what springs up, or comes forth, or arrives, or goes on, of its own accord: the given, what is there already: the spontaneous, the unintended, the unsolicited.

Here's what I mean:

An airplane is designed for flight. Everything about a plane, from the shape of its body to the type of paint it's coated with, is intended for being thousands of feet away from the ground. The very reason it exists is to give us bird-brained humans a shot at bird-like behaviour.

And yet...

 

Somehow I doubt that, left to its own devices, an airplane would do any flying. In its natural state, an airplane is about as birdlike as a sheet of paper. (Come to think of it, a sheet of paper left on a desk really has a better chance of getting airborne.) To get that airplane out of its natural state and into the functions of its design, you have to insert a trained professional and fight against all kinds of forces - predictable and unpredictable alike. Gravity, weather and the pilot's gag reflex are just a few.

How like us is that?

I know that, when I do physical activities, I usually feel great. The feeling I get is, "This is completely in keeping with what I was made for." My body was built for an active lifestyle. When I drink tea and avoid soda, that feeling's there again because tea is more compatible to my body's design than soda is. When I confess sin, accept forgiveness and do the right thing, there it is. When I minister to people - across the world or at home - I feel like I've found my place in this weird, weird world.

Yet, it seems like it takes such effort for me to do those things. To make myself get out of bed and go do something wonderfully strenuous seems SO contrary to my nature. The principles of gravitation, Newtons' first law of motion and Isaac's rule of  "it's rude to get up before the Sun because he's a light sleeper" all conspire to keep me beneath my blankets. I sometimes feel like I could use a trained professional just for THAT task! To reject the very foods that make me feel gross is a struggle because my wallet and clock tell me that it's cheaper and quicker to do otherwise. And, gosh darnnit, I like pizza!

Ministry. Now, there's the personal side to all this. I love helping people. I love teaching people things, sharing God's work in my life and being someone others can turn to for whatever I have to give. Actually, the idea of "This is what I'm built for" occurred to me first with reference to ministry. I've noticed in the past year or so that, once I start, ministering comes easily. It's getting started that feels like dead-lifting a beluga. 

Hence this blog. 

This blog is me making that effort. I want to share what God's taught me; I want to encourage people. I've been beating around the bush about doing ministry since August 2011; and it's time I changed that. It's time I committed myself to something outside of my comfort zone. Writing is something I love doing; but it feels weird to put it "out there" for other people. It feels a little arrogant, to be honest. It's something, though. It's a start. Whether it is actually helping or not, I'll leave up to you to judge.

I believe that, one day, God will bring my design and my nature into unity. That, when left to my own devices, I will do ministry, eat all the great things He made me to eat, run and jump about without hesitation, annoy the Sun into wakefulness without apology and maybe even get around to making my own sushi. I believe that, for every Christian, the same applies. One day, we airplanes will take flight of our own accord.

In the meantime...