Eternal Perspectives

Sometimes I am more American than Christian; that is, sometimes it is truer to say of me that I am an American who happens to be a Christian than it is to say that I am a Christian who happens to be an American. Too often, I confess, I am motivated by desires that reflect my worldly citizenship instead of my heavenly citizenship.

This is perhaps no where more evident than in the discipline of prayer. Or, more accurately, in the “lack of discipline” of prayer.

My “Americanese” shows up first of all in resenting prayer to begin with. After all, as a citizen of the greatest nation in the history of the galaxy (if not the entire universe), I am entitled to certain things. Those “certain things” to which I am entitled include, but are not limited to, anything I want. That I should have to ask God for something is offensive to me as an American, especially since He already knows I need it before I ask (Mt 6.8). I don’t like being bothered with having to ask. I want it, He knows, He should deliver it. What’s the problem?

Then there’s the matter of my right to have an explanation when I’m told what to do. As an American, I shouldn’t have to do anything if it’s not explained to me first. This is because, to my American sensibilities, I have the right to decide whether or not I’ll do something - even if it is the Creator and Sustainer of the universe who is telling me to do it. So if God wants me to pray, He’d better have a good explanation for the trouble He’s creating for me.

The Christian-who-only-happens-to-be-American part of me is disgusted and frightened by this secret arrogance (well, not-so-secret now!), knowing that this is a manifestation of the very reason the wrath of God is being revealed (Rom 1.18). I should pray simply because God tells me to: He is the potter, I am the lumpy little piece of clay, and the latter should do what the Former tells it to do. Talking back is frowned upon (Rom 9.20). What God wants to do is what matters; what I want to do is usually a bad idea.

Still, I search for the sense behind prayer. I recognize the significance of prayer in terms of God’s glory, but I suspect that there’s more to it than that. I think there’s actually some good in it for me, that somehow it is part of the process of maturing in Christ and not just the evidence of maturity.

I justify my quest for insight with Pr 25.2: “It is the glory of God to conceal a matter, but the glory of kings is to search out a matter” (NASB).

I am confident - or, at least, hopeful - that my understanding of the purpose of prayer will grow and change in the days and years ahead. Over the course of 30 years of being a Christian, my understanding of things has changed significantly, usually in the direction of realizing my ignorance. Maturity, it seems, is a process of putting away childish things.

What I believe now about prayer is closely connected to my understanding of the process of sanctification and the nature of our physical brains. Before discussing prayer, therefore, please allow me to explain what I believe goes on in the brain of Christians as we mature in Christ.

First, it is important to distinguish between spirit, mind, and brain. The mind is not simply a product of the brain - what some call “nothing buttery” - but is something that is at once independent of and inseparably dependent on the brain, or at least it is in this lifetime.

Think of it as electrical currents (spirit) and the physical circuits (brain) through which the energy flows. We all start with the same basic equipment - a human spirit and a brain - but each of us gets wired differently, depending upon the external environment and unique characteristics of our spirit. Personality is a function of the human spirit but is obviously affected by the physical brain and it’s health or lack thereof.

The “mind” is the state of the human spirit and the brain at a moment of time, i.e., it is the makeup of a person’s nature at the particular instant it is being examined. The spirit is not usually idle, however, and thus our minds are in a continual process of changing in one direction or another. For the Christian, the goal of the change is to be conformed not to the world (Rom 12.2) but to the image of Christ (Col 3.10). But how might this be accomplished?

Perhaps it is as follows.

Over time, vast networks of thoughts and feelings are created in the brain. The more frequently a particular constellation of thoughts and feelings is activated, the more likely it becomes that it will be followed the next time, too. This is what creates consistency within us, for better or worse.

The more frequently a Christian follows the (neuro)pathway of righteousness, the better the odds that it will be followed in the future. Unfortunately, the same is true of unrighteous pathways. And the pathways never completely go away in this lifetime - thus the need for new, spiritual bodies in heaven (1 Cor 15.44) - although they do atrophy if not used regularly.

Christians, of course, have He who is the Holy Spirit indwelling them: it is He who begins to transform us by creating new pathways in the brain. The material He uses to perform this is the Bible. The Holy Spirit begins making new connections both emotionally and cognitively, detouring us from the old, sinful paths we followed in the past. The more we read the Bible, the more material He has to work with, and the more new ways of thinking, feeling, and behaving He can establish within us.

Our conscious role - that is, the role of our human spirit - is to hitch a ride as the Holy Spirit does His work. We cooperate and facilitate His work by our compliance. We can, of course, quench Him by not following (1 Thes 5.19) and grieve Him by going off in our own direction (Eph 4.30), but He is relentless in His effort to glorify Jesus by changing us.

Prayer, for the purposes of sanctification, is crucial in this process. It is during prayer that we focus exclusively (hopefully) on God and allow the Spirit to work within us. It is for this reason that silence - external and internal - is so important. Our agendas must be silenced to allow the Holy Spirit to bring to mind - literally - the truth of Scripture and to begin to make connections between what we seek and what God says about such things.

At both a cognitive and emotional level, the Spirit makes new connections and pathways of righteousness. Our part in prayer is to stay focused and malleable, to allow Him to take us where He knows we need to go. Our prayers are answered but we must stay “online” long enough to have our minds changed about things. We may get what we seek, but our feelings toward and thoughts about it will change. Or we may not get it, and that will be OK, too.

To pray is to focus. It is to allow God the Holy Spirit to speak to us through the revealed will of God in the Bible. Our own thoughts and feelings must give way. We must yield.

In time, we will begin to think His thoughts, see things from His perspective, and feel as He feels about life and what is important. Prayer is perhaps the only time we have such focused attention. Not that worship, service, Bible study, and other disciplines are not important, but prayer is the purest opportunity for the Holy Spirit to change us.

Jn 19.22

 

Sports fans - and, even more so - sports journalists were shocked Sunday to learn of the death of Reggie White, former all-world defensive end for the Green Bay Packers and Philadelphia Eagles. White, 43, died of what appears to have been a massive heart attack. For once, it is safe to say, that a sports legend did not die young because of drugs or violence.

He was a man much greater than his football legacy: through his Christian life and witness, Reggie White touched thousands, perhaps millions of people. It is only fitting that he would die from a “massive” heart attack: his heart for God and people was enormous, and no “small” heart attack would have affected him a bit.

But more eloquent tributes to White can be found elsewhere. This is about others. Nameless others.

Josef Stalin said, “A single death is a tragedy; a million deaths is a statistic.” Nowhere, perhaps, is this more clear than in the deaths of White and 77,000-plus*.

I was watching an NFL pre-game show yesterday on ESPN (my favorite televangelist hadn’t come on yet) when, right in the middle of the show, Chris Berman stopped and said that there was sad news to report. Tragedy had struck, the sort that puts games into perspective for a nanosecond or so. I waited somewhat expectantly, wondering if he was going to mention the (at the time) 10,000 or more people who had lost their lives in southeast Asia as a result of a massive earthquake. Was human suffering 10,000 miles away going to impinge on sports?

Of course, he was referring to the death of White, not the (for now, at least) 77,000* people whose lives had been snuffed out in an inescapable, two-story wave of sea water that swept over the homes, business, schools, and hospitals of several countries. He reported on the “single death,” not the “statistic.”

I was not surprised but I was saddened. Somehow, it seems to me, we just don’t seem to get it.

White was a father, husband, son, brother, friend, and teammate. Many will miss him, but only a small group of family and close friends are directly touched by his death. Halfway around the world, there are more than 21,000 fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, friends, colleages, classmates, patients, and fellow human beings that have left behind hundreds of thousands who will miss them. These were people with smiles and eyes, like you and me. They were old and young, pretty and not-so pretty, happy and sad, thin and fat. People like me, and people like you.

And while the survivors - who are also people just like us - while these men, women, girls, and boys are missing their loved ones, they have to figure out where to get safe water to drink, where to sleep at night, and where to begin to put their lives back together. They can’t change the channel or get involved in a football game in an hour or so.

If you had any emotional reaction to the death of Reggie White, imagine feeling that sense of loss at least once a day for the next 77,000 days of your life, one day for each death in southeast Asia. You’ll have to live an additional 211 or so years to do that. And each day should be flavored with the same twinge of sadness or wave of sorrow that Reggie White’s death may have prompted in you.

None of this is meant to diminish the death of Reggie White. His sudden demise is certainly a tragedy. But so, too, is what happened around the global corner a tragedy. It is 77,000-plus personal, individual tragedies. Just because it happened on an incomprehensible scale does not lessen the horror. We need to not only remember that, but to feel it, too.

UPDATE: Asterisks indicate death totals as of December 29.

Some Perspective:

Assuming a modest funeral for Reggie would cost around $10,000, to give the victims of the tsunami comparable burials would run you about $770,000,000.

Or, since most burial plots are around 5′x8′, it would take 40 sq. feet to bury Reggie White, and over 3,000,000 sq. feet to bury the vicims. That’s the equivalent of more than 53 football fields, including the endzones.

Or, if you had to drive from Philadelphia to Green Bay and back (1,950 miles/30 hours @ 65 mph) to attend Reggie’s funeral, you would have to drive to the sun and halfway back for a comparable distance for the victims. And, to make the trip in 30 hours, you would have to average just over 5,000,000 mph. If you could only go 18,000 mph - the speed of some missiles - you could make it in just under a year (about 50 weeks nonstop).

Or, finally, imagine that someone gave you a free gallon of gas because of Reggie’s death and also one gallon for each of the tsunami victims. You could drive for 15 minutes or so (15 miles) in your SUV as a result of one death, but from the tsunami victims you could drive for the next 38.5 years (1,155,00 miles) without having to buy gas again (assuming 30,000 miles a year).

Again, none of this is meant in any way to detract from the tragedy of White’s death; it is meant to put things in a better perspective.

Jn 19.22

 

If there is one person, more than any other, who has had a determinative effect on my Christian life, that man would be Haddon Robinson. This is remarkable since he has no idea who I am or the effect he has had on my life. He probably would not be surprised by my statement - he has impacted and changed the course of many a life - but perhaps he would be curious that he had done so with me.

For those of you who are not familiar with Haddon W. Robinson, I will attempt to provide a brief introduction to this truly unique man. Others who know him better could say much more; I offer only what I think significant for the purposes of this post.

Haddon was voted one of the most influential Christians of the 20th Century, due no doubt to his impact upon generations of preachers who came under his tutelage during his 40+ years of teaching homiletics. He earned a Ph.D. in Speech Communication from the University of Illinois, ostensibly in order to be able to communicate more effectively the word of God to believers and unbelievers alike. He taught preaching at Dallas Theological Seminary for almost 20 years and was president of Denver Seminary from 1979 until 1991. He then became the Harold John Ockenga Distinguished Professor of Preaching at Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary in Massachusetts, a position in which he now continues.

It was at Denver Seminary that I met Dr. Robinson - as I referred to him in my pre-50 years. In fact, I had gone to Denver for my Masters Degree primarily because he was there: I had heard him preach many times (through the tape ministry of Believers Chapel in Dallas) and had concluded that he knew God in ways that I did not know God. So I went to Denver to study counseling, but also to be influenced by him.

During my three years at the seminary, I had only one conversation with Dr. Robinson. This is how it came about:

I was a first-year student (a tipoff for anyone who’s ever been or had to deal with a seminary student) and was frustrated with my professor of New Testament. Actually, I was indignant with him, feeling that he was not giving my particular doctrinal position a fair play in his presentations to the class. (If you own an NIV Study Bible, flip to the opening pages sometime and note the editors listed there. One of the three general editors is Dr. Donald Burdick, perhaps an unknown name to most but well known to the evangelical, scholarly community. This same Donald Burdick, who probably had been teaching New Testament longer than I had been walking the planet, was the professor whom I regarded with arrogant disgust and disdain.)

So I did what any grandiose, first-year seminarian would do. I made an appointment with the president of the seminary, Dr. Robinson.

As I look back on it, I am amazed by Dr. Robinson’s grace and patience. First of all, I am amazed that I was able to get an appointment with him. Although oblivious at the time, I now understand the demands upon his time and the humility it required for him to give an audience to - not just a virtual but - an actual nobody. Second, he listened to me carefully as I laid out my complaint about his colleague and friend, Dr. Burdick. What followed was, I believe, classic Haddon Robinson.

Dr. Robinson never addressed my complaint or concerns. Instead, he told me a story. This (or something very much like it) is what he said:

“I’m sure you know that Dr. Burdick’s wife was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s some years ago [Actually, being totally self-absorbed, I had no idea]. Despite his continuing commitment to his ministry here at the seminary, and despite maintaining a full load of teaching, he has refused to put his wife in a nursing home. He gets up in the morning and cares for her: feeding, cleaning, dressing, combing her hair, brushing her teeth. She can do nothing for herself. Nothing. Then he leaves for the seminary, teaches a class, and immediately goes home between classes to care for her again. Then he comes back to teach. The following day, he does it again. He will not allow a nurse or anyone else to do for his wife what he himself can do. He has been doing this for years now.

“I was talking to Donald one day and, knowing the load he was under, said to him, ‘How do you do it? How do you so faithfully attend to your ministry and, at the same time, give your wife the love and care and attention she needs?

“Donald looked at me with tears in his eyes and said, ‘Haddon, it’s the greatest privilege I’ve ever had in my life.’”

As if scripted, his phone rang even as his words were still hanging pregnant in the air. He listened for a few seconds, covered the receiver and, turning to me, said, “We’re done here, aren’t we?”

We were done. I nodded a stunned reply, rose quietly, and left Dr. Robinson’s office. My life had just been changed in ways I was only later to appreciate. What was important in the Christian life, my view of people, my relationship with my wife - it all began to shift at that moment. It continues to change more than 20 years later.

Dr. Burdick looked different to me when I next went to my New Testament class. He looked human. Or, more accurately, I saw that he was human: loving, tender, frightened, caring, weak, and struggling. At the end of the quarter, he gave me a C+ for the class. It was the only grade lower than a B that I ever got in grad school, either at the masters or doctoral level. But Dr. Burdick provided the platform and much of the substance for the best education I got at either Denver or Trinity.

What Haddon had done was to see through my indignation to the root of my problem: I was unloving, and I was unloving because I did not see Dr. Burdick as a fellow human being, an alien in the world, a struggler trying to be faithful to the God we both claimed to love and serve. I was unloving because I did not see him as a brother in Christ who needed my compassion and encouragement, not my scorn and criticism.

Haddon cut through the fluff and opened my eyes and heart. Those fifteen minutes were worth all the thousands of dollars (of debt) spent earning my degree. For the remainder of my seminary career, I studied my lessons carefully but I studied my professors much more closely. I looked for the hearts of these professors, trying to understand the motivation within them. Whether it was Bruce Demarest, James Beck, Vernon Grounds, or Robert Alden, I tried desperately to look inside them in order to get a glimpse of Jesus Christ. I was not disappointed.

But even more than before, I began to study Haddon. I devoured his books, read articles by and about him, listened to interviews and radio shows he did, and studied whatever sermons of his that I could find. I still do.

I am aware that he is not perfect - he, too, has feet of clay - so this is not a case of idealization or idolization. Haddon is quick to admit to his own struggles and missteps. But I do appreciate him as someone who has so committed himself to serving Christ and educating men and women in preparation for ministry. And I am admittedly still in awe of his insight, intelligence, and wisdom.

I will probably never have the opportunity to talk to Haddon and tell him of the impact he has had - and continues to have - on my life. But were such a time to become available to me once again, I would seize the chance to simply tell him thanks.

Thanks, Haddon, for teaching me how to think about God, about His word, and about His people. For continually and faithfully demonstrating a commitment to the Bible and people, borne out in your writings and sermons. Thanks for providing a living example of how great genius and tenderness can be melded together.

And thanks especially for teaching me that Christianity is not primarily about ideas, concepts, and truths, but is truly about loving relationships with God and people, about grace and compassion, about being and not just thinking.

I forget these lessons sometimes and, when I do, I slip a tape or cd into the player and listen to Haddon one more time. And I am the better for it.

Jn 19.22

 

At sunset on Tuesday, December 7, millions of pious Jews began the observance of Hanukkah, a minor feast on the Jewish calendar but one that many non-Jews have become familiar with due to its proximity to Christmas. Or, more accurately, because of Christmas’ proximity to Hanukkah.

Although a celebration of Christmas is nowhere to be found in the New Testament (even subsequent to the resurrection of Christ), Hanukkah finds its way into the gospels and serves as an important backdrop in the ministry of Jesus Christ in John 10. To understand the significance of this aspect of His ministry, however, it is necessary to understand Hanukkah.

Hanukkah (Heb., dedication) looks back to events that transpired more than 150 years prior to the birth of Jesus, to a time when fallout from Alexander the Great’s premature demise was still reverberating throughout the Mediterranean area. A brilliant (if brutal) military strategist, Alexander died in 323 BCE at the age of 32-33 (depending on the source) and left an unorganized kingdom behind. No heir apparent was apparent, and the kingdom was divided into four regions.

Palestine, the home of the Jewish people, came under the dominion of Ptolemy; during his rule, the Jews enjoyed relative peace and the freedom to observe their faith in accordance with the Scriptures.

More than a century later, following the death of Antiochus the Great, Palestine came under the rule of Antiochus IV, who called himself “Antiochus Epiphanes.” The title “epiphanes” meant “manifestation,” and hinted at his belief that he was the manifestation of a god on earth - probably Zeus, the chief of the Greek gods of whom Antiochus was quite fond.

Seeing himself as an apostle of Greek culture (even as Alexander had seen himself), Antiochus Epiphanes was zealous to transform Palestine from a Jewish to a Hellenistic society. Attacking on a Sabbath, when he knew that the Jews would not fight, he slaughtered his enemies in Jerusalem, tore down the city walls and fortified his own choice for High Priest: Menelaus, who was from the tribe of Benjamin, not Levi. Antiochus’ efforts to transform Judaism found some sympathetic supporters among certain, more “modern” segments of the Jews.

When resistance to the non-Levitical priest arose, Antiochus became more determined to Hellenize Palestine. He ordered that Greek gods were to be worshiped by all Jews and equated the God of the Jews with Jupiter. The worship of Bacchus (the god of wine) was made mandatory, which included a drunken orgy. The Jews were not allowed to observe most of their practices, including circumcision, the Sabbath, or the yearly feasts. Copies of the Scriptures were destroyed.

In 168 BCE he had an idol set up on the Temple altar, referred to as the “abomination of desolation” by the Jews, and on the 25th of Kislev (December) sacrificed a pig on the altar and sprinkled the Temple with the blood.

Not all Jews, of course, complied with the orders from Antiochus. One elderly scribe, Eleazar, refused to eat pork - it being forbidden by the Scriptures - and was beaten to death. A mother and her seven children were slaughtered when they refused to worship the image Antiochus had placed in the Temple, and two other mothers were killed for having circumcised their sons.

Antiochus also ordered that pagan altars be established in all villages and required acts of loyalty and worship from the Jews. In the small town of Modin, a representative from Antiochus built an altar and called for the Jews to sacrifice at it to demonstrate their obedience to the government. The priest at Modin was another old man, Mattathias, who also refused to comply. When a capitulating Jew came forward to sacrifice, the old priest killed the Jew and the representative. He then fled to the hills with his five sons. Others followed.

Mattathias died within a year of the revolt, but not before he determined that to defend oneself did not violate the Sabbath . One of his sons, Judas (or Judah in Hebrew), took over leadership of the rebellion. Nicknamed “the Maccabee” (i.e., the hammer), Judas succeeded in defeating and resisting the forces sent against him. He eventually came to Jerusalem, where Menelaus and his followers fled before him, and captured the city and Temple.

One the 25th of Kislev, 165 BCE - three years to the day - the altar to Jupiter was taken down and the image ground to dust. The Temple was cleansed and dedicated: an eight-day Feast of Dedication (Hanukkah, or the Feast of Lights) was observed.

Thus did the observance of Hanukkah begin.

In John 10.22, almost two hundred years later, mention is made of the Feast of Dedication. At that time, one part of the festival included the reading of a portion of Scripture that reminded the people of the unfaithful rulers of the past and the God who would watch over His people. The passage that was read came from the prophet Ezekiel:

“The word of the LORD came to me: “Son of man, prophesy against the shepherds of Israel; prophesy and say to them: `This is what the Sovereign LORD says: Woe to the shepherds of Israel who only take care of themselves! Should not shepherds take care of the flock? You eat the curds, clothe yourselves with the wool and slaughter the choice animals, but you do not take care of the flock. You have not strengthened the weak or healed the sick or bound up the injured. You have not brought back the strays or searched for the lost. You have ruled them harshly and brutally. So they were scattered because there was no shepherd, and when they were scattered they became food for all the wild animals. My sheep wandered over all the mountains and on every high hill. They were scattered over the whole earth, and no one searched or looked for them.

“‘Therefore, you shepherds, hear the word of the LORD: As surely as I live, declares the Sovereign LORD, because my flock lacks a shepherd and so has been plundered and has become food for all the wild animals, and because my shepherds did not search for my flock but cared for themselves rather than for my flock, therefore, O shepherds, hear the word of the LORD: This is what the Sovereign LORD says: I am against the shepherds and will hold them accountable for my flock. I will remove them from tending the flock so that the shepherds can no longer feed themselves. I will rescue my flock from their mouths, and it will no longer be food for them.

“`For this is what the Sovereign LORD says: I myself will search for my sheep and look after them’” (34.1-11, NIV, emphases added)

This, then, is the context for the incredible statements that Jesus made during the Feast of Dedication during His final winter on earth. Against this backdrop Jesus declares, “I am the good shepherd; and I know My own, and My own know Me, even as the Father knows Me and I know the Father; and I lay down My life for the sheep. . . . My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me; and I give eternal life to them, and they shall never perish; and no one shall snatch them out of My hand. My Father, who has given them to Me, is greater than all; and no one is able to snatch them out of the Father’s hand” (Jn 10.14-15, 27-29).

Jesus contrasted Himself with the unfaithful, corrupt shepherds of Israel’s past and declared Himself to be the True Shepherd of God’s people. In so doing, He established the standard for all subsequent shepherds of the people of God and described the responsibilities of leadership: to take care of the flock, to strengthen the weak, heal the sick, bind up the injured, bring back the strays, search for the lost; to rule gently and kindly, and to keep them from scattering and becoming vulnerable to the enemy.

Perhaps the church would do well to observe its own version of the Feast of Dedication. It could be a time of commitment and re-dedication for all those in positions of leadership in the church. Pastors, elders, deacons, Sunday school teachers, missionaries, and anyone else who is involved in any type of ministry in the church, would be re-commissioned to their responsibilities. The passage from Ezekiel and others could be charged to them, and a call to a renewed sense of devotion to the Good Shepherd presented. It could serve as a yearly reminder of the privilege and gravity of serving Christ in His church.

Of course, not all in such aforementioned positions would pass the test. This is inevitable and desirable. Those who fail the shepherd’s test should be shepherded themselves, not dismissed from the church, and restored to the health and love that motivated them to begin with. Rather than making such servants or shepherds like disposable containers, they would be valued and loved even as Christ loved Peter and made sure to restore him following his own fall and failure.

Jn 19.22

 

I am not rich.

I tell myself this at least once a day, perhaps once an hour on a good day. I take pride in the fact that I am not rich. A dark, spiritually ominous pride, but pride nevertheless. It is easy for me to tell myself that I am not rich.

It is easy because I compare myself to my friends. Some of my friends are rich. Way rich. They are rich because I have decided that they are rich. They’ve climbed really, really high on the economic ladder, and although they are Christians just like me, they have more stuff and bigger stuff and newer stuff and faster stuff.

That, of course, does not make them rich in my eyes: what makes them rich is that I want that stuff, too, but I can’t afford it.

So, I conclude, they are rich.

Don’t misunderstand me: I am not envious. No, I am far too spiritual for something so base. I remind myself of passages in the Bible like,

“For there are no pains in their death, and their body is fat. They are not in trouble as other men, nor are they plagued like mankind. Therefore pride is their necklace; the garment of violence covers them. Their eye bulges from fatness; the imaginations of their heart run riot.”

. . . which, of course, is from Ps 73, a psalm that reminds us of the ultimate fate of the wicked. Deep down in a place I don’t want to admit even exists, I regard rich Christians as wicked. I don’t dwell on it long because I don’t want to be unkind - even if only in my own mind - to people that I might need some day. Instead, I think of

“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys, and where thieves do not break in or steal; for where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

. . . and I tell myself that I will use my considerable riches in heaven (and what has to be a huge, huge dwelling place - Jn 14.2) to be nice to all these foolish friends of mine. I’ll be magnanimous, even in heaven. Then my friends will see how wise I was. Then who’s gonna be looking up the ladder, huh?

This humble attitude also works for me when I go to places like Austin or Houston, where I am routinely accosted by homeless people who want me to give them money for food. I tell myself, “O, beloved lost soul, if I had the money, if I were rich like so many of my friends, I’d give you everything you needed and help you tremendously. But, as God would have it, I am not rich, so please get away from my car and don’t try to make eye contact with me.”

It even works when I see starving people in other parts of the world, and people that don’t have proper shelter or medicine. And when there’s a catastrophe, like a typhoon or earthquake or psychopathic warload, my heart really goes out to them, although my billfold doesn’t go out at all.

But why should it? After all, I don’t have a plasma screen TV, jet ski, or iPod; my SUV is almost 5 years old! two of my three computers (not counting my laptop) are more than two years old! and my mp3 player only holds about 250 songs at a time!

And I do give money away. A lot. Like when some client of mine can’t pay their bill, and they haven’t responded to statements with “PAST DUE” stamped on the envelope (I’m hoping that shame will overwhelm them, now that several postal employees know that they owe me), and they have not been frightened by my letters threatening legal action - even after all of that, if they still don’t pay their bill, then I send them a final statement, write the Greek word for “It is finished!” (teleo - one last shot: maybe they’ll feel really guilty about how godly I am because I know a little Greek), and I FORGIVE THEM. This is my wonderful obedience to Mt 6.12: “And forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors.”

At least I forgive the financial part of it. But they better never try to make another appointment with me, that’s for sure. I have a good memory for people like them. Of course, I also pray for them. I pray, “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing” (Lk 23.34).

I have a verse for almost everything.

I am obviously in no position to be giving money to needy people. It is clear (to me) that I am one of the poor but (probably due to my obedience to God), one who has been entrusted with just enough to keep me from living in the box that my last new appliance came in or from driving the latest four-wheeled model from Kroger.

What I don’t want to think about, of course, is that while I’m looking up the economic ladder at all my rich friends there are a lot of people - like, conservatively, 99% of the world’s population - who are looking up at me and thinking, “If only . . . “

Because if I looked down the ladder, I might be concerned about how far I could fall. Worse, I might stop to consider that maybe James was talking to me when he said, “You have lived on earth in luxury and self-indulgence. You have fattened yourselves in the day of slaughter” (Jas 5.5). It’s not just the fattest turkeys that wind up in a small room at 350 degrees for four hours.

Or I might pause for a moment and consider that - maybe, just maybe - Paul had someone like me in mind when he said,

“Instruct those who are rich in this present world not to be conceited or to fix their hope on the uncertainty of riches, but on God, who richly supplies us with all things to enjoy. Instruct them to do good, to be rich in good works, to be generous and ready to share” (1 Tim 6.17).

No, I don’t do any of that. I don’t ever look down. I don’t ever look down because I am fully committed to obeying Paul’s command to “keep seeking the things above . . . Set your mind on the things above” (Col 3.1-2. OK, so I didn’t include the whole verses, but I DID include the really important part.).

And when I seek the things above, and when I set my mind on the things above, I see my rich friends inhabiting the rungs above me. I see all their stuff. New, big, fast, more stuff than I have.

And that’s what I keep seeking, because that’s the kind of humble, obedient Christian I am.

Jn 19.22

 

OK, for the sake of this post, let’s say you understand and accept everything that I said in the previous four articles on the brain and sanctification. At this point, then, the proper response or question might be:

“You mean I read all of that stuff just to humor you? So what? What good or difference does any of that make?”

Calm down. Take a deep breath, hold it ’til the count of five, then release. Repeat a few thousand times or so.

In a way, the application of all the preceding can be of great value; at the same time, it is a re-discovery of what the Bible has demonstrated and described all along.

Again, for the sake of argument (or, “discussion,” since spiritual Christians don’t argue (1 Cor 1.10 [pardon my ripping the verse out of context to use for my own sarcastic purpose]), let’s assume that everything I said is accurate and in keeping with biblical anthropology. Starting from that point, there are several important applications to be made.

The first, which was mentioned in the last post, is the importance of knowing the Bible. If (first-class conditional = “since”) it is true that the Holy Spirit uses the Bible to accomplish His work of sanctification in us, then the more time spent reading or hearing the word of God the more quickly He can work in us. Of course, the Holy Spirit must enlighten us as we read or listen, but if we’re not reading or listening to the Bible then the light may shine but there won’t be anything for us to see. Or anything for Him to work with.

So Bible reading/hearing/studying is important. But we have to be sure that we are accurately or correctly handling the truth God has entrusted to us (2 Tim 2.15). There is a discipline or regimen to the study of the Bible that is necessary to follow if we are to have truths available to the Holy Spirit. Again, the Bible is not a magical book that will yield truth to a reckless audience. We must be clear on what God has said or promised and, just as importantly, what He has not said or promised.

Every lesson we are taught, every conclusion we come to on our own must be subjected to the infallible truth of the Bible and the penetrating discernment of the Holy Spirit within us.

The major application is drawn from a discipline called “brain-based learning,” which was pioneered by secular (?) educators Geoffrey and Renate Caine. Their books are fascinating reading and, as will be explained shortly, quite encouraging for Christians in an indirect way.

Almost 30 years ago, Christian educator Larry Richards wrote A Theology of Christian Education, a remarkable book and well-ahead of its time. One of the problems he identified was the difficulty in getting isolated beliefs (head knowledge) to become operating beliefs (so-called heart knowledge, or that which is put into practice). The work of the Caines provides valuable insight into accomplishing that task. (All quotes in the following are from their works.)

There are three things necessary for brain-based learning to occur:

1. Relaxed alertness
2. Orchestrated immersion
3. Active processing.

Relaxed alertness refers to a state of mind characterized by low threat and high challenge: people must feel emotionally safe within an environment and relationship of an honest, supportive yet confrontational community that allows for growth and experimentation. This condition, which is the optimal state of mind for learning, is deliberately achieved. It includes relaxing physically, meditating purposefully (focusing on specific biblical content rather than attempting to empty one’s mind), and providing a physical environment that supports such a state of mind. Providing people with a safe, non-threatening learning experience requires first of all that the teacher/preacher/discipler feels neither threatened nor bored. Only then will learning be safe enough not to be threatening, but challenging enough not to be boring.

Immersion in the learning experience is based on the finding that “to some extent all meaningful learning is experiential.” Elements that contribute to immersion in learning include “an event or situation that has some aspect of a narrative or story form;” a physical environment that supports the narrative; genuine, supportive social relationships, and, a wide range of experiences involving as many of the senses as possible. The more that the experience resembles real-life, the more effective the teaching. Orchestrated immersion involves not only personal interaction with the teacher or discipler, but an opportunity for people to engage in long-term, open-ended, and self-directed studies which are sufficiently challenging so as to produce intrinsic rewards. One need look no further than the process of sanctification, a life-long pursuit not to be completed in this lifetime, for an example of such a challenge for the Christian. And more than merely being immersed in the study, the Christian is indwelt by the Holy Spirit and provided with the power to do the work.

The third and final condition necessary for learning to occur is active processing of the experience by the people. This means that, guided by the teacher, preacher, or discipler, sufficient practice and rehearsal is provided to allow the people to begin to make connections and create new meanings with the new knowledge being acquired. To broaden and deepen the learning, people must be given an opportunity to actively process the material and the experience.

One of the primary purposes in the calling of the twelve disciples, according to Mark, was so that these men might spend time with Jesus (3.14). This was their apprenticeship, a time when they would learn lessons from the Master not only through His messages but by accompanying Him during more than three years of ministry. Jesus did not primarily train the disciples didactically but by having them with Him and giving them ministerial opportunities and responsibilities.

While His purpose was not to present a treatise on effective brain-based discipling techniques, our Lord nevertheless modeled the conditions and principles discussed here. In loving His disciples He created an atmosphere of relaxed alertness; by being with them continuously He immersed them for more than three years in a learning-rich environment, and through repetition, questions, and fellowship gave the disciples opportunities to actively process all that they were learning.

Following the coming of the Holy Spirit on the Day of Pentecost, the effectiveness of His strategy was demonstrated by the awareness of the rulers, elders, scribes, and family of high priests who, “as they observed the confidence of Peter and John and understood that they were uneducated and untrained men, they were amazed, and began to recognize them as having been with Jesus” (Ac 4.13). Empowered by the Holy Spirit, Peter and John manifested the effects of three-plus years of on-the-job learning in what it meant to minister, preach, and witness. They changed the face of the world because they had received a real-life education and had been discipled into being leaders of the early church.

And this is precisely what the church is to be about today. The church is meant to be a loving and confrontational community (relaxed alertness), involving people in the work of the ministry (orchestrated immersion), and through fellowship allowing believers to process and discuss their Christian experience (active processing). (Sorry, but talking about Aunt Nellie’s big toe or who won yesterday’s football game does not qualify as biblical fellowship.)

God created our brains. He knows how we learn, and His approach is clearly demonstrated in Jesus’ interactions with the disciples and in all His dealings with His people throughout the Bible.

For the church to succeed, it needs only to return to that which is effective in facilitating sanctification in the Christian.

Jn 19.22

 

So far, we have described the mental aspects of your basic, natural, human being: a brain, a human spirit, and a uniquely ordered mind. This is true of every person who has ever lived on the planet. But for some - we call ourselves Christians - there is an additional component to our constitution that makes all the difference in the world. And in the next world. We will also consider in this post the fifth aspect of our spiritual existence, since the fourth and fifth are closely related.

The Holy Spirit is a fourth factor in the constitution of some people, and He is the Agent of change or sanctification in every Christian. Paul makes it clear that, if we do not have the Spirit of Christ, then we are not believers (Rom 8.9b). He does a lot of things in His ministry to and through us, but here we are limiting our consideration to His role in our sanctification.

Like the human spirit, the Holy Spirit is an initiator, activator, and governor of processes in our brains. Unlike the human spirit, however, the Spirit only initiates and governs those (neuro)pathways of righteousness that He has made. He does not work on the old, sinful channels in the mind of the Christian - or even the “righteous” ones we have done in the flesh - but instead creates new pathways to be followed. His purpose is to make the righteous channels more active and attractive than the sinful ones.

The sinful paths are what constitutes the flesh (when used in a negative sense in Scripture). When Paul declares, “For the flesh sets its desire against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh; for these are in opposition to one another, so that you may not do the things that you please” (Gal 5.17), he may be describing something that modern neurology sheds some light on. The flesh - the mental eight-lane channels of pleasure and sin - presents itself as an easy alternative to what the Spirit is offering. The Spirit beckons us down a path of righteousness, but the well-traveled and familiar path of sin is calling, too.

Who wins? Well, according to Paul, whichever one our human spirit decides to yield to. He says to the Galatians, “walk by the Spirit, and you will not carry out the desire of the flesh” (Gal 5.16), and to the Romans, “do not go on presenting the members of your body to sin as instruments of unrighteousness; but present yourselves to God as those alive from the dead, and your members as instruments of righteousness to God. . . . Do you not know that when you present yourselves to someone as slaves for obedience, you are slaves of the one whom you obey, either of sin resulting in death, or of obedience resulting in righteousness?” (Rom 6.13, 16).

The Christian’s responsibility in the process of sanctification is to yield, not to the flesh but, to the Holy Spirit. As we walk with Him, He will transform our minds and change our behaviors.

Of course, it is possible to make similar changes without the Holy Spirit. Any person, including a Christian, can attempt to create new neuropathways of righteousness through willpower and discipline. There are, without question, a great number of very good, very honorable, very noble non-Christians in the world. Many of them are in church every Sunday. The Pharisees in Jesus’ day were good men: their peers looked up to them and admire their piety. We know that they’re the bad guys because we know the whole story, but had we been living at that time we, too, would have thought very highly of them. But their righteousness was a product of their own spirit and thus corrupted by sin.

And there are a great number of Christians who, for one reason or another, are attempting to perfect themselves by the flesh (i.e., the work of the human spirit to change the brain for the better). Paul says that they are foolish (Gal 3.3) and states that no one - that is, NO ONE - will be made righteous or justified through their own efforts (Rom 3.20, Gal 2.21).

All our righteousness, after all, is nothing but but a filthy rag (a polite euphemism) in the eyes of God (Is 64.6). And this is true whether that self-produced righteousness is accomplished by a non-Christian or a Christian. The only righteousness that counts with Him is that which He gives (positionally) to us and that which the Holy Spirit produces (experientially) in us.

The Holy Spirit does not work nilly-willy or arbitrarily in the believer, He utilizes the written word of God - the Bible - to establish new paths of righteousness in the believer. That may come from reading the Bible, hearing it read, or hearing it from the lips of others, but it is the truth as contained in the Bible that provides the direction, form, and content of the new channels in our brain. The more we hear the word of God, the more our minds are transformed - if we yield to Him and follow down those paths.

The Bible does not contain error and, if studied correctly, cannot lead us into error. It is one of the ministries of the Holy Spirit to illuminate the Scriptures for us. Strictly speaking, He does not “reveal” anything to us: revelation is complete; revelation is confined to the Bible. The Spirit enlightens us and enables us to see the truth of God in a way that it becomes part of our life. It is not just knowledge of the Bible that He desires, but a change in our lives. We are to be “living bibles” in the world, blessing others and being blessed in the process.

It is the presence and leading of the Holy Spirit that makes the Bible living and active (Heb 4.12). The Bible does not possess some magical power of its own. This is clearly seen by the effect it has on a non-Christian: to them it is just a book, a collection of confusing and sometimes-quaint concepts. But it is hardly something to live by and, even if it were, it would be impossible.

The Bible is special because of its purity and clear revelation of the Person of God, but by itself it changes no one. Change is the activity of the Holy Spirit, and it is the Bible that He uses to accomplish His work in us.

Next (and last): Application

Jn 19.22

 

Having taken a quick look at the brain (Pt. 1) and the human spirit (Pt. 2), it’s now time to consider the third of the five aspects of our spiritual nature and sanctification: the mind. But first, a brief review.

Think of the brain as a seemingly infinite number of points (neurons) that exist in three-dimensional space. A pretty good analogy is to think of all the stars in the night sky: although we can see only a few thousand (at most) with the naked eye, there are actually (to quote a dead man) “billions and billions” of them. Our brain has 100,000,000,000 or so of these “points” scattered throughout its four-pound mound of gelatinous mass.

Of course, the night sky does not exhibit any visible signs that there are connections that exist between these billions of stars. Our brain, however, does have connections. Lots of them. Or, more accurately, it has channels of potential connections that exist, awaiting only some activation to establish a connection. Not all the points or neurons are connected to each other - at least, not directly - but the number of channels and connections are staggering. More than can be counted on your fingers and toes. Or the fingers and toes of everyone on the planet.

Some of these neurons and channels exist in areas of the brain that seem to be the triggers for various mental functions, such as sight, hearing, touch, feeling, thinking, and adjusting our underwear in public. And we seem to have connecting thoughts and feelings about our activities, as well as similar behaviors in others when we catch them.

What causes the creation of these connections via the channels is the human spirit, along with internal and external stimuli. Think of the human spirit as an immaterial cause and the other two as material causes. But not only does the spirit initiate, it also superintends or governs the connections at various points along the way. We are generally aware of this activity due to the phenomenon of consciousness, although there may be other things that our spirit does of which we are not always conscious.

Now we turn to the mind, which according to Rom 12.1-2, is an important element in our spiritual growth and maturity. (Of course, the heart and soul are also involved in sanctification, but that’s a different part of my dissertation. I’ll only say that it’s really cool the way I conceptualize all of that. Sorry.)

Basically, the mind is the architecture or configuration that results from the interaction of the spirit and the brain over the course of our lifetime. It is not just the connections that exist but also - and more importantly - the non-activated channels between the various neurons. This organization of the brain is sometimes called schemas and exists in vast networks and constellations of channels and momentary connections.

As stated previously, the more frequently a channel is employed the greater the possibility that it - along with all associated connections - will be used again. A channel that may start out as a faint trail across a virgin field can develop into an eight-lane freeway. With apologies to Robert Frost, we normally take the road most easily traveled.

A channel can also start out as a veritable autobahn, however. Remember the first time you decided to lick a metal pole on a cold, cold day? How many times did you have to do that to come to the conclusion that maybe this was something to tell someone else to do, but not to do again yourself? That is because the brain marks some signals with powerful chemical indicators that this seeming good idea is not so good after all. That marking is permanent and powerful.

So we have a mind, semi-ordered or disordered as the case may be, which is largely a result of our experiences. Our minds are created and activated by our spirits in interaction with our brains, giving us the incredible diversity among people. After all, how many different ways are there to organize 100 billions neurons? Well, more than a few.

And this mind (along with the heart and soul) is the key to our sanctification.

Jn 19.22

 

In our first episode (CotB - P1), I provided a rudimentary overview of the major parts of the brain and how thoughts and feelings are transmitted. Hopefully, the explanation was more illuminating than obfuscatory; if not, let me know and I’ll try to do a better job (i.e., I’ll go back and re-do the post). Assuming that everything is sufficiently clear, however, let’s plunge ahead to the second of the issues to be examined.

So we have a brain. Now what?

Well, now the question is: what causes brain activity? The answer is threefold, but only the last one is of interest to us for the purpose of this discussion.

The first two sources of brain activity are external and internal stimuli. The brain is activated by external stimuli whenever our senses detect something in the environment, i.e., in the external world. Looking at this blog is triggering your optic nerve, which in turn is setting in motion a host of dynamics in the brain that result in such things as recognition that these curious little markings are letters and that these letters form words and sentences and paragraphs that are supposed to be a coherent thought.

Brain activites outside the realm of consciousness or awareness also occur. Your eyes move back and forth across the page without you having noticed (until now) or having told them to do so. This is a result of learning, and there are some strong pathways in your brain that cause your eyes to move from left to right and up and down in order to see what the next word is going to be.



At the same time, the stimulation of the optic nerve may result in other, unexpected things happening - such as yawning, or a sudden craving for coffee or something else to do besides read this.

Internal stimuli are triggers that are independent of the environment. For example, when your stomach begins to contract because it no longer has enough food - or, if not food, then something from McDonald’s - when that happens, then it sends a message to your brain (via neurons and the nervous system) to do something about it. When you do finally shove something into your mouth, other things begin happening: saliva is produced, swallowing is activated, your stomach is happy (but doesn’t stop with the signal just yet), blood is re-allocated, etc.

Your body is a busy, busy place, always doing things - like breathing - that are usually outside your awareness. And some things that are always outside your awareness (try, right now, to be aware of what your inner ear is actually doing at this very moment as it keeps you from falling over as you read this). You can perhaps be aware of the effects of some of those activities, but you can’t sense it happening unless something goes wrong.

In our discussion, however, it is the third stimuli that is of primary interest. This third activator of thought, feeling, and behavior is the human spirit. Our human spirit is what enables us to think about things that have nothing to do with our immediate environment or physical existence. It is responsible for the capacities to will to do something, to meditate, to think original thoughts, to create new associations or connections between old networks or constellations in our brains.

The human spirit is not the electrical or chemical signal or transmission within the brain, but is a spiritual dimension of our makeup that instigates such activity.

The human spirit is also that which gives us what the psychologists call temperament, or our particular predispositions in life. Temperament is described by terms such as introverted or extroverted, dominant or compliant, active or passive. It is said that temperament is roughly 50 percent of who we are, although I have no idea how anyone can come up with such a figure.

I would further argue that personality resides in our spirits and that the makeup of the mind (the subject of the next post) is largely the resulting configuration of our brains growing out of the accommodation, assimilation, and compensation due to the interaction of our spirit, our physical constitution, and our experiences.

I believe this because of the Incarnation. When the Second Member of the Godhead took human form, He did not develop a personality that was different than what it had been previously. God doesn’t change, remember? So who Jesus was is who Jesus is and is who Jesus will always be. His Spirit took up residence in human form - He became actual flesh and blood - and it was His Spirit that manifested itself through His brain, mind, and body.

Unlike Jesus, of course, our human spirits are not pre-existent but are formed at the moment of conception (naturally, I believe, not by a direct act of God). Our personalities are largely set at that time, although modified later through experiences, drugs, or by coming in contact with rapidly moving blunt objects aimed at our heads.

Our human spirit not only initiates brain activity but also supervises or superintends conscious thoughts, feelings, and behaviors. Our spirit decides how to respond to some of the external and internal stimuli we experience, and then “accompanies” the transmission at various points along the way. Ideally, at significant points, our spirit can make a choice about which direction the thought, feeling, or behavior will go.

Because we have a human spirit, we are morally responsible. By and large, we can make choices about moral matters.

Next: The Mind

Jn 19.22

 

If a pastor were ever so desperate as to allow me to speak on Easter morning, Paul’s above charge to the Corinthians would be my text.

Now, I recognize that the overflowing pews on Easter morning are a target-rich environment, a veritable killing field of an opportunity to preach the gospel to all those strange faces that find their way to church for this one Sunday out of the year. And because Easter is such a great social and cultural event in our country, most messages on that Spring morning tend to have an evangelistic thrust to them.

There is certainly nothing wrong with evangelistic messages, and preaching them to unbelievers is a good idea. But is Easter always the time for that? I didn’t become a Christian until I was 25 and, for the most part, only darkened the doors of churches on Easter mornings - if then. To be honest, though, I didn’t think there was much reason to come back on any other Sunday: every time I came to church on that one day out of the year, the message sounded a whole lot like the one I had heard the year before and the year before that and . . .

It made me wondered why people came every Sunday: didn’t they get tired of the same basic sermon week after week?

But now as a Christian (for 30 years) it seems to me that Easter - if it is to be singled out and celebrated on a particular day - should be an in-house event, something to be observed by those who are members of the Body of Christ because they have trusted in Jesus as their Savior. It should be a memorial for believers, not unbelievers.

This, however, seems to get lost in an effort to “get the gospel out” yet again to people who have already heard it so many times that they’re immune to it. For many it has become a yearly innoculation, kind of a spiritual flu shot: come to church on Easter Sunday, hear the gospel (or not hear it, more accurately), make sure nothing’s changed, and then go home with the confidence that you’re good for another year.

That is not what Paul’s command is about, of course: he was not telling the Corinthians to observe Easter and the resurrection of Christ. Nor is it a call to dwell on the true Passover Lamb who was slain for the sins of the world. The feast in view here is not Passover: that feast is over - “our Passover also has been sacrificed” - and the immediately following feast is what Paul is telling the Corinthians to observe.

The question, then, is what feast is he talking about?

To find that out, we have to look at the Jewish calendar and what followed Passover. Moses commands the Israelites in Ex 13.3-10 to observe the week-long festival in remembrance of their delieverance - salvation - from Egypt as a result of the Passover. They were to eat only unleavened bread; not only that, there was not to be any leaven anywhere within the community of believers during this time.

Leaven - or yeast - in the Bible is usually (but not always) a symbol of sin. Grain offerings at the Temple were not to contain any leaven, and when Jesus warned the disciples about the leaven of the Pharisees and of Herod, He was talking about their sinful influence. The Feast of Unleavened Bread was a call to eliminate sin in each Israelite’s individual life and in the corporate life of the nation.

Christ did not save us so that we might gorge ourselves with yeast-filled bread. A person might choose to do this as a Christian, but it is unbelievably stupid. It is to remain in the worst imaginable prison after the price for our freedom has been paid and we have been given the keys to the door.

What Paul is saying, and what the celebration of Easter should remind us of and call us to, is a life of holiness and purity. It is because we have been redeemed, forgiven of our sins, given eternal life, and made into a dwelling place of the Holy Spirit that we are to respond by setting ourselves apart from sin. We are not, as Paul says, to live a life characterized by malice or wickedness; we are to live in sincerity and truth.

(The order here is critical. An unleavened life is supposed to follow salvation, not be the means of salvation, and a leavened life affects our fellowship with God and other believers. It does not diminish or negate the efficacy of the blood of our salvation.)

Easter, then, should be a time to look forward and consider what should be our reasonable response to the sacrifice of Jesus Christ. It is a day to examine ourselves carefully, to identify the leaven that may have slipped undetected into our lives, and to turn from it and walk in a manner worthy of the calling with which we have been called (Eph 4.1). It is a time to remember that we are not our own, that we have been purchased with a price, and that we ought to therefore glorify God in our lives (1 Co 6.20).

Even as the Israelites were to avoid leaven and to rid their nation of sin, so individual believers must turn from sin and to cleanse the church from sin. This is the feast to be celebrated following salvation.

Our Passover has been sacrificed. Our immediate response should be to celebrate with a life free from sin.

Jn 19.22

 

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(One thing that bothers me about some testimonies is that the depth of sin a person falls into sometimes get too much attention. Far too much: I think some people actually enjoy the vicarious experience of sin as they listen to the drug abuse, sexual promiscuity, perversions, and such. I could provide a lot of that, but I won’t. Believe me, it’s not pretty and it’s nothing to be proud of. And it leaves scars. Hopefully, this one glorifies God, not me or sin.)

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It wasn’t my idea to become a Christian; in fact, I came into the kingdom kind of kicking and screaming.

My problems began before I was born. My codependent mother and borderline father had a couple of children before me – two girls. My misogynous father told my mother that, if the next child was not a boy, he was leaving her. In retrospect, I don’t think he was kidding.

My father had been a good athlete. He was a Golden Gloves boxer and was on a course that might have landed him in major league baseball one day. Then a little thing called World War Two came along, he caught shrapnel in his left leg, and the dream turned into a nightmare.

So my father wanted a son and, after two “misfires,” I came along. But there was one problem: I was born crippled. Bilateral club feet, which means that my feet were curled up so that the bottom of my feet were up and the outsides were down.

My parents didn’t have much money – neither had finished high school because of the Great Depression – and there probably wasn’t any corrective surgery for my condition anyway. So I spent the first year of my life in and out of casts from the tips of my toes to my hips, having them changed every month or so.

All my father saw was a son that, according to the doctors, would have trouble walking; running and sports were out of the question. So my father took no interest in me and crawled inside a bottle for the next decade or so.

I didn’t grow up in a Christian home and didn’t spend much time in church. I do recall going to church once in a while, but I don’t remember anything that stuck with me. When my older sister was baptized (I was probably around eight or nine years old), I remember being confused and wondering why she was wearing a white sheet and why they were dunking her in the water. I didn’t like it much and nobody told me what was going on.

When I say that mine was a dysfunctional home, I mean that in a clinical sense. Most families fall into the mid-range coping style, with some actually achieving health. Health means that there is intimacy and individuality; mid-range is some of each; dysfunctional families are significantly screwed up in one or both areas. Communication is troubled and boundaries are blurred. Bad stuff happens.

Without much of a father to raise me (he was present in my life but not a presence in my life), I was left to figure out a lot on my own. And I did, indeed, figure out a lot but – not surprisingly – most of what I figured out was wrong. Like most kids, I was a great observer and a lousy interpreter.

Since I was just a kid, I didn’t know that I wasn’t supposed to be able to run and play like the other kids. So I began to run and play. It soon became obvious that I was a pretty good athlete. Actually, I was a very good athlete at just about anything I took up. Baseball, football, basketball, tennis, skiing, swimming, boxing, wrestling – everything but long-distance running. I could have done that, too, but I never understood why I should run for a long time just to wind up where I began.

Of course, this caused my father to suddenly notice me and lay claim to my life. He was determined that I would be the star that he always wanted to be. He shut down all my sports except baseball because that was what he played. So I did the all-star and all-conference stuff until . . . I noticed girls. Suddenly sports weren’t the greatest thing in the world.

My father disapproved of this and showed his disapproval with the back of his hand and an occasional fist in my face. At the age of eleven, I had promised an uncle that I would never hit my father; at the time, it was a no-brainer: I was 5-6 and maybe 115 pounds and my father was 6-1 and 210. Sure, I’ll restrain myself. Even when I got bigger, though, I kept my promise.

So my father retreated back into his bottle and I discovered the opposite sex. I was looking for love, as Johnny Paycheck sang, in all the wrong places.

School was always easy for me and I got a lot of attention. I got a double-promotion in elementary school, which seemed swell at the time but not-so swell later: I was a year younger than everyone else and didn’t get my driver’s license until the last semester of my junior year of high school. I finished my first semester of college while still 17. Academically, I was fine; socially, I was light years behind.

Without a sense of direction and virtually no guidance, I went to college without any idea of what I wanted to do if and when I graduated. I tried majoring in history, then English, then speech. Finally, I found something I enjoyed: flunking out. I’d go to class once or twice a semester before giving up and playing cards or shooting pool. I was too busy to officially withdraw so I piled up a lot of 0.00 credits.

But I didn’t care. I had landed a part-time job as a sports reporter at the local newspaper and began picking up more hours. I started by doing obits, then going through vital stats at the county courthouse, and finally worked my way to police beat. I saw a lot of bad things: rapes, robberies, murders, autopsies, traffic fatalities. A lot of dead people. Some young children, some old ladies. Trains crushing cars. Shotguns at point-blank range. People burning to death in fires. It does something to you.

The Vietnam War was going on at the time and some of my friends were going to the other side of the world. I was 19 when the draft was instituted, out of school, and without a deferment. My lottery number was 16. But the military didn’t take cripples, so I stayed home while my friends went away. Some never came back, and some that did come back came back different. I felt guilty.

As usual, I tried to “medicate” my emotions through relationships. Overall I had two long-term girlfriends (three and four years, respectively) and was OK as long as I had them. But after the breakup of the second, I was inconsolable. I was barely 21, out of school, and working part-time still at the newspaper. A former semi-pro football player named Doug took me under his wing and introduced me to marijuana. It was the beginning of a love affair that lasted for the next five-plus years of my life. I was stoned all day, every day from that point on. My primary relationship and the love of my life came in one-ounce bags. I quit the newspaper and began driving heavy equipment for the city – stoned the whole time, of course. I spent my nights in bars playing pool and picking up the occasional girl who wanted to get high.

I had a lot of friends, but still no girlfriend. I was 24 years old and going nowhere: I was back at the newspaper and doing well there – I won a state Associated Press award – but still hadn’t found anything worth living for. Marijuana, I knew, was just a way to pass time. As lost and purposeless as I had ever been, I did what everyone back then did who didn’t have anything else to do: I went back to college.

It was different this time. I knew I needed a degree if I was ever going to get out of the rut I was in, so I applied myself. I had re-entered college with a sterling 1.12 GPA (all those 0.00s caught up with me) and about 75 credit hours; when I finished, I had pulled it up to a two-point-something or other.

In one of my first classes back in school, while still doing the drugs, sex, and rock’n’roll thing, I met a strikingly attractive young lady named Karen. She was the second-ranked student in the class (do I need to say who was #1?) and liked me. But she wouldn’t date me. I was baffled; she was a Christian. Hmmm.

We studied together, had coffee together, talked on the phone a lot. But no dates: she wouldn’t date non-Christians, she said.

She explained the gospel to me. Since she was in Campus Crusade for Christ, she used the Four Spiritual Laws. I had been around long enough to know the first three laws – God loves me, I’m sinful, Jesus died for my sins – but the fourth law was new. I had personal responsibility to make a decision about whether I’d accept the offer or not.

Well, I was a happy agnostic at that point. I was making good money, had my own car, lived alone in a cabin in the woods 20 miles outside of town, had a lot of friends, and enough girls that found me sufficiently attractive for a night. Jesus didn’t sound too appealing at the time.

Once, in October of 1974, I actually asked Jesus into my heart. My prayer was something like this:

“God, I don’t know if You’re really there or not, but I’m going to open the door to my heart that You’re supposedly knocking on. So I’m going to open it but, just in case You are there, know that I don’t want You to come in! Amen.”

Nothing happened and I announced to Karen that it didn’t work so I was right and she was wrong. She asked me what had happened and I, like a fool, told her the truth. She told me it didn’t count.

For the next two months I was hounded by the Holy Spirit. Christians were everywhere saying horrible things to me like, “I’m praying for you!” Talk about pushy. Karen kept talking to me and I kept trying to break her resolve. And morals.

God, however, got tired of the game and brought it to a swift resolution. He hit me in my one tender, vulnerable spot – relationships – and I broke. Even some of my drug friends told me I needed to get serious. So I prayed again. I was serious and so was God. That was Tuesday, December 10, 1974, at a little after 8 p.m. I was on the phone with Karen when I prayed. I was persuaded. I was saved. I was almost 25.

The class in which Karen and I met? Speech 302: Persuasion. Ironic. God has a dry sense of humor.

God immediately took away my desire for drugs, alcohol, and – sex. (Well, OK, not the desire but the participation therein.) I moved out of my drug-filled cabin in the woods, turned away from all my stoned friends, and began to read the Bible. (I was so ignorant that the first Bible I bought was a Catholic Bible. I didn’t know there was a difference.)

I developed a ravenous appetite for the Bible. I would read for hours and hours, then go to Bible studies, listen to sermons on tape, and do my own Bible studies. I bought books. A lot of books. I read and read. I had a lot of catching up to do.

The first five years of my new life were spent in the Bible and in legalism. I quickly became self-righteous, dogmatic, and judgmental. Karen didn’t want anything to do with me. “I liked you better before,” she told me one day. I was confused but undaunted. And I was still single.

I got married when I was 30; my bride was almost 28. It was the first for both of us, and we married determined never to divorce.

(Good thing we are both bull-headed and take vows seriously: if not for the commitment to God, we wouldn’t be coming up on our 25th anniversary [4.5.05]. We had/have two wonderful daughters, the first now a senior at Texas A&M and the second a sophomore in high school. They are both believers. My firstborn inherited my club feet.)

I continued in my fundamentalist attitude during the early years of my marriage, making life absolutely miserable for my wife. After three years, I packed up the family (only one daughter then) and we moved to Colorado to go to seminary. And to ski.

Seminary changed my life. Not because of what I learned, but because of the relationships and friendships I forged while there with a handful of my professors. Drs. James Beck, Bruce Demarest, Tim Weber, and Vernon Grounds. I studied them more than I studied my coursework. They are godly men. I wanted to be more like them.

More than anyone else, Dr. Demarest broke my fundamentalism. He ripped my theological and exegetical papers apart, shredded my dogmatism like tissue paper, and slaughtered sacred cows with ease. He taught me to hold my convictions firmly but gently, and to respect the theologies of others since – as he demonstrated – theirs could be understood biblically, too. More than anything, he showed me what humility was. He would humbly answer hyper-critical Bible college grads who would read him the riot act for trashing their theology. He never raised his voice or got angry, but I planned to beat them up after class. For some reason, I didn’t.

After graduation and a couple of years of underemployment, we moved to Texas and I began my counseling practice. I went on to earn a D.Min. from Trinity Theological Seminary in Indiana (my home state), concentrating on Christian Education and Discipleship. I am committed to both.

God continued and continues to grow me, using my confrontational, take-no-prisoners wife to do so. Any other wife would not have been able to get through to me. She did and I love her deeply for putting up with me. She deserved better. She’ll be the one with all the gold, silver, and precious stones in heaven. I’ll be there with the haystack.

C.S. Lewis said something to the effect that you don’t know how far a person has come unless you know where they started. I’ve got a good ways to go, but Christ has brought me further than I could ever have hoped for or imagined. My life is a miracle, inexplicable according to human dynamics.

One of the highest compliments I ever got was a back-handed one. One day not too long ago I was telling a good friend, Rob, about my history and about my father in particular. He said to me in disbelief, “It’s amazing that you’re as healthy as you are!”

And he was exactly right.

Jn 19.22