What's in the Water?

You are all sons of God through faith in Christ Jesus, for all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus. (Galatians 3.26-28)

Dunkers

I was reared in Pentecostalism, the schismatic offspring of Fundamentalist groups like the Nazarenes and Baptists, which means I come from a tradition of “dunkers.” Baptism for us was/is less a sacrament (though it is that) than a rite of passage, much like First Communion and Confirmation are milestones for Catholics, Anglicans, and Lutherans. Unlike those practices, however, our baptism isn’t generally associated with a certain age or juncture in faith formation. Individuals who come to Christ and confess His Lordship are urged to take “the next step,” i.e., meet the minister in waist-high water—usually in the church baptistery, but sometimes at an outdoor location—to be bodily submerged beneath its surface. (We refer to this as “total immersion.”) Since confession of sin presumes moral conscience and precedes baptism, the ritual is reserved for believers who’ve reached the “age of accountability.” Ergo only those mature enough to recognize their errors, repent of them, and commit their lives to Christ qualify as baptismal candidates. Each believer holds the right to determine when he/she gets “dunked.”

This tradition fixes its adherents to a perspective that strenuously opposes two practices in other Christian communities: infant baptism and the sprinkling or pouring of water on the believer. In the first case, it holds young children are incapable of true repentance and thus ineligible for baptism. And die-hard dunkers, for whom total immersion becomes a cause célèbre, jump to point out Peter’s first instruction to the Church is “repent and be baptized.” (Acts 2.38) The insistence on total immersion isn’t as cut-and-dried, however, as New Testament accounts don’t explicitly report head-to-toe dunking. For example, at Christ’s baptism, Matthew 3.16 says, “As soon as Jesus was baptized, he went up out of the water.” Does this mean He was under the water or returned to Jordan’s riverbank? In Acts 8, after hearing the Gospel, the Ethiopian eunuch asks Philip to baptize him. Verse 38 says they “went down into the water,” but doesn’t spell out the mechanics. And I’m not sure what we do with Acts 10, where Peter visits Cornelius, a Roman centurion, sees his and his family’s faith, and baptizes them on the spot. Are we to imagine Cornelius lives in a villa equipped with a spacious pool? Those are mighty fancy digs for a soldier stationed abroad.

Too Much Like Right

With no irrefutable example, total immersion advocates fall back on a literal reading of Paul’s turn of phrase in Romans 6.4 and Colossians 2.12: “buried with him in baptism.” Meaning and metaphor conflate into a method that inflates into a mandate: no submersion, no “burial;” no “burial,” no baptism. And now we come to the rich irony buried in this baptism business. While the dunkers’ rationale for their approach could use more solid scriptural backing, their neighbors across the fence—the sprinklers and dousers, many of whom recoil at the idea of getting soaked to the bone in a public display of faith—don’t fare any better. Nothing in Scripture indicates their technique is any more or less valid. The long and short of it: all we know is baptism exists as a holy ordinance, a symbolic demonstration of faith typified in death and rebirth. Everyone agrees on this and that it must be done. But no one can say with absolute certainty how to do it. So it makes sense to concede the issue on all sides and celebrate the meaningfulness of the act, rather than quibble over the material aspects of the activity. There should be no contention whatsoever about baptism. Yet it remains one of the most divisive topics among us.

Why can’t we come clean and admit we’re all solid on the principle, but shaky on the procedure? To borrow my grandmother’s pet phrase about people who insist on bickering over phantom differences, “Agreeing sounds too much like right.” If everyone’s right about baptism and nobody’s wrong, then I can’t question your Christian experience, nor you mine. That’s a beehive we’re terrified of splitting open, because once we do, we have to respect each other’s beliefs—and our individual rights to believe as we believe—entirely, without exception. In short, we have to trust one another’s word and mean what we say, neither of which comes readily, or reasonably, to us. It’s so much easier to speak for God despite His needing no spokesperson. And we’re very clever about how we do this.

We’re too smart to attack fellow believers on the grounds we’re forgiven and they aren’t. There are just too many “whoever’s” and “anyone’s” and “everyone’s” on the loose. We dare not tamper with that. But baptism—ah, baptism!—now there’s something we can rally around to riot over. If I don’t have to take your word about that, I don’t have to accept it about anything else I’m not comfortable believing. What’s more, since baptism is the physical testimony of repentance, disqualifying your baptism disqualifies your faith. We’ve turned this sacred institution into a trap door we use to pull the floor from beneath one another—or, in some cases, disappear through like it’s a rabbit hole to an alternative universe where we’re right and everyone else is wrong. God have mercy on us.

All of You

Baptism’s mystery and meaning aren’t in fingers that sprinkle, hands that pour, or arms anchoring candidates as they go under. (Or, for that matter, are they found in arms cradling an infant whose parents present the child in baptism to signify their vow to raise it in the faith and knowledge of Christ.) Baptism’s power and majesty reside in the water, whatever its quantity or however it’s administered. Thus, we must ask, “What’s in the water?” Opening Galatians 3.26-28, we find our answer. “You are all sons of God through faith in Christ Jesus, for all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.” Confession of faith brings us to baptism, whose primary purpose is removal of differences. It is not the equivalent of salvation, nor is it simply a reenactment of death and resurrection.

It is total immersion, if not literally, then in the far more profound sense of submersion in a Force so powerful it destroys all divisions, be they cultural, religious, social, or sexual. Baptism clothes us in Christ, Paul teaches. It creates uniformity of purpose by cloaking our pride of self and doubt of others. It enables us to see each other as one and the same. (“Your are all one in Christ.”) By way of baptism, everyone belongs—babies and grown-ups; Protestant, Catholic, and Orthodox believers; rich people and poor people; brown, black, white, yellow, red, and mixed-race people; women and men, gay, straight, and everything in between; dunkers and sprinklers and dousers—everyone touched by the water belongs. And doesn’t it just figure? The very sacrament ordained to free us of differences is the one we won't quit fighting about. Agreeing on baptism doesn’t merely sound too much like right. It is too much like right. Once we get this corrected, we’ll be able to correct the “too much like wrong” that plagues and defames the Body of Christ we’re baptized into.

It’s not in the method; it’s in the water. Baptism submerges us in a Force so powerful it destroys our differences and clothes us in uniformity.

Mistakes and Messes

Anyone who lives on milk, being still an infant, is not acquainted with the teaching about righteousness. But solid food is for the mature, who by constant use have trained themselves to distinguish good from evil. (Hebrews 5.13-14)

An Organic Process

We’ve a new kitten in the house, a dark-gray shorthair named Maxwell. Our first concern was introducing him to Cody, the two-year-old prince who took charge the day we brought him home. We read the articles, talked to the vets, and prepped for the accepted protocols, expecting Cody to put up a serious fight. Not so. The getting-to-know-you period lasted all of an hour before the buddies-for-life phase kicked in. We’ve got a different problem on our hands with Maxie. He’s so besotted with his big brother he’s determined to be like him in every way. This is most apparent at mealtime. Kitten food doesn’t interest him; he wants what Cody eats. Despite every ploy to prevent him, the little guy finds a way to gobble up anything the big guy leaves behind. It’s often too much to for him to digest—not enough to hurt him, just more than he can handle. Suffice to say, until Max’s system matures and he trains himself to eat richer foods in proper quantities, stain and odor alerts will remain in effect.

With faith formation being an organic process comparable to physical maturation, obvious parallels spring to mind—particularly, integration and dietary issues we tend to overlook. In many ways, we’re like cats, dogs, and other domestic pets. Our adoption starts with being lost or outlasting our welcome. We need a home. Christ finds us, takes us as-is, and promises to love, nurture, and protect us. Although He ensures our security, acceptance by others He found and took in isn’t always assured. Sometimes, the getting-to-know-you phase flies by so quickly it barely registers. Sometimes, it takes a very long time. And, sadly, sometimes it’s aborted when believers who fear any challenges to their way of life become antagonistic. In the last scenario, we have no option other than asking for grace to understand them and trust Christ to deal with them on our behalf. For the moment, however, let’s look at the first case, the Max-Cody situation.

Growing Up

Easy acceptance often triggers overindulgence. We bite off more than we’re mature enough to process. On the other hand, fear of rejection may cause us to stunt growth by sticking with what we can easily absorb. Scripture teaches growing up in faith involves training ourselves to distinguish what nourishes us from what harms us. Neither a diet we’re not yet strong enough to handle is recommended, nor is one of easily digestible fare that no longer spurs growth. As we muddle toward spiritual maturity, we can’t forget it’s okay to make a mess. Training ourselves to absorb increasingly complex, healthier fare necessitates impulse and presumption. (How can we learn what’s too much without discovering it’s too much?) But, on balance, mistakes and messes we make to enrich our faith far outweigh becoming weak and exhausted on watered-down staples we outgrow.

A rather charming moment arrives in Hebrews 5 that helps us understand how mistakes and messes connect with growing up. The writer is deep into his/her theological premise that Jesus is our High Priest, the Agent by whom we access forgiveness and redemption. It’s a message sure to resonate with Jewish readers steeped in sacrificial rituals. But it’s tricky. Understanding the principle demands a leap that begins with the symbolically literal to arrive at the conceptually abstract. So the author is rolling along, making the case, and suddenly realizes a lot of readers probably don’t get it. The accomplished theologian becomes the frustrated parent. In verse 11, we read, “We have much to say about this, but it is hard to explain because you are slow to learn.” A bit of chiding follows. “You should be teachers by now,” he/she writes, “but you’ve not learned how digest meatier ideas.” For those who’ve not risked making mistakes and messes by attempting to process heavier fare, the writer essentially lays their immaturity at their doorstep. “Anyone who lives on milk, being still an infant, is not acquainted with the teaching about righteousness. But solid food is for the mature, who by constant use have trained themselves to distinguish good from evil.” (v13-14)

Training Our Palates

Although many persist in trying to complicate the Gospel of Christ, it’s remarkably simple. We strayed from God’s intentions. Jesus came to redeem us—to give us a new home. Obeying His commands rewards us with abundant life. The Hebrews writer refers to these concepts as “elementary truths,” the milk of God’s Word. As we mature, however, milk no longer suffices. We need solid food. Our hunger for new flavors and textures grows keener. We begin training our palates to digest complexities hidden in these elementary truths. The simplicity of God’s intentions gives way to implications in our lives and responsibilities to Him and others. They morph into His will and we steadily learn what pleases Him most is always best for us. The unparalleled love expressed in Christ’s sacrifice opens our comprehension of grace’s power and our obligations as recipients of grace to provide grace. We recognize the unmerited favor we experience by right of adoption requires us to welcome everyone who finds a home in Christ.

Training our palates is how we wean ourselves from basic milk, so we no longer need to be spoon-fed or closely monitored. It becomes unnecessary to be told what’s healthy or harmful in our behaviors and attitudes. Our mistakes and messes teach us what tastes right and what doesn’t. But none of this occurs if we insist on playing it safe and never bite into more than we can chew. When we’re infants in Christ, the complex implications of following Him are difficult to digest. I should evaluate everything I do in terms of God’s will and how much it pleases Him? The unconditional love that rescued me requires me to love everyone—including my enemies—without condition? Self-control and sacrifice are prerequisites for fulfillment and growth? In training ourselves to process these more difficult ideas, we’ll invariably mess up. But Max teaches us something. Testing our tolerance for richer foods is how we develop tastes for them. Mistakes and messes are how we grow.

As we mature, we crave richer flavors in God’s Word. Some are difficult to process at first, but we train our palates to digest them and grow stronger as a result.

The Peace of Jerusalem

Pray for the peace of Jerusalem: “May those who love you be secure. May there be peace within your walls and security within your citadels.” For the sake of my brothers and friends, I will say, “Peace be within you.” (Psalm 122.6-8)

It’s Time to Pray

Last Thursday, King Abdullah II of Jordan appeared on “The Daily Show with Jon Stewart.” Like millions of viewers, I count on the program to leaven current events with doses of irreverence and irony. It helps that my politics hew to the show’s liberal slant. Still, I’d probably enjoy it even if I disagreed with its editorial position, since its primary target is foible. “Feet of Clay” might be a more fitting name for it. Four nights a week, the show serves up deliciously sardonic examples of officials, pundits, and firebrands stumbling badly. But now and then it transcends comedy. This happened Thursday, as Jordan’s monarch—the moderate leader of a nation encircled by political and religious animosity—discussed his region’s turmoil. He made one point that staggered me with dread. If the moratorium on Jewish settlements in the West Bank isn’t extended past its September 30 expiration, war between Israel and her Arabic neighbors will follow. I spent Friday contemplating how rapidly the conflict might escalate as nations lined up behind either side. Then I opened Saturday’s readings to find Psalm 122: “Pray for the peace of Jerusalem.” With the moratorium deadline days away, it’s time to pray.

Teaching Peace

“Jerusalem” is a compound name combining an ancient Semitic word meaning “to teach” with another that means “peace.” Yet in the fifty-plus years I’ve been alive the sun hasn’t risen on a single day that assured peace inside it walls. “Peace in the Middle East” is a punch line akin to “when Hell freezes over”—except there’s no joke to set it up. If there were, it would no longer be laughable anywhere on the planet, as the intense hatred dividing its Jewish and Muslim occupants has triggered violence everywhere, from lower Manhattan to Bali. That Jerusalem, literally and symbolically, rests at the heart of global strife is all the more surprising when we consider its Islamic name, al-Quds Sharif, or “The Holy Sanctuary.” Of all places, Jerusalem should be the safest, calmest, most peaceful city on Earth. It should be “the city on the hill” that Jesus speaks of in the Sermon on the Mount. Its residents and culture should be the ideal every other community aspires to, the epicenter of tolerance and good will. Its sole preoccupation should be teaching peace and providing a worthy sanctuary for God’s presence. It should be. But it hasn’t been for so long we immediately associate it with everything but what its name suggests. Thus, we pray for the peace of Jerusalem.

We must be very canny in how we pray, because many have mistaken the psalmist’s entreaty as a biblical directive to side with Israel at all costs, at all times. The psalmist calls us to pray for peace and nothing else. That’s the issue—not religious or political allegiance. Peace. If not patently wrong, it’s simplistic for Christians to assume we’re obligated to uphold modern Israel’s policies based on ancient texts, if for no other reason than those texts suggest otherwise. Throughout Scripture, Israel, as a nation and people, is as prone to sin and error as anyone else. Chapter after chapter, God confronts the injustice of its actions and vanity of its disobedience. Its complex relationship with God is beyond our depth. The same applies to Islam’s relationship with Allah. The issues to be worked out concern the three of them—God/Allah, Israel, and Islam. Meddling in their madness inevitably invites suffering for us, because we risk promoting injustice out of ignorance. The best we can do, the only thing we can do, is pray for peace in Jerusalem, the Teacher of Peace, for peace in al-Quds Sharif, the Holy Sanctuary.

Our Prayer

The psalmist tells us exactly what to pray. “May those who love you be secure. May there be peace within your walls and security within your citadels.” (v6-7) Our prayer favors neither side. It’s a plea for God’s intervention, asking Him to neutralize a situation that history proves is beyond human ability to control. Before we pray, we must rid ourselves of every predisposition and opinion about the conflict and those it involves. Praying that either side prevails prays against peace. More than that, in a very real—and dangerous—sense, it denies our faith in an all wise, just, and loving God. We forget our heritage as Gentile believers is made possible through Christ’s abolition of racial preferences. While we date the Church’s birth at Pentecost, non-Jewish believers' birth into It comes a bit later, in Acts 10, when Peter’s epiphany regarding God’s grace brings Him to this conclusion: “I now realize how true it is that God does not show favoritism but accepts men from every nation who fear him and do what is right.” (v34-35) A prayer for Jerusalem that favors Israel or Islam exceeds its purpose. It tacitly excuses sins committed by the favored side—and who can dispute both have sinned egregiously? In Psalm 66.18-19 we read startling words: “If I had cherished sin in my heart, the Lord would not have listened; but God has surely listened and heard my voice in prayer.” To prefer Israel over Islam or vice versa as we pray for peace raises grave questions whether our prayer will even be heard.

In his interview with Stewart, King Abdullah II superbly explained that sustained peace in Jerusalem will contribute greatly to the collapse of global terrorism. The Palestinian cause has been co-opted by haters to wreak death and destruction worldwide, attacking Israel's allies as punishment for their allegiance, he said. Once peace in Jerusalem prevails, terrorism will become a matter of urgency for nations that have permitted it to flourish unchecked. So peace in Jerusalem will, at last, fulfill the promise of its name. In light of the King’s comments, Psalm 122.8 rings with hope for people everywhere: “For the sake of my brothers and friends, I will say, ‘Peace be within you.’” Today, and every day—through September 30 and beyond—when we pray Our Lord’s Prayer, I trust we’ll offer it as a prayer not just for us but for Jerusalem’s peace, for al-Quds Sharif’s peace. "Your kingdom come, your will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven." We pray for the peace of Jerusalem—for the sake of the world.

“May those who love you be secure. May there be peace within your walls and security within your citadels. Amen.”

Postscript: The Interview

If you didn’t catch Jon Stewart’s interview with King Abdullah II, here is the broadcast portion. The remainder of the interview can be found here, where the King expands on his comments, including the complexity of the situation and his nation’s role in attempting to broker peace in Jerusalem.

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart	Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c
King Abdullah II of Jordan
www.thedailyshow.com
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Celebrity

Let love and faithfulness never leave you; bind them around your neck, write them on the tablet of your heart. Then you will win favor and a good name in the sight of God and man. (Proverbs 3.3-4)

Questions

Tolerance is a big topic here, simply because this blog is founded on the principle of proactively offering others what we seek from them. For newer readers who may not know the story of Straight-Friendly’s origins, its title and emphasis were born from realizing as a gay Christian, I’m called to love and accept others regardless of their appreciation or approval. This calling is hardly unique to GLBT believers, though. It’s for all who desire to walk in obedience to Christ. Because tolerance plays such a fundamental (and urgent) role in expression of faith, our discussions typically revolve around why we love and accept everyone God places in our lives—from those we know intimately or interact with frequently to strangers met in passing and individuals known only by reputation. Tolerance for us, however, is something we’ve yet to explore in depth, as the conversation easily escalates into demands to be loved and accepted. That puts us on the wrong side of obedience, shifting the emphasis from what we give to what we get. But getting isn't doing, and doing is obedience’s sole concern.

This raises questions. How do we protect our dignity as true Christians and reflections of our Maker? Do intolerance and rejection ever become intolerable and unacceptable? Does loving those who mistreat us include permitting them to deride Christ’s name? Is there a moment when we stand up to intolerance? Or must we always back down and roll over? These quandaries toyed with me after turning up a Sunday bulletin from eight years ago on which I’d jotted, “Don’t go where you’re tolerated. Go where you’re celebrated.” Nothing in the printed order of service jogs my recall of whence it came. And though I like the ring of it, I keep wondering, “Is this right? Should we really avoid people and places that merely tolerate us for those that validate us and boost our self-confidence?” It sounds closer to the Book of Oprah than the Gospel of Christ.

Anticipate Intolerance, Provoke Tolerance

We're repeatedly told to anticipate intolerance. In Matthew 5.11, Jesus says, “Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me.” And 1 Peter 4.12 verges on dark comedy: “Dear friends, do not be surprised at the painful trial you are suffering, as though something strange were happening to you.” (Translated: “You’re shocked people abuse you for your faith? Are you kidding?”) Yet in trying to reconcile this with my doodle, it occurs to me we’re never encouraged to be voluntary victims of intolerance, persecution, and evil accusation. When topics like hatred, rejection, and false judgment surface, it’s always assumed they come to us; we don’t go to them. It’s also presumed intolerance we experience results entirely from being who we are and what we do because we’re who we are. In other words, obedience to God’s will—faithfully serving His purpose in making us as we are—causes us to be maligned in some circles, forced from others, and tolerated where it’s easier to ignore why we’re made differently than embrace it. In this context, maybe it makes sense to go where we’re celebrated, because God’s mercy and kindness to us deserve celebration.

Still, my scribble falls apart, I think, by suggesting we resist situations where we’re not wholeheartedly embraced and respected. Why? That’s not how Jesus operated. While He never goes looking for trouble, neither does He avoid encountering it. We find Him wherever He finds potential to exemplify tolerance, forgiveness, healing, and justice. Only when hostility drowns His message—as happens when Nazareth turns on Him (Luke 4.14-30)—does He walk away. Note: He walks away; he doesn’t stay away. He passes His policy to the disciples when He sends them out to minister (Matthew 10). Paraphrasing for brevity, He says: “If you find someone who welcomes you, stay where you are. If not, leave.”

There are two implicit points here that answer our questions about responding to intolerance. First, expecting it isn’t an excuse for not exposing ourselves to its possibility. We never know for sure we’re not welcome until we get there. If no one wants us, we’re free to go; we’re not obligated to abide rejection and hatred. On the other hand, if someone welcomes us, we’re obliged to stick around for his/her benefit, which leads to the second point. We’ll never promote tolerance by confronting rejection in blatantly hostile places. But in less than ideal situations we can provoke tolerance that ultimately ends in celebration, not just of us, but also of those whose hearts and minds change because of us.

Known, Honored, and Welcomed

Proverbs 3.3-4 explains how this happens: “Let love and faithfulness never leave you; bind them around your neck, write them on the tablet of your heart. Then you will win favor and a good name in the sight of God and man.” Acceptance and favor we seek won’t come without effort from us. They’re products of behavior that backs up profession of belief. Love and faithfulness must never leave us. We wear them like breastplates. We carry them in our hearts. They enable us to seize every opportunity to love without condition, to be true to our calling without exception. That’s the irony of obedience. In some cases, it brings intolerance and rejection. Yet it also surprises us with favor and acceptance where we don't expect them. Without opening ourselves to potential criticism, we won’t enjoy the wealth of kindness available to us.

When Solomon predicts, “you will win favor and a good name in the sight of God and man,” he’s promising celebrity, not in the pop sense of fame and fortune, but in the richer sense of being celebrated—honored and welcomed for our love and faithfulness. Knowing the minister who preached the Sunday I took down the motto, I’m sure that’s what it’s saying. But I’ve decided to slightly revise it so I can keep it without confusing its message. Love where you’re tolerated and you will be celebrated.

Exposing ourselves to potential intolerance is the only way we discover people and places that will tolerate us. They open opportunities to demonstrate love and faithfulness that will be celebrated.

Needy by Choice

If anyone says, “I love God,” yet hates his brother, he is a liar. For anyone who does not love his brother, whom he has seen, cannot love God, whom he has not seen. (1 John 4.20)

Spooked

I’m uncomfortable saying this. But I’m spooked. A recent article in Christianity Today confirms a trend I’ve noticed lately. Conservative Christians have taken a sudden interest in Ayn Rand, the post-WWII novelist who advocated an ethic she called “Objectivism.” For those who didn’t spend an undergrad summer slogging through her two-pound opus, Atlas Shrugged, Rand’s philosophy is a noxious cocktail of Nietzsche’s superman theory and free-market capitalism—with jiggers of elitist narcissism, homophobia, and libertarian ideology to spice things up. Her vacuous universe is ruled by an Almighty Dollar that blesses anyone who embraces the “moral responsibility” to serve his/her interests above, often at the expense of, others. Basically, Objectivisim is “God-helps-those-who-help-themselves” gone berserk—although Rand would loathe this reduction due to her avid atheism. That, combined with her theory’s blatant rejection of such biblically sound Judeo-Christian principles as compassion for the dispossessed and social equality, makes Rand a peculiar addition to the Christian Right’s reading list. Yet in the past few months several fiercely Fundamentalist acquaintances (some I’ve not heard from in years) sought me out to ask, “Have you read Atlas Shrugged?”

It was so long ago that I scantly remember the plot. I do recall my intrigue with Rand’s post-industrial skew on mythology—allusions to Greek deities abound—curdling into disgust when her values grew more pronounced in her story. I also read it in happier times, before homelessness was rampant, before healthcare became an “industry,” before conservative religion and politics bedded down to propagate a culture of fear. That’s why this recent interest in Rand by rightwing believers spooks me. For three decades, they’ve been lashed to a faux “righteous” agenda that will not repent from favoring the wealthy over the poor, powerful over the weak, and heterosexual white males over everyone else. A generation of ruinously unchristian policies acted out in Christ’s name has harvested a world of woes. Rand appeals to erroneously politicized believers because she validates their party’s behavior as morally superior.

Rand says those who are high-minded must denounce cries for justice and compassion as weak-minded and unhealthy. In her perverted scheme, the well and strong are society’s victims, not the sick and struggling. That lunatic notion holds powerful resonance for Christians who’ve endured a 30-year barrage of political and religious fear mongering. Despite her atheism and endorsement of (straight) promiscuity as an entitlement of moral superiority, Rand echoes the rhetoric of alarmists who insist the “Christian way of life” verges on extinction. They cite the very crises fostered by their recklessness—war, poverty, divisiveness, etc.—as proof of an assault on faith-based values. They’re self-fulfilling prophets of the first order. But I would advise any Christian to spend time with a true prophet before opening Atlas Shrugged. In one verse, Hosea explains what’s happening today with more clarity than Rand musters in 1200 pages: “They sow the wind and reap the whirlwind. The stalk has no head; it will produce no flour. Were it to yield grain, foreigners would swallow it up.” (Hosea 8.7)

Doing Love

Since subtlety isn’t a hallmark of Rand’s prose or most rightwing pulpiteers, let’s not mince words. The Christian who finds merit in her philosophy knows nothing whatsoever about Jesus, His teaching, and what He expects of His followers. Or—worse yet—he/she consciously ignores Christ’s mandates to pursue a completely contradictory path. To credence the idea it’s morally just to place self-interest above concern for others constitutes apostasy. On this, the Apostle John couldn’t be more direct: “If anyone says, ‘I love God,’ yet hates his brother, he is a liar. For anyone who does not love his brother, whom he has seen, cannot love God, whom he has not seen.” (1 John 4.20) Declaring love without doing love is like claiming to live in the White House without sacrificing the time and means to get elected. It’s ridiculous. It dishonors Christ’s principles, as well as genuine believers who adhere to them. “And he has given us this command,” John adds in verse 21. “Whoever loves God must also love his brother.”

Showing concern for others isn’t an option; it’s a command. Professing Christians who care only about their wellbeing should own up to their real beliefs and adopt a new title—“Objectivist,” perhaps, or “Capitalist” or “Superman.” But this much is certain: loving God and doing love are inextricably linked, and without both, calling oneself a Christian has no foundation in truth. The time and money invested in church attendance, prayer and Bible study, envelopes dropped in the collection plate, etc., are like seeds sown to the wind. It only reaps whirlwinds, because if you don’t love your neighbor, you don’t love God. And if you don’t love God, you’re not following Jesus. How simple—and sad—is that?

He Did Not Shrug

True Christians achieve self-actualization of the sort Rand would admire. But we do it by opposing her “me-first” credo. We realize being a true Christian means learning to be needy by choice—giving more than we can comfortably offer, loving our neighbors with the same amplitude we’d hope to receive were we in their shoes. We take Jesus very literally when He says our obligation to care for others isn’t predicated by their merits or usefulness to us: “Do not resist an evil person. If someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if someone wants to sue you and take your tunic, let him have your cloak as well. If someone forces you to go one mile, go with him two miles. Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you.” (Matthew 5.39-42)

We may not like what’s asked of us. We may abhor the character and negligence of many who look to us for help. Our carnal natures may encourage us to dismiss them, to judge them, and even to fear them as threats to our way of life. But none of that justifies withholding love demonstrated by active concern and sacrifice on our part. Atlas Shrugged imagines what happens when those who bear the world’s weight disavow their responsibilities. In Rand’s world, they survive after the weak perish and all is well. But when Jesus carried the weight of the world to the Cross, He did not shrug. He turned the world upside down. As Christians, we live in His world, where love for God is proven by love for others—the world of the other cheek, the cloak as well, and the second mile.

He did not shrug. Neither can we.

Postscript: Ayn Rand on Faith

This compilation of TV interviews, given before her death in 1982, reveals how vehemently opposed to faith Ayn Rand was. It went beyond personal conviction to discredit faith's value to society. Without any basis in belief, how can believers possibly find merit in her philosophy?

Easier, Closer Than We Think

Now what I am commanding you today is not too difficult for you or beyond your reach. It is not up in heaven… Nor is it beyond the sea… No, the word is very near you; it is in your mouth and in your heart so you may obey it. (Deuteronomy 30.11-14)

Moses: The Movie

Moses, as rendered by Charlton Heston in The Ten Commandments, is a movie icon on par with Vivien Leigh’s Scarlett O’Hara and Henry Fonda’s Tom Joad. After seeing the film version, reading (or re-reading) the original is slanted by the portrayal. In Heston’s case, Moses becomes a handsome athlete with chiseled features who matures into a white-haired patriarch with flowing beard and vigor to spare—an American idol. Recently revisiting Deuteronomy inspires me to imagine another movie. In my mind, Moses: The Movie isn’t half as grandiose as Cecil B. DeMille’s 1956 Technicolor extravaganza. It’s like the sterling, black-and-white literary adaptations MGM produced in the 1930’s: a tightly focused account of small lives swept up by history, graced by the irony of its improbable hero and heavily laced with sentimentality. The cast is peopled with top-notch character actors who orbit an insecure fugitive pitted against a God Who curiously selects him to lead a slave rebellion that turns into a freedom march lasting four decades. Both protagonists are prickly types with mercurial tempers and stubborn wills. Yet common love for the masses dependent on them welds God and Moses together despite their mutual frustrations and quarrels.

My movie opens in Deuteronomy and flashes back to the Exodus episodes. Moses is a smallish man, rail-thin, with a hollowed-out face and leathery skin cured dark brown by the desert sun—more Gandhi than Heston. His two aides, Caleb and Joshua, brace him while he preaches to the vast crowd assembled for his last sermon. A string-heavy score slowly mounts. Traces of a childhood stammer remain in carefully articulated sentences punctuated by long pauses so those in earshot can relay his words to listeners out of range. Although many miss the conviction in his voice, his message strikes home. With the Land of Promise just over the horizon, Moses reminds them how far they’ve come and encourages them to move ahead. Still, his theme surprises them. He’s explaining the interplay between trusting God’s promises and obeying His commands. Nobody understands this better than he. Impulsive disobedience stole his opportunity to see God’s promise realized. Moses makes his life a cautionary fable. Its moral: “Do as I say, not as I’ve done.” Having ended his bittersweet recollection, the movie closes on an uplifting note. The music soars. Crowd shots reveal confident reactions to Moses’s climactic speech:

Now what I am commanding you today is not too difficult for you or beyond your reach. It is not up in heaven, so that you have to ask, “Who will ascend into heaven to get it and proclaim it to us so we may obey it?” Nor is it beyond the sea, so that you have to ask, “Who will cross the sea to get it and proclaim it to us so we may obey it?” No, the word is very near you; it is in your mouth and your heart so you may obey it. (Deuteronomy 30.11-14)

Dispersed and Banished

Opinions on Deuteronomy’s origins vary. Some scholars hold it’s a fairly accurate transcription of Moses’s words recorded during his lifetime or shortly thereafter. Based on style and content, some date it centuries later, during Israel’s exile in Babylon. Still others believe it may have been written in Moses’s time and then heavily revised to resonate with exiled readers. In any case, it’s fascinating how often Moses glimpses beyond Israel’s imminent triumph to foresee its future as an uprooted nation. The passage above specifically applies to this fate. Chapter 30 begins with Moses urging the people to take his directives “to heart wherever the LORD your God disperses you among the nations.” Verse four elaborates, “Even if you have been banished to the most distant land under the heavens, from there the LORD your God will gather you and bring you back.” This context adds important meaning to verses 11-14, when Moses says his instruction “is not too difficult for you or beyond your reach.”

Naturally, once Israel settles in its new country, obeying Moses’s commands will pose few problems. In all likelihood, they’ll be adopted as the law of the land. But Moses is determined to make Israel understand what he tells it to do aren’t manmade rules the nation must conform to. They’re divine principles the people must obey in good times and bad, when they’re safe inside their borders and when they’re blown in every direction like seeds in the wind. “Regardless how hard life gets, obedience is not too hard,” he tells them. “No matter how far from home you’re forced to go, God’s principles are never beyond reach. There’s no need to wait for messages from on high, no cause to look for exotic messengers who sail the seas to teach you. Even though you’re dispersed and banished—one among many who don’t share your beliefs, cast out of the place you love—the word is very near you. It’s in your mouth and heart so you may obey it.”

Making Easy Hard

This passage was very famous among ancient Jews and Christians, so much so Paul uses it to launch his now-famous salvation formula: “If you confess with your mouth, ‘Jesus is Lord,’ and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved.” (Romans 10.9) But Moses’s original gets very little play these days, raising suspicions it’s overlooked by not jibing with our modern aptitude for making easy hard. If it’s not overly abstract and complex, we write it off. That’s why so many of us misconstrue trust and obedience to be absurdly daunting and elusive, even irrelevant, in our convoluted world. Yet that’s Moses’s point. The power to believe—to govern our lives by belief—is easier, closer than we think. We can’t help talking about it. Our conversations overflow with questions about justice and compassion. We can’t stop searching for right answers. Trusting God’s wisdom comes so naturally to us we have to unlearn it first and then relearn it. No epiphanies are required. Whatever our challenges, wherever life takes us, God’s principles are never too difficult or beyond our reach. If we pay attention to what we instinctively say and believe—instead of what we think we know or what others profess to know—we’ll discover it’s as simple as Moses taught. We need only obey.

We make trust and obedience harder than they really are.

Sized to Fit

Great is the LORD, and greatly to be praised in the city of our God, in the mountain of his holiness… God is known in her palaces for a refuge. (Psalm 48.1,3; KJV)

Among Giants

This week I walked among giants: cancer specialists, researchers, social workers, clinicians, and survivors. At first glance, it looked like a commercial venture. And it was that—the annual sales and marketing meeting of the nation’s top provider of biologic cancer therapies. But the spirit of the thing surpassed sales goals and marketing objectives to celebrate the determination of patients, compassion of caregivers, and commitment of scientists to defy the death and destruction of nefarious disease. My work in pharmaceutical marketing routinely places me in gatherings where breakthrough therapies are extolled for their life-giving powers, where patient successes are recounted to inspire those tasked with purveying these products to the clinical community. Yet very rarely is the environment as saturated with unity of purpose as the one I just left. While it’s always been true with this particular group, I felt more keenly attuned to the fervor coursing through this week’s program.

Flying home yesterday, I turned on my iPod, letting it randomly select from a gospel playlist. The second number was Andraé Crouch’s “Bless the Lord,” a simple song that says, “He has done great things; bless His holy name.” The song is so old I was marginally surprised when the progressive congregation I visited on Sunday opened worship with it. The leader segued into a newer chorus: “How great is our God! How great, how great is our God!” It seemed as though every believer there reclined into God’s greatness as his/her refuge. Then they reached way back to a hymn I learned at my grandmother’s knee—a majestic anthem that nearly raised the roof: “Then sings my soul, my Savior God to Thee: How great Thou art!” As my reflection on the service and the meeting coalesced, it made perfect sense. This meeting was different because I’d come to it from a markedly differently place. Submersion in God’s greatness opened my eyes. Consciously or not, the giants I walked among witnessed it. The line between His work and their mission vanished. Every testimonial, progress report, and projection sang, “How great is our God!” When I put it together, I reached a thrilling realization. Our greatness resides entirely in His greatness. The more we’re aware of how great He is, the greater we become. Praise sized to fit His greatness is how that awareness increases.

High and Low

Psalm 48 strikes this note straightaway, saying, “Great is the LORD and greatly to be praised.” Yes, of course. No power or presence in heaven and earth is greater than He. He obviously deserves the greatest praise—no revelation there. Still, praise we ascribe to God is revelatory. Though it proves nothing new about Him, it reveals much about our concept and understanding of Him. Limited praise expresses limitations in how we view and relate to Him. Perfunctory praise exposes the confinement of our relationship with God to polite obligation. In contrast, expansive praise—hungry praise, lavish praise, enraptured praise—conveys unbridled awe at how great He is. It tears down barricades of doubt and unhinges gates of logic that try to contain Him. The Lord is great and greatly to be praised. Confidence in this compels us to remove all hindrances to our adoration and recognition of Who He is, what He does, and the infinite reach of His love and power. Great praise is faith praise.

The psalmist says the Lord is to be greatly praised “in the city of our God, in the mountain of His holiness.” He expounds on his geographic allusions in verse 2: “Beautiful for situation, the joy of the whole earth, is mount Zion, on the sides of the north, the city of the great King.” This isn’t poetry for poetry’s sake, lovely though it may be. At the time of Psalm 48’s writing, the Hebrews were more or less divided into two groups: townspeople and hill people. While city life was notably more prosperous and sophisticated than mountain life, those who lived in towns were also far more vulnerable to surprise attacks and sudden losses. On the other hand, hilltop dwellers led a far more arduous existence at the mercy of seasonal changes and natural disaster. “High and low, up and down,” the psalmist says, our great God is worthy of great praise. Our worship removes us from our weaknesses. It displaces concerns about victimization and situations beyond our control. It turns our thoughts from our fragility and tenuous existence to His supremacy. Unleashing great praise befitting our great God enlarges us. We become giants in environments plagued by hostility and uncertainty. What appears too great for us would be, were it not for the increase we experience when we increase our praise to accommodate all that God is. Great praise lifts our eyes to see cities of depression and vulnerability as “the city of the great King;” we view mountains of deprivation and misfortune as “the mountain of His holiness.” Where we are is not where we live, because we live where He lives.

A Refuge

“God is known in her palaces for a refuge,” verse 3 tells us. If praise reveals our concept of God—and if increased praise increases our faith—then praise indeed will determine how thoroughly and intimately we know Him as a refuge. When trouble comes to our “city”—when forces intent on stealing our joy and jeopardizing our security besiege us—praise transports us to the mountain of His holiness. When unforeseen disasters befall us in the mountains, praise becomes our passport to the city of our God. Unlike thanksgiving, which conveys gratitude for specific blessings and interventions, praise remains constant and needs no reason other than ravishing God with exultation in the wonder of Him. It’s impervious to circumstances, complications, and timelines. It focuses exclusively on God’s greatness, which cannot be denied or diminished by any force, scheme, or coincidence. Praise is a refuge that cannot be penetrated, a safe place that will not fail. How great is your God? Size your praise to fit His greatness. Then watch the size of His greatness explode. The Lord is great and greatly to be praised.

The expansiveness of our praise reveals how great our God is.

Postscript: How Great Is Our God

The full song, “How Great is Our God” by Chris Tomlin.