I'm Okay With the Middle of the Road

The middle of the road always had a bad rap when I was growing up in the church. It was usually associated with being "lukewarm" spiritually, not having the courage of your convictions, and the place where the devil lulls us asleep, rendering us ineffective for the Kingdom. I understand the metaphor and I certainly don't advocate a lukewarm spirituality or weakness in convictions. And - as much as I love sleep - I really don't want to be lulled to sleep by the devil. I wonder, though, if the middle of the road deserves only these negative connotations.

Sometimes I think that this repudiation of the middle of the road has led some within the church to an extreme, all or nothing kind of approach to almost everything. If a new movement, approach to ministry, another church, or book has anything within it that they do not agree with, they feel compelled to reject it entirely. After all, in their thinking, to accept any of it is a sign of compromise, and compromise leads you straight to middle of the road spiritual complacency. As a result, the church ends up bouncing between extremes, with people becoming entrenched on either side of the divide, their reactions always pushing them further apart. Now I might be wrong, but I'm not sure that's a healthy approach to life in the Body of Christ.

I look at myself and realize that I am a strange blend of strengths and weaknesses, positives and pitfalls, gifts and inabilities. All of us are. And those same characteristics, both good and bad, will naturally be reflected in what I do, what I create, and the groups I belong to. I am glad that the people in my life have not taken an all or nothing approach in their relationship with me. They appreciate my strengths and help me in my weakness; they learn from me, and I from them; we disagree at points, but still accept one another. We meet in the middle of the road, so to speak. Why would the followers of Jesus not demonstrate that same spirit toward one another? Why would we feel that we must agree with someone on every point in order to learn something from them, or even to accept them?

We would be much better served by an attitude of discernment and humble reflection than we are by the fear-driven, all or nothing approach. I don't have to agree with or accept everything, but I can listen, discern, humbly learn, take what is good and useful, and leave behind that which I cannot accept. But when points of disagreement result in our absolute rejection of anything and everything about another person or church, we find ourselves living in a place of dangerous and unhealthy extremes. Forced into our narrow box of understanding, we become blind to our own weaknesses and ineffectiveness, all the while missing out on the growth and benefit we could receive from other brothers and sisters in Christ.

It seems that some become so frightened of the middle of the road that they end up jumping off the ledge. We need to realize that it doesn't matter which side of the cliff you fall off of - it's still going to hurt. Personally, I have come to the conclusion that the middle of the road is not always a bad place to be, and we can even live there with passion and conviction. And, after all, it's got to be healthier than falling off a ledge, right?

Scripture, Love, and Authority

I recently read Scot McKnight's book, The Blue Parakeet: Rethinking How You Read the Bible. I realize the title will set off alarm bells for all those who believe that "rethinking" anything about the Bible must certainly represent a low view of Scripture and be yet another indication of our trajectory toward heresy and chaos. Relax - it's okay. Rethinking is not necessarily a bad thing, and I actually came away from the book with an awareness that, at times, our well-intentioned defenses of the Bible actually lessen its power and place in our lives. McKnight calls us to approach the Bible relationally, as explained in these words:

A relational approach believes our relationship to the Bible is transformed into a relationship with the God who speaks to us in and through the Bible. . . If we distinguish God from the Bible, then we also learn that in listening to God's words in the Bible we are in search of more than a relationship with paper with words, namely, a relationship with the person who speaks on paper. Our relationship to the Bible is actually a relationship with the God of the Bible. We want to emphasize that we don't ask what the Bible says, we ask what God says to us in that Bible. (p. 90-91)

We must begin an entirely new conversation that gets us beyond the right view of the Bible to one that seeks to answer this question: "What is our relationship to the God of the Bible?" I suggest that the answer to that question, and one that comes to mind immediately for the one who reads the Bible attentively, is simple: Our relationship to the God of the Bible is to listen to God so we can love him more deeply and love others more completely. If God's ultimate design for us is to love God and to love others, we can only acquire that love by learning to listen to God. (p. 96)

It is easy, when defending a so-called high view of Scripture, to treat the Bible as a theological treatise to be debated, a rule book to be followed, or a history text to be proven. While these approaches might contain elements of truth, each one falls short in its understanding, severing the Bible from its true purpose and reducing its role in the lives of Jesus' followers. The Bible is an expression of relationship, a place of personal encounter where we hear God speak. Such an encounter will certainly and necessarily change us, drawing us deeper into the life of love for God and others.

It's interesting that some who are greatly concerned about defending the authority of Scripture end up doing so in ways that violate the spirit of love. Yet the words we defend make it clear that the greatest commands are to love God and others. Clearly, the role and purpose of the Bible in our lives cannot be separated from that call. So we must ask the question: "If our interaction with the Bible is not resulting in a greater love for God and others, do we really have a high view of Scripture?"

Getting Personal

The temperature where I live hit about 10 below this morning and, to be honest, I absolutely love it. On days like this, I usually step outside several times during the day without a coat on just experience and enjoy the cold air. There's something about it I like, a quality that is fresh and enlivening. Yes, I know - I'm weird. Your further comments on this subject are unnecessary.

Although I prefer the word "unique" over "weird," I freely admit that I am different in many respects from others around me. But that's okay because so are you. We are all different in a variety of ways and every circumstance in life is unique. As a result, all of our interactions and relationships have a sense of singularity about them, like snowflakes with no two ever being exactly the same. Every relationship possesses a unique quality, every situation or circumstance occurs at a unique point of time shaped by specific and varying factors. The relationships and events of our lives, while exhibiting elements of commonality, are in themselves as exclusive and particular as we are individually.

Why then do I so often expect God to act and respond the same way in every person's life and in every circumstance of my life? Although we talk about a personal relationship with God, we do not expect to experience the dynamic and unique qualities that are exhibited in a true, personal relationship. We assume that God works in everyone's life the same way, that their testimony and spiritual journey must necessarily mirror our own. We presume that God must, in fact, respond to our prayer in a specific way if we simply have faith. We insist that if God is never changing that must mean He will work the same way today as He did yesterday, that previous experiences will be replicated in every circumstance and for everyone else.

Sometimes it feels like we are not really looking for a personal relationship with a personal and relational God. Rather, we prefer to view God as some type of eternal vending machine where we deposit this currency called faith and out drops nicely packaged and uniform products of healing, deliverance, forgiveness, growth, and so on. But relationship don't work that way; they can't work that way. The uniqueness of each individual and every situation produces a dynamic and uncommon quality in every relationship and response. Yes, God is always loving and redemptive, but how that is revealed in my life my look different than it does in my neighbor's life. God is always at work, bringing about His purpose and the purposes of His Kingdom, but how He did that in my life yesterday may not be the way He does it tomorrow. If our God is truly personal and relational, then we must set aside the cookie cutter expectations in this journey of faith.

There is a profound and somewhat disconcerting statement made in the C.S. Lewis book, Prince Caspian. When Lucy asks Aslan why he didn't rush in and rescue them like before, the great lion responds, "Things never happen the same way twice." If this life of faith is one of genuine relationship with a personal God, then so it must be.

If You Happen to Disagree. . .

I have been questioned, and even criticized at times, for reading books and listening to speakers that come from a different perspective than my own. For those who have raised these questions, the issue is not simply one of secular versus Christian books - it's primarily a concern over reading works from another Christian tradition or those that would disagree with us at certain theological points. The reasoning behind it seems to be twofold: first, my reading of the book could be seen as an implicit acceptance of all that it teaches, and second, I am putting myself in danger of being led astray. Sorry, but I look at it differently. Let me share with you some of the reasons that I read, and will continue to read, books that come from a different theological perspective, even ones with which I disagree.

1.) Doing so teaches me to discern and develops my ability to think through an issue. If I only read books and articles from those I know I'm supposed to agree with, I can walk through the motions of reading without truly thinking. When I encounter something that I know is coming from another perspective, I am forced to read and think carefully, consult the Scriptures, and turn to others for their opinion. Discernment must be practiced to be learned.

2.) Listening to those who disagree with me helps me to clarify, define, and express my own beliefs more effectively. When we are in dialogue with those who fully agree with us, we don't have to explain and communicate everything clearly or accurately. Some things, among those of like mind, are simply understood and accepted. However, when we listen to those from outside our tradition, we gain a sense of how our beliefs are perceived and understood by others. Those conversations force me to clarify and define my views more carefully, and engaging those with whom I disagree teaches me to communicate my beliefs more fully and effectively.

3.) The fact that I disagree with someone on some things doesn't mean they are wrong about everything. I think we need to be humble enough to admit that we can learn from others, even when there are points of disagreement. When we isolate ourselves to the point that we will only listen to those who fully agree with us, we necessarily limit our potential for growth intellectually, spiritually, and relationally.

4.) I cannot assume that I am absolutely right about absolutely everything. Certainly, there are essentials that I hold to and values I will not compromise. However, it is ridiculous to assume that every thought, interpretation, and opinion I have is fully perfected and without error. Only reading and listening to those who agree with me will keep me blind to my weaknesses. It is those who disagree with me that reveal the weaknesses and inconsistencies within my system of thought and practice. Let's face it - sometimes our critics are right.

You know, when you think about it, it's pretty much impossible for two thinking people to fully agree on everything all the time. So, if we took this idea of only reading or listening to those who agree with us and carried it to its logical (or extreme) conclusion, we would all end up sitting in a room alone, talking only to ourselves. You're probably thinking that would be the best thing for me right now. It's okay - I'll still listen to you even though I disagree.

Living Christmas

For some reason, my kids and I have had some great conversations lately at Walmart. We sit on a bench while my wife checks out, and subjects just seem to pop up that open the door to some great discussion and teaching opportunities. Why it's happening at Walmart, I have no idea. (Perhaps we're spending too much time there?) Nonetheless, I am grateful for those moments and pray that they are formative in the lives of my children.

Now to my point. The other night, my youngest son and I were having a Walmart conversation when we happened upon the subject of "mean people." I'm not sure how it actually came up - although, in all probability, it somehow related to his older brother - but it led to a discussion on how we respond to those who do not treat us right. We talked about the fact that we are called to be people of love, grace, and kindness, and regardless of what others do, we cannot allow them to keep us from being what we are supposed to be. And, in reality, we will never change anyone by responding with an unloving, combative, or spiteful spirit. As Paul tells us in Romans 12:21, "Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good."

I've been thinking about that conversation in light of the Christmas season. Jesus entered this world not with a show of strength and power, not with force and coercion, but in the absolute humility of an infant born in a stable. He did not fight to hold on to His rights or His position, but emptied Himself in a way that is beyond comprehension. And His humble entrance set the tone for His life and ministry on this earth. He did not come to be served, but to serve; He fed the needy and healed the hurting, washed the feet of the undeserving, and forgave those who persecuted Him; He laid down His life to rescue the lost and hopeless. Jesus changed the world, not with demonstrations of worldly power or by fighting fire with fire, but through humility and sacrifice, love and mercy.

As the followers of Jesus, we too often and too easily allow ourselves to be pulled into conflicts of power and self-interest, fighting to defend our rights and our position against those who would oppose us. In the process, we frequently lose our way and neglect our calling. Rather than truly changing the world, we are content with preserving our rights in this world; rather than reflecting the grace of the One who has sent us, we elevate our own defense and winning arguments to the place of priority. The path that Jesus showed us, the one of humility, mercy, and sacrifice, can quickly fall from our sight; the way of loving our enemies and praying for those who persecute us is too easily forgotten.

It's interesting, and somewhat ironic, that Christmas itself has become a battleground for some, an argument over our rights and place within the culture. Yet Christmas inherently reminds us that we will not truly change the world by defending our own rights or by fighting like others fight. Jesus came in humility and lived as a servant, effecting change not with the weapons, methods, or attitudes of this world, but by the way of the Cross. May Christmas challenge us once again to follow that same path, trusting that the way of love and grace will indeed make a difference.

The Unlikely Matter of Christmas

I'm one of those people who, by nature, finds comfort in consistency. I like it when things fit the expected pattern, when matters are clearly defined and ordered. My wife went through a spell where she tried a different recipe every time she made meatloaf. After several months of experimentation, I finally requested a moratorium on meatloaf in our household. It's not that they were all bad (although there were a few tragic missteps), I just couldn't deal with the numerous, unexpected variations. I want certainty and continuity. Call me obsessive, call me compulsive, call me insane - it's just me.

In my more mature and lucid moments, when I recognize this tendency as a deep-seated and personal issue of control, I also catch a glimpse of how this shapes my perceptions, understanding, and expectations of God. You see, sometimes I want God to fit into my self-created definition, to work according to my preconceived expectations, and to be contained by the boundaries of my understanding. Although I may not admit it openly, part of me wants a God who is safe and predictable, a God who shuns surprises and acts in line with my notion of consistency. Christmas, however, reminds me that God is anything but that; it reveals a God who acts in surprising and unlikely ways, who breaks in unexpectedly and mysteriously. Consider the story again:

God comes into the world, not with sky-splitting glory and power that drops people to their knees, but in human flesh, as a baby with all the usual dependencies and needs.

The Word of God became flesh, and in the mystery and wonder of this incarnation, Jesus somehow embodies the fullness of humanity and the fullness of God.

A young girl, ordinary and unexceptional in the eyes of the world, from a backwater town, with the common name of Mary, becomes instrumental in this divine story of redemption.

A common laborer named Joseph, without position, means, or power, is entrusted with the role of raising and providing for the Son of God.

The news of this miraculous in-breaking of God's Light into the darkness of our world was shared first, not with those considered famous or significant, but with common shepherds marked by the dirt of the fields and the smell of sheep.

Pagans from a far off country, moved by the sight of a star, came as unlikely worshippers while the educated, religious elite remained oblivious to what God was up to.

And the Son of God, the Word made flesh, came into this world, not with the appearances and trappings of nobility and dignity, but born in the mess and smell of an animal stall.

This is not how I would write the story; it is not what I would consider likely, expected, or even appropriate. But this is God's story, one that reveals His delight in working in unexpected ways, in surprising places, and in unlikely people. Christmas reminds me that God cannot be defined by my idea of what is likely, He cannot be contained by my personal expectations and judgments. God is working in ways, places, and people that I would not expect or imagine, and my efforts to contain or tame Him will only blind me to what He is doing.

"Lord, in this Advent season, I am reminded that you are a God who works beyond my boundaries of understanding and expectation. As an ordinary person, marred by weaknesses of all kinds, that brings me hope. As unlikely as it might seem, I too can be an instrument of your grace. And even as I try to embrace that truth for myself, help me to extend that same grace to others. You are at work in surprising ways, in places I would not imagine, and through people I would not expect. I ask You, simply, to give me the eyes to see it."

Rescuing Christmas. . . From Whom?

A lot of us seem to be concerned about Christmas. More specifically, we seem to be deeply concerned about how other people treat Christmas. Great offense is taken and spirits are troubled when people, businesses, and governments replace "Merry Christmas" with the generic phrase "Happy Holidays," giving rise to warnings about the secularization of Christmas. Those who want to fight those battles are certainly free to do so, and I respect their motives and intentions. Personally, however, I think there is a greater issue of concern when it comes to the secularization of Christmas: our own behavior, attitudes, and priorities as Christians.

On one level, I expect the world around me to secularize Christmas. After all, if someone is not living in a relationship with Jesus, they're probably going to treat Christmas as a general holiday rather than a sacred event. As the followers of Jesus, however, it falls to us to live out and bear witness to the true significance of Christmas. It's at that point that I believe we need to express some serious concern. While we've been busy pointing the finger at the secular world and how they observe or fail to observe Christmas, we have turned a blind eye to the secularized spirit that so often governs our own observance.

The season of Advent should be for us a time of genuine worship, prayer, and reflection that renews and awakens our hearts, fills us again with the wonder of God's love, deepens our gratitude for the God who is truly "with us," brings our attention to His Kingdom at work in this world, and challenges us to lay down our lives in a spirit of sacrificial love. Too often, though, this is not the reality of my Christmas observance. Rather than a time of worship and spiritual renewal, Advent becomes a month shaped and directed by the culture around me, filled with busyness and distraction, planning and spending. In our intent to celebrate the season, we too easily and frequently set aside those things that bring our attention to God, sacrificing time in the Word and in prayer for the surface matters of the holiday. And so, we enter the new year like so many of those around us: tired, overfed, and in debt.

Who is it, exactly, that is responsible for the secularization of Christmas? It's easy to say that secular people are to blame, but perhaps it's really those of us who should know better and are simply blind to our own secular habits. Before we criticize the world around us for its treatment of Christmas, perhaps it would be in order to honestly evaluate our own observance. We might find that, in spirit and priority, we're not really all that different from those we criticize - only the title has been changed.