Dan Olinger

"If the Bible is true, then none of our fears are legitimate, none of our frustrations are permanent, and none of our opposition is significant."

Dan Olinger

Chair, Division of Biblical Studies & Theology,

Bob Jones University

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On Reading Job (the Book, not the Occupation), Part 1

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Not long ago I posted some thoughts on reading Leviticus and Numbers, so I suppose by this post I’m continuing an informal, as-circumstances-warrant kind of series.

Job is an unusual book. For starters, most Christians have known the story since Sunday school, but hardly any of them know much about most of the book. They know the narrative of the first 2 chapters and the last chapter, and they know generally about God’s speech to Job that is the climax of the book in chapters 38-41, but pretty much all the rest of it—the extended conversation among Job, his three friends, and a young observer named Elihu—are essentially “flyover country.” If you asked most lifelong readers of the Bible to summarize the speeches of Eliphaz as distinguished from those of Zophar, not only could they not do it, but they might not even recognize the names. We’ve missed a lot.

I’d like to comment about a couple of issues connected with reading and understanding the book better.

First is the question of genre. Is it history or fiction? Since we read literature differently depending on its genre, the question matters.

The first thing we notice is that the story seems to stand apart from the historical metanarrative that makes up the rest of Scripture. No one knows where the “land of Uz” (Job 1.1) is; though the place name is mentioned in connection with the Philistines (Jer 25.20) and with Edom (Lam 4.21), no one is even sure that the latter two are the same location as the one mentioned in Job. The word does appear as a personal name in the Israelite genealogies (Gen 10.23; 36.28; 1Chr 1.17, 42), but there’s nothing in all of that information that lets us put Job anywhere certain.

There’s also no reference in the book to any of the patriarchs; the long conversation makes no reference to Noah or Abraham or Moses or David or anybody else that sounds familiar. There’s no unambiguous reference to the Law (Job 22.22?), or to God’s Word in the written sense (cf Job 6.10; 23.12; 42.7).

Job is mentioned by other biblical writers (Ezek 14.14, 20; James 5.11 [Gen 46.13 probably names a different person]). Ezekiel mentions him alongside Noah and Daniel (though there’s an interpretational argument over whether the Daniel here is the same as in the biblical book), both of whom I take to be historical characters, and that to imply that Job is as well.

James alludes to him in a way that implies he’s talking about the character in the book of Job. Does this prove that the story is true? Well, Jesus told fiction stories to teach moral lessons—we call them parables—but they don’t use personal names. (I don’t think his story of Lazarus and the rich man is a parable.) OT writers, including Job himself, refer to a fictional character named Rahab (Job 9.13; Ps 87.4; 89.10; Isa 51.9), common in ancient Near Eastern mythology (and not the prostitute from Jericho). So it’s not impossible that James is using a fictional character to teach a moral lesson.

Some scholars argue that the extended poetic conversation is not likely to have happened extemporaneously—who talks like that, anyway? But we should note that while you and I don’t typically make up poetry on the fly, the poetry of that culture was different in ways that might make poetry extempore possible. Most significantly, their poetry doesn’t have rhyme or meter, which is much of what makes poetry hard for us. They “rhyme” concepts rather than words (e.g. Ps 1.5-6; Ps 24.1-2). And further, there’s no reason to think that the characters in Job couldn’t have taken a few minutes to sketch out their thoughts before they spoke, even perhaps taking notes (in the dirt? on a clay tablet?) while another was speaking, debate-style.

So while the situation is mildly muddy, I’m inclined to think that the events in the book really happened. This means that Satan really appears in God’s presence and that God converses with him. It also means that ancient peoples were a lot smarter than the stereotypical cavemen. Your homework is to think about what other differences the historicity of the book makes.

Next time we’ll look at something else you need to keep in mind as you read the book.

Part 2

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On Integrating to a New Culture

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On August 10, Martha Bishara was on a lot across the street from her house in Chatsworth, Georgia, collecting dandelions to make salad. She was carrying a knife to get the dandelions. The owner of the lot called the police.

When the police arrived, they ordered her to drop the knife. She didn’t, and started walking away. They ordered her to stop. She didn’t.

So they hit her with a Taser. Failure to respond to police commands, while openly carrying a weapon.

Seems simple enough.

But, as most of you know, it isn’t.

Mrs. Bishara is a (legal) immigrant from Syria, who speaks very little English and so did not understand the officer’s commands.

She’s 87 years old and 5 feet tall, and she has trouble walking.

And they Tased her.

The story has gotten a lot of circulation, generating pretty much universal condemnation. And FWIW, I’m repulsed by what happened as well.

But I think there is a teaching moment here.

I’m not interested in ascribing blame. That’s not my right or responsibility, and people far more qualified than I will address that. Not having been there, and not having police training, I’m ignorant of a lot of what’s necessary to deliver a binding judgment. I have friends who are police officers, including one who used to be a police chief in Georgia, and I have to reserve the possibility that something I don’t know could change my entire perspective on the situation.

Though that’s hard to imagine.

So, no final judgments.

And thus my thoughts turn to how something like this might have been prevented.

There are lots of possibilities. Better training? More, um, common sense? Something else?

One occurs to me.

I’m thinking out loud, in public, and that’s really dangerous. I know that what I’m about to say is going to be controversial, especially to those who are inclined to knee-jerk about The Cause of the Day. I would ask only that you hear me out and actually consider the logic of the idea I’m tentatively suggesting.

Mrs. Bishara has been in the States for more than 20 years. She speaks hardly any English.

Maybe there are good reasons for that. Maybe she has a learning disability. Maybe she’s tried repeatedly and just can’t do it. When she arrived here, she was older than I am now, and I can feel my brain cells dying by the day. I am recognizing my own ignorance by not saying that it’s her own fault.

But her case illustrates one danger of not learning the local language, which is just one part of cultural integration.

Cultural integration, what most people mistakenly call “assimilation,” has gotten a bad rap lately. It’s been equated with imperialism, with cultural elitism. And sometimes, certainly, those things have been involved.

But if you move to another country, it’s just plain good sense to make some adjustments—most critically, to learn the language as well as you can.

I take American students to Africa pretty much every year. Each year that we go to Tanzania, we spend 2 or 3 days teaching the newbs enough Swahili to be able to participate in the daily greetings—a very significant thing in Tanzanian culture—and to buy something in the market. (Starvation, and all that.) Without being able to do those things, they’re not going to be able to show respect to the nationals, to greet them in the ways that the nationals expect; and further, they’re vulnerable out in the city in ways they don’t need to be.

If they were going to stay for more than just 3 to 5 weeks, they would need to learn more.

This last trip, we were on our way to the airport when we were pulled over by a policeman for a random inspection. Our missionary host was driving; I was riding shotgun (without one, fortunately). The officer seemed quite agitated, but I couldn’t understand what he was saying. Afterwards my host informed me that I had been cited for not wearing a seat belt, and fined 35,000 shillings. (Freak out thou not; that’s about $15.) What if my host hadn’t been there? I could legally have driven myself to the airport; what if I had?

Better learn the language.

I’m not suggesting that one’s personal cultural identity should be sacrificed. I spent about a decade living in Boston, where the North End is famously Italian and the South End is Irish. Both cultures are working-class Catholic, but they have significant differences as well—differences that sometimes have ended in blows. These groups have retained strong ties to the Old World and to their cultural heritage.

Good for them.

But if a cop stops any of them on the street, they’ll know what he’s saying.

Not being able to do that can get you hurt. Or dead.

Respect the culture you’re entering enough to learn to function safely and effectively in it.

In this case, loving your neighbor ends up benefiting you. A lot.

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Groovier Than Thou

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Jesus came and said to them, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age” (Mat 28.19-20).

This is the Big One, the Prime Directive. If we don’t give attention to this, nothing else matters. The church’s job—the individual believer’s job—is to present the gospel to everyone on earth, evangelizing, baptizing, teaching.

This despite the fact that most people aren’t interested (Rom 3.9-18), and that most people, apparently, will never be interested (Mat 7.13-14).

So how do we catch their interest?

There are 2 schools of thought on that.

  • We make the gospel as attractive as possible by excelling at everything we do, particularly at those things that are already interesting to the people we’re trying to reach. We become the best at academic pursuits, at artistic pursuits, at athletic pursuits, at anything that will provide a bridge to the unbeliever.
  • We present the gospel as winsomely as possible, but we let it speak for itself. We depend on the Holy Spirit to do the attracting.

I grew up in churches that held to the first view. It was the 60s, and many of us Christians tried to be as groovy as everyone around us, as a lever for inciting interest in the Lord we served. “Real peace through Jesus, baby.”

Sidebar: I know the word groovy hasn’t occurred to anybody in 40 years. It’s anachronistic and therefore odd. It sounds like somebody who’s not cool but who’s trying to be—desperately and clumsily, like a 70-year-old woman with long, bleached-blonde hair, a barbed-wire tattoo, and a bikini. I’m using the word intentionally, and I’ll come back to the anachronism problem later.

I was much older before I understood the theological and historical roots of this approach. It was rooted in a couple of ideas, one centuries old—oddly enough—and one quite recent at the time.

The first theological basis was post-millennialism, which has been around since at least the 17th century. This view, still popular today, especially in some Reformed circles, is the idea that Christ will return to earth after the church has established the kingdom through centuries of increasing power and influence. Today it’s the basis of Christian Reconstructionism, or Dominion Theology. The view finds its biblical roots most obviously in Jesus’ teaching that the kingdom will arrive slowly; see, for example, the parables of the mustard seed (Mat 13.31-32) and of the leaven (Mat 13.33).

If post-millennialism is correct, then the church needs literally to take over the world, to become its ruler. And if that’s not going to happen by force—I don’t know any post-millennialist who’s advocating force today, despite the fear-mongering from the American political left, which tries to paint all evangelicals as Dominionists, people who want to take over the whole system and impose their beliefs on everyone else—then it needs to happen by influence in every area of life. The church needs to win at everything, in every area of culture.

The second theological basis was a proposal by a leading American evangelical, Harold Ockenga, in the late 1940s. He called for a “new evangelicalism” that would be characterized by 3 distinctives: 1) a rejection of fundamentalist separatism; 2) a commitment to academic engagement with theological liberalism; and 3) a commitment to social involvement. Those who embraced Ockenga’s proposal called for replacing separatism with “infiltration.”

And that in turn opened the door for evangelicals of my generation to try to be groovier than thou.

But as I participated in and observed that strategy, I wasn’t happy with the pragmatics of it. I noticed that we weren’t having much success at attracting long-term disciples with grooviness. They would be more accepting of us—perhaps, if we were groovy enough, and our grooviness didn’t come across as fake and manipulative—but that didn’t seem to translate into their being more accepting of Christ. And I couldn’t help noticing that being groovy affected us, our thinking and our behavior, a lot more than it affected the people we were trying to reach.

I wasn’t happy with the theology of it either. I knew that salvation is God’s work, not ours—from beginning to end. I knew that justification and glorification are entirely God’s work; and I knew that sanctification, which occurs between those two, while something we play a part in bringing to pass, is empowered, enabled, by the Spirit of God.

And so I knew that the very beginning of that process, conviction, is the Spirit’s work as well. It’s not my clever turn of phrase, or my quickness with exactly the right answer to the doubter’s question, or my overpowering intellectual brilliance, or my grooviness—or even Jesus’ grooviness—that brings the unbeliever to Christ; it’s the power of the Spirit, using the living Word of God (Heb 4.12), that confounds the doubter’s resistance from the inside out (John 6.44).

So. I don’t have to be groovy. In fact, since what’s groovy changes as quickly as the word used to describe it—cool, hip, rad, awesome, whatever—I’m going to waste a lot of energy trying to keep up with an ever-moving culture (what?! you mean Hanson’s not rad anymore?), energy that would be better invested in simply telling and living the gospel story.

So I’ve quit trying to be groovy—and that’s made my daughters’ lives easier, if nothing else.

And you know what?

There’s great freedom in not carrying the burden of getting the unbeliever to Christ. God will do that. I don’t have to be cool enough, or smart enough, or quick enough to carry it off. All I need to do is live the fruit of the Spirit, and tell the story.

Or, as my friend David Hosaflook says, “Pray, meet people, and tell them about Jesus.”

And, come to think of it, that requires all the energy I’ve ever had.

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Pants on Fire

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I guess it’s time to post here something I posted on Facebook back in 2016:

I’ve seen a trend recently that bothers me. I see my FB friends posting things that aren’t true–that are demonstrably, objectively, documented as untrue. When that is pointed out, they respond, “I don’t know whether this is true or not; but I just wanted to get it out there.”

Outspoken believers. Christian teachers. Pastors. Missionaries. People with a long record of devoted, apparently selfless service.

Where to start.

God is truth, and Satan is the father of lies. Believers, who claim to follow God, ought to be really serious about the truth. They ought to care whether something is true or not. And they ought to take 30 seconds to find out whether something is true before they post it. If you don’t,

  • how worthy is a cause that you need falsehood to support?
  • is the truth not powerful enough to get the job done?
  • how will you give account to God for your haphazard approach to things that are important to Him?
  • what kind of an ambassador for God are you being?
  • why should anyone believe anything you say?
  • why would you want to give the enemies of God reason to blaspheme?

Maybe it’s time we take a deep breath, refocus, and reprioritize. In a billion years, this stuff is going to look really foolish.

That was two years ago, just days before the last presidential election. In the meantime, the situation has only gotten worse.

And on and on it goes.

Let that sink in.

And when the lie is pointed out, you get rejoinders that just make it worse:

  • Well, it sounds like something she could have said.
  • Well, snopes.com is just 3 weird people who like Soros. What does that have to do with whether the quotation is true or not? If you don’t like Snopes as a source, how about looking at the 14.9 million—OK, several hundred—other hits on the alleged quotation?
  • Or sadly, there’s no response at all, and the post stays up. Got no evidence; just liked what it said.

And this from people who get really angry when somebody says there’s no such thing as absolute truth.

God is love, and he loves you, even when you say these things. But love for one thing engenders hate for what would destroy it, and God himself tells us that he hates some things (Prov 6.16-19).

And two of those things that he hates (out of just 7 listed here) are “a lying tongue” and “a false witness.” Two out of seven. You just managed to hit more than a quarter of what God hates. Pretty productive post, considering how little thought went into it.

And throughout our culture, as depraved and perverted as it is, most people are still sensitive enough to the image of God in them that they’re going to despise your dishonesty, and they’re not going to believe anything you say ever again.

Even if it’s John 3.16.

So you need to decide whether zinging an eccentric woman from California is more important than carrying out the Great Commission. And if it isn’t, sounds like you have some repenting to do—taking down some posts, and stating your repentance as publically as you posted the lies.

And then, by God’s grace, reveling in his forgiveness (1Jn 1.9), and living the Truth.

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On Beginning Another Academic Year

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Today is the first day back in the office after a summer of activity, rest, and refreshment. Year 24 of teaching. (I was a teaching assistant during my seminary days, and I’ve been teaching fulltime since the fall of 2000.) Every year means refocusing, fine-tuning, tightening both philosophy and technique.

Every faculty member at my institution has expressed a personal philosophy of education, which he includes in his annual portfolio. What follows is mine.

__________

My educational philosophy grows out of two broader, over-arching philosophies: my life mission and the mission of the institution where I serve.

My life mission is to glorify God by edifying His people and helping prepare others to serve Him. It finds its foundation in Paul’s statement to his Corinthian friends: “Whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do all things to the glory of God” (1Cor 10.31; my translation). It finds its specific application in Paul’s words to another group of friends, this time in Ephesus: “[Christ] gave [gifted people to the church] … in order to equip the saints for the work of service, for the building up of the body of Christ” (Eph 4.12). Like my fellow believers, by God’s good plan and providence, I am where I am, and have the gifts that I have, in order to use those gifts to build up members of the body of Christ. There is no greater mission. And as a fringe benefit, God is a good and gracious Master.

By that same providence, I find myself in the corner of the vineyard that calls itself Bob Jones University. By contracting to teach here, I have agreed to its mission, which is to build Christ-like character in students through the medium of liberal arts higher education. That means that I have a dual focus as I teach: to teach my students the Scripture itself, by which God, over the years ahead, will change them from the inside out, to make them more like Christ (Acts 20.32; 2 Cor 3.18); and to give my students the tools to teach themselves and others the ideas of Scripture (which is my subject area), so that they in turn may present it clearly to those who are seeking and may serve other believers with its truths.

That’s a big job, impossible without divine enablement. Thus I need to begin in reliance on God Himself, nurturing my relationship with Him, praying for direction and empowerment each day, recognizing and embracing each day’s circumstances and challenges as divine appointments. Since I will give account to Him one day for my stewardship (Rom 14.12), I need to prepare myself for each day’s responsibilities, first, and in general, by keeping my academic and spiritual qualifications sharp, and then by evaluating carefully each day’s objectives and planning how best to reach them.

Since the same divine appointment has placed each specific group of students before me, I recognize them as the Bible describes them: made in the image of God (Gen 1.26-27), and therefore worthy of my best effort, regardless of their individual academic abilities or personal character flaws. My goal is to meet each student where he is, and to bring him, by God’s grace, as far as I can down the path of Christ-like character and preparation for skillful service. The Scripture also tells me that my students, like me, are broken images, with sinful natures and evil tendencies (Rom 3.23). That means that I have to encourage them to progress down that path even when they are—often—not inclined in that direction. I may use positive motivation, such as encouragement or praise, or I may need to use what the student may view as a more negative experience, such as exhortation, academic penalty, or even careful criticism. While I never assume that students will naturally do the right thing, I try to approach them positively first, resorting to harder measures only as the softer ones prove insufficient.

My classroom technique is an outgrowth of my own nature. (I believe that had I been born two decades later, I would have been diagnosed with ADHD as a child.) As a student, I needed to be interested in what I was seeing in order to engage it. As I teach I am constantly driven to present material that is both at a reachable level and enjoyable. That means that I first need to couch the material in terms that communicate to the students directly and clearly, and then in a way that is engaging and attractive. I use everyday language, and I define useful jargon as I present it. Since my courses typically need to cover a lot of relatively technical material, I find that I have to use lecture predominantly, but I try to make it engaging by using a lot of humor and demonstrating my own interest in the subject. I’ve learned that a light in the eyes goes a long way.

I find that I cannot reach these goals effectively without at least encouraging my students to interact with me beyond the formal classroom environment. I regularly eat lunch with students in the University Dining Common; I hold scheduled office hours each day; I meet each week with a prayer group in the men’s residence halls; and when I pass students in the hallways or out on the campus, I make a point to catch the eye of each one who will look up, and offer a friendly greeting. (When I’m walking, my cell phone is in my pocket, where it belongs.) When I notice that a student has an uncharacteristic look, I’ll seek an opportunity to take him aside and ask if there’s anything I can help with.

God gifts His people to serve Him, and each one has something he can do well. I find that when I’m in the classroom, I am most at ease; that’s where I fit. (Well, or in Africa with a team of students—but that’s teaching too.) There’s nothing else I would rather do; I don’t talk about “hump day” or yearn for the weekend, and I don’t eagerly count the days until I retire. By God’s grace, I’d like to die with my boots on—teach the last class, deliver the last lecture, turn in my grades, and step through to God’s plan on the other side.

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I Was Born That Way

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I was.

And so were you.

I’ve never understood why many of my fellow believers apparently reflexively argue with those who say that they were born with an inclination that my friends view as immoral. Why couldn’t that be the case?

Now, I’ll grant that it’s difficult to imagine particularly sexual orientation being present from birth, since it seems to take some time for any child to develop any sexual orientation whatever. But I’m happy to concede to my (e.g.) gay friends that they have felt inclined toward same-sex attraction from their earliest memories.

Two reasons for that. In reverse order of importance.

Personal experience

No, I haven’t wrestled with same-sex attraction, and I’ve never felt like a woman trapped in a man’s body. But from my earliest days, I’ve known that there was something seriously wrong with me.

My older sisters could tell you that I was a difficult child. Loud, obnoxious, without self-discipline, generally a pain in various parts of the anatomy. I drove them to tears, more than once.

And here’s the thing. I didn’t want to do that. I wanted to be good. I wanted to add to the joy rather than the misery of whatever the event was. I wanted, as my mother would often admonish me, to “be a help, and not a hindrance.” Every year, right after getting a new crop of school supplies, I would tell myself that this year I was going to be good.

But I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t. Things would just pop out of my mouth, and I would see the hurt on the face of a loved one, or the frustration on the face of a teacher, and I would feel my own frustration with myself rise.

I couldn’t do the good that I could aspire to.

I was born that way.

Scripture

Not surprisingly, the Scripture endorses my experience. It tells me that I shouldn’t be surprised by what I find in my heart.

  • It tells me that everyone is a sinner (Rom 3.23).
  • It tells me that all of us start out as sinners, from the very beginning; it’s nature, not nurture (Ps 58.3). My children could lie (with their expressions) before they could speak, and so could I.
  • It tells me that even Paul the Apostle felt the great internal double-mindedness that I do (Rom 7).

But the Scripture tells me something that my experience doesn’t.

It tells me that there’s a solution.

  • The solution is not in good intentions. Peter denied Jesus even though he intended not to (Mat 26.33).
  • It’s not in gritting my teeth and trying harder. Paul demonstrates that (Rom 7).

The solution is not in me at all. I’m bereft.

The solution is in Christ. My righteous Father, the Scripture tells me, has placed my voluminous sin on His righteous Son: All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned–every one–to his own way; and the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all (Isa 53.6).

How does that happen? By faith.

What does that mean?

I believe in Christ; I trust the effectiveness of his action on my behalf, and I trust that he will forgive me as he has promised. Since we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ (Rom 5.1).

I was born that way. But I’m forgiven. None of that garbage counts against me. “My sin … is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more!”

And, remarkably, that’s not the end of the story.

The Scripture tells me 3 more really encouraging things, even as my struggle with my dark heart continues.

  • God has not only forgiven my sin debt, but he has deposited in my account all the righteousness of Christ himself (2 Cor 5.21). He sees me as not just sinless, but the producer of all kinds of good. He sees me through Christ-colored glasses.
  • God has placed in me his Holy Spirit, who enables me to do better; as a believer, I now have the ability, if I will but use it, to do those things that I aspire to (Rom 6). I don’t have to lose anymore. He who lives in me is stronger than my own evil impulses (1 Jn 4.4). I’m still struggling, as is everyone I know; but we have strength that we weren’t born with, and that’s very good news.
  • The present struggle isn’t going to last forever; my current frustration is temporary. The day is coming when God, as he promises, will make me like his Son (1 Jn 3.2). There really is light—great light—at the end of this very dark tunnel.

Yes, I was born that way. And so were you. And there is not only some amorphous “hope,” but there is an answer. A solution.

By faith.

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7 Stabilizing Principles in a Chaotic World, Part 8

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Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Number 7: Fellowship. You need those people who disagree with you.

Believe it or not, one year I played football. American football. I was an offensive lineman.

Pop Warner League. Seventh grade. Weight limit was 110 pounds at the top, 75 at the bottom. I was 2 pounds too light, but they let me play anyway.

We called ourselves the Patriots. (We were in a Boston suburb.) We lost every game but one.

That experience didn’t jump-start my career, but it did teach me a lot of things. Most important, it forever changed my thinking about diversity.

As with any team sport, football has different positions, and they have different requirements. The offensive lineman has pretty much one job: be a wall. Protect the quarterback. Give him 2 or 3 seconds to get the ball where it needs to go.

So what does an offensive lineman look like? He’s big. Really big. 350 pounds big. His job is to get in the way and stay there.

Out at the far end of the line is the wide receiver. What’s his job? Get down the field—sometimes waaaay down the field—and catch the ball. And then run with it. He needs to be fast. And agile, to out-maneuver the defensive secondary. And it helps if he has some vertical reach so he can catch a broader range of passes.

So what does he look like? He’s not 350 pounds, that’s for sure. He’s thinner, more like an Olympic sprinter, and he’s usually tall, with an ability to jump. And he has great hands.

Now, which of those body types is better?

Neither one, obviously. They’re both necessary for the success of the team. You put an offensive lineman out at the wide receiver’s position, and he’ll be worn out after 2 or 3 plays. You put the wide receiver in at left guard, and they’ll be carrying him—or the quarterback—off the field in short order.

You need them both, and you want them both. It’s the diversity that makes your team great.

What about church? What about life?

It’s human nature to want to be with people who are like you. They look like you, they think like you, they live like you. Other people are unwise, or icky, or nuts. Anybody who drives faster than you is a maniac; anybody who drives slower is a moron. So we go to church with people like us.

And our church is all wide receivers, or offensive linemen, and we wonder why we don’t win any games.

You need to surround yourself with people who are different from you. Sure, racially different—whatever that means—but different in the more important ways as well. Different in the way they think. Socially different. Culturally different. Politically different.

Different, in significant ways.

Why?

Because you’re not good at everything, and you need them to be good at whatever you’re not. You need their strengths, their insights, and especially their correction. You need them.

For many years I was on the elder board of my church. As we wrestled with hard cases and difficult decisions, I came to appreciate the fact that we had different kinds of people at the table.

We had men with the gift of mercy. They would bring a situation to the table: here’s someone who doesn’t have enough to eat. And they would weep, and they would say, “We need to help this family!”

But we also had men without the gift of mercy. They would listen, and they wouldn’t weep. And they’d say, “Why do they not have enough to eat? Is it because he’s foolish with his money? And if so, should we be giving him more money? How about if we buy him a bag of groceries, and then have one of the financial advisers in the church give him some pro bono help setting up a budget and learning how to stick to it?”

(I’ll let you guess which of those groups I was in.)

Now. Which of those people on the elder board is more important?

You need them both. You need the one who weeps, and you need the one who doesn’t. They both make you a better team.

Now let me place the rubber on the road.

When families are being separated at the border, you need people with the gift of mercy, and you need people without it.

You need people who get righteously angry at the suffering that’s going on. You need people who call down a system that takes 3-year-olds to court. Without their parents.

But you also need people who say, “These people are in this predicament because they broke the law. And if we subsidize their behavior, we’re going to get more of it. And that’s not good for us, and it’s most certainly not good for them. We ought to do what we can to discourage this kind of behavior.”

You don’t need to be all in at either pole—you probably shouldn’t be. But you should listen to them.

And we—we—should work together to bring about a system that works.

We can’t do it without each other.

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7 Stabilizing Principles in a Chaotic World, Part 7

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Number 6: Responsibility. You can and should control your reactions. You should resist being manipulated.

When Adam sinned, God confronted him. And in a really remarkable display of chutzpah (was the first language Yiddish?), Adam blamed his wife. And then, in the same breath, he blamed God himself: “the woman, whom YOU gave to me … “ (Gen 3.12).

From the very beginning, we’ve been blame-shifters. When we can be cajoled into reluctantly admitting that we’ve done something wrong, our natural reaction is to blame the whole thing on somebody else. Our children do it. And so do we.

You don’t understand. It happened this way, under these unique circumstances. This is different.

We’re really good at blame-shifting, because we’ve had a lot of practice.

And Scripture will have none of it.

Adam’s problem wasn’t his wife; it was his own willingness to ignore a direct order from his Creator (Gen 2.16)—and we now stand guilty not of Eve’s sin, but of Adam’s (Rom 5.12-14). Moses’ problem wasn’t the infuriating thanklessness and complaining of the Israelites (Num 11.11-12); it was his prideful rejection of God’s instructions (Dt 32.51). David’s problem wasn’t Bathsheba’s carelessness in bathing where he could see her (2Sam 11.2); it was his lustful eagerness to steal her for himself (2Sam 12.7-10).

Your sin, your failures, are your own fault.

Now, I’m not suggesting that only your sin is significant. Others have sinned against you and me, and their actions leave scars, sometimes life-changing ones. But how you behave is not their fault. You are not an animal; you can make moral decisions and carry them out. You can do the right thing despite what others have done to or around you.

You don’t have to be a victim.

So when people make you angry, or when they make false statements, or when they demonstrate that they’re just idiots, they’ve done what they’ve done; but now you need to decide what you’re going to do. And your responsibility is to act in a way that demonstrates love for God and love for your neighbor (Mk 12.29-31).

So here’s a post: “SHARE IF YOU THINK HILLARY SHOULD GO TO JAIL!”

Some observations:

  • The poster has no right to tell you what to do. You are not obligated.
  • The decision as to whether Hillary goes to jail or not is not a matter of democratic vote. You do believe in the Constitution, right? :-)
  • Further, the decision is not up to you, unless you get chosen to be on the jury. If there is a jury.
    • And even if there is a jury, and you’re on it, you may not be tasked with any decision for the penalty phase of the trial.
  • So sharing is a complete waste of your time.
  • And it fills a lot of other people’s timelines with nonsense, a complete waste of their time—which can hardly be said to be loving.
  • And it gives the impression that you care about that more than other stuff, stuff that’s really worth caring about.

You don’t have to share it.

So why do we do it?

Typically, one of two reasons. Rage, or humor.

Either we’re really ticked off about whatever, or we want to stick it to the other side.

I’ve commented before on the essential fleshliness of sticking it to the other side. And, for that matter, about the needlessness of being enraged by the professional agitators.

Some closing thoughts:

  • Things are rarely as bad as they seem. #freakoutthounot
  • There’s plenty of noise out there. Why add to it?
  • Don’t you respect the guy who stands in the middle of the maelstrom, clear-headed, focused on the solution, bringing order and calm and clarity to the chaos?
    • Be that guy.

Part 8

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7 Stabilizing Principles in a Chaotic World, Part 6

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Number 5: Peace. God enables his people to have inner peace amidst outward turmoil.

I’ve been fishing this lake since I was 10—since Dad first took me out on his boat. I’ve been working it professionally since I was 16, 6 days a week, 12 hours a day—well, except when the weather was too bad. I’m a professional; I have enough sense to stay off the lake when the weather could kill you. And I’ve seen weather like that, more than once. But I have never—never—seen a storm like this. It’s sudden, and violent, and powerful beyond all my experience to deal with it. We’re essentially baggage, being thrown around the boat by a storm the likes of which we’ve never seen.

We’re toast.

And he’s asleep.

Seriously?! How does he do that?!

Peter would soon find out how he does that. In a few moments, shaken awake by lifelong sailors who think they’re about to die, he speaks a few words, and the storm is dead, the water calm, the threat just a memory, as if a dream (Mk 4.35-41).

He does that because he’s Lord. He’s in charge. There is no threat.

__________

This summer I took my 5th trip into Tanzania’s Serengeti National Park, one of the 4 premier safari locations in the world. On 4 of those 5 trips we’ve found lions. We drive up in our safari vehicles, to within perhaps 10 meters of the beasts, and we turn off the engines and just sit in silence, most of us taking photos as quickly as we can.

And what do the lions do?

Nothing.

They sit and stare across the plains, completely ignoring us. They may get up and walk around a bit, sometimes even rubbing up against our vehicles, but paying no attention to the people inside.

One year, it was a mating couple. Another, a female lion and 2 cubs. Another, 17 males sitting in the shade of a single acacia tree.

They ignore us. Why?

Because we’re no threat. The lion is the king of the jungle (and the savannah); he has no predators, and he knows it.

He’s at peace.

Now, the peace is deceptive; he’s capable of sudden, rapid, and brutal action. One year we saw a lioness take down a wildebeest literally 15 feet in front of our front bumper—eyes on us the entire time.

And that power is part of the reason for the peace. He has no need to fear.

__________

Jesus is like that. He has no fear, because he has no predators. He’s in charge. He’s king of kings.

And as we’ve noted, he’s directing all that’s happening around us, to his own spectacularly good ends. And he intends for us to play a part in how it all turns out.

That means we have no reason to be afraid. We ought to be at peace as well.

But God knows our frame; he knows that we are but dust (Ps 103.14), because he’s the one who formed us from the dust in the first place (Gen 2.7). And so he knows that we’re going to be afraid, even though we have no reason to be.

So what does he do?

He doesn’t just say, “Stop being afraid”—though he does do that (Lk 12.32).

He gives us his peace. He bequeaths it to us, a gift from the one who always gives the perfect gift for every occasion.

Peace he leaves with us. His peace he gives unto us. Don’t let your heart be troubled, he says, and don’t let it be afraid (Jn 14.27).

Throughout the Scripture God tells his people not to fear their enemies (Dt 1.21; Dt 31.6), or their circumstances (Gen 21.17; 1Ch 28.20). Why not? Because I am with you, he says (Dt 31.6; Isa 43.5). Reach up, take my hand. I won’t let you be destroyed.

But he does tell us to fear—not enemies, not circumstances—but him.

Fear God, and keep his commandments (Ecc 12.13).

And be at peace, no matter how violent the storm.

Part 7 Part 8

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7 Stabilizing Principles in a Chaotic World, Part 5

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Number 4: Significance / Permanence. Some things matter more than others. Care about those.

On July 19th, 2018, Michael Drejka confronted a woman in a convenience-store parking lot because her car was parked in a handicapped space. The woman’s boyfriend, Markeis McGlockton, came out of the store, saw Drejka in a hostile confrontation with his girlfriend, and pushed him to the ground. Drejka drew a concealed weapon and shot McGlockton in the chest, killing him.

Some observations. McGlockton shouldn’t have parked in a handicapped spot. He also shouldn’t have assaulted Drejka—though I think every man understands why he did, and I suspect that a great many women want a man like that.

But the death penalty? For a parking space? And a shove? Does anybody want to make that argument?

People who carry guns in this country—legally—typically have to have training. And a core principle in that training is that you don’t draw your weapon unless it appears that you’re about to have to kill somebody. And you don’t kill somebody unless that person is an immediate threat to human life or of serious injury. It’s a really big deal, and you don’t trivialize it with shallow heroics.

In the long run, only the important stuff matters. And very little is really the important stuff.

This applies to more than gun use—although of course the lethality of firearms makes decisions about their use supremely important.

It applies to any significant investment of your time and resources, most of which are not renewable. You don’t invest your time, or your strength, or your emotions in trivial things.

Now, it may appear that people have to do that. Everybody watches a little TV, plays a little Dutch Blitz, rolls around on the floor with the kids.

But I would argue that those things are not trivial. Recreation, within reason, is an important part of stewarding your well-being. And playing with your kids is absolutely not trivial; I hope I don’t need to convince you of that.

So when you see something that upsets you, you need to decide whether it’s important enough to call for any of your resources. Is it worth going further down the road of upsettedness, or do you just brush it off and get on with your life?

I’d suggest a couple of principles that can help us decide.

First, does the issue have any long-term significance? Does it really matter?

That rules out pop culture, and sports, and a whole lot of other stuff. Let me go out on a limb and suggest that it rules out a lot of politics, though certainly not all of it. If you’ll look back over past elections and ask yourself how much difference they really made, you’ll find yourself saying “not much” to most of them—and that even includes the presidential ones. Really now; would Thomas E. Dewey or Adlai Stevenson have brought the world to a fiery end? As I’ve noted before, partisans claim that every election is the most important of our lifetime, and that simply can’t be true.

What is of long-term significance? Well, at the top of the list would be anything that’s eternal. That would include the fate of your soul, most obviously; but it would also include the internal relationships of the church, since we’re all going to be roommates forever. That means that I can’t say things to fellow believers in a moment of irritation on social media about an issue that isn’t eternally important. Well, I can; but I shouldn’t. And it would also include our relationships with those outside the church, since Christ has commissioned us to reach and win those people. So I can’t say anything to unbelievers in a moment of irritation on social media about an issue that isn’t eternally important.

Lessee; no believers, no unbelievers. That’s pretty much everybody, isn’t it?

Watch your mouth. Or your keyboard.

Second principle: Is your time, or effort, or angst going to make any difference? Really; will getting upset change anything? Will forwarding that meme about putting Hillary in jail? Really?

Sometimes getting involved makes a difference. Maybe you’ll decide to quit throwing plastic in the ocean (a venomous practice if ever there was one). Maybe you’ll be propelled into action by a post you’ve read. Assuming the action is constructive and moral, then good. Have at it. And if getting stirred up gets you there, well, okay.

But investing your emotions, and your mental energy, and your time, and your communication abilities in something that doesn’t matter, or something that you’re not gonna change?

Nah.

Do something important.

Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

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