Falling Under Judgment

During that unforgettable day of horror, September 11, 2001, a photographer named Richard Drew snapped a picture of a man who apparently had leaped to his death from the North Tower of the World Trade Center. For many observers that picture would come to symbolize the sheer desperation of the hour. The subject of the photo has since come to be known simply as "The Falling Man":

Technically the identity of the falling man has never been confirmed. But on the basis of his estimated size and physical characteristics, his restaurant worker attire, and other clues, many suspect him to be one Norberto Hernandez, a pastry chef who worked at the Windows on the World restaurant on the 107th floor. A documentary on the photo and its subject, The Falling Man, noted the fact that most news sources chose to ignore the "jumpers" and instead preferred to report on the "heroes" who decided to bravely endure the flames rather than "take the easy way out." One interviewee went so far as to suggest that if the jumper was Hernandez, he is currently "burning in hell" for his cowardly act of suicide. As a conservative-Evangelical Christian my first reaction was to reluctantly agree.

After all, I was taught for years that suicide is a sin, regardless of how difficult life may become, and is furthermore the only sin for which a person cannot possibly repent. But then I thought more about it. Exactly how, I wondered, is deciding to remain surrounded by flames in a burning building dozens of stories from the ground any less "suicidal" than deciding to jump from it? I would guess that the odds of surviving a great fall are no worse (possibly even slightly better) than the odds of surviving being consumed with flames and smoke. Is it really a sin to choose the less painful of two forms of almost certain death? The problem confronting the people at the top of the tower that day, after all, was not that life was no longer worth living, but that living was no longer an option.

And there are other possibilities. Footage shows people standing at the very edge of the building, where the floor-to-ceiling windows had been broken out. By the very premise of the teaching that suicide is sin, those people were morally compelled to get away from the deadly smoke and heat, and those openings were likely the only places to do so. But if dozens of panicked, desperate people are pressing forward to get to those openings, it seems plausible that the "jumper" may have actually been pushed over the edge.

Additionally, it may be that for the jumper his leap was a calculated risk. Waiting for firefighters who clearly were not going to climb over a hundred floors of a burning skyscraper and then carry countless hundreds of people back down to their safety, and seeing flames drawing ever closer, he may have reasoned that jumping was the safer bet. Maybe he tried to spread his body flat and create some sort of aerodynamic resistance in an obviously vain effort to "float" to the ground. Maybe he thought someone would try to catch him or otherwise break his fall. In short, jumping may have been an attempt to live rather than die. (An extended clip of the falling man shows him struggling for control, before perhaps passing out.) The important thing to note here is simply this: We do not know, and cannot know, this man's personal character or motivations.

One of the most familiar — and at the same time one of the most misunderstood and abused — statements in all the New Testament is the admonition of Jesus to his disciples: "Judge not, that you be not judged" (Matt. 7:1). Now it is true that for people who have no interest in the knowledge and purposes of God, Jesus' statement has often been taken to mean something like this: "No man can hold me morally accountable in any way." That same basic sentiment has evidently gained traction in the last few decades, as more and more of us are demanding more and more "rights" to engage in behavior once forbidden as sinful. Scripture refers to such an attitude is licentiousness, that of retaining for oneself the right (license) to behave as one pleases. Clearly the sinless Son of God would not condone a licentious mindset. We are not to judge, censure, and condemn others; but if we abandon our spiritual authority to speak the truth in righteousness we fail to honor Christ.

But we in the church have frequently proven ourselves guilty of an "equal and opposite error" (to borrow a phrase from C.S. Lewis), by interpreting the commandment of Jesus not to judge as a mandate not only to personally repent of sin and hypocrisy, but then... to judge others. How can this be? Well, the idea is that the traditional interpretation is too simplistic. The traditional interpretation holds that Jesus was prohibiting men from arrogating to themselves the role of moral judge, because only God can fulfill that role. By contrast the alternative interpretation says that in the next verses Jesus actually outlined a two-step procedure for properly judging others:

"And why do you at the speck in your brother's eye, but do not consider the plank in your own eye? Or how can you say to your brother, 'Let me remove the speck for your eye'; and behold, a plank is in your own eye? Hypocrite! First remove the plank from your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother's eye." (Matt. 7:3-5)

In other words we must repent of our own sins, but having done so we can then proceed to zealously judge our fellows in good conscience. The Holman New Testament Commentary, for example, says: "Jesus clearly indicates that taking a speck out of your brother’s eye is the correct thing to do, as long as you have been careful to first remove the log out of your own eye." I personally have problems with such a reading, the main being that Jesus must have been using hyperbole when he said, "Then you will see clearly [to judge others]"— because it contradicts the command to judge not. Whereas the point of the lesson is to refrain from judgment, the bit about removing the plank out of our own eye before presuming to remove the speck from our brother's eye is meant to illustrate how absurd it would be for inherently sinful men to go ahead and judge other inherently sinful men anyway. The "plank" and the "speck" are clues that Jesus is drawing on our sense of humor and perspective to drive home an otherwise serious point. The "plank" (NKJV, "log" or "beam" in other translations) in the eye further calls attention to our severely limited capacity to accurately see into the hearts of individuals.

Now with that said, there is a danger lurking about even in what I have argued to this point. That is, I could easily, in the very process of passing along the teaching of Jesus on judgment, slip into a frame of mind that judges others for their judgmentalism. It appears very difficult, then, to address moral issues without also transgressing the express teaching of Christ. Is there a way to declare the whole counsel of God faithfully without falling under judgment ourselves? I would say there is. First we must be careful to distinguish between sins, which we should condemn, and individual sinners, whom we should never condemn. It is our duty to preach the truth of Scripture — not to convict a man of his sin: That job falls to the Holy Spirit alone. Second, we must be careful to judge ourselves even as we preach. As Paul stated outright,

"If we would judge ourselves, we would not be judged" (1 Cor. 11:31)

The Problem of Evil and Wishful Thinking

At the "Debating Christianity" site I recently began a discussion with the above thread title. In it I posed the following skeptical dilemma:

In Christian theology evil is a function of moral freedom. The painful results of evil can be felt by each of us, to varying degrees, every day. Many skeptics tell me that this situation is logically incompatible with the very God described in Christian theology. Therefore the barest hint of evil – let alone the gross injustice that persistently plagues our world – is enough to negate Christianity completely.

But Christian theology also posits a comprehensive solution to the problem of evil, one "built in" to the creation from the beginning. That solution begins with the work of atonement and subsequent resurrection of Christ, and culminates in everlasting life in the kingdom of heaven. Many skeptics tell me that such a scenario is just wishful thinking, a failure to squarely face the harsh realities of life.

It seems to me, then, that for many skeptics any amount of evil is too much and no evil at all is not enough. But that can't be right. Tell me what I'm missing here.

One of the more thoughtful skeptics replied in part,

Since it's apparently not moral freedom itself that gives beings intrinsic value, what was God's moral imperative to create morally free beings?

I thought that deserved a reply and so I answered,

Great question. I'd say that confusion here arises from thinking that unrestricted moral freedom must be perpetual to give beings intrinsic value. My position is that great moral latitude is initially (i.e., here and now) necessary for us to decide what it is we really want, specifically whether we want to spend eternity with a holy God. In other words, an eternal friendship with God freely chosen may be morally preferable to one which has been simply imposed upon me. On this view the wedding of the Lamb and his bride is not the result of an arranged marriage.

It is only after I have decided over the course of a lifetime that I only want to taste the fruit of life, not of both good and evil, that moral freedom becomes much more restricted in scope. In the kingdom of heaven I will still be free to love others, to bless and honor God, and to forever discover God's greatness and the glory of his kingdom. I will not be free to do evil. But right now I am acutely aware that evil only causes suffering anyway, so why should I want to retain the power to commit it?

In a very real and very sobering way, we have been granted freedom by God to choose our eternal destiny. We get what we want. But even on earth this powerful liberty to do with salvation as we will has an expiration date, known only to God. Every day we resist the gracious conviction and pleading of the Holy Spirit we run the danger of death, of missing the imminent return of Jesus Christ, and perhaps most frightening of all, of our own hearts becoming irreversibly hardened to the truth of the gospel. God loves you and wants to receive you into the glory of his eternal kingdom. Believe it.

"For He says: 'In an acceptable time I have heard you, and in the day of salvation I have helped you.' Behold, now is the accepted time; behold, now is the day of salvation" (2 Cor. 6:2).

Little Things for a Larger Audience

Something thoroughly unspectacular happened in my office's break room the other day. There alone and ready to return to work, I tossed a straw over toward the trash bin. It missed. I shrugged and started toward the door, but hesitated when I thought about the janitors whose job it is to clean up after us every day. They probably struggle just as I do to keep up with their work, I thought, so why not stoop down, pick it up and throw it away myself? I did so, and as I did, felt a sense of being momentarily flushed with the presence of God's Spirit. That gave me pause. Could it be that God is acutely interested in the actions we take when no one is looking and nothing monumental is at stake?

Years ago, I preached a sermon about "little things" from Genesis 23, the little things being the actions and attitudes of Abraham while arranging for the burial of his wife Sarah. In that less-than-thrilling story Abraham showed himself to be faithful to God and his wife, humble in his dealings with others, and generous to a fault. Yet he was doing nothing spectactular or noteworthy. To the contrary he was busy with the depressing, mundane tasks associated with burying the love of his life. There were no crowds watching, no heroic exploits being performed. But this sort of difficult, dreary and lonely setting  is just where we should expect character to be tested most powerfully.

Character defines who we really are, which is best discovered in the secret places and the predictable, unexciting drudgery that makes up so much of our daily experience. It would be a mistake, however, to think that strictly no one is watching us during such times. "The eye of the Lord is in every place," says the Scripture, "keeping watch on the evil and the good" (Prov. 15:3). Indeed, God watches our behavior most interestedly, and seems to take paticular pleasure in acts performed for his eyes only. Again and again Jesus declared that the greatest eternal rewards are found by those who reject the plaudits and praises of men, instead serving the Lord's purposes for his own sake: "And your Father, who sees in secret, will reward you openly" (Matt. 6:4, 6, 18). This should be an encouragement for anyone who really wants his work to count, for our God is far and away the largest audience of all.

Tribute to a Man of God

My brother in-law, brother in Christ, and friend Barry Parker passed away unexpectedly this last weekend, between Christmas and the New Year. I am writing this brief tribute because to me Barry was not a typical Christian, but a genuine standout.  

Upon the passing of some men, we have to search around a bit for good things to say. Not so with Barry. He lived* an exemplary life of Christian sacrifice and service, so that words of commendation come easy. Barry did not merely pass away; he left a priceless gift to those who knew him in the example he set for us. 

What made Barry such a remarkable character? Exactly that: His character. He served his country in the military, served the sick in the medical industry, and then served his church as a pastor, foreign missionary, and evangelist. More importantly, he served his immediate family with an example of leadership that some men can only hope to emulate. (To know his wife and children is to know this to be true; to various degrees and in various ways they reflect his influence.) Most importantly of all, he served God with all his heart. Indeed, because of that love for God serving in general seemed to come naturally and joyfully to Barry. Two days before his passing, he tweeted this message: “How you love those who do not love you back and give to those who have nothing to give in return is the truest reflection of your character.”  

Now, all of this is not to say that Barry was syrupy-sweet (and he would be the first to acknowledge his own sinfulness). To the contrary, he held to some serious “old school” convictions that gave him a somewhat gruff veneer. And he was no stranger to conflict or controversy. (He and I certainly did not agree about everything!) But like the proverbial “teddy bear,” his gruffness very thinly overlaid a warmth and compassion for others that clearly ran deep. If that didn’t win you over, the highly animated sense of humor did. I could go on, but the description so far has left me with an impression that speaks most highly of the man: Despite the inescapable flaws of his humanity, Barry reminded me just a little bit of Jesus.

 

*I hesitate to speak of Barry in the past tense, for I am confident that he is alive even as I write, but will do so for the sake of clarity and convention.

Simple Faith

"But I fear, lest somehow, as the serpent deceived Eve by his craftiness, so your minds may be corrupted from the simplicity that is in Christ." -- 2 Cor. 11:3

My cell group discussions lately have been not just encouraging but personally challenging. Last night one of the sisters described her experience of losing a spouse* and finding herself without her closest companion (not to mention the sole source of income for her family). In the weeks and months that followed she managed to find peace, she said, by continually looking to Christ alone in prayer and faith. My immediate inclination was to think something along these lines: "That's just too simple. There are a host of psychological coping issues that need to be addressed in such a situation." But as I thought more about it I realized that her response was a testimony of exceeding wisdom and spiritual maturity. In our "information age" too many of us have bought into the notion that complicating things is somehow the mark of intelligence. Some things are by nature complicated, of course, and the only way to understand them is to wade into their complexities. Faith in God, however, is not one of those things.

Of course this tendency is really nothing new. Well-meaning believers have been overcomplicating the truth since the first century. Legalism, for example, is essentially a complication -- a huge list of requirements meant to supplement or even replace simple faith in Christ. Paul asked rhetorically of God's gracious works of salvation and healing, "Does He do it by the works of the law or by the hearing of faith?" (Gal. 3:5) Idolatry is equally complication, as is materialism and other worldly pursuits. Scripture declares that there is but "one Mediator," but through the centuries the church has managed to add a host of popes, priests and pastors, consultants and counselors, etc., as indispensable means of finding the grace and presence of God.

As a student of Christian apologetics (the practice of defending the faith against critics), I once embraced a philosophy known as evidentialism. This is the idea that anything worth believing ought to be supported by evidence. I held my Christian faith to be one of those beliefs -- not merely true but also well-grounded in historical evidence. And so it is. Yet the essence of faith is to look beyond the evidence, to embrace the love of an invisible God while living in an earthly body, for example, and to envision His promises of a gloriously bright future in the face of often terribly difficult present circumstances. Even philosophers and intellectuals can learn to appreciate simplicity. Christian philosopher Alvin Plantinga once remarked that

knowledge of God is not arrived at by inference or argument (for example, the famous theistic proofs of natural theology), but in a much more immediate way.... It isn't that one beholds the night sky, notes that it is grand, and concludes that there must be such a person as God; an argument like that would be ridiculously weak. It isn't that one notes some feature of the Australian outback -- that it is ancient and brooding, for example -- and draws the conclusion that God exists. It is rather that, upon the perception of the night sky or the mountain vista or the tiny flower, these beliefs just arise within us. They are occasioned by the circumstances; they are not conclusions from them.

Amen. I hope and pray that I too can learn to appreciate such circumstances as gifts from God, and thereby learn to enjoy the simple pleasures of the life of faith.

* Temporarily, that is. I am confident, as is she, that the two of them will be joyfully reunited in the not-too-distant future.

The Spirituality of Music

During a visit with friends and family in San Antonio for Thanksgiving, we got into a discussion about classic church hymns, which drifted into the subject of music generally and the old songs we used to love as teenagers and young adults. A few days later I had a similar discussion with my church cell group. In both instances most everyone present was to my knowledge a sincere and enthusiastic but fairly "conservative" believer in Jesus -- yet there was a certain liveliness to this particular topic. Everyone, it seems, has their personal set of "greatest hits."

It all reminded me a bit of Plato's teaching in the Republic (or more properly Allan Bloom's interpretation of Plato) about the emotional, psychological and even political power of music. Music can inspire us to worship, motivate us to acts of courage and kindness, and generally extend the horizons of our vision beyond our comfort zone of rationality and predictability. I have written entire sermons whose inspiration began with the hearing of a song on the radio while driving around town.   

One of the songs I mentioned was "Roll with the Changes" by REO Speedwagon. For those who can't remember it, or are too young to have ever heard it in the first place, click below (there is a can't-miss guitar solo with a keyboard lead-in that all starts around 3:21):  

Some of the lyrics go as follows:

I knew it had to happen
Felt the tables turnin'
Got me through my darkest hour
I heard the thunder clappin'
Felt the desert burnin'
Until you poured on me
Like a sweet sunshower

So if you're tired of the
Same old story
Oh turn some pages
I'll be here when you are ready
To roll with the changes....

Now, I don't think anyone would confuse REO Speedwagon with a church worship team, but just a bit of tinkering would make this song worthy of a place in a revival service. Here we have the call to hope, to endure hardships, and to experience "new life," so to speak. Then of course there are the songs of pure worship that need no tinkering. It was with full knowledge of the human sensitivity to the emotive influence of music that Paul taught the church in Colosse to edify one another "in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing with grace in your heart to the Lord" (Col. 3:16) In terms of sheer power to inspire reverence for Christ, the "Revelation Song" may be my all-time favorite:

With the holidays upon us I must also recommend "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" courtesy of my son Vance and his band, Divisions:

Finally, having just returned from a Karaoke birthday party for a friend, I have to add that music can be downright hilarious -- and in that sense it can promote joy in the way of laughter and mirth. Few things are funnier, after all, than people with precious little musical talent making a go of it anyway.... 

Supply, Demand, and Discipleship

The law of supply and demand is the bedrock principle of economics. Most often the idea is expressed as a simple function of price: When price decreases, supply decreases while demand increases. When price increases, supply increases while demand decreases. Common experience confirms what economists teach. Every worker wants a job that pays more, for example, so that supply of labor increases as wages increase; just as every consumer wants to pay less for tennis shoes, so that consumers buy more tennis shoes marked down than at regular price. One consequence of the law of supply and demand is that of shortage and surplus: When the price of a good exceeds the market-clearing price, a surplus results, and when the price is below the market-clearing price, a shortage results. Everyone wants the most bang for the buck.

The truth of all this holds not just for tangible goods, but for most anything imaginable that could potentially enhance human well-being. As Roger Arnold has noted in his text Microeconomics,

[A] good is anything from which individuals receive utility or satisfaction. In everyday conversations, the word good usally applies to something tangible that is bought or sold in a market. But there are more goods in the world than just the tangible items sold in markets. Friendship and love are both goods, although neither is tangible and neither is bought and sold in a market...

What about the Christian life, or as some have called it, "the good life"? Clearly a majority of people, in America at least, consider being a Christian somewhat valuable. With various levels of zeal we support Christian causes, read Christian books, attend Christian churches, defend Christian causes. Professing Christians are everywhere you look. At the same time, skeptics and critics point out that in behavioral terms Christians are scarcely distinguishable from anyone else: Indeed, statistically we are no less likely than anyone else to have children out of wedlock, get caught in a financial scandal, or commit a violent crime.

Why the inconsistency? Perhaps economics can provide some insight. If the church is experiencing non-stop numerical growth with little spiritual growth to show for it, the problem may have to do with what Dietrich Bonhoeffer referred to contemptuously as "cheap grace." That is, the advertised price for following Christ is simply too low and consequently everyone wants in on the deal. But the Christian life is not cheap. It cost the Son of God an agonizing death to provide us access to eternal life and communion with himself, who warned that each of his disciples would have to "take up his cross" in order to follow him. It should not suprise us, then, that Jesus compared the life of discipleship to a costly all-out war or an expensive long-term building project, and then urged us to "count the cost" before presuming to be his disciples:

"So likewise, whoever of you does not forsake all that he has cannot be My disciple" (Luke 14:33).