Trust is the Opposite of Certainty

We have seen that Jesus interpreted Scripture in the rabbinic spirit of faithful questioning motivated by love. We have noted that Jesus’ interpretation of Scripture was in direct contrast to that of the Pharisees and other religious leaders of his time, who read the Scriptures in a spirit of unquestioning obedience and were motivated by an obsession with correct doctrine. The Pharisees were concerned about who was “right” and who was “wrong,” and were determined to enforce their “right” understanding, even if such an effort required violence.

We have said that over the centuries the Church has tended not to follow the pattern of Jesus, but rather to follow the pattern of the Pharisees, striving to maintain orthodoxy and labeling those who disagree as heretics. The result has been a long history of various manifestations of the church enforcing their authority through violence or the threat of violence—all in God’s name.

The struggle to know what is “right” has replaced Grace as the foundation of faith. In far too many cases our trust is more in the correctness of our doctrine than in the Grace of God. Such an application of religious faith establishes an “us vs. them” mentality, which always leans toward an exclusionary witness and far too often is forcefully inflicted.

While the exclusionary witness establishes categories for judging who is acceptable and who is not, Jesus’ witness was to go out among the outcasts and the fringe people—to eat with them, to touch them and through loving inclusion to restore their lives to wholeness. Too often our approach has been to demand that those on the outside become “like us” before they can gain admission and acceptance. Our doctrine becomes "the way, the truth and the life."

We all read Scripture selectively, and justification can indeed be found for both approaches. They stand in direct contradiction within the Holy writ, and we choose one way or the other:

1.       The way the Pharisees chose: unquestioning obedience to what they had determined to be the “right” doctrine (Law), and enforcing that doctrine as the prerequisite of faithfulness—excluding (and sometimes punishing with violence or threat of violence) all who do not conform (including Jesus).

2.      The way Jesus chose: faithful questioning the violence in Scripture and bearing witness to unconditional love (Grace), including all humanity in a divine embrace of reconciliation and restoration. All humanity. And "All" means "All."

Our celebrated First Amendment rights which grant freedom of speech and religion actually came about in direct response to the church’s legacy of persecution and rampant bloodshed committed in the sincere (but sincerely wrong) effort to maintain purity of doctrine. As a result of those Constitutional rights, there are no more burnings at the stake today.

So, what is the greater wrong: not getting the formulation of the Trinity quite right, or slaughtering those who do get it wrong? What is the greater sin: questioning a doctrine or working to destroy people’s careers and livelihoods because they question it?

Equally important as what we profess is how we profess it and how we live what we profess. When we act in any way to harm others in the name of Scripture or faith or morality we demonstrate that we are neither scriptural, moral nor faithful. Jesus said the whole law and the prophetic writings were predicated upon love of God, love of neighbor and love of self (Matthew 22:36-40). And Paul wrote, “Love does no harm to a neighbor. Therefore love is the fulfillment of the law” (Romans 13:10) When we do not act in love, nothing we do is right, and nothing is faithful, not even according to the law.

The simple formula of the New Testament witness is “Grace Trumps Law.” It’s simple; but it’s not easy. It requires that we “let go” of our efforts to justify ourselves through adherence to “right” doctrine, and that we instead “take hold” of the Grace God offers and surrender to the power of that Grace to mold us into the likeness of Jesus. That whole process of “letting go” and “taking hold” is called “Trust.” Trust is the opposite of certainty, and certainty is a first cousin of control.

And we are a culture of control addicts. Maybe we need a 12-Step program to facilitate recovery. “Hello. My name is Jim; and I’m a controlaholic.”

That’s the way I see it through the flawed glass that is my world view.

Together in the Walk,

Jim

A More Excellent Way

With a lot of help from Derek Flood[1], Walter Wink[2], Walter Brueggemann[3] and others, I've been exploring how to read the Bible as Jesus did. Basically, Jesus applied the rabbinic hermeneutic[4] of faithful questioning, in contrast to the approach of the Pharisees of his day, who employed a hermeneutic of unquestioning obedience.

Ever since Christianity first began its shameless dance with political power, the Bible has been used primarily to maintain orthodoxy and define heresy. When Constantine marched his army into the ocean and pronounced them “baptized”, the church began a long history of enforcing orthodoxy with threats of death, torture, exclusion and hell fire. The record of atrocities is almost endless, from the crusades and the inquisition, to Puritan witch hunts to slavery to basically every human rights issue.

In every case, the practitioners of barbarism viewed their interpretation of the faith as the one and only “right” reading, and enforced their “right” way with violent use of power. This clearly represents the very worst of the way of unquestioning obedience and inevitably leads to violence committed in God’s name.[5] It is a total misreading of Scripture’s intent.

In striking contrast is rabbinic Judaism’s tradition of faithful questioning. Rabbi Anson Laytner makes the case that faithful questioning is typical, not only of the Hebrew Bible, but also of the Jewish faith itself.[6] (I have this delightful image of Tevye arguing with God in “Fiddler on the Roof.”)

Key examples of faithful questioning are found throughout the Jewish commentaries on the Scriptures. Instead of a single interpretation that establishes the orthodox, “right” way of reading Torah, the commentaries typically present dissenting views from various rabbinic sages, offered side by side like the transcript of a courtroom trial. It may help to recall that the word, “Israel” means “wrestles with God.”

From this line of thought we can see that reading Scripture by faithfully questioning violence and harm perpetrated in God’s name is not only characteristic of Jesus and Paul and the rest of the New Testament, it’s also a deeply Jewish way to read Scripture. Remember: Jesus also was a rabbi, steeped in that tradition.

Every culture and every religious faith is susceptible to error. The root of the matter is not necessarily within the particular culture or religion, but rather is the marriage of religion and political power. This always is a poisonous combination, and is the point at which the church diverges from the way of Jesus.

But there always are those anxious souls who want to nail everything down, who want guarantees and control over their destinies, both temporal and eternal. Their needs are such that they must live by sight, and not by faith.[7] The harm emerges when their insecurities lead to the use—or at least the threat—of violence to silence dissent. The greatest heresy is their belief that the use of force is a valid example of upholding the faith.

 The key difference between Jesus and the Pharisees, and between differing groups today is in which narrative we choose to embrace, and which we choose to avoid, discount or (as Jesus did) outright reject. The question is not whether we will choose some texts and ignore or reject others. Even the most fundamental literalist reads the Bible selectively, if only by emphasis and tone of voice. Rather, if we are to read the Bible as Jesus did, the question is which texts we choose and by what criteria!

The criterion both Jesus and Paul used is love. I will develop that theme more in the blogs that follow; but here is a teaser:

"While the Pharisees were focused on strict adherence to religious rules and regulations (the “right” or “correct” reading), the priority of Jesus was instead focused on loving and caring for people in need. Clearly, the way Jesus understood faithfulness to Scripture was that it should lead to love. ‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind” and “Love your neighbor as yourself’ Jesus said, ‘All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments’ (Matthew 22:37049).”[8]

How then can we continue to claim that Scripture is inspired if it truly justifies hurt and damage to people? As Christians we affirm that the Scriptures are good, intended to lead us to love. However, as history reveals, it also can be read in an abusive way. My teacher, the late Fred B. Craddock once said, “There is nothing so holy that it does not have its pornographers.” Paul also wrote, “I found that the very commandment that was intended to bring life actually brought death” (Romans 7:10).

The common denominator is love.

That’s the way I see it through the flawed glass that is my world view.

Together in the Walk,

Jim

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[1] Derek Flood, Disarming Scripture: Cherry-Picking Liberals, Violence Loving Conservatives and Why We All Need to Learn How to Read the Bible Like Jesus Did (San Francisco: Metanoia Press, 2014).

[2] Walter Wink, The Powers That Be: Theology for a New Millennium (New York: Galilee Doubleday, 1999).

[3] Walter Brueggemann, Theology of the Old Testament: Testimony, Dispute, Advocacy (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2005).

[4] Hermeneutic, derived from Hermes, the messenger of the gods in Greek mythology, is the process of transmitting the divine message into language and concepts that can be understood by humans. In recent generations it has become generalized to mean any process of interpretation.

[5] Flood, op. cit., Kindle Version, Location 1017.

[6] Anson Laytner, Arguing with God: A Jewish Tradition (Northvale, NJ: Jason Aronson Inc. 1990).

[7] The direct opposite of the life of faith described in II Corinthians 5:7.

[8] Derek Flood, op. cit., Kindle version, Location 967.

Confusing Choices

For me, spiritual growth is not so much a process of reaffirming what I already believe and making it stronger (although that often happens) as it is venturing beyond my comfort zone and walking with the God who is “always making all things new” (Rev 21:5).

By definition, growth is change, and there are community dimensions, as well as individual dimensions, to spiritual growth. The Bible is a record of individuals and of a people who grew in their relationship with their God, each generation passing on to the next generation the cumulative testimony of that relationship. We are beneficiaries of their testimony, and are afforded the opportunity—indeed, the responsibility—of expanding and enriching that relationship and passing our testimony on to subsequent generations.

The one constant throughout that testimony is change. Abram, a Habiru (?) from Chaldea had a life-changing (and history-forming) encounter with God at Shechem, and changed from a nomadic life of questionable character to a settled agrarian life, quite possibly participating in an established community of faith led by the mysterious priestly figure of Melchizedek of Salem (Genesis 14:17-18).

His change was of such depth that his name was changed from Abram (Father of Height, or Father of Praise) to Abraham (Father of a Multitude). And the change continued when he intended to offer his son, Isaac as a sacrifice, and grew to understand that God did not want human sacrifice (although there is evidence that some pockets of Israel continued to practice it into the sixth century BCE), and that God would provide whatever was needed.

We follow the descendants of Abraham as their prophets (especially Amos, Isaiah and Jeremiah) grow into the understanding that God does not want sacrifice at all, but considers ethical behavior toward fellow humans (especially the poor) to be a proper expression of worship (although the general population did not understand that, and in general the Christian community today still wrestles with questions of “the right way” to worship and whether to serve the poor at all.)

Jesus took the prophetic teachings to their highest point, saying that no matter what form or worship one expresses, if it does not motivate ethical behavior within the community, and especially in regard to the poor, it is meaningless. Again, the community of faith in general still has not assimilated that teaching.

Change is always resisted; and the strongest rationale for resistance is that the faith must be defended. Such rationale assumes “the faith” is static—a one-and-done thing that does not grow. But the question soon must be faced: are we really defending “the faith,” or are we protecting our own position relative to the status quo? A faith community that can rationalize genocide in the name of God (as in Deut 20:16) can rationalize anything.

Previously we have suggested that Jesus rejects the status of earlier testimony regarding the divine/human relationship, especially when the earlier testimony advocated violence and retribution. Consider the example of Elijah calling down fire from heaven to prove he is a “man of God” by consuming 50 soldiers and their captain (2 Kings 1:10). When Jesus is rejected by the people of a Samaritan village, James and John, perhaps hoping to follow Elijah’s example, ask Jesus if they should call down fire from heaven to destroy them. Jesus not only rejects the Elijah narrative, he sternly rebukes his disciples for even suggesting it (Luke 9:55-56). Where Elijah claimed the action proved his status as a “man of God,” Jesus makes the opposite claim: the true man of God would not obliterate life to save, heal and restore it (later versions of the Lukan passage, as well as Luke 19:10, John 3:17, et. al.)

Walter Brueggemann makes the point that the Old Testament is a record of disputing testimony (see the previous blog), and Jesus calls us to enter the dispute. “In fact, because of its multiple conflicting narratives we simply must choose, we must take sides in the debate, we are forced to embrace some narratives while rejecting others.

“The key difference between Jesus and the Pharisees … is in which narratives they chose to embrace. Similarly, the question for us is not whether or not we will choose, but rather which narratives we choose to embrace, and how will we choose them?”[1]

The more cutting question in my mind not “how,” but “why” we choose the narratives that inform our faith and guide our spiritual, emotional, mental, physical, relational and even our political lives. Why would any Christian choose to base his or her faith and behavior upon a text of Scripture that advances violence or retribution when Jesus clearly and repeatedly rejects violence and retribution— unconditionally?

This blog is a journal of my own spiritual journey, so I ask of myself, am I motivated by a need to protect “The Bible” (or at least my understanding of it), or by a desire to follow Jesus into an unknown wilderness and thus risk having to change? (Ironically, to follow Jesus requires trusting in the Scriptural witness about him.) Is that growth?

I wish I could see more clearly through the flawed glass that is my world view.

Together in the Walk,

Jim

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[1] Derek Flood, Disarming Scriptures: Cherry-Picking Liberals, Violence-Loving Conservatives, and Why We All Need to Learn to Read the Scriptures Like Jesus Did (San Francisco: Metanoia Books, 2014), Kindle edition, Location 668 (emphases his).

Filling the Law Full

There are those who consider it unpatriotic or even treasonous to point out imperfections in anything American. In fact, one state legislature in the last few days has presented a bill to make it illegal to teach any model of American history (or, I assume, the history of that state) that is critical of any historic action taken by any representation of American policy. One would assume, given the extreme partisanism of American politics today, that emphasis would be given, and bias expressed in favor of the specific policies of the party that originated the legislation.

Others seem to make a life out of criticizing and finding fault with virtually anything done by the “other party”; and it’s about as broad as it is wide when it comes to which party is more critical of the other.

The stance one takes in the resulting cacophony generally depends upon what will accrue the greatest benefit to the individual and/or to the party that provides his or her political, economic, cultural and, yes, religious identity. [It’s interesting, and somewhat appalling to note that church mission/purpose statements more and more reflect the platform and values of one political party or another, even when draped with biblical sound bytes.]

Now, this really isn't a blog about American partisanism. I’ve pretty much exhausted that subject in previous blogs. Nevertheless, it seems a given with which most Americans can identify. I take time here to reassert my bias because it wasn't all that different when Jesus of Nazareth taught and ministered. Today in America we have Democrats, Republicans (including the Tea Party branch), Libertarians, Independents and even a sprinkling of Socialists. In first century Israel you had Sadducees and Pharisees, with rabbis, priests and scribes identifying with one or the other.

And, like the protagonists in American politics the priests and scribes of Jesus’ day were absolutely certain of the absolute truth and validity of their specific position, and often arrogantly obnoxious in their promotion thereof.  And so, when Jesus said, “You have heard it said to the people long ago, ‘Do not murder, and anyone who murders will be subject to judgment.’ But I tell you that anyone who is angry with his brother will be subject to judgment (Matt 5:21-22), his statement was received with all the grace and cordiality an avowed Socialist might expect at an American Tea Party caucus.

But in that statement lies the heart of Jesus’ approach to reading Scripture.

In his book, Disarming Scripture, Derek Flood submits that none of the common approaches to Scripture, viz, the Conservative/Fundamentalist approach, the Atheist approach or the Liberal/Progressive (Cherry-Picking) approach has effectively reconciled contradictory images of God presented in various parts of the Bible, specifically, the contradiction between images of God (mostly Old Testament) as a warrior who commands atrocities, including genocide, in his name, versus images of God (mostly New Testament, although the prophetic writings of Hebrew Scriptures contain some of this) as nurturing and merciful—Jesus called God, “Father”.

Which is it? Is God fickle, or even schizophrenic? Or is there something in our reading and understanding that needs to be addressed?

In the Sermon on the Mount Jesus addresses those contradictions and reconciles them using the familiar formula, “You have heard… but I tell you…” And, it is crucial to note that Jesus prefaces these confrontations by declaring, “Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have not come to abolish them but to fulfill them” (Matt 5:17). The question comes to mind: “Why would Jesus preface his teachings with this disclaimer?” when it appears that he proceeds precisely to overturn the law!

In the original language of the New Testament, the word translated “fulfill” can mean either to meet all the requirements of the law, or it also can mean “perfecting or completing something.” [1] In the full context of these sayings, “it becomes abundantly clear that he is referring to this latter sense of perfecting the law, lovingly bringing it into its fully intended purpose.”[2]

Jesus’ “fulfilling” of the law is rooted in forgiveness and enemy love, which is in direct opposition to the way of violent retaliation and payback justice (“eye for eye”)  characteristic of much of the law of Moses. There is virtually no disagreement among biblical scholars that the “eye for eye” law was itself a movement to limit a previous system of unlimited retaliation: “one-for-one” in place of the 7-fold retaliation of Cain (Gen 4:15) and then the 77-fold vengeance of Lamech (Gen 4:24).

Jesus' reinterpretation of the law, then, is consistent with the movement established much earlier in Scripture. Thus, he fulfills its purpose.

The pattern continues through the issues of divorce, civil lawsuits, and even hatred of one’s enemy: “You have heard… hate your enemy; but I say… love your enemy.” Jesus takes the “eye-for-eye” understanding of limited retribution to the next level, and applies it virtually to all relationships, proposing not to retaliate at all; instead proposing a superior way which seeks to restore enemies, rather than to destroy them.[3]

This is how Jesus read Scripture and understood faithfulness to Scripture: lovingly bringing it into its fully intended purpose. It proposes that the Scriptures, as written, are not necessarily complete and final, but that they point us in the direction of ultimate fulfillment.

No, it’s not militarily or politically proficient. It wasn't for Jesus, either. It got him crucified. So, how serious are we—REALLY—about following Jesus?

That’s how I see it through the flawed glass that is my world view.

Together in the Walk,

Jim

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[1] Derek Flood, Disarming Scripture: Cherry-Picking Liberals, Violence-Loving Conservatives, and Why We All Need to Learn to Read the Bible Like Jesus Did (San Francisco: Metanoia Books, 2014), Kindle edition, Position 393.

[2] Ibid. (emphasis his).

[3] Ibid, Location 406.

Jesus, Don't You Walk So Fast!

Two images are bouncing around in my mind, bumping into each other and stirring up dust. One is the 1935 book title, In His Steps, by Charles Sheldon. It journals a pastor leading his congregation in a one-year pilgrimage to become more like Jesus by asking at each event and circumstance, “What would Jesus Do?”

The other image is the Wayne Newton song from a number of years ago: “Daddy, Don’t You Walk So Fast.”

My Lenten journey this year is an effort to walk “In His Steps”, specifically in regard to how Jesus read Scripture; but the pace is fast, set by Derek Floods’ book, Disarming Scripture (Metanoia Books, 2014).

Flood confronts the difficult and mostly avoided question of how we reconcile the apparent biblical contradiction of a God who sometimes seems loving and nurturing, and at other times orders total genocide, dashing babies’ heads against rocks and disemboweling pregnant women (Hosea 13:16, et. al.).

The book urges the reader to “take a long and sobering look at the extent to which human violence is not merely described in the Bible, but actively promoted as God’s will. This is not simply a matter of a few troublesome passages. Violence and bloodshed committed in God’s name is a major theme of the Old Testament” (Kindle edition, Location 127)

Swiss theologian, Raymund Schwager, writes, “Approximately one thousand passages speak of Yahweh’s blazing anger, of his punishment by death and destruction, and how like a consuming fire he passes judgment, takes revenge, and threatens annihilation … No other topic is as often mentioned (in the Old Testament) as God’s bloody works.”[1]

Flood suggests that the questions we ask are even more pointed because of Christianity’s long history of violence, which he proceeds to document, noting the Crusades, slavery, Native Americans, the 800,000 Tutsis killed in the Rwandan genocide and other examples, all justified by the use of Scripture and committed in God’s name. “This is our legacy as Christians and we need to face it head-on, rather than trying to ignore or excuse it” (Kindle edition Location219).

So, what responses have been offered in view of God-ordered violence? Atheism generally has responded with anger and aggressive language. “New Atheist,” Richard Dawkins, writes: “The God of the Old Testament is arguably the most unpleasant character in all of fiction: jealous and proud of it; a petty, unjust unforgiving control-freak; a vindictive, bloodthirsty ethnic cleanser; a misogynistic, homophobic, racist, infanticidal, genocidal, filicidal, pestilential, megalomaniacal, sadomasochistic, capriciously malevolent bully.”[2]  [Other than that, I wonder what he thinks of God.]

Conservative Christians, on the other hand, generally attempt to justify the violence, basically letting the horrible, even ungodly, morality issues be trumped by the importance of defending Scriptural integrity as they understand it.

In the conquest of Canaan as recorded in Hebrew Scriptures, the Israelites are ordered to kill “everything that breathes” (Deut 20:16). The slaughter is to be complete, including not only humans but, also herds and pets; and when one Israelite attempts to keep a goat or a cow for himself, God orders him put to death.

One commentary justifies the genocide at Jericho as necessary “so that Israel would not be ‘infected by the degenerate religion of the Canaanites,’ declaring that ‘pure faith and worship’ could only be maintained ‘by the complete elimination of the Canaanites themselves’.”[3]

A mega-church pastor compares the Canaanites to a cancer that must be eliminated for the health of God’s people. He calls the genocide "surgery". Another commentary suggests that these stories would be “more palatable” if we think in abstract terms (effectively dehumanizing the victims of genocide).

What seems to be lost in the conversation is the disturbing similarity between these arguments and those used by Hitler to justify the Holocaust!

Why would (presumably) good, loving people go to such lengths to justify genocide in God’s name? Their perspective is based on the sincerely held assumption that faithfulness to Scripture means accepting everything it says at face value. (I hope Flood will flesh out this point in later chapters. If he doesn't, I may make the attempt.)

But there’s a third (and equally ineffective) approach that Flood calls “Cherry-Picking”, and lays it at the feet of progressive or liberal Christians. Essentially, this is the practice of using blinders when we approach the Bible. We’ll just pick out the sweet, nurturing, likable texts, those that call for ministries of compassion and justice, and those that make us feel good, and ignore those more troubling parts.

The primary fault with this third approach is that it’s dishonest (my word, not Flood’s). The secondary fault is that, like the other two approaches, it does nothing to resolve the related biblical disparity between the violent images of God versus the nurturing images.

Flood’s proposal is to face the troubling passages honestly, openly, and as Jesus did.

But therein lies another conundrum. On the one hand, Jesus says, “I did not come to abolish the law but to fulfill it” (Matt 5:17). But then he proceeds blatantly to contradict and overturn multiple passages of Scripture.

I love a good mystery; but, “Jesus, you walk so fast!”

That’s how I see it through the flawed glass that is my world view.

Together in the Walk,

Jim

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[1] Raymund Schwager, Must there Be Scapegoats?: Violence and Redemption in the Bible (San Francisco: Harper and Row, 1987), page 55 (italics his). Quoted in Derek Flood, Disarming Scripture, (Kindle edition, location163.)

[2] Richard Dawkins, The God Delusion (New York: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2006), page 51. Quoted in Derek Flood, Disarming Scripture, (Kindle edition, location236.)

[3] Bible Knowledge Commentary: Old Testament (Colorado Springs: David C. Cook, 1984) page 342. Quoted in Derek Flood, Disarming Scripture, (Kindle edition, location245.)

Pride? or Insecurity?

My Pastor’s Column in church newsletters was called “Jim’s Gems”. Sometimes it was more like “cut glass”. Today’s blog is a case in point. My mind is wandering; so I’ll see where it leads.

By the way, I need to give credit every now and then to the best Youth Minister I’ve ever known. Patty Methvin always signed her church newsletter column, “Together in the Walk.” In my opinion, it’s the best Christian sign-off around, so I've adopted it in most of my writing. Thanks, Patty!

Also, every now and then I need to reaffirm the philosophical position from which I think and write and work. Some will respond immediately, “You're Liberal!” Yes, I’m unapologetically liberal; but liberal is not where I start. It’s the end product of my thought process.

On the other hand, one of the classic definitions of “liberal” is “open.” I guess that’s a starting place.

If you've read almost anything I've written you’ll know I’m a “both/and” kind of guy rather than “either/or”. I believe no human is ever—EVER—totally right, or totally wrong, about anything. There's something good, and something bad, in everybody. And in almost any aspect of life, between me and any other human, there are infinitely more similarities than differences. And understanding trumps agreement.

If we remain open and honest in our encounters, I truly believe we can find enough common ground between even the most divergent positions to begin building an effective outcome, not matter what the issue may be. In my estimation, that’s what it means to be liberal (as opposed to popular understandings based on where one stands on specific issues, like abortion, LGBT rights, firearms, etc.)

I also strive, though not always effectively, for humility (yeah, I know: looks aren't everything.) Most of the time the humility thing is pretty easy, because I can almost always find somebody who’s better than I at whatever I’m doing. Still, pride is a demon I must resist daily. Where I have the most difficulty with humility is in the area of mental, intellectual process.

Oh, it’s not that I think I’m a superior intellect. Indeed, it’s easy to find many people whose thinking is far superior to mine and more clearly articulated. But I battle with the same human weakness I observe in most others: when I reach a conclusion I generally feel “I’m right.” And if I’m right, then anyone who disagrees with me must be wrong.  Of course, Logic 101 says logic is valid only if its premises are valid. “I’m right” is seldom a valid premise, because we humans are incomplete, and are incapable of perceiving truth absolutely [even though I believe absolute truth exists].

So, is the “I’m right” syndrome a symptom of pride, or of insecurity?

So I intentionally pull most of my conclusions through the sieve of “what if I’m wrong?” I make an honest effort to research a variety of resources on any topic I’m considering, and more often than my pride wants to admit, I end up altering or even reversing my opinions. I know far too many people who read and study only those resources they are confident will reinforce and strengthen what they already believe, which must assume they already have arrived at the correct belief. 

For me, faith is a lot more about being than about believing. The epistle of James says, “even the demons believe, and tremble” (2:19). Belief alone puts me at the same level as the demons.

Faith is the act of living as if I truly believe what I say I believe. It is a never-ending process of growing. Growing, by definition, is changing; therefore, the crucial question is, “Toward what am I growing?” My aim is the goal Paul laid out in Ephesians 4:13, namely, to grow “…until all of us come to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to maturity, to the measure of the full stature of Christ.” (NRSV)

My faith goal is not to solidify what I believe about Christ, although, I will always continue to study and learn everything I can learn about Christ. But that has to do with “belief,” not “faith.” My faith goal is to become more like Christ.  It’s easy to say.

I am inspired in my journey by my nephew’s one-year project to experience and understand what it means to follow Jesus[1]. I don’t yet fully comprehend his process or his goals; but, I’m totally in agreement with his desire to follow Jesus.

I trust whatever I accomplish in my faith journey will never be a foundation for pride, or for declaring the correctness of my beliefs. My faith is in a person, and whether my doctrine is correct will not change that person or influence the relationship into which he calls me. I will be wrong often. But that is the risk of faith. It also is the test of faith. “What if I’m wrong?” It’s tempting to cling to the need to insure my relationship with God by being “right,” rather than by trusting the “right” person.

Pride is still a daily demon for me. Every sermon I write is subjected to two questions: (1) “So what?” and, (2) “Why do these people need to hear this sermon this Sunday?” Not every sermon passes the test; but 11:00 o’clock Sunday morning rolls around about the same time every week, ready or not!

It’s difficult to be proud when a sermon I've worked on for six weeks falls off the end of my tongue, “plops” on the floor immediately in front of the chancel and slithers away to hide under the front pew.

Wow! My mind was on a wandering path today; but that’s how I see it through the flawed glass that is my world view.

Together in the Walk,

Jim

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[1] http://www.patheos.com/blogs/christianpiatt/2015/02/day-two-of-my-jesus-project-are-we-done-yet/

Certainty vs. Trust

The longer I live the more I realize that faith has more to do with trust than with certainty.

I grew up in the years during and immediately following World War II when, as with most American families, church was the center of our life: Sunday morning and evening and Wednesday evening, and I was active in the “Royal Ambassadors”—a wonderful kind of faith-based