Grace is a Gritty Principle

Someone told me this analogy about grace in short once. I hope they will forgive the artistic liberties.

Two gentlemen were hiking in a trail across the foundation of the Himalayas. It was brisk and easy. As the trek progressed it became obvious one of the men was in better physical condition than the other and periodically had to stop to help him along.

Then the unthinkable happened.

The trail extened over an uncomfortably serrated crag of rocks and the two were climbing over it when the weaker of the two gentlemen spotted a serpent flagellating through the rotten leaves below the rocks. Its colour was beautiful to look at and its motion was more a dance than a slither.

"Hey, would you look at that snake?" the weaker of the two instructed.

"I dare not, the venom in those will rot your flesh and liquidate your innards."

"I'm going to have a look."

"Don't do that!"

But his warnings were in vain, the weaker of the two went to it, puzzled over it, prodded it, before finally picking it up. Gracefully, without any inkling of offense it wrapped its lips around the mans wrist. The man let loose a sort of giggle.

"It's playful," he smiled.

"Put that down!"

Too late. The serpent's eyes bulged and his colour sobered and his head convulsed just before the final crunch of skin; like pushing a pointed dowel through the flesh of a fruit.

The weak man's face paled and his nerves drooled before he collapsed. Then his nerves began to vomit instead and his body echoed with pain. Every spasm resonated. He screamed in the most unnerving of ways.

"Oh help! Don't just stand there! Do some--"

He trailed off in unbearable pain. The stronger man was filled with love and compassion for his friend. But also with dread. He knew the only way to save his friend was a treacherous trip of the mountain. The antidote was found in a rare herb at the top.

After making his friend as comfortable as possible he began his ascent. With every handhold the maniacal swarm of cold bit through his gloves like locusts and wiped out the warming crops on his hands. The wind was incessantly strong threatening to relieve him of his footing every second. Oxygen was naturally low and getting lower as he progressed. The only thing that kept him on was the thought of saving his friend. Food was scarce and water that wasn't frozen was out of the question. He tried to drink once by melting it in his hands but when he sucked the moisture from his gloves it solidified almost immediately in his mouth tearing the skin from the inside of his cheeks. A violent violet became the normal colour of his rotting skin as frostbite took hold. Incidents of terror gave little time for rest in between. The slightest sound was more than enough coaxing for a rockslide or avalanche. He once found himself wedged between rubble for days trying to remove it all from his permanently damaged legs. Though he found the circumstances unbearable many other wild animals did not. They constantly harassed him to where he would not stop for sleep. He was attacked on several occasions, they mauled his face and torso. Wolves, wildcats, large predator birds. All the time he thought of his friend and kept on. When he finally arrived to the top he remembered that only certain types of the herb contained the cure. The sort that had a white center. He needed a good bit to provide enough substance to heal the man, but he had to sift through thousands of specimin before finding them. He searched each plant one by one keeping the ones with white centers. At one point, upon nearing the appropriate amount, his collection blew away down the mountain in the sack which he had been storing them in. He began again. When he finally collected enough he began the descent.

Going down proved nearly as difficult as going up. He fell multiple times dropping anywhere between ten and twenty feet. His hands were raw, his ribs were ahead of his stomach. Blizzards came into season and he could not see ahead.

Eventually he felt the foreign warmth and his eyesight returned. He ran as he saw his friend below lying there. He screamed with joy. His friend was ill and he had the solution. He prepared it over a beautiful fire and poured it over his lips. Almost immediately the colour returned to his friends face and his limbs became animate. He smiled and embraced the stronger friend. Both were full of such joy. The weak man apologized for not listening and asked how he could ever repay him.

"You owe me nothing friend, I am only glad you are back with me again. Shall we go on and finish our journey?"

"Of course."

As the two readied their equipment and started on the weak man faltered, took a look over his shoulder and walked back. He went to the serpent, puzzled over it, prodded it, before finally picking it up. Gracefully, without any inkling of offense it wrapped its lips around the mans wrist. He let loose a sort of giggle.

*crunch*

The man lost the colour in his face, screamed and collapsed.

"Help! God! Oh help me! Don't just--"

The stronger of the two ran over to him and was filled with sorrow. He let out a soaking sob only for a moment. He was overcome with love and pity for his friend.

He started the climb up the mountain.

The Wrong Gospel

What dreadful implications accompany the word wrong.

When I attend church in the United States of America we read predominately from a fifth Gospel not included in our canon textually but certainly implied with the largest pair of insinuative brackets I've yet seen. Those brackets personified: Modern Evangelism.

Every week at church at the end of the speaking and the rock n' roll Hallelujah chorus we are asked to bow our heads and close our eyes. And if we want to accept Jesus we timidly raise our hands amid prodding and coaxing, threat and bribery and we are assured that nothing strange will happen. We are assured that our sins will be forgiven and we will be saved from hell and we will belong to a group comprising 73% of our nation and our finances, home-life, relationships, school, work, golf game, and health will all improve in a sweeping storm of divine intervention. And if in a couple of months we feel we're up to it we can be baptized in a heated baptistry. Until then, let's enjoy the lights, music, facilities, and special events of a relevant church.

We've been reading the wrong gospel.

Because the way I read the gospel is the same way Leonard Ravenhill reads it. "It's a gory gospel! It's a bloody gospel! It's a sacrificial gospel!" It's not something for spiritual babies to play with and dribble over. It requires heroes and heroines. We sell it cheap these days and any dummy with a Bible in his pocket can wear the lable. I'm a Christian! I'm a Christian! Anyone can say it, we let anyone walk around with it, we give it to them! Force it on them even. Who do we think we are throwing all the chaff back in with the wheat? Our pastors are mothers who throw a bunch of toddlers in a rugby game and they just get in the way and make the team look bad. "Oh put little Johnny in! Let my boy play!" Well hang it all madam, Little Johnny didn't come to practise, Little Johnny was wiping his nose in the sand box while we were nursing sweat, blood, tears in preparation for the urgency that awaits us. We're luring in people with little chants and toys and any sort of entertainment we can conjure and they are muddying up the living water. At least when we get them there we could tell them the truth, the truth that they are going to have to pick up their cross and take the beatings that Jesus is no longer on earth to take and scream the message on pain of death and torture. It doesn't take bravery, it doesn't take the Holy Spirit to sit in a wading pool, but it takes an act of grueling courage to jump in a boiling channel of molten and take on the current for the lost souls of any given God-forsaken land. You're lukewarm! And you're going to be spit out for it. You can't live everyday like you are going to Heaven just because you say you're a Christian. That's why, even with the oversaturation of Christian resources, references, and places of worship we are still only fooling ourselves. Christianity in America is a joke. That's why our Evangelism is largely uneffective. We wear the name but don't live the life. We're ruining it. We preach the wrong Gospel, the Jesus of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John is the best kept secret and the Red, White, and Blue Jesus is at large and we're sending out missionaries on his behalf. We're all false prophets. "Jesus came to make your life on earth better." No he didn't! He came to tell you of a foreign government that we know nothing about and of a war that we have the power to win if we just follow Him! The Kingdom of Heaven is at hand! Between prosperity and freedom of religion we've made God in our image. Why aren't we the outcasts? Why aren't we weird? Why aren't we baptizing? Why are we making satistics instead of disciples? Why aren't we leaving everything we have? Why are we not selling all? Why do, when we preach these things, why do we make reservations in the end? I think I'm discovering the Jesus I never really knew.

Sometimes I feel like Jim Elliot did. I feel like Jesus is like the Yukon and He's saying:

Send not your foolish and feeble; send me your strong and your sane--

Strong for the red rage of battle; sane, for I harry them sore;

Send me men girt for combat, men who are grit to the core;

Swift as the panther in triumph, fierce as the bear in defeat,

Sired of a bulldog parent, steeled in the furnace heat.

Send me the best of your breeding, lend me your chosen ones;

Them will I take to my bosom, them I will call my sons;

The men of my mettle, the men who would 'stablish my fame

Unto its ultimate issue, winning me honour, not shame;

Searching my uttermost valleys, fighting each step as they go

Shooting the wrath of my rapids, scaling my ramparts of snow;

Ripping the guts of my mountains, looting the beds of my creeks

Them I will take to my bosom, and speak as a mother speaks.

Wild and wide are my borders, stern as death is my sway,

And I wait for the men who will win me--and I will not be won in a day;

And I will not be won by weaklings, subtle, suave and mild,

But by men with the hearts of vikings, and the simple faith of a child;

Desperate, strong, and resistless, unthrottled by fear and defeat,

Them I will gild with my treasure, them I will glut with my meat.

We are full of gimmicks and watered down doctrines. We can't go on like this unpunished. Where are the heroes? The martyrs, the saints, and the warrior poets? I'll tell you where the potential ones are. They're in a church pew listening to a man who is getting paid to do what we all should be doing. They are being inspired and fondled and taught by the wrong Jesus and the wrong Gospel.

Unrealistic Goals

It isn't that I dislike guidance counselors (I love them), it's just that some of the things they say just get under my skin. In an earlier post (Quote Commentary 15...Brennan Manning (The Mask)) I railed on their concept of "always being yourself." Now, as promised, I am back to dice another of their practical, successful, life lesson vegetables.

I can see it all now: They have just--among cheaply made videos, power-point presentations, and informational pamphlets--wrapped up a successful lecture. All about your decision to go to college or stay healthy or do whatever it is that guidance counselors say we should do to be well-rounded individuals. They are feeling pretty confident about it and they go in for the classic conclusion, "Now boys and girls, when you decide to do these things, it's important that you set realistic goals."

Way to live valiantly.

I object. Adventure! Why should we have realistic goals? I would propose that we dare to have unrealistic goals.

As a Christian I know that I cannot in good conscience confine myself to the task of reason. Is my God not greater? Stronger? Higher than any other? Healer? Awesome in power? I have a feeling Jesus would feel a little insulted at the thought of realistic goals. Where's the audacity of faith in that? How realistic was Joshua's plea to stop the sun? Or David's to slay a giant? We are the type that would ask God to conceal a leper's boils rather than cure him and comfort the family of Lazarus rather than raise Him from the dead. I have a feeling that if I ask God to help me "at least" do anything he would respond with the same incredulity as he did with the father of the demon-possessed boy exclaiming, "What do you mean 'If I can?' Anything is possible for those who believe."

I am sometimes scared to ask. My frail faith allows me to believe that if I ask and it doesn't happen I will be shaken. But the fear also confirms just how unrealistic the goal is, and how it is a worthy endeavor.

I want to dream BIG! I want to scheme and plot the impossible. I want to imagine the unlikely. Because I know it can be done. Realistic goals are boring.

War (Part I)

We used to say no gimmicks, but everybody's got one.

No gimmicks?

Mine's that I've got none

After years of lambasting and condemning gimmicks in art, hip-hop artist John Reuben finally came to terms with the saturation of gimmicks in all parts of "marketed" society. He became jaded with concept of sincerity.

I'm a cynic these days you see? Yeah, the whole parade. Thick-rimmed glasses, nice clothes, witty answers to contest petty statements. Nothing is legitimate to me. Everyone has a personal agenda. Everybody has a stake, a motive, in every action, and I'm catching them in their act with their fake astonished faces and the flock of fingers that fairy to their mouths in supposed shock. No one is telling the truth. No one is selfless. Altruism? Please.

One day I was thinking carelessly and my thoughts sailed in the way of theology (See? I call it theology, that's sick). As I was being careless, I began to think of Christianity as the great War. And we Christians were battling it out with unseen forces for our souls and the souls of others. Coming to my senses, I quickly coughed up the notion. That's just another way to sell Christianity, I thought to myself. If we want to yell and spit and throw chairs around that's what we say, It's war! But, if we want to sip on tea from our Precious Moments china then we say it is relevant, peaceful, and will make our life better. There are a million gimmicks attached to Christianity. We just have to choose our audience carefully. We make make Jesus and Christianity into whatever we want or whatever the people want (we're getting rewarded for all those souls you know? All those souls whose toes we are coaxing into the water that Goldilocks would just lap up. Ick.) Small wonder I'm skeptical about my subconcious slip of Christianity as a war.

Once upon a time I heard that "in the multitude of counsellors there is safety." Well with all this war going on a figured I could use some safety so I cooked up some counsellors whose runes lay scattered around the blogosphere and thought perhaps they could curb my cynicism.

Among these was Sue Taylor. She is the litterateur behind the charm and truth that are littered throughout Owning Redemption, a blog which I both follow and learn from (along with unlimited free samples of enjoyment). From this conduit I knew sound wisdom would flow as it often has. She did not play games in searching for truth. Beyond all insincerity she committed to the problem. She became a regular sleuth leaving no stone unturned. Not being able to say it better myself. I leave truth momentarily to her:

"Is Christianity a war?"


When I was first addressed with this question, I quickly gave a simple answer from my gut and then spent the next few weeks trying to decide if my gut had any credibility. My immediate doubt of my own response threw me into an internal tug of war that was fueled by countless arguments that seemed perfectly sound until the 'other side' tugged- arguments like these:


Jesus said He left us with "peace." Peace is the opposite of war. If Christ left us with peace, then wouldn't thinking we're at war defy His plan for us?


But Christ also said that Satan was our "enemy." And we can't have an enemy unless, at the very least, we're in a battle.


But we were sent out as "sheep among wolves." Sheep don't fight, so even if we are in a war, it seems that our Father didn't want us to 'fight' in it.


But we have instructions about how to protect ourselves in this world and those instructions include war terminology. We're supposed to be donning swords and armor. Sheep who are wandering down a hill into a wolf pack don't need swords and armor, but our Father told us to put them on, and He told us to put them on everyday. So maybe He knows what we can't see. Maybe we're really at war, even though we don't see it...



On and on the arguments went. One day the "peace" side would be the clear victor, only to be destroyed in battle by "war" with the next sunrise. I found myself so confused that I sort of just drew a line in the sand and told God, "You're just going to have to make this clear for me, because I have no idea how to answer this question with any confidence." In the past, I might have been perfectly content to give what felt like the "right" and "easy" answer and walk away, but this question all but begged for an answer steeped in integrity and now I know why: My answer changes everything.


One of the things I so love about God is that He's forever practical. There's no fluff to Him. Everything He does has specific purpose. And if I believe He's the "God" of my life, then that applies to everything that happens to me, too- including this infuriatingly difficult question. It also means that the timing of the question itself, along with the very dramatic, emotional and faith demanding way I got my answer sits within His perfectly practical, absolutely purposeful way. Take a deep breath and prepare to go on a short journey with me as I share with you my answer from the depth of my heart:


Christianity is a war. Better yet, because I am a Christian, I am at war. I have a part in a battle that has a part in a bigger war and whether or not I fight valiantly determines the fate, not just of myself, but the fate of those I love. Make no mistake about it, this is war. I have an enemy who daily plots my demise, and just like a soldier, my enemy doesn't daydream about my murder because of any of my own merits or mistakes, but rather solely because he hates my Leader. This is war, alright, but these are just words on paper and as much as I love a good string of well said words, they've become way too predictable and yet far too ignored for my liking. I'm past the point of needing to hear what we've been trained to say. I need someone to strip it down and tell me what my heart needs to hear. I need someone who can uncover all the cliches, shake their heads at all the good advice and dig until they find words that really matter to who I am. I need someone who can stand on the battlefield and clearly see the enemy approaching, know that their existence is being threatened and still care enough about humanity to whisper a play-by-play. Give me an hour with that kind of person, and not only will I believe what they say, but I'll adjust my life based on the truth they share...


These were my thoughts until I woke up on the battlefield.


It was all questions and no answers until I was staring into the broken and humiliated face of a person that I love more than my own breath, watching his very future dissolve into a puddle of bad choices while I got the intense notion that our "enemy" was applauding my loved one's demise. Every emotion within me wanted to seep through my skin and strangle the being responsible for the look of defeat and string of consequences I was staring down. At that moment in time, I wasn't just absolutely and completely positive that he and I were engaged in a larger-than-life battle, but I was also absolutely and completely positive that up until that moment of painful realization hit me in the chest; we had lost. Finally, I had something deeper than a surface emotion to go along with all those words I thought I believed were true. Speechless, I stood and listened to this person explain how he'd lost battle after battle after battle, and how he'd only spoken up because he was too exhausted and defeated to pretend he could go on. In a way I might never be able to explain, I realized in that breath that we were throat deep in a very real and dangerous battle that was only a small piece of a very real war. His very LIFE was on the line. Sadly the only thing missing in his war story were the honorable soldiers who were supposed to be standing along side him in the fight.


We are at war. We just don't realize it because it looks all wrong to us. It feels wrong. And you know why? Because we're losing battles left and right, day to day- battles we were never meant to lose. It's all well and good if you believe in God to say that God and Satan are in an all-encompassing war because we would naturally follow that statement with a confident declaration of God's eventual victory. But it's a little harder to swallow than admit that we are a part of that very war, we are on the side of Good, and we are losing nearly every battle we step up to. Friends, it simply goes against the grain of who we were made to be to lose these battles with our enemy, so it's easier to ignore the fact that we're in them than it is to admit our defeat.


We weren't supposed to lose. We weren't meant to lose. We weren't built to lose. We'll never be okay with losing. Given a chance to admit defeat or change the terminology of the game to make ourselves look better, we'll choose a new dictionary every time. But God is true, friends. It's you and I who have a problem with the truth. It's you and I who have an explanation for every divorce, every suicide, every abused and hungry child, for every person who gives up on the good fight and walks right into an ambush.


The truth is: We're at war.
The truth is: We're engaged in some sort of battle at this very moment.
The truth is: We're losing at battles we were never meant to lose.
The truth is: We know how to fight.
The truth is: We've forgotten why we should.




I'm going to be straight for a few vulnerable minutes and tell you what I need to hear: You know the reason we roll our eyes and shake our heads when a wise person hints at the idea that we might be in the midst of the only war that ever was? We have been trained to ignore the signs. We've been brainwashed into believing that it's okay to let our neighbor, our friends and our children walk into enemy fire. It's simply easier not to care enough about their lives to lay ours down and fight for them. We truly believe we have no 'right' to throw ourselves in front of a young soldier who's not thinking clearly and hold him until he sees reason. Gone are the days when men snatched children from fathers who were cruel. Gone are the days when a real friend showed up in the middle of the night because he couldn't sleep from worrying about a choice you're making. Gone are the days when a young man would pull his parents to the side and beg for help for his wayward friend. Gone are the friends who spend hours praying. Gone are the men who spend their lives protecting. And why? Because it's easier to forget that we were fit for battle than to admit we're losing. Don't believe me? Let me share a few very relevant, very current 'defeated in battle' statistics:


Half of all Christian marriages end in divorce. Every covenant turned contract is a glaring "W" for the enemy, so we pretend that marriage isn't really a good indicator of our credibility and faithfulness. We're losing, but we won't admit it.


Nearly 60% of Bible believing men in the U.S. are addicted to some form of pornography. While Satan is busy chalking himself up another win, we pretend that finding physical enjoyment at the rape and ruin of countless young women is "just what men do." We're losing, but we'll never admit it.


Christians turn to suicide at nearly the same rate that the lost do. The enemy that promised to kill and destroy gets another point, while we bury people that said they believed in the power of God. We're losing, but we'll never admit it.


You almost can't tell the difference in the numbers of unchurched and churched people when it comes to alcohol and drug abuse. Satan smiles while we drink and smoke our lives away. We're losing, but we'll never admit it.




I want to give you a challenge. It's a challenge I met personally this week that changed my perspective on the whole war matter and I believe it will solidify your stance as well. I want you to picture the person on this planet that you love the most- that person that you can't even think about losing. Now, picture that person standing between you and someone who is fully intent on destroying your loved one. Really let it play out in your mind. How do you feel? Are you passive? Are you nonchalant? Are you willing to go into a speech meant to entertain both parties about how this is just a 'sign of the times?' Can you look your loved one in the eye and tell them that, while this is heart breaking, you have no right to interfere? Or does every ounce of your wisdom and energy immediately force you to act in defense of that person you love? Do your veins flood with an adrenaline so thick that you can't even force yourself to count the personal costs of your rescue attempt? Does everything else on the planet pale in comparison to the battle you find yourself engaged in?


That, my friend, is war.


And we're in it. I'm in it for that friend I talked about earlier. He desperately needs me to be present and accounted for, alert and ready to fight on his behalf- even if he doesn't know that's what he needs. Your friends and family need you, too. They need you to be truth-sayers, sword wielders, and prayer pray'ers. They need you to be the kind of person who drives all night to ensure justice. They need you to be the kind of person who holds obnoxiously to the truth when everyone else in their life is telling lies. They need you to be the kind of person who says, "hold on," when all other signs point to letting go. They need you to fight. I need you to fight. You need you to fight.


And, not because the war depends on us, but because the battle does.


It's our choice. We don't have to suit up. We don't have to stand up. We don't have to put up. We could, you know, simply choose to ignore the raging battle and leave the armor in the closet. We could choose to believe that no one is worth the effort and stay seated. We could choose to pretend that we weren't made to fight and keep all our resources to ourselves. We could do that. We've been doing that. But we don't have to. We don't have to let our Father win the war while we lose the battles.


We were made to win.

Yeah, we could lose. But, why?



If this was gimmickry I would be sold on it, but the truth remains it isn't. The intangibility of our enemy is an ally. We are all just reformed traitors trying to get back into gear. We are living like all is well, like the battle is going on overseas instead of in our lives and everyother life we damn by our cowardice and apathy. It's war! It's war when we are tempted! It's war when the Gospel is outlawed or shunned or mocked or burned! It's war! And its in your living room and on your street and in your church!

There's a war going on.

Or didn't you know?