It's one thing to have a disagreement, it's another thing to fight. Even in misunderstanding, I really don't know why it would end up in fight-mode, rather than "Wait, what? I thought you said blah blah blah." "No, I said yak yak yak." "Oh. Well that changes things, doesn't it?". And even if we are arguing over something because of a misunderstanding, "argument" =/= "fight"; arguments are disagreements in which both parties are looking to come to the truth of the matter, while fights are...well...not so high-minded.
As for stress, maybe I lead an entirely uneventful life, but I seriously find it hard to be stressed to the snapping point (pun intended). God is bigger than that, and I just live in what He provides.
Regarding the question of "what is a fight?" I would maintain that:
(1) Fights are based on questions of "right." That is, it's always "That's my toy" "I'm right and you're wrong." "I can too do this."
(2) Fights are always personal-- You versus Me. (and I'm right. No, I'm right!....) Fights are not "This idea versus that idea; which is better?" where there is little of *myself* tied up in one idea or the other (even though the ideas may be "mine" or "yours").
(3) Fights exist where one has no willingness to change, if in fact one is wrong. The objective in fighting is to win. Not to reach agreement, nor to come to the truth of the issue.
(4) Most importantly, fights are always the result of selfishness.
But...
If: both of us love God supremely and put each other first, how can fights occur?
(1) If I'm putting the other person first-- should I not yield my "right" to them? Isn't this what Jesus' teaching about "turn the other cheek", and "go the extra mile", and "loan without expecting repayment", and "if someone asks for a coat, give them your shirt too" is all about?
(2) Again...this is incompatible with putting the other person first. You try it: next time you see a fight, ask yourself what that fight would look like if one person was willing to lose for the benefit of the other person. There's no fight anymore, is there?
(3) The only way to win is to make the other person lose. This is categorically not putting the other person first. It's also degrading and mean and selfish. If I love God, then I love truth more than I may ever love winning; and if I love truth, and I'm wrong-- guess what? I'm gonna change.
(4) This is what I said at the very beginning-- we both love God supremely and put each other first-- unless I'm sadly and badly mistaken, selfishness has no place. And even if it does occasionally crop up, what is the likelihood that we'll both have a selfish moment at exactly the same time. It takes two to fight.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Monday, March 28, 2011
The Heart of Calvinist/Arminian Debate
Calvinist: God is sovereign. He has ordained....blah blah blah*...
Arminian: But then it's just God doing EVERYTHING!
Calvinist: Exactly.
Arminian: But what about....?
Calvinist: Yes. God is sovereign.
Arminian: But even so that...
Calvinist: That too. Saw-vurr-inn. He has ordained....blah blah blah*....
Arminian: Oh, nevermind.
*[Editor's note: calvinists can be pretty dry sometimes, so I shortened it for clarity and ease of reading]
Monday, December 20, 2010
Monday, May 31, 2010
Forgiveness
What is forgiveness? What does it mean to be forgiven?
----------
Therefore is the kingdom of heaven likened unto a certain king, which would take account of his servants. And when he had begun to reckon, one was brought unto him, which owed him ten thousand talents. But forasmuch as he had not to pay, his lord commanded him to be sold, and his wife, and children, and all that he had, and payment to be made.
The servant therefore fell down, and worshiped him, saying, "Lord, have patience with me, and I will pay thee all." Then the lord of that servant was moved with compassion and loosed him, and forgave him the debt.
But the same servant went out, and found one of his fellow servants, which owed him a hundred pence: and he laid hands on him, and took him by the throat, saying, "Pay me that thou owest."
And his fellowservant fell down at his feet, and besought him, saying, "Have patience with me, and I will pay thee all."
And he would not: but went and cast him into prison, till he should pay the debt. So when his fellowservants saw what was done, they were very sorry, and came and told unto their lord all that was done.
Then his lord, after that he had called him, said unto him, "O thou wicked servant, I forgave thee all that debt, because thou desiredst me: Shouldest not thou also have had compassion on thy fellow servant, even as I had pity on thee?" And his lord was wroth, and delivered him to the tormentors, till he should pay all that was due unto him.
So likewise shall my heavenly Father do also unto you, if ye from your hearts forgive not every one his brother their trespasses.
(Matthew 18:23-35)
----------
What did it mean to the first servant that he had been forgiven? It meant that he no longer was required to repay that which he owed. It meant he could walk out as a free man. It meant he was not bound under his former obligation.
What would it have meant to the second servant to have been forgiven? It would have meant the same thing-- that he would no longer be a borrower who was in danger of being thrown into debtor's prison.
What happened to the first servant when he refused to live according to the forgiveness he had received? He (and his wife, children, and possessions) was not merely sold , as would have been the case in the beginning. He was far worse off than he would have been otherwise. Not simply because he owed a debt that he could not repay, but because he had abused the grace and compassion that the lord had given to him.
What if we do not extend the same forgiveness and mercy to others, as God has extended it to us? Hmm?
Also, forgiveness and repentance are inextricably linked. Both servants repented and expressed their intention to repay their debt, that is, their intention to change their ways. One servant was in fact forgiven, the other servant clearly ought to have been forgiven (had the first servant been honourable). But if neither of them had pleaded that they would change their ways, they would both still have been in debt. Is not this like God's kingdom? God doesn't grant forgiveness without confession and repentance on our part, so as to make us free to do evil. But at the same time, God does not wait for us to prove ourselves before He grants forgiveness-- God doesn't predicate his forgiveness on some works of righteousness or compassion we do that show Him that we deserve His grace. Does He require us to be righteous and compassionate? Absolutely. Just like the lord in the parable, God requires us to live according to the grace He has given us, but He requires it after He extends grace to us.
And also, what if there is no definite object or substance that is owed? What if there is a more intangible wrongdoing involved; for example, me lying to you? There is no "debt" for me to repay. How then does forgiveness work? What does it mean for you to forgive me? What changes-- on my part and on your part?
----------
Therefore is the kingdom of heaven likened unto a certain king, which would take account of his servants. And when he had begun to reckon, one was brought unto him, which owed him ten thousand talents. But forasmuch as he had not to pay, his lord commanded him to be sold, and his wife, and children, and all that he had, and payment to be made.
The servant therefore fell down, and worshiped him, saying, "Lord, have patience with me, and I will pay thee all." Then the lord of that servant was moved with compassion and loosed him, and forgave him the debt.
But the same servant went out, and found one of his fellow servants, which owed him a hundred pence: and he laid hands on him, and took him by the throat, saying, "Pay me that thou owest."
And his fellowservant fell down at his feet, and besought him, saying, "Have patience with me, and I will pay thee all."
And he would not: but went and cast him into prison, till he should pay the debt. So when his fellowservants saw what was done, they were very sorry, and came and told unto their lord all that was done.
Then his lord, after that he had called him, said unto him, "O thou wicked servant, I forgave thee all that debt, because thou desiredst me: Shouldest not thou also have had compassion on thy fellow servant, even as I had pity on thee?" And his lord was wroth, and delivered him to the tormentors, till he should pay all that was due unto him.
So likewise shall my heavenly Father do also unto you, if ye from your hearts forgive not every one his brother their trespasses.
(Matthew 18:23-35)
----------
What did it mean to the first servant that he had been forgiven? It meant that he no longer was required to repay that which he owed. It meant he could walk out as a free man. It meant he was not bound under his former obligation.
What would it have meant to the second servant to have been forgiven? It would have meant the same thing-- that he would no longer be a borrower who was in danger of being thrown into debtor's prison.
What happened to the first servant when he refused to live according to the forgiveness he had received? He (and his wife, children, and possessions) was not merely sold , as would have been the case in the beginning. He was far worse off than he would have been otherwise. Not simply because he owed a debt that he could not repay, but because he had abused the grace and compassion that the lord had given to him.
What if we do not extend the same forgiveness and mercy to others, as God has extended it to us? Hmm?
Also, forgiveness and repentance are inextricably linked. Both servants repented and expressed their intention to repay their debt, that is, their intention to change their ways. One servant was in fact forgiven, the other servant clearly ought to have been forgiven (had the first servant been honourable). But if neither of them had pleaded that they would change their ways, they would both still have been in debt. Is not this like God's kingdom? God doesn't grant forgiveness without confession and repentance on our part, so as to make us free to do evil. But at the same time, God does not wait for us to prove ourselves before He grants forgiveness-- God doesn't predicate his forgiveness on some works of righteousness or compassion we do that show Him that we deserve His grace. Does He require us to be righteous and compassionate? Absolutely. Just like the lord in the parable, God requires us to live according to the grace He has given us, but He requires it after He extends grace to us.
And also, what if there is no definite object or substance that is owed? What if there is a more intangible wrongdoing involved; for example, me lying to you? There is no "debt" for me to repay. How then does forgiveness work? What does it mean for you to forgive me? What changes-- on my part and on your part?
Saturday, March 27, 2010
It's a Strange Badge of Honour
We’ve come a long way from being Pharisees. We don’t stand and proclaim our righteousness, when we know that inside we are just sepulchres full of old man’s bones. Oh, no. We would be shocked at such hypocrisy and maybe even shun someone who was audacious enough to try it.
We don’t try to come off as righteous. We fully and honestly believe that we are sinners, every day—thought, word, deed—and we take a strange pleasure in confessing it. It is as though we wear our sinfulness as a badge of honour; we pin it on our lapel and make sure it stands out. Nobody’s badge is the same colour, of course, but all of them mean the same thing—I am sinful—and we are almost proud of it. We hold our sinfulness very near and dear; and woe be to the man who suggests that we need not wear such a badge.
This situation is a very interesting twist, I think. I can’t call it hypocrisy—it’s not—it’s not claiming to be something we’re not, or acting one way and talking another. It’s quite the opposite; it’s claiming to be something we really believe we are, acting the way we talk. But it’s such a strange way to talk. Because we talk like we would die if we weren’t sinful. Because we talk like it’s a horrible sin to be un-sinful. Because we cling so dearly to the thought that we are sinful, so tightly to the idea that we are hopeless cases.
I find it intriguing in light of the thought that we are (supposedly, anyway) God’s children. Wisdom is justified of her children. Abraham’s children do the works of Abraham. “Ye do the deeds of your father.”
This strange talk evades a name. What should I call it? Can it be honesty? If I call it honesty, what then do we make of what we claim to be, if “the lusts of your father ye will do?” Can it be, perhaps, taking the Lord’s name in vain? We take his name to ourselves, calling ourselves His children—and yet we speak and act as though sinfulness is the most consistent and true trait of our lives.
We don’t try to come off as righteous. We fully and honestly believe that we are sinners, every day—thought, word, deed—and we take a strange pleasure in confessing it. It is as though we wear our sinfulness as a badge of honour; we pin it on our lapel and make sure it stands out. Nobody’s badge is the same colour, of course, but all of them mean the same thing—I am sinful—and we are almost proud of it. We hold our sinfulness very near and dear; and woe be to the man who suggests that we need not wear such a badge.
This situation is a very interesting twist, I think. I can’t call it hypocrisy—it’s not—it’s not claiming to be something we’re not, or acting one way and talking another. It’s quite the opposite; it’s claiming to be something we really believe we are, acting the way we talk. But it’s such a strange way to talk. Because we talk like we would die if we weren’t sinful. Because we talk like it’s a horrible sin to be un-sinful. Because we cling so dearly to the thought that we are sinful, so tightly to the idea that we are hopeless cases.
I find it intriguing in light of the thought that we are (supposedly, anyway) God’s children. Wisdom is justified of her children. Abraham’s children do the works of Abraham. “Ye do the deeds of your father.”
This strange talk evades a name. What should I call it? Can it be honesty? If I call it honesty, what then do we make of what we claim to be, if “the lusts of your father ye will do?” Can it be, perhaps, taking the Lord’s name in vain? We take his name to ourselves, calling ourselves His children—and yet we speak and act as though sinfulness is the most consistent and true trait of our lives.
Monday, March 22, 2010
If the Tree Fits, Why Not Put It Up?
Sshh. Not a sound could be heard. Not through the whole town, not in any home, and specially not this House. All were fast asleep. The night was still and dark, colder than most. Clear and crisp air cloaked the nimble shadow that crept to the side door. The doorlock was plied with a softly glowing key that was burnished by centuries of careful use.
The Family was sleeping, but only hours ago they had all been feverishly working. Laughter, gaiety, and warmth filled the House as they had all gathered round to apply the finishing touches to the House's decorations. At last, the final fragile ornament, a beautifully painted pastel-tinted egg, hung upon the spindly dogwood. All the eggs dangled from the branches, gently moving as they were touched by the breath of air circulating through the room; it was a picture reminiscent of that tree from paradise, the fruit gently hanging from its branches, swaying in the soft breeze of the garden. In spite of itself, the little dogwood practically bloomed in the bright, cheerful light of the Family's glowing faces. The labour all finished, the family gazed on the sight once more, and then happily, excitedly lay in their beds and drifted off to sleep one by one.
Without fail, it would creak. But not this morning. It was indeed morning; still dark, still night, but that darkest and stillest part just before the first peep of light, when all seems to be most asleep. As he slowly pushed the door open to slip in to the Family's mudroom. He took in the sight carefully, noting the little pairs of boots all lined up and caked with yesterday's mud. "Yes, it was good that I packed carefully." He even thought in a whisper, lest he disturb the sleepers and rouse someone to spy out his mission. He stole into the center of the house to find the dogwood just where he knew it would be. Silently, he lowered his knapsack to the floor and spread out the gifts, placing them gently and quickly under the tree. Soon there was a pile of baskets crowded under the tree, a pile that belied the size of both the knapsack and the Rabbit that carried it. Then he was gone.
The sky had barely turned a faded greenish navy hue when Boy's eyes flashed open. It had come! Morning was here! They must hurry if they are to be on time. Ever so quickly, he rushes to rouse the rest of the House, to find only little Sister still asleep. Get up! Get dressed! It will never do to be late to the sunrise service. The sun would not wait for them. And afterwards, oh! the scrumptious breakfast, the hot cross buns, the Easter Egg hunt, oh, such surprises this morning always held.
And the tree. Boy almost forgot all about the tree. Then he heard a faint sound from the living room, and it all came back to him. Did they come? He had to go see; there was even less time to waste now than ever. He rushed hurriedly to finish, he ran to the room that held the best surprise of all, and almost doubtingly entered the room. He hesitated as he looked across the scene, for it was as if this room were sacred. But Mother and Dad were there, they seemed satisfied, ready, waiting. It was true. All the gifts he had hoped for, all the celebration for which he'd patiently and eagerly waited so many weeks; they were there. And the tree; the tree stood silently, but growing brighter as the rising morning light pushed the Family out the door.
Oh, friends. Would this day mean anything without the tree? Had the tree not come, certainly the fruit would not have come; certainly the Seed would never have held such promise. Could the real Son have come, had not the tree come?
_______________________________________
This is satire. If you don't get it, do not assume that it is simple fiction.
The Family was sleeping, but only hours ago they had all been feverishly working. Laughter, gaiety, and warmth filled the House as they had all gathered round to apply the finishing touches to the House's decorations. At last, the final fragile ornament, a beautifully painted pastel-tinted egg, hung upon the spindly dogwood. All the eggs dangled from the branches, gently moving as they were touched by the breath of air circulating through the room; it was a picture reminiscent of that tree from paradise, the fruit gently hanging from its branches, swaying in the soft breeze of the garden. In spite of itself, the little dogwood practically bloomed in the bright, cheerful light of the Family's glowing faces. The labour all finished, the family gazed on the sight once more, and then happily, excitedly lay in their beds and drifted off to sleep one by one.
Without fail, it would creak. But not this morning. It was indeed morning; still dark, still night, but that darkest and stillest part just before the first peep of light, when all seems to be most asleep. As he slowly pushed the door open to slip in to the Family's mudroom. He took in the sight carefully, noting the little pairs of boots all lined up and caked with yesterday's mud. "Yes, it was good that I packed carefully." He even thought in a whisper, lest he disturb the sleepers and rouse someone to spy out his mission. He stole into the center of the house to find the dogwood just where he knew it would be. Silently, he lowered his knapsack to the floor and spread out the gifts, placing them gently and quickly under the tree. Soon there was a pile of baskets crowded under the tree, a pile that belied the size of both the knapsack and the Rabbit that carried it. Then he was gone.
The sky had barely turned a faded greenish navy hue when Boy's eyes flashed open. It had come! Morning was here! They must hurry if they are to be on time. Ever so quickly, he rushes to rouse the rest of the House, to find only little Sister still asleep. Get up! Get dressed! It will never do to be late to the sunrise service. The sun would not wait for them. And afterwards, oh! the scrumptious breakfast, the hot cross buns, the Easter Egg hunt, oh, such surprises this morning always held.
And the tree. Boy almost forgot all about the tree. Then he heard a faint sound from the living room, and it all came back to him. Did they come? He had to go see; there was even less time to waste now than ever. He rushed hurriedly to finish, he ran to the room that held the best surprise of all, and almost doubtingly entered the room. He hesitated as he looked across the scene, for it was as if this room were sacred. But Mother and Dad were there, they seemed satisfied, ready, waiting. It was true. All the gifts he had hoped for, all the celebration for which he'd patiently and eagerly waited so many weeks; they were there. And the tree; the tree stood silently, but growing brighter as the rising morning light pushed the Family out the door.
Oh, friends. Would this day mean anything without the tree? Had the tree not come, certainly the fruit would not have come; certainly the Seed would never have held such promise. Could the real Son have come, had not the tree come?
_______________________________________
This is satire. If you don't get it, do not assume that it is simple fiction.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
"You told me to clean my room, but I didn't."
*Grumble grumble*
"I just can't help it. I sin all the time, and I even know better!"
*Grumble grumble*
Seriously? If we are God's children, this is an absolutely ridiculous idea. Imagine telling this to your parents....
"Mom, I just can't help it. I disobey you all the time -- you told me to run to the grocery store for you, and I got in the car and drove to the videogame store and never did pick up your groceries -- I even knew better!"
or,
"Dad, I know you told me to clean my room, but I didn't. Instead, I called my friend up and went over to his house to hang out. I couldn't help it!"
It wouldn't fly. You might manage to say it...before you got taken to the woodshed and punished for being flagrantly disobedient and rebellious.
God isn't an unreasonable Father. We have no reason to complain about what He asks us to do, and we have no reason not to do what He asks us to do.
Don't tell me that you can have sin in your life and still be pleasing to God. It's not true.
"And ye know that he was manifested to take away our sins; and in him is no sin. Whosoever abideth in him sinneth not: whosoever sinneth hath not seen him, neither known him." (I John 3:5-6)
"I just can't help it. I sin all the time, and I even know better!"
*Grumble grumble*
Seriously? If we are God's children, this is an absolutely ridiculous idea. Imagine telling this to your parents....
"Mom, I just can't help it. I disobey you all the time -- you told me to run to the grocery store for you, and I got in the car and drove to the videogame store and never did pick up your groceries -- I even knew better!"
or,
"Dad, I know you told me to clean my room, but I didn't. Instead, I called my friend up and went over to his house to hang out. I couldn't help it!"
It wouldn't fly. You might manage to say it...before you got taken to the woodshed and punished for being flagrantly disobedient and rebellious.
God isn't an unreasonable Father. We have no reason to complain about what He asks us to do, and we have no reason not to do what He asks us to do.
Don't tell me that you can have sin in your life and still be pleasing to God. It's not true.
"And ye know that he was manifested to take away our sins; and in him is no sin. Whosoever abideth in him sinneth not: whosoever sinneth hath not seen him, neither known him." (I John 3:5-6)
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