Some people, in what is called the “Pro-Life Movement”, like to say today that their movement and the Civil Rights movement of the middle of the last century are similar causes. I dare say that most people who believe that don’t know what they are talking about.
I agree with them, but not for the reasons they think. Many people who are crusading for the unborn say that they are the new civil rights movement, that they have taken on the mantle carried by the likes of Martin Luther King. They mean that they are as justified in their social activism as were those of the earlier movement. They covet the blanket of acceptability.
What we don’t understand is that many of today’s Pro-Lifers are closer to the truth than they realize. And in fact until they acknowledge that truth, their cause is doomed to fail.
What am I talking about? Back in the 1950s and 1960s a lot of good, religious people in America – white folks, that is – were very critical of the civil rights movement or were at least fearmongering about it. They saw King and his minions as a threat to God-fearing people and civil society in this country.
Evangelicals for the most part sat out the Civil Rights movement either because they didn’t think it had anything to do with spirituality and faith or because they were too busy reaching the lost. Maybe not reaching the lost Americans of Color, but reaching their lost white neighbors or the real heathen somewhere else.
Now consider the Pro-Life movement since Roe v. Wade. That landmark decision which catapulted the anti-abortion cause to the forefront of Evangelical thought happened in the waning days of the Civil Rights movement which had consumed and convulsed the country for the two decades prior. Evangelicals who had slept through the 1950s and 1960s or at least cowered behind their curtains and their moving vans as blacks took control of their neighborhoods were suddenly galvanized to do something about the poor innocents being slaughtered – as well they should have been. They even shed tears for poor innocent black babies, not that they wanted more, they just didn’t want to see them die in the womb.
Why did a life so unworthy of Christian compassion before 1973 become so worthy of Christian action after 1973? This troubling question is a very personal one for me.
I came of voting age in 1973. I was the youngest person ever to vote in my county because the constitutional amendment lowering the voting age took effect on my 18th birthday. Several things were culminating in my spirit – my right to a voice in American society, my coming into legal manhood, the birth of the Pro-Life movement, the end of the most active phase of the Civil Rights Movement, the winding down of the Vietnam Era, and the resignation of President Richard Nixon. It was, to say the least, a very momentous year.
But it was a troubling age for me. It brought me to a deep and long crisis of faith because I could not understand how selective American Evangelicals had been in their acts of righteousness. And that troubled feeling was to grow over the next decade or so as I unearthed much of the corporate sin of my fellow believers throughout the decades prior in shutting blacks out of our churches and in opposing a movement that spoke out against this great sin of our nation.
In silencing our prophetic voice prior to 1973, we found ourselves spiritually hoarse in the years that followed. We lost our ability to be prophetic – and instead became pathetic when it came to preaching justice.
2009-01-27
Authenticity and Corporate Sin – Part II
One of the Niebuhrs (was it Reinhold or Richard?) said that it is much easier to sin corporately than individually. He, whichever one it was, may well have been referring to the nightmare in Nazi Germany. Even if he wasn’t, it is a “stellar” example of corporate sin. What we would never do on our own, we willingly do corporately.
Take that Nazi Germany example. How many people would go out and round up their Jewish neighbors and gas them to death? Only the most depraved. But put a lot of otherwise very decent people together and they can do the most despicable acts, like gas 6 million Jews.
We who live far removed from such atrocities can wag our tongues and our fingers, but are we so above these people? Are we not just as quick to fall into such sins?
What happens when a sinful act is done corporately is that blame doesn’t get assessed very well and where blame is murky, repentance is even less likely to occur. We can hide among the masses.
Take the racially based lynchings of the 20th Century. While most of these ended by mid-century, there were isolated occurrences right up into the far more civilized 1990s. The actual lynchings were done by only a handful of people, not necessarily white hooded either. But a lot of other people were usually standing around gawking if not cheering, none of them doing a thing to stop it. And when the “show” fell out of vogue, whole communities still played complicit roles in allowing such darkness to rule their nights.
Most of these people were what we call God-fearing, church-going. Why some of them were even preachers of the Gospel, no less – saved, baptized, sanctified, and all the rest.
What possessed them to act so vilely on Saturday evening and then go to church on Sunday morning and lift up supposedly holy hands to God in heaven? It wasn’t that they were more evil than others around them.
One of the most compelling stories I’ve ever heard out of the Nazi trials was the one about the Jewish man who broke down in the witness stand. The compassionate judge apologized that he had to go through such an ordeal as facing the man accused of such heinous crimes against the witness’ family.
The witness replied that he wasn’t crying because of what that other man had done. He was weeping because he had suddenly realized that that criminal was a human being just like himself, and that even he the victim himself was therefore just as capable of such atrocities.
We like to compartmentalize sin so that we can feel safe – not safe from being hurt by others’ sins, but safe from feeling that we are capable of such darkness. But as soon as we do that, as soon as we say that the reason that sinners sin is because they are so much worse than us ordinary people, we make ourselves even more capable of sinning big time.
Listen to the rhetoric abroad among “good Christian people” today and what you hear is a lot of talk about how evil “those” other people, whoever “those people” are. The world is going to hell in a handbasket because “those people” are increasing in power and we need to do something to stop it – either push them out or cloister ourselves.
Reality is that if we hide from “them” we will all too soon discover that we have “them” among us who are hiding. As Pogo, the cartoon character, years ago said, “We have seen the enemy and the enemy is us.”
Take that Nazi Germany example. How many people would go out and round up their Jewish neighbors and gas them to death? Only the most depraved. But put a lot of otherwise very decent people together and they can do the most despicable acts, like gas 6 million Jews.
We who live far removed from such atrocities can wag our tongues and our fingers, but are we so above these people? Are we not just as quick to fall into such sins?
What happens when a sinful act is done corporately is that blame doesn’t get assessed very well and where blame is murky, repentance is even less likely to occur. We can hide among the masses.
Take the racially based lynchings of the 20th Century. While most of these ended by mid-century, there were isolated occurrences right up into the far more civilized 1990s. The actual lynchings were done by only a handful of people, not necessarily white hooded either. But a lot of other people were usually standing around gawking if not cheering, none of them doing a thing to stop it. And when the “show” fell out of vogue, whole communities still played complicit roles in allowing such darkness to rule their nights.
Most of these people were what we call God-fearing, church-going. Why some of them were even preachers of the Gospel, no less – saved, baptized, sanctified, and all the rest.
What possessed them to act so vilely on Saturday evening and then go to church on Sunday morning and lift up supposedly holy hands to God in heaven? It wasn’t that they were more evil than others around them.
One of the most compelling stories I’ve ever heard out of the Nazi trials was the one about the Jewish man who broke down in the witness stand. The compassionate judge apologized that he had to go through such an ordeal as facing the man accused of such heinous crimes against the witness’ family.
The witness replied that he wasn’t crying because of what that other man had done. He was weeping because he had suddenly realized that that criminal was a human being just like himself, and that even he the victim himself was therefore just as capable of such atrocities.
We like to compartmentalize sin so that we can feel safe – not safe from being hurt by others’ sins, but safe from feeling that we are capable of such darkness. But as soon as we do that, as soon as we say that the reason that sinners sin is because they are so much worse than us ordinary people, we make ourselves even more capable of sinning big time.
Listen to the rhetoric abroad among “good Christian people” today and what you hear is a lot of talk about how evil “those” other people, whoever “those people” are. The world is going to hell in a handbasket because “those people” are increasing in power and we need to do something to stop it – either push them out or cloister ourselves.
Reality is that if we hide from “them” we will all too soon discover that we have “them” among us who are hiding. As Pogo, the cartoon character, years ago said, “We have seen the enemy and the enemy is us.”
2009-01-20
Authenticity and Corporate Sin – Part I
At various points in my life, I have come to a crossroads of faith. In those times, events internal and external have caused me to reexamine the whole foundation of my trust in God.
When I am in such moments, I long for simpler days of believing. But in the long run, these wrestling spells are pure gold for my soul. For they force me to face the truth of both my faith and my response to that faith – how I live out what I believe.
This day is a momentous one in the history of my home country, America. And yet I am intrigued, ok, confused by the response of so many of my brothers and sisters in Christ. Many are choosing at best to downplay the significance of President Obama’s inauguration, at worst to boycott it by literally and purposefully tuning it out. Generally political differences of the campaign season are put aside at the inauguration in respect of the office, but this time that “putting aside” feels embarrassingly anemic.
My spiritual siblings may have reasons for doing so – political differences, concerns about moral positions, other misgivings. But in so doing, their responses pull back the curtain on one of the core sins in the history of American Evangelicalism over the past century. The American Evangelical church has a horrible history on race relations, a heritage Twenty-first Century believers by and large conveniently forget or refuse to own.
For me, this issue is a personal one, not because I am a man of color, for I am not. I’m as white as they come. But because for me this issue, the default Evangelical response, has confronted me like a bad dream at each of these critical crossroads of faith.
For a while as a young man India’s great statesman, Gandhi, lived in South Africa. While there he sought to visit a Christian church. He himself was Hindu, but he had heard much good about Jesus. However, when he came to the church, there was a sign outside which read “No dogs or Indians allowed”, the “dogs” referring to blacks. He was embarrassed and confused and never got over that slap in the emotional face. Years later, he told his good Christian missionary friend, E. Stanley Jones, that he thought Jesus a great moral leader, one he deeply admired, but that the followers of Jesus hindered him from getting closer.
It is not enough to have faith, the Apostle James wrote. You have to live out that faith. In fact, he went so far as to say, show me your actions and I’ll tell you what you believe.
Anyone growing up inside the church has stared hypocrisy dead on, for the church as the embodiment of those who follow Jesus is far from perfect. We do well not to walk away from Jesus because of what we see in the lives of others who are redeemed. Rather, such imperfection can show us that we too are welcome even though we are not perfect. But when the church as a body has been unfaithful to the high calling of her Lord, it bodes well for that Body to repent of her sins and to do so thoroughly and publicly.
Repentance is not merely crying big tears or washing the feet of those who have been victimized; repentance is leaving behind the behavior that so pains the heart of God and embracing the new order of the Age of the Spirit. There have been times when specific Evangelical church bodies and leaders have shared publicly their repentance and repudiation of past sins, including racial sins. But rarely do we learn our history lessons as well as we should, and the sin of racism is a glaring example.
That the Evangelical world has been so slow to capture this historic moment in American life shows that we as believers, particularly white believers really do not understand the implications of our own history. Whatever actions Barak Obama does or does not take in his time as president, he, simply by taking the oath of office, has smashed one of the ugliest idols in American spiritual life. We do well to glorify God that this day has come at last. It does not mean the end of racism, but it is a significant milestone, one we as believers all can and should celebrate.
When I am in such moments, I long for simpler days of believing. But in the long run, these wrestling spells are pure gold for my soul. For they force me to face the truth of both my faith and my response to that faith – how I live out what I believe.
This day is a momentous one in the history of my home country, America. And yet I am intrigued, ok, confused by the response of so many of my brothers and sisters in Christ. Many are choosing at best to downplay the significance of President Obama’s inauguration, at worst to boycott it by literally and purposefully tuning it out. Generally political differences of the campaign season are put aside at the inauguration in respect of the office, but this time that “putting aside” feels embarrassingly anemic.
My spiritual siblings may have reasons for doing so – political differences, concerns about moral positions, other misgivings. But in so doing, their responses pull back the curtain on one of the core sins in the history of American Evangelicalism over the past century. The American Evangelical church has a horrible history on race relations, a heritage Twenty-first Century believers by and large conveniently forget or refuse to own.
For me, this issue is a personal one, not because I am a man of color, for I am not. I’m as white as they come. But because for me this issue, the default Evangelical response, has confronted me like a bad dream at each of these critical crossroads of faith.
For a while as a young man India’s great statesman, Gandhi, lived in South Africa. While there he sought to visit a Christian church. He himself was Hindu, but he had heard much good about Jesus. However, when he came to the church, there was a sign outside which read “No dogs or Indians allowed”, the “dogs” referring to blacks. He was embarrassed and confused and never got over that slap in the emotional face. Years later, he told his good Christian missionary friend, E. Stanley Jones, that he thought Jesus a great moral leader, one he deeply admired, but that the followers of Jesus hindered him from getting closer.
It is not enough to have faith, the Apostle James wrote. You have to live out that faith. In fact, he went so far as to say, show me your actions and I’ll tell you what you believe.
Anyone growing up inside the church has stared hypocrisy dead on, for the church as the embodiment of those who follow Jesus is far from perfect. We do well not to walk away from Jesus because of what we see in the lives of others who are redeemed. Rather, such imperfection can show us that we too are welcome even though we are not perfect. But when the church as a body has been unfaithful to the high calling of her Lord, it bodes well for that Body to repent of her sins and to do so thoroughly and publicly.
Repentance is not merely crying big tears or washing the feet of those who have been victimized; repentance is leaving behind the behavior that so pains the heart of God and embracing the new order of the Age of the Spirit. There have been times when specific Evangelical church bodies and leaders have shared publicly their repentance and repudiation of past sins, including racial sins. But rarely do we learn our history lessons as well as we should, and the sin of racism is a glaring example.
That the Evangelical world has been so slow to capture this historic moment in American life shows that we as believers, particularly white believers really do not understand the implications of our own history. Whatever actions Barak Obama does or does not take in his time as president, he, simply by taking the oath of office, has smashed one of the ugliest idols in American spiritual life. We do well to glorify God that this day has come at last. It does not mean the end of racism, but it is a significant milestone, one we as believers all can and should celebrate.
2009-01-13
Authenticity on a Pedestal – Part II
Many effective leaders and communicators project an intimacy with their audience that at least imitates their more private backstage selves. As a result, we the audience take away the impression that we really know the speaker even if the speaker doesn’t have a clue who we are. The effective speaker bridges the gap with the listener while maintaining a safe distance, thanks to the platform.
That platform protection is lost once the speaker descends. To maintain a necessary defense barrier, the public person learns to project a careful balance of warmth and arm’s-length positioning when working the crowd. People want to know that this person is touchable, that he or she is truly flesh and blood.
Some great platform communicators can exude the same platform warmth up close. Others struggle with it. I remember when I met Bob Hope in person when I was a college student. The dean had handpicked a few of us for a small group shot where Hope would field questions for a campus program he was filming to be aired on national TV.
On camera, he was vintage Bob Hope. We felt warm and connected. Afterward we got to shake his hand, get his autograph, and chat for a minute. As I did, I felt a strange and foreign presence – a plastic Bob Hope I’d not sensed a few minutes earlier or when I’d seen him on TV. Hope and I were trading commodities – or maybe we were the commodities to each other.
There is no way you can give yourself away to thousands and expect to have anything left, unless the self you are giving away is sourced elsewhere. Those who learn to pull off this sharing of self with the masses know how to refuel. They aren’t giving themselves away as much as they are allowing themselves to be a channel through which energy from elsewhere flows through them.
But no one can truly do this channeling unless they have a backstage life where they can fully be themselves and get their own needs met. Not just expressing what they choose to share in public, but where they share with the guard down.
A funny thing about muscles and muscle groups. If you use them 24/7, if you never relax them, they eventually lose their ability to function. A muscle is not a bone, which is set. A muscle is designed to tighten (contract) and loosen. And every person needs to exercise these public/private muscles or they will freeze in place.
The reason for the need for the public guard or defense, the reason Bob Hope couldn’t risk being intimate with my friends and me, is because the more intimate we are, the more vulnerable we become. We risk losing ourselves to the other person(s) entirely.
Contrary to the mindset of this modern hookup society, you can only do so – become intimate – in a very safe, secure setting. Anyone who has sex with a stranger is not being emotionally intimate, for you can only give what is intimate to you in a context where that intimacy is mutually shared and protected. Otherwise there is no intimate self to share.
When a public person no longer has those safe havens, those backstage hideaways, he or she is in mortal danger. The risk is high for failure of some sort no matter how strong a person is. Strength is not the issue. Human beings are designed for being open, and as I’ve said, openness requires protection, something you don’t get with strangers.
That platform protection is lost once the speaker descends. To maintain a necessary defense barrier, the public person learns to project a careful balance of warmth and arm’s-length positioning when working the crowd. People want to know that this person is touchable, that he or she is truly flesh and blood.
Some great platform communicators can exude the same platform warmth up close. Others struggle with it. I remember when I met Bob Hope in person when I was a college student. The dean had handpicked a few of us for a small group shot where Hope would field questions for a campus program he was filming to be aired on national TV.
On camera, he was vintage Bob Hope. We felt warm and connected. Afterward we got to shake his hand, get his autograph, and chat for a minute. As I did, I felt a strange and foreign presence – a plastic Bob Hope I’d not sensed a few minutes earlier or when I’d seen him on TV. Hope and I were trading commodities – or maybe we were the commodities to each other.
There is no way you can give yourself away to thousands and expect to have anything left, unless the self you are giving away is sourced elsewhere. Those who learn to pull off this sharing of self with the masses know how to refuel. They aren’t giving themselves away as much as they are allowing themselves to be a channel through which energy from elsewhere flows through them.
But no one can truly do this channeling unless they have a backstage life where they can fully be themselves and get their own needs met. Not just expressing what they choose to share in public, but where they share with the guard down.
A funny thing about muscles and muscle groups. If you use them 24/7, if you never relax them, they eventually lose their ability to function. A muscle is not a bone, which is set. A muscle is designed to tighten (contract) and loosen. And every person needs to exercise these public/private muscles or they will freeze in place.
The reason for the need for the public guard or defense, the reason Bob Hope couldn’t risk being intimate with my friends and me, is because the more intimate we are, the more vulnerable we become. We risk losing ourselves to the other person(s) entirely.
Contrary to the mindset of this modern hookup society, you can only do so – become intimate – in a very safe, secure setting. Anyone who has sex with a stranger is not being emotionally intimate, for you can only give what is intimate to you in a context where that intimacy is mutually shared and protected. Otherwise there is no intimate self to share.
When a public person no longer has those safe havens, those backstage hideaways, he or she is in mortal danger. The risk is high for failure of some sort no matter how strong a person is. Strength is not the issue. Human beings are designed for being open, and as I’ve said, openness requires protection, something you don’t get with strangers.
2009-01-06
Authenticity on a Pedestal – Part I
One of my favorite images from our life in Xi’an is of this guy who was operating a jackhammer on top of a pillar at the neighbor’s house across our little street. I detested the endless sound that went on for days and days. And, oh, the dust! But the visual of that man up there remains a fascinating and treasured memory. [You can see an actual photo by visiting hnkconnect.com/about-hnk.]
A lone man perched on a narrow column of concrete and rebar, with barely space for his own two feet plus the heavy jackhammer he was operating – all a story or two high above the ground with nothing but his own balance between him and tragedy. And up there so long. Hours on end. Day after day, one column after another. Slowly working his way down, vibrating and pounding his own perch until nothing remained but a crumpled heap on the ground below.
His was life on a pedestal, like a great orator with a machine for a voice or like a leader soaring high above his people showing them the way of life. Pedestal living is what we require of those who guide us. Get up there where we can see you and can see how you do what you say. The American President exposed to all the world, the pastor or parish priest on display, the boss high above the office paeans.
Pedestals, aside from that one the guy in Xi’an was working to demolish, are generally considered glamorous. Life’s a stage and everyone dreams to be on it. A position from which you can be admired and applauded.
Or attacked. I never liked eating at a Western-style head table, especially one where you sat at on stage facing the world for all the world to see. You feel exposed, your every bite thoughtfully or thoughtlessly chewed over by everyone watching. Pedestals and platforms are dangerous places, really, justifying most perks that might accompany them. Somehow the perks and the praise are supposed to make up for the loneliness and danger that inevitably come with such lofty positioning. I’m not so sure, any more than I am sure they are entirely necessary.
Public figures have three selves: the Platform, the Door, and the Backstage selves. They are all expressions of the person’s true self.
The Platform Self is what people see of the figure up in front on stage and what they glean of that leader’s or speaker’s life through what is shared in the monolog or speech or is demonstrated publicly. The self that is shared up front is part of that person, the public self or perhaps better said, the preferred public self. The self we wish people to see in us.
When that person on the platform descends to shake hands, greet and chat one on one with his or her audience, then the Door Self appears. I call it the Door Self for a doorway is often where we meet the Platform speaker face to face. Whatever feeling of intimacy can possibly be shared by a speaker with an audience of one hundred or ten thousand, the one-on-one encounter magnifies that opportunity. And yet, without either of us trying, the engagement is acted out. Not so inauthentic as it is projected, the preferred self presented once more in deliberate, careful choreography.
It is only backstage that the true self appears. Here is where we let our hair down, where we take off the guard. Maybe the Backstage Self is not any more or less authentic than the other selves, but there is something to this unguarded, unprojected self that is genuine and truly intimate.
We’ll continue this theme next week …
A lone man perched on a narrow column of concrete and rebar, with barely space for his own two feet plus the heavy jackhammer he was operating – all a story or two high above the ground with nothing but his own balance between him and tragedy. And up there so long. Hours on end. Day after day, one column after another. Slowly working his way down, vibrating and pounding his own perch until nothing remained but a crumpled heap on the ground below.
His was life on a pedestal, like a great orator with a machine for a voice or like a leader soaring high above his people showing them the way of life. Pedestal living is what we require of those who guide us. Get up there where we can see you and can see how you do what you say. The American President exposed to all the world, the pastor or parish priest on display, the boss high above the office paeans.
Pedestals, aside from that one the guy in Xi’an was working to demolish, are generally considered glamorous. Life’s a stage and everyone dreams to be on it. A position from which you can be admired and applauded.
Or attacked. I never liked eating at a Western-style head table, especially one where you sat at on stage facing the world for all the world to see. You feel exposed, your every bite thoughtfully or thoughtlessly chewed over by everyone watching. Pedestals and platforms are dangerous places, really, justifying most perks that might accompany them. Somehow the perks and the praise are supposed to make up for the loneliness and danger that inevitably come with such lofty positioning. I’m not so sure, any more than I am sure they are entirely necessary.
Public figures have three selves: the Platform, the Door, and the Backstage selves. They are all expressions of the person’s true self.
The Platform Self is what people see of the figure up in front on stage and what they glean of that leader’s or speaker’s life through what is shared in the monolog or speech or is demonstrated publicly. The self that is shared up front is part of that person, the public self or perhaps better said, the preferred public self. The self we wish people to see in us.
When that person on the platform descends to shake hands, greet and chat one on one with his or her audience, then the Door Self appears. I call it the Door Self for a doorway is often where we meet the Platform speaker face to face. Whatever feeling of intimacy can possibly be shared by a speaker with an audience of one hundred or ten thousand, the one-on-one encounter magnifies that opportunity. And yet, without either of us trying, the engagement is acted out. Not so inauthentic as it is projected, the preferred self presented once more in deliberate, careful choreography.
It is only backstage that the true self appears. Here is where we let our hair down, where we take off the guard. Maybe the Backstage Self is not any more or less authentic than the other selves, but there is something to this unguarded, unprojected self that is genuine and truly intimate.
We’ll continue this theme next week …
2008-12-29
Anxiety and Authenticity - Part IV
While I don’t have answers for the causes of my anxieties, I do know what to do with the anxiety itself. Do as my therapist, a man full of faith, has taught me. Don’t just ignore the anxiety and push past it. That’s what I’ve done too often in the past. The old saying “Get a ladder and get over it” is like saying “open the presents and get on with the holidays”. When I sat down to eat that Thanksgiving turkey I didn’t rush through it. The process itself has value and there is value in learning to face the anxiety head on, not just get over it.
Face the anxiety. Process it and the thoughts that swirl around it. Feel the feelings (fear, sadness, anger). Work out the anger (good for the physical body as well). Then turn this processed anxiety over to God.
The fear, for me, comes in being out of control. When I am not in control of my world, it feels as though my world controls me – and to no good. When the fear comes, I freeze like the proverbial deer in the headlights. If I try to push past that fear without facing it, the fear stabs me in the back.
So as I process that anxiety and those feelings of fear, I learn to face that fear with the confidence that comes from what I know about God. That He is all powerful. That He is completely just and totally love. That He will indeed carry me no matter what. I am secure in Him – even when I don’t feel like it. Even when I fail.
Even when I fail. Doesn’t matter what others think. Doesn’t matter what others do. These things may change my environment, but that cannot affect my anchor, my standing, my relationship in Christ. When I am flush with a fresh word from God that He is both in control of my world and has a firm grasp on me, then my anxieties wilt. The causes of those anxieties don’t disappear – they are there as much as they ever were. But the fear of those causes fades in the face of my renewed strength.
Face the anxiety. Process it and the thoughts that swirl around it. Feel the feelings (fear, sadness, anger). Work out the anger (good for the physical body as well). Then turn this processed anxiety over to God.
The fear, for me, comes in being out of control. When I am not in control of my world, it feels as though my world controls me – and to no good. When the fear comes, I freeze like the proverbial deer in the headlights. If I try to push past that fear without facing it, the fear stabs me in the back.
So as I process that anxiety and those feelings of fear, I learn to face that fear with the confidence that comes from what I know about God. That He is all powerful. That He is completely just and totally love. That He will indeed carry me no matter what. I am secure in Him – even when I don’t feel like it. Even when I fail.
Even when I fail. Doesn’t matter what others think. Doesn’t matter what others do. These things may change my environment, but that cannot affect my anchor, my standing, my relationship in Christ. When I am flush with a fresh word from God that He is both in control of my world and has a firm grasp on me, then my anxieties wilt. The causes of those anxieties don’t disappear – they are there as much as they ever were. But the fear of those causes fades in the face of my renewed strength.
2008-12-15
Anxiety and Authenticity - Part III
In the word itself – the word of God that comes to me – is the strength I need. That word from God to me is my daily manna. I’ve tried to store it up. It doesn’t work. God’s word to me, God’s word through others, can fill a reservoir to draw on as needed, can inform the word God has for me at a specific moment. But God wants to meet with me daily. As He did with Adam and Eve in the garden.
This word is not the routine itself. It is not merely the discipline of meeting with God. That is the problem with stale habits and traditions. The form is not the word. We won’t hear from God just because we have a routine.
But the form gives place for the word to come. How can we hear from God without those forms? We are more likely to hear from Him if we set aside place in our lives to hear from Him. That is the strength of regular time with God, of regular time of coming together with His people. In relationship, quantity time and quality time are not the same, but it is hard to have quality without quantity. So setting aside time for hearing from God is one thing.
A second thing is also required. I am reminded as I write that expectation is a necessary ingredient. The old ketchup commercial so effectively expressed the feeling of “anticipation” – the expectation that through the long wait, the ketchup will come. The joy of dating when we are in a relationship that is moving toward commitment is that something special may come of that date. Dating, even the relationship itself, gets stale when we lose that sense of anticipation, of expectation.
The old tarrying custom of Believers in earlier decades was filled with expectation that in waiting on God something was going to happen. But eventually that activity of tarrying became an end in itself. When I was a teenager, a group of us started gathering for a prayer meeting because we were motivated to pray. The prayer meeting grew and with it a sense that God was at work in our midst. Then came the day that we were encouraged to come to the prayer meeting so that we could pick up that sense again. By then, the value of the meeting had been lost.
We don’t get back to the sense of expectation by reviving the habit of tarrying – or by adopting any other particular style of spirituality – any more than we can revive the sense of impending discovery in our married lives by dating as we did before we were committed. We can still date, but the secret is not the form. It is coming to the current forms of the relationship with a sense of anticipating that something fresh will happen.
This word is not the routine itself. It is not merely the discipline of meeting with God. That is the problem with stale habits and traditions. The form is not the word. We won’t hear from God just because we have a routine.
But the form gives place for the word to come. How can we hear from God without those forms? We are more likely to hear from Him if we set aside place in our lives to hear from Him. That is the strength of regular time with God, of regular time of coming together with His people. In relationship, quantity time and quality time are not the same, but it is hard to have quality without quantity. So setting aside time for hearing from God is one thing.
A second thing is also required. I am reminded as I write that expectation is a necessary ingredient. The old ketchup commercial so effectively expressed the feeling of “anticipation” – the expectation that through the long wait, the ketchup will come. The joy of dating when we are in a relationship that is moving toward commitment is that something special may come of that date. Dating, even the relationship itself, gets stale when we lose that sense of anticipation, of expectation.
The old tarrying custom of Believers in earlier decades was filled with expectation that in waiting on God something was going to happen. But eventually that activity of tarrying became an end in itself. When I was a teenager, a group of us started gathering for a prayer meeting because we were motivated to pray. The prayer meeting grew and with it a sense that God was at work in our midst. Then came the day that we were encouraged to come to the prayer meeting so that we could pick up that sense again. By then, the value of the meeting had been lost.
We don’t get back to the sense of expectation by reviving the habit of tarrying – or by adopting any other particular style of spirituality – any more than we can revive the sense of impending discovery in our married lives by dating as we did before we were committed. We can still date, but the secret is not the form. It is coming to the current forms of the relationship with a sense of anticipating that something fresh will happen.
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