Letting Yourself Lose

True story that happened just five minutes ago:

My office phone rings.  I answer it.  The guy on the other end (whom I don’t know and whose number was listed simply as “Private Caller”) asked me if I could “answer a Bible question”.

“I’ll give it a try!” I said in my normal goofy way.

This guy then proceeded to read Genesis 1:27, stressing that the pronoun used for the Creator is he (that is, singular).  The guy then quickly fell into an angry diatribe about The Trinity.  His question became an assault as he demanded to know if I believed in The Trinity  and why and how I could consider myself a Christian if I did believe in The Trinity.

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In the few instances I actually got to talk, I tried to explain that The Trinity (a word admittedly not found in the Bible) is our best attempt to convey the whole teaching of the Bible and that he was pushing pronouns far beyond the degree to which they were supposed to be pushed.  He did not agree.  In fact, he didn’t give me much chance to explain.  Instead, every statement I made brought several rapid accusations from him.  I then tried to tell him that I had been asked to answer a question, not have an argument.  Finally, I hung up.

And I hated to do that.  I tried to avoid doing that, in fact, because I knew if I did that he would claim some sort of victory.  “That guy couldn’t answer any of my questions,” I can imagine him saying (after, of course, reframing the story to remove his aggressive interruptions and unwillingness to listen).  “He just ran away from me.”

That bothers me.  I’ve got a strong sense of justice.  I hate what is wrong being called right (even if that wrong is mine).  I didn’t want to give this person the chance to do that, and couldn’t stand the fact that I had given him  the chance to do that.

Yet that’s what my faith often calls me to do.  It may sound strange (especially if, like me, you come from a church/bible college background which presents debate as a spiritual practice), but it is true.  The fact of the matter is that God doesn’t want us to argue and sometimes calls us to lose arguments.  He tells us to throw in the towel when further fighting is ineffective and counterproductive and becoming ungodly.

My favorite example of this is in Jeremiah 28:


Jeremiah did not continue to trade blows with Hananiah.  Rather, when he saw that Hananiah was just diatribing rather than dialoguing, he just walked away.  He came back a little later to drop a personal word from the Lord on Hananiah, but he walked away from that first encounter.  He did not continue to debate the false prophet in front of the crowds.

Jesus famously teaches something similar:


He did not instruct us to trade blows with those who reject us (and reject Him through rejecting us).  He instructed us instead to “shake the dust off our feet” and move on.

On top of that, Paul tells Timothy:


Despite what I was taught in my home church and in Bible college, an argumentative spirit is not a Christ-like spirit.  Debate is not a righteous spiritual discipline.  It is the opposite, in fact.  It is clearly not what God wants.  It produces the opposite of what God wants.  Arguments lead to several ungodly behaviors: anger, insinuation, insult, etc.  It is so easy to fall into those things.  I worry, in fact, that what I wrote above about my encounter with this guy skirts the border of those things.  That’s why God doesn’t want us to argue.  That’s why when it comes to arguments, even “spiritual” or theological or doctrinal arguments:

What does a “Lord’s servant” like me do in this strange game?  Well, he has to lose.  That’s what Jeremiah did.  That’s what Jesus did on many occasions as well (such as in Luke 9 when He simply walked away from the village that rejected Him).  That’s what Paul often did, too.  And I guess that’s what I did.  I couldn’t walk away from this guy literally, but I did hang up on him.  I hung up on him as nicely as I could.  I didn’t want to hang up on him since even that can be seen as aggressive, but that was about the best I could do in the situation, and I did it the best I could do it.  I let myself lose, in other words.  And that was the right thing to do.  I might not like it, but that was the right thing to do.


Some Questions For GQ

A couple weeks ago, The Simpsons took a shot at my faith.  Since this shot contained logical statements and inferences, I asked the Simpsons writers a few questions about it.  I couldn’t have asked them anything if they had merely said, “I don’t like”; that’s subjective and incontestable.  But that’s not what they said.  They said, in essence, “You are wrong/contradictory/etc.”  That’s not subjective, and that’s not incontestable.  So I contested it.  I asked them some questions about it.  Since the writers of The Squidbillies had taken almost the exact same shot at my faith, I asked them those same questions as well.  Seeing that neither group answered, I guess I asked those questions rhetorically.  But I asked them.  They were legitimate questions, questions of whether or not these writers understood what they were attacking and with what they were replacing what they were attacking, and I asked them.

It seems I can now ask the editors of GQ magazine similar questions as they have taken a similar shot at my faith.  They did so in a recent article called “21 Books You Don’t Have To Read”.  I imagine they offended a lot of English teachers with this article, which suggested that people don’t have to read The Catcher in the Rye and Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, which have been staples in literature class for as long as I remember.  But I know for a fact they offended a lot of Christians when they suggested people don’t have to read the Bible.


There is more going on here than mere offensiveness, though.  There are assertions, both logical and otherwise.  And while offensiveness may or may not be able to be questioned, assertions can and should be.  So I will put any indignation aside and ask just a few questions of the GQ editors (or it is Jesse Ball, who I think wrote this segment of the article, or both?), questions about the assertions they are making here.

  1. Are you sure the people you say haven’t read this book actually haven’t read it?  This is the first assertion this segment makes.  The author says the people who supposedly live by the Bible haven’t actually read it.  This is something I’ve heard several other faith-averse or faith-antagonistic folks say.  It is intended to undermine their credibility, I suppose, as well as to insult them (which is what it seems to be doing here).  And while I admit that it is true of many people in The Faith, it is not true of all of them, and it is certainly isn’t true of the most authoritative of them (by which I mean the ones who should be listened to, the ones who know what they are talking about and thus have the right to talk).  I know some sixty pastors in my area.  All of them have read the Bible multiple times.  All of them are well-versed in the Bible.  All of them know the Bible.  Not to be an own-horn-tooter, but the same can be said of me.  I knew the Bible before I could read, having learned it from my parents and my church, both of whom quoted it to me often.  I finally read it cover to cover when I was 19.  I have read it cover to cover many times since; I actually don’t know how many times I have read the Bible in its entirety because I have lost count.  I have studied at least have the books at a collegiate, verse-by-verse level.  I have memorized the epistles and recite one every day.  I read both lengthy and short passages every day as well.  In short, I and my pastor friends have not only read the Bible, but we’ve actually walked with the Bible.  We have consumed and lived with and assimilated the Bible.  It is part of our very fabric.  This not only means that the this underhanded opening comment is measurably wrong, but it also means that we have far greater ability to speak about what the Bible is or isn’t than anyone else.  I would not presume to tell a scientist what The Origin of the Species is or is not, what it says or doesn’t say, what quality it has or doesn’t have.  To be honest, I don’t know any of these things.  I’ve never read it.  A scientist who has spent time with that book is clearly going to know it better than me.  By the same token, very few people have spent the time with the Bible that I and my pastor friends have.  Logic states that we know far better what it is and what it says than GQ.
  2. Can you give me any specifics here?  The segment goes on to say that the Bible is “repetitive, self-contradictory, sententious, foolish, and even at times ill-intentioned”.  Those are serious charges, and if they were true, the Bible ought not to just be unread but actively banned.  We have no way of knowing if they are true.  Not from this segment, anyway.  The author does not give any evidence for their truth.  He asserts them but he does not support them.  I personally wish he had, because I have no idea what he is talking about here.  Again, I’ve read the Bible quite a few more times than he has.  I have found repetition, but that repetition makes sense; the Bible only has one real message which it keeps restating in various ways in hopes that we will finally get it.  I have not found anything self-contradictory, even though that charges is again often made.  I’ve found things that people who don’t understand the Bible and the way it is intended to be used think are self-contradictory, but I’ve never found any clear contradiction.  I didn’t know what sententious meant, but when I looked it up, I didn’t see anything in it that resembled what we have in the Bible.3Rather, what we have in the Bible is far more a loving father desperately pleading with his children, begging them not to destroy themselves and their relationship with him.  Doesn’t sound sententious to me.  Foolish?  The core message of the Bible is love God and love others.  That’s foolish to you?  Ill-intentioned?  How does the author know what the intentions of God (which is who I believe actually wrote the Bible) or the human authors (whom God used to write the Bible) were?  I don’t know because he didn’t tell me.  He just made the accusation; he didn’t support it.  If anything seems ill-intentioned, it is these unsubstantiated Simpsons-esque statements about the Bible.

3. What are you offering as an alternative?  This is the same question I asked of The Simpsons and The Squidbillies, and it is the question I will ask of everyone who attempts to take away my faith.  If I let go of my faith (as you seem to think I should), what do you offer to replace it?  My faith (which is based on the Bible) is what gives me hope and purpose and meaning, what directs my thoughts and actions, and what sets my values.  My faith does just about every important thing in my life.  When you attempt to take away my faith, you are not taking away some minor diversion; you are taking away my heart and soul, taking away the one thing I want and need more than any other.  You can’t create a vacuum like that without filling it with something.  So what are the author/the GQ editors offering to do that?  I don’t know.  They do suggest some book I’ve never heard of (The Notebook, which is apparently not the one by Nicholas Sparks), but they don’t tell me what authority that book has or what it is going to contribute to my life.  Seeing as it is a book written by a man relatively recently in human history, the hope that it can replace the Bible and my faith is quite low.  Sorry, but you can’t expect me to sacrifice everything I love and value and live by because you make a couple snarky remarks.

Those are the questions I would ask GQ about this segment.  Will I get an answer?  Probably not.  I’m still asking the questions, though.  And I think you should as well.

The Foundational Question Part 3

Okay, one last run around this idea.

I was jumping around the Internet this weekend, looking at The New Yorker’s Chick-fil-A story and its fallout.  As I did, I came across this:

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As I just now looked for this quote, I found this site claiming that Gandhi never said these words.  I don’t know if he did or not.  I do know, though, that many people, from the famous to the infamous and many points in-between, have said this or something similar to this.  Many people have (rightly or wrongly) found fault with Christians or The Church.  And some of those people have used that fault as a reason to not believe in God, as reason not to work through the God equation.

And that, again, is a mistake.  I’m not sure what kind of mistake it is.  I’m not sure if it is getting lost in the middle, as I first wrote about, or refusing to work the equation because of the anticipated answer, as I wrote about second (if I had to guess, I’d say it is the latter).  But I am sure it is a mistake.

It is a mistake because the question of the existence of God is a question of reality, a question of what is real.  And reality is not subjective.  Reality is not altered because you don’t like it.  Adam Savage famously said:

and yet, as he clearly knew, as is clearly implied behind his words and is indeed the basis of the humor of that statement, such a thing is impossible.  Reality can’t be substituted.  Reality is.

The question to ask, then, isn’t whether or not Christians are like Christ (not at this stage of the equation, anyway; I think all Christians should ask themselves that question, and I do everyday; but I don’t think those working the God equation should be asking it at this point).  The question to ask is one of reality.  The questions to ask, actually, are two of reality: “Does God exist?” and “Is God good?”

Oddly enough, “the Gandhi quote” (which is what I’ll call it whether or not Gandhi actually said it) implies that the answer to both those questions is, “Yes.”  He speaks about Christ as if Christ is real.  To be honest, he may be doing that for the sake of argument, the way I might talk about Luke Skywalker as if he is real even though I know he is not.  But he is still talking that way; he is still describing something which could be called reality.  Beyond that, though, he speaks about Christ as if Christ is good.  He says he likes Christ, which I can only imagine a guy like Gandhi would do if he perceived Christ as being good.  The very statement itself, then, implies a reality (or at least some reality) to God and a goodness to God.

And those implications require some sort of response.  They require some sort of personal response all by themselves, regardless of what may or may not be true of the behavior of other Christians.  That is what is at the heart of the issue here: personal response.  To be sure, the Christian faith is a group endeavor; Jesus Himself talked about a church and the necessity of a church (Matthew 16:18), so a church is going to be part of it.  But the Christian faith is simultaneously an individual endeavor; it is something the individual picks up regardless of whether or not anyone else picks it up and/or how well anyone else picks it up.

Jesus, again, stressed this at at critical point after His resurrection.  When He  reinstated Peter in John 21, He told Peter that what would be required of John was not Peter’s concern.  Peter’s concern was solely what was required of him.


Not only so, but Paul, in teaching us how to handle “disputable matters”, made this insightful statement:


Both Jesus and Paul agree, then, that what other people do or don’t do, how they respond to God or don’t respond to God, has no bearing on you.  Your response to God shouldn’t be dictated by how others respond to God, whether that be good, bad, or indifferent.  Your response to God can’t be dictated by how others respond to God.  It can only be dictated by the reality of God and His goodness.

Is Gandhi right?  I don’t know.  Seeing as how I know more Christians than he ever did and know them better than he ever did, I don’t think so.  As one who has spent his entire life among Christians, I agree that they can use some work but I also know they are better than most people give them credit for.  Whether or not he is right or wrong, though, doesn’t matter to the God equation, and allowing it into the God equation is a terrible mistake.

The Foundational Question Part 2

There is another way people get tripped up on this foundational question, another way they work the God equation wrongly.  There is a worse way they work this equation wrongly, or, more accurately, a worse way they approach the equation. The guy I mentioned in the previous post simply couldn’t work the equation; he wanted to, but because he didn’t start/didn’t know to start from the foundational truth that God was good, he was unable to.  He got stuck in the middle of the equation somewhere.  He just couldn’t do the math.

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Some others I’ve met, though, won’t do that math.  It’s not that they can’t work the equation but that they refuse to.  It’s not that they get stuck somewhere in the middle but that they get stuck at the end.  They look at the answer (or what they think is the answer, what they think the answer will be), they don’t like it, and they walk away from it.

What I’m talking about here is any kind of statement that beings, “I can’t (won’t, refuse  to, etc.) believe in any god who_____”  Any number of things can go in that blank space.  I’m sure you know that.  I’m sure you’ve heard this before.  I’ve heard it many times before.  Probably the first was in the movie Star Trek 5 which I saw in the theater in my early teen years.

I remember being mildly disturbed by that at the time.  I guess I thought it was pretty sensible, that Dr. McCoy had a pretty strong argument against God.  In the years that followed, I would meet real life people who made similar statements and would be even more disturbed.

I am less disturbed by these statements now (I’m less disturbed by what they might/might not say about the existence of God, anyway; I remain disturbed by what they say about people’s logic and hearts).  I am less disturbed by them because I realize how terribly they are handling the God equation.  There are a few ways this approach mishandles the God equation; it treats the question of God’s existence as a subjective preference rather than an absolute reality, it assumes a morally superiority to God (which is impossible; the created cannot be more moral than the Creator), it is self-defeating (it literally says, “God can’t exist because I don’t like Him,” which is an inherent contradiction), it jumps much further into the equation than it needs to (for more on this idea, see this post).  But, perhaps most fatally, it makes the same mistake my friend from the previous post made: it does not start at the starting point; it does not account for God’s goodness.  To use math terms, it does not “carry” the goodness of God.

And that is what has to happen if we are to work the God equation correctly.  The goodness of God has to be carried into every situation in which God’s actions are being questioned.  To be sure, there are times when God does things which do not seem good to us, times when He seems similar to whatever it was Dr. McCoy and the Enterprise crew encountered in Star Trek 5.  That shouldn’t be as surprising as it is, though.  The actions of superior beings are often confusing to inferior beings.  They often seem not good or even bad to the inferior beings.  Tim Keller has mentioned this a few times on Facebook and Twitter.

I see it in my own home as well.  I do all sorts of things that seem not good or even bad to my grade-school daughter.  And, as we adults all know, the reason those things seem not good or bad to her is that she doesn’t know how to live life like I do, how to pay bills and manage diets and ensure everybody in the house gets enough sleep.  It is an inescapable truth that goodness doesn’t always look like goodness, that what looks bad may in fact not actually be bad (or as bad as it seems).

And that inescapable truth simply has to be incorporated into the God equation.  It has to be taken into account.  To fail to do so is not to be righteous (and Star Trek 5 was without a doubt asserting Dr. McCoy’s righteousness in his opposition to that “god”).  It is not even to be righteously indignant.  It is just bad math.

The Foundational Question

Our congregation had a few visitors this Easter Sunday.  One of these was a single guy.  I noticed him as I was delivering the message.  After services, I came up to say hi.

“I just don’t know where my faith is right now,” he said.

That’s how he responded to me.  I said, “Hi,” and he said, “I just don’t know where my faith is.”  That’s what we pastors call an “opening”.  You might even call it a “softball”.

“I can help you with that,” I responded.

So we met a couple days later at a local Starbucks.  A couple minutes into our conversation, he started telling me about some of the injustices he experienced in his life.  As he did so, he referenced the 1983 movie The Dead Zone, which was based on the Stephen King novel of the same name.  He said there is a part in the movie in which the protagonist (who can see the future) is told that he has a gift only to respond that what he has is a curse.

Now I think I saw The Dead Zone, but I don’t remember that part.  I did manage to find a bit of it in the trailer, and I found the dialogue in the script.


There are no character names for the dialogue here, but you should be able to get the gist of it.

And this guy who visited my congregation was asking this same question.  He could see that the injustices he suffered may have some benefit, but he couldn’t see what that benefit was at the present time, so he was asking, “Has God cursed me or has God blessed me?”  That’s why he didn’t know where his faith was.  He didn’t know that because he didn’t know what God was doing in his life.

I didn’t know what to say to that.  I don’t know what to say about most problems people have, theological or otherwise.  The Spirit helps, though, and I believe the Spirit led me to say this to him:

“That’s not the right question to be asking, though, is it?”

That’s what I said to him after he made this Dead Zone reference.  And it was entirely correct.  The question he was asking was the most pressing question at the moment, but it wasn’t the most pertinent one.

No, the question he was asking was a more advanced question, one which built upon another, more elementary yet more important question.  That is the question of whether or not God is good.  I suppose there is another question beneath that one: the question of whether or not God exists.  But those of us who already believe He exists, who take His existence to be the self-evident truth Paul says it is (Romans 1:20), we can effectively start at this question: is God good and is He doing good to me/for me?

That question is the foundational question.  The answer to that question is the foundation of everything that comes after.  It is impossible to answer these other questions, impossible to interpret life, without first having the answer to this question.  To use a different analogy, this is the part of the equation which must be worked first.  I know very little about math, but I do know that you can’t just start a mathematical equation wherever you want to.  You can’t if you want the correct answer, anyway.  You have to start in the right place, have to start with the right calculations at the beginning to get the right calculation at the end.  Or, to use yet another analogy, if you put the first button of your shirt in the wrong hold, every following button will likewise be in the wrong hole.  Start wrong, and the whole thing goes wrong.

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So it is with the question this man was asking.  He was trying to build several floors high without having the foundation laid first.  He was trying to button his shirt in the middle.  He was doing the equation in the wrong order.  There is an answer to the question of why he has suffered the injustices he has.  I don’t know what that answer is.  It might be something like Joseph’s being sold into slavery (which God used to save a bunch of people) or it might be like Satan’s asking to sift Peter like wheat (just something the enemy does to destroy).  I don’t know.  But I know he’ll never get a satisfactory answer starting where he is starting.  I know he’ll never be able to interpret his life without doing some foundational work.

And this is that foundational work.  Is God good?  You answer that question, and the answers to all the other questions become easier.  Answer that question, and many of the wrong answers to the following questions get eliminated.  Answer that question and you can interpret life (and the universe and everything, as well).

And the answer, by the way, is yes.

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Mountains and Valleys

Life has been a little difficult for me lately.  There have been a lot of good things going on, but there have been a few bad things as well (really, there have not been bad things going on as much as there has been a bad spirit hanging around, a spirit that is likely due to fatigue).

My mentors call difficult periods like this “battles”.  It is a term I really like, one which I think accurately describes the nature of these periods (they are battles, conflicts with whatever force is opposing the will of God I am trying to live out) as well as the possibility of good things following these battles (whenever there is a battle there is the potential for victory, after all).

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A more common term, though, is valley or valleys.  This is the term I’ve been hearing ever since I was a kid.  I remember people in my home church talking about “going through the valley” or “going through valleys”.  That was how they described difficult periods.  That was the analogy they used.  The good times were the “mountaintop experiences” and the tough times were the valleys.

That is a logical description or analogy.  The height difference of mountains and valleys seems to match these times and the feelings they produce; mountains are highs, like the good times, and valleys are lows, like the tough ones.  Not only so, but we also have reference to a particularly-ominous sounding valley in a well-known passage of Scripture.

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So the analogy works to some degree, and I accordingly find myself using it.  Just today, in fact, as I was driving around and thinking about what I’ve been going through, the valley analogy came to me (or out of me, I guess).  “I’m walking through a valley,” I said to myself.  “I wonder how long it will be until I make it to the other side.”

As I thought about that, though, I was reminded about a statement made by a pastor friend of mine more than a decade ago.  This friend (who is now the minister at Ontario Christian Church; so happy for him!) was at my congregation in Crestline, Ohio, doing a revival message for us.  During that message, he said something to the affect of, “We all like to stay on top of the mountain, but the valley is where the food is.”  I’m paraphrasing his statement there, but I believe I have that final phrase right.  “The valley is where the food is.”

This made a lot of sense to me then and still makes sense to it now.  The valley may seem like a “low” to us.  It may be a legitimate low, as well.  But it is also the place where the food is, where we find sustenance and nourishment.  High as the mountaintops are, they don’t have those things.  No wonder, then, that we can’t stay in those places for long.  No wonder that God sends us back down into the valley far more often than we’d like.

To be honest, I don’t know what the application of all this is.  Change our analogies or terms?  Probably not.  Enjoy the valleys?  Avoid the mountaintops?  That’s probably not it, either.  My guess is that it has something to do with appreciating what the valleys have to offer, something to do with trying less to cross them as quickly as possible and more with trying to find a way to make a living in them.  Valleys can be the valley of the shadow of death, but they can also be the place of food and growth.  Maybe they can be both at the same time, and so maybe they aren’t as bad as they seem.  Or should I say, “They are not half-bad”?

Reacting To Jesus

I don’t know when I first learned about Westboro Baptist Church and their protests.  It seems like I have always been aware of them.  What I do know is that I just learned they will be in my area.  According to a local ministers’ group, they are planning on picketing a couple local churches.  Here’s is the flyer they are apparently putting out to notify people of this planned picketing:


The person who made the group aware of Westboro’s presence in our area leads an interfaith group.  Not an interdenominational group (of group of people from different Christian denominations) but an interfaith group (a group of people from different faiths).  He says he is “envisioning a world of interfaith peace”, and he signs his emails with greetings from several faiths (i.e., “Shalom, Peace, Salaam, Om Shanti, Solh, Amani” etc.).

As I read the email about this situation last night, I felt conflicted.  I obviously don’t side with Westboro Baptist.  I don’t want to attack them (I think attacking anyone, no matter how deserving, is wrong), and I probably won’t participate in the counter-protests being organized (I think protesting is lowly, a “weapon of the world” rather than a tool of Christ; 2 Corinthians 10), but I don’t want to be consider of them, on their side.  I don’t want to be considered on the side of the interfaith group either, though.  “Interfaith peace” sounds good on the surface; if by “interfaith peace” or “coexist” you mean not killing or hating people of other faiths, then I’m all for it, but if you mean (as I largely suspect most do) not affirming your own faith or taking it that seriously, then I’m not.  In fact, when I see a list of greetings such as the one this interfaith person signs his emails with, I’m reminded of this scene from The Simpsons:

So I find myself between a rock and a hard place, so to speak.  I find myself pulled between two extremes, both of which are certain they are correct and both of which, I assume, think I’m incorrect in some way.  I know Westboro Baptist thinks I’m incorrect; according to a fellow minister, they picketed my denominations annual gathering in Cincinnati, holding signs that said, “Your pastor is a whore.”  So I don’t have to imagine what their opinion of me is.  I do imagine the interfaith person likewise thinks I am seriously wrong in some way; he might not call me a whore, but he probably calls me “narrow”, “bigoted”, “closed-minded”, etc because I believe that Jesus is who and what He said He was: the only way to the only God.

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And I can live with that, I suppose.  I have been living with it all my life in one way or another.  I’ve always been aware that there are people who find my faith or my way of expressing my faith wrong in one way or another, and I’ve always been told I just have to deal with that.

If I could make a wish, though, or, even better, if I could speak some sanity into the insanity I see coming into my community in the next couple of days, it would be for those people on these extremes to see that I am reacting to Jesus.  The things I do (many of them, anyway, possibly even most of them) I do in reaction to Jesus and the things Jesus taught and the way Jesus laid out.  That, I believe, is the basis of discipleship (as I already showed here).  And that is undeniably what you find in me.  I may not be reacting to Jesus perfectly (I don’t know anyone who does).  I may not be reacting to Jesus as either Westboro or the interfaith group thinks (rightly or wrongly) I should be.  But I am reacting to Jesus.  The decisions I make every day…make that every hour of every day…are influenced by Jesus, by what I think Jesus would want me to do.  Jingoistic though it may be, I truly am a WWJD guy.

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I believe that makes me a disciple.  An imperfect disciple to be sure.  A different kind of disciple or at least different-looking disciple than some others.  But a disciple nonetheless.

I’d like to think the same is true of Westboro.  I’d like to think the same is true of the interfaith group.  I’d like to think the same is true of both these extremes and every other extreme I encounter.  It may not be true of them; I understand that; I know that there are “wolves in sheep’s clothing” among us, “deceitful workman” who are not genuine followers.  But I’d like to think it is.  I’d like to think that most of the followers of Jesus who differ from me in one way or another are WWJD people, influenced by Jesus, reacting to Jesus, true disciples by this measurable definition.

And if we all recognized that about each other, wouldn’t there be more respect?  Wouldn’t there be less protests and counter-protests, less accusations, less suspicions, less attacks?  Wouldn’t there be less extremes?  I think there would be.  I think there should be.