February 24, 2009: "God Told Me..."
Christians ought not to say that God has spoken to them when what they really mean is that they have a strong gut feeling. This common evangelical practice of interpreting an emotional tug as the voice of God is sinful and shameful and must stop.
Case in point: the resignation four weeks ago of Willow Creek's Chicago Campus pastor, Steve Wu. Wu came to WC Chicago in 2006 after being tabbed by WC's Senior Pastor Bill Hybels. As reported in a church press release at the time, "As soon as Hybels met Wu, he said he knew God had spoken." Interim pastor Jeff Small concurred: "There's this huge confirmation in my spirit that not only is he the right guy, he's God's man for the job." Wu himself agreed: "Wu said he felt the tap of the Holy Spirit and knew God was calling him to Chicago."
Now that Wu has resigned because of sexual sin, joining that foul host of disgraced clergymen who have devastated their churches and brought shame on the name of Christ, what are we to make of Hybel's, Small's and Wu's statements just three years ago to the effect that "God had spoken"? Simply this: they were all wrong. God had not spoken. Wu was not God's man for the job. There was no tap of the Holy Spirit.
Years ago a church that I attended hired an associate pastor, and there was plenty of "God-talk" at his installation. God had directed the church to call him, God had moved in his heart to accept the call, God had brought him to the church to accomplish good things. Then he got fired 18 months later. I was never particularly fond of this minister, and for all I know his firing was just - but I recall wondering at the time, "What in the world happened to all those things God assured us of when we hired him?"
Our problem in the evangelical sub-culture is that we have a sinful, scandalous, seldom-acknowledged habit of speaking presumptuously in the name of the Lord. This is an abomination that many sincere believers fall into, in part because they have been trained to think (in unbiblical terms) of "having a relationship with Jesus Christ," and have learned the simple trick of crafting a dialogue in their heads and labeling one of the voices "God." When such people tell us what God has told them, I believe it becomes our duty to remember it, and apply when applicable the test of Deuteronomy 18:21-22: "You may say to yourselves, 'How can we know when a message has not been spoken by the Lord?' If what a prophet proclaims in the name of the Lord does not take place or come true, that is a message the Lord has not spoken. That prophet has spoken presumptuously. Do not be afraid of him." Not only ought we not fear those whose God-talk proves false, we probably should not waste a lot of time listening to them either.
Back in 2003 a sincere fellow pastor wrote some God-talk into my installation vows, and I respectfully insisted that he take it out. I can't remember exactly what the words were - something about knowing that God was going to use me to serve the church. I explained to him that I didn't even know for sure that I would be alive, or that Jesus wouldn't return, 10 minutes from now! Since God hadn't told me that much, how could I dare say confident things about a future he had not seen fit to reveal?
Something very instructive may be learned from the tragic case of pastor and author Gordon MacDonald. In 1984 MacDonald was contacted by an international Christian organization and asked if he would be willing to be a candidate for its presidency. He agreed, and soon both he and his wife Gail were feeling the call of God. Years later he wrote, "The books we read, the conversations we held, the prayers we prayed, the voice of God we heard in our souls - everything pointed to my getting this position. We felt God was saying, 'This is going to happen.'"
Then it didn't happen. MacDonald didn't get the job, and the ground came out from under his feet. He wrote, "At a subterranean level, I told God, 'You've made a perfect fool out of me. You drew me to the finish line and said, 'I'm sorry.' I no longer know your language. You speak a different language than I've been trained to understand.' I was questioning God, something I had never really done. I doubted whether it was possible to hear God speak."
In the aftermath of his meltdown MacDonald cheated on his wife, likewise joining that foul host of disgraced clergymen who have devastated their churches and brought shame on the name of Christ.
Though MacDonald came to doubt whether it was possible to hear God speak, in fact that is something none of us should ever doubt. God does speak. He says things like "Do not commit adultery," and "Be not drunk with wine" and "Rejoice evermore" and "Love the Lord your God." It's all there at our finger-tips in our readily accessible Bibles. As for whether God might also speak to us directly, outside the Bible, well, I don't deny that it is possible. I think it even happened to me once. Just once. But people who think it happens to them all the time, every day, might do well to consider the fact that the Bible records God giving a direct message to the Apostle Paul only four times in his whole life! (Acts 9:4-6; 18:9-10; 22:17-21; and 27:23-26.) Elsewhere Paul speaks humbly, saying for example to Philemon: "Perhaps the reason he [Onesimus] was separated from you for a little while was that you might have him back for good" (Philemon 15). Note the "perhaps" in that sentence - not "God has said" or "God told me" – but very quietly, tentatively, "perhaps". Only God knows for sure.
Many Christians need to learn to start saying "perhaps" when their gut and their training and their evangelical culture are all tempting them to say, "Listen to what God told me."
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
February 17, 2009: "Men Are Jerks!" And Other Valid Complaints And How To Deal With Them
As I fretted last week about what to say in a seminar for single parents, a friend sent me an encouraging note. He said that in the Divorce Recovery class he leads he saw two unlikely women help out a third. The two were dumped by their alcoholic husbands after more than 25 years of marriage. "Of course, they're mad and complain about a lot of things," my friend said. But when a quiet newcomer, also in her 50s - also abandoned by a drunken beast - spoke up, floundering, saying she was not certain what she should do or how she should feel, the two veterans went into action. They comforted her, assuring her that things would get better, that her emotions would stabilize, that the group would be there for her.
My friend noted, "These two 'once-complainers' now saw someone experiencing a pain similar to their own, and suddenly they're jolted out of their self-pity, and began to reach out to another."
I enjoyed hearing that. It prompted me to think that even if what I had to say at the upcoming seminar was not all that compelling or helpful, it would still be worthwhile if it could just serve to bring together people who might help each other.
It also prompted me to consider a prayer request that I think I'll recommend now to people who complain. It's this: "Lord, give me somebody to minister to." That might be better than asking the Lord to resolve whatever problem is causing the complaint. Because even if God removed the source of our trouble, all that would do is bring us back to zero. If the Lord had taken the "thorn" out of St. Paul's side (2 Corinthians 12:7-9), Paul would simply have been thornlessly normal. But his thorny aggravation (about which he complained to the Lord just three times!) became a source of great ministry.
May the Lord do the same for all those thorns of ours that he refuses to take out. If the only thing they're accomplishing now is making us complain, they're not doing their job.
King Lemuel wrote, "Give...wine to those who are in anguish" (Proverbs 31:6). I've got another idea. Give to those who are in anguish other people who are also in anguish. Maybe they'll stop groaning long enough to help out. That would be nice for everybody.
As I fretted last week about what to say in a seminar for single parents, a friend sent me an encouraging note. He said that in the Divorce Recovery class he leads he saw two unlikely women help out a third. The two were dumped by their alcoholic husbands after more than 25 years of marriage. "Of course, they're mad and complain about a lot of things," my friend said. But when a quiet newcomer, also in her 50s - also abandoned by a drunken beast - spoke up, floundering, saying she was not certain what she should do or how she should feel, the two veterans went into action. They comforted her, assuring her that things would get better, that her emotions would stabilize, that the group would be there for her.
My friend noted, "These two 'once-complainers' now saw someone experiencing a pain similar to their own, and suddenly they're jolted out of their self-pity, and began to reach out to another."
I enjoyed hearing that. It prompted me to think that even if what I had to say at the upcoming seminar was not all that compelling or helpful, it would still be worthwhile if it could just serve to bring together people who might help each other.
It also prompted me to consider a prayer request that I think I'll recommend now to people who complain. It's this: "Lord, give me somebody to minister to." That might be better than asking the Lord to resolve whatever problem is causing the complaint. Because even if God removed the source of our trouble, all that would do is bring us back to zero. If the Lord had taken the "thorn" out of St. Paul's side (2 Corinthians 12:7-9), Paul would simply have been thornlessly normal. But his thorny aggravation (about which he complained to the Lord just three times!) became a source of great ministry.
May the Lord do the same for all those thorns of ours that he refuses to take out. If the only thing they're accomplishing now is making us complain, they're not doing their job.
King Lemuel wrote, "Give...wine to those who are in anguish" (Proverbs 31:6). I've got another idea. Give to those who are in anguish other people who are also in anguish. Maybe they'll stop groaning long enough to help out. That would be nice for everybody.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
February 3, 2009: "I Need Somebody To Thank"
The other day I read of a most intriguing ritual practiced by a nonreligious person. A parent wrote, "We are an atheist family, but having grown up with a prayer before each meal, I started to miss the ritual, especially once we had kids. It felt as if there was something missing, and I wanted to commence the meal with something, so now we do 'thankfuls.' Everyone (including children) states something for which they are thankful. This custom is very well received and enjoyed by all types of guests, and seems to satisfy the need to begin a meal giving 'thanks.'"
Remarkable! It seems that even a professing atheist can't stifle the urge to thank somebody. I wonder what will happen in that home when some small child finally asks, "Just who are we thanking here?", because true thankfulness always demands a personal object. When you thank, you are not merely expressing a delight, but honoring someone for having given it to you. "Thanking" is the mirror image of "forgiving" in this regard: when you forgive, you release someone from a grievance; when you thank, you credit someone for a joy.
When the child in the nonreligious home dares to ask who is being thanked, maybe there will be an awkward pause before the parent explains, "Uh, well, no one in particular, dear - but we are still very appreciative of the blessings of Nonentity. It is altogether fitting and proper that we show gratitude to the Nothingness that provided this meal and all other joys."
We have to thank Somebody. It is in our nature, and it will even bubble out of us when we forget to suppress it. Remember what Augustine said about our hearts being "restless" until they find their rest in God? It is also the case that our hearts are grateful, and feel uneasy until they can release heavenward some expression of thanksgiving.
Charles Colson found that out in 1966, seven full years before he became a Christian. In his book Born Again he tells the story of taking his sons out on a sailboat he had just bought. He writes,
As [my son] realized that he was controlling the boat, the most marvelous look came over his cherubic face, the joy of new discovery in his eyes, the thrill of feeling the wind's power in his hands. I found myself in that one unforgettable moment quietly talking to God. I could even recall the precise words: "Thank You, God, for giving me this son, for giving us this one wonderful moment. Just looking now into this boy's eyes fulfills my life. Whatever happens in the future, even if I die tomorrow, my life is complete and full. Thank You." Afterwards, I had been startled when I realized that I had spoken to God, since my mind did not assent to His existence as a Person. It had been a spontaneous expression of gratitude that simply bypassed the mind and took for granted what reason had never shown me.
I know I've had plenty of those Colsonic moments of gratitude, and suppose everyone gets them. Don't you? So, so many times as a young man, enjoying the company of my wife, I said in my heart, "Oh thank you God." Or now, when the house is cold and I'm exhausted and I slip under the cover a thick sleeping-bag and know that slumber is moments away, I say, "Thank you God for this warm bed." (What a delight is simple sleep!). Or a big pile of chocolate cake and ice cream. "Mmmm. Thanks, God."
I feel sorry for appreciative atheists, because it seems to me that they are like an athlete with no sport to play, a reader with no books, a lover with no partner. When I want to give thanks, I know exactly where to send it: I thank the Creator of all things, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the Father of Jesus Christ, the Giver of the Holy Spirit, the One for whom, through whom and to whom are all things, blessed be he forever.
I hope the thankful atheist family keep up their habit of saying ironic grace before every meal. Someday, to their shock and joy, they may come to believe that all along there had been Someone listening to their thanks, and responding, "Oh, you're welcome."
The other day I read of a most intriguing ritual practiced by a nonreligious person. A parent wrote, "We are an atheist family, but having grown up with a prayer before each meal, I started to miss the ritual, especially once we had kids. It felt as if there was something missing, and I wanted to commence the meal with something, so now we do 'thankfuls.' Everyone (including children) states something for which they are thankful. This custom is very well received and enjoyed by all types of guests, and seems to satisfy the need to begin a meal giving 'thanks.'"
Remarkable! It seems that even a professing atheist can't stifle the urge to thank somebody. I wonder what will happen in that home when some small child finally asks, "Just who are we thanking here?", because true thankfulness always demands a personal object. When you thank, you are not merely expressing a delight, but honoring someone for having given it to you. "Thanking" is the mirror image of "forgiving" in this regard: when you forgive, you release someone from a grievance; when you thank, you credit someone for a joy.
When the child in the nonreligious home dares to ask who is being thanked, maybe there will be an awkward pause before the parent explains, "Uh, well, no one in particular, dear - but we are still very appreciative of the blessings of Nonentity. It is altogether fitting and proper that we show gratitude to the Nothingness that provided this meal and all other joys."
We have to thank Somebody. It is in our nature, and it will even bubble out of us when we forget to suppress it. Remember what Augustine said about our hearts being "restless" until they find their rest in God? It is also the case that our hearts are grateful, and feel uneasy until they can release heavenward some expression of thanksgiving.
Charles Colson found that out in 1966, seven full years before he became a Christian. In his book Born Again he tells the story of taking his sons out on a sailboat he had just bought. He writes,
As [my son] realized that he was controlling the boat, the most marvelous look came over his cherubic face, the joy of new discovery in his eyes, the thrill of feeling the wind's power in his hands. I found myself in that one unforgettable moment quietly talking to God. I could even recall the precise words: "Thank You, God, for giving me this son, for giving us this one wonderful moment. Just looking now into this boy's eyes fulfills my life. Whatever happens in the future, even if I die tomorrow, my life is complete and full. Thank You." Afterwards, I had been startled when I realized that I had spoken to God, since my mind did not assent to His existence as a Person. It had been a spontaneous expression of gratitude that simply bypassed the mind and took for granted what reason had never shown me.
I know I've had plenty of those Colsonic moments of gratitude, and suppose everyone gets them. Don't you? So, so many times as a young man, enjoying the company of my wife, I said in my heart, "Oh thank you God." Or now, when the house is cold and I'm exhausted and I slip under the cover a thick sleeping-bag and know that slumber is moments away, I say, "Thank you God for this warm bed." (What a delight is simple sleep!). Or a big pile of chocolate cake and ice cream. "Mmmm. Thanks, God."
I feel sorry for appreciative atheists, because it seems to me that they are like an athlete with no sport to play, a reader with no books, a lover with no partner. When I want to give thanks, I know exactly where to send it: I thank the Creator of all things, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the Father of Jesus Christ, the Giver of the Holy Spirit, the One for whom, through whom and to whom are all things, blessed be he forever.
I hope the thankful atheist family keep up their habit of saying ironic grace before every meal. Someday, to their shock and joy, they may come to believe that all along there had been Someone listening to their thanks, and responding, "Oh, you're welcome."
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