Corrupt Evangelists? Maybe They Don’t Believe In God (May 21, 2006)

“I think they’re atheists.”

That was my mother’s succinct appraisal of televangelists Jim Bakker and Jimmy Swaggert in light of their disgraceful behavior that became known in the late 1980s. Bakker and Swaggert funded lavish and decadent lifestyles by swindling pious people out of their money. And they were moral deviates: Swaggert hired prostitutes; Bakker slept with a secretary and then paid her a six-figure sum of hush money. (She didn’t hush.)

Of all the analyses of Bakker’s and Swaggert’s corruption (to which we can add that of Benny Hinn, Reverend Jesse Jackson, and all the pedophile priests), my mother’s brutal observation made the most sense to me. When she discerned that these men were atheists, she was not insulting them with a carelessly derogatory label. She was not saying, “Atheists are bad, so anybody who does something bad must also be an atheist.” She knew, and I have known, quite a few atheists who were kind and genteel and restrained and respectful.

What she was saying was that no man who actually believed in God could possibly do what Bakker and Swaggert did. The distance between their verbal profession of faith and their physical transgression of deed was too great a span for reason to tread. Look at it this way: If a man says, “I am a pacifist - I hate all use of violent force,” we could still understand it and grant him a pass if, when mugged, he kicks and struggles and swings away in the passion of self defense. But if while claiming to be a pacifist he trains with Michigan militia groups, and hordes automatic weapons in a basement whose walls are adorned with posters of Paul Wolfowitz that hang over stacks of “Soldier of Fortune” magazines, then we’d be fully justified in saying, “I don’t think you’re a pacifist at all.” If he responded, “Yes I am! Though, I must admit, there may be a little inconsistency between my belief and my practice,” we might say, “A little?”

1 John 3:3 says, “Everyone who has this hope in him purifies himself,even as he [Christ] is pure.” In context, “this hope” refers to the expectation of seeing Jesus in the afterlife and being like him. That contemplation is a purifying one because it both scares us away from sin and attracts us to the delight of everlasting fellowship with Christ. But when a man loses (or has not) the faith that he will see
Christ or answer to God, it should not surprise us at all to find him defrauding widows and mating with whores. Why not? What is there to stop him - conscience? Most men have little trouble overpowering that shabby little resister when there is no fear of God to give it substance.

Acting Holy When You Don’t Feel Like It (May 14, 2006)

"If you act normal, they'll never know!"

My mother discovered this secret early in life, and passed it along to her children as a coping mechanism for the eccentric. Mom wasn't crazy, but she was unique - Christopher Walken on a good day - and she knew that wearing weirdness on your sleeve was not always the best way to make comfortable the people around you. So, like a foreigner keeping quiet to mask an accent, Mom conscientiously did what she could to blend in.

It did not always work. For some reason she thought it was funny to pretend to be dumb as box of socks, and more than once we said to her, "Uh, Mom, I don't think anybody knows you're kidding." Her deadpan delivery was a little too disciplined at times - as though she felt a wink might spoil the joke.

But mostly she blended in, and I appreciate that. Surely it was an effort at times. But why shouldn't it have been? I have come to believe that resisting some natural currents in our personality is part of what it means to be human, and much of what it means to be holy. Those who simply give in to every impulse and instinct are rude
and dangerous and crazy. They are like animals, and no fun to be around.

Mom's dictum, "If you act normal, they'll never know [that you're nuts]" has a natural analogue in, "If you act holy, they'll never know [that you're evil]." I do not advocate hypocrisy - wearing a façade of holiness while you bury murder victims in your basement - but I do urge the discipline of doing what is right even when your nature rebels against it.

That is when holiness counts most, I think. Holiness is most pure precisely when it is an act - a conscious decision, a violation of our nature, a self-thwarting of preference. You don't have to command me to enjoy General Tso's chicken - I can't do otherwise! But you do have to command me to be kind and pure and diligent. For those virtues I have no choice but to "get into character" like a stage actor who has struggled to learn his lines.

It is not wrong for weirdos to observe normal people and try to imitate them as best they can. Nor is it wrong (far from it!) for sinners to observe Christ and try hard as they can to be like him.

Loneliness Stinks (May 7, 2006)

Some years ago I was asked to fill out a survey that was part of somebody's research project on loneliness. I had no idea how to answer most of the questions, because they seemed to assume that loneliness was a thing we all experienced occasionally. (E.g. "When I feel lonely, I am more likely to (A) eat food, (B) phone a friend.") How do you answer that when you have never been lonely?

A friend of mine once said, "Being alone does not mean you are lonely" - and that pretty much said it for me. I never regarded solitude as a burden, and often sought it deliberately.

But I am older now, and things change, and once-welcomed solitary interludes have become dreaded spells of inactive longing. Only now do I understand from the inside something C. S. Lewis wrote about in A Grief Observed. After his wife died he said that he wanted people to be around him but not especially paying attention to him. "Just let me be here while you go about your business." Lewis had been a bachelor until well into his 50s, and had always treasured his solitude and made magnificent use of it, until it was thrust unbidden upon him. Then it was hard, and he needed the comfort of company.

Today as I write this I have a sense of settled joy because both my sons are home and sleeping in their beds. They are not doing anything at all, except maybe snoring, but it is good just that they are there. Peter should be in school; when I got him up this morning he said he didn't feel well and wanted to stay home. He's not sick. Normally I'd kick him out the door and tell him to get his lazy butt to school - but this time I relented and called in for him. He's exhausted today because he stayed up all night talking to his older brother who I picked up from college yesterday for spring break. Fair enough. Just for today, stay. Sleep it off and we'll do something together this afternoon.

On the ride home from college Ben mentioned that he sometimes found it hard to have meaningful conversations with people who had never experienced trouble. (And he is only 18 - little does he know how much more trouble awaits him!) I know what he means. It is so hard, probably impossible, for a sheltered person to gain the kind of depth that makes him a worthy partner for discussion. In reflecting on this I realized that, in years past, if someone had told me about his or her loneliness I suppose I could have slammed the discussion shut with "I actually like to be alone." While true, that would have been neither empathetic nor helpful.

But I can do better than that now, I think. Having felt for the first time the scars of loneliness I cannot jest at their wounds. It is good to be around people. And it is not good - as God said after making Adam, and as I can affirm from experience - it is not good to be alone.

The Spiritual Tortoise And The Zealot Hare (April 30, 2006)

"Fab Freddy" was the top physics student at the University of Illinois in the early 1980s. I never met him and don't even know his last name, but I have invoked his example many times when lecturing my sons. I heard about Fab Freddy from my friend Bill, who was a physics student at the same time. Bill was one of the finest mathematical minds ever to graduate from my high school, but in college he was no match for Fab Freddy. No one was. Fab Freddy aced every exam without bothering to study.

A few years later, as Bill was getting his Phd, I asked him about Fab Freddy and was shocked to hear that the genius had flunked out of the Physics Phd program! How was that possible? Bill explained that Freddy was so gifted that as an undergraduate he never had to work hard, and he assumed that he could carry that same breezy confidence into graduate school. But the Phd program was so demanding that even an Einstein would have to study. Fab Freddy never made the adjustment, and students he formerly ran circles around sped by him.

Fable became fact as Bill the Tortoise got his doctorate and went on to Fermilab, and Freddy the Hare never even crossed the finish line of an advanced degree (as far as I know.)

It is possible that in real life Freddy got things turned around and now chairs the Physics Department at MIT. But I'll take as a morality tale the slice of the story as I know it: Fab Freddy's great beginning and tremendous talent could not guarantee success, because they were not supported by the virtues of discipline and perseverance.

I tell this story to my sons mainly as an academic lesson, but I also apply it to spiritual life. Secure endings matter more than spectacular beginnings. I have seen the flash of white-hot zeal from an "on-fire" Christian burn out like a match, and have now come to prefer the type of believer who resembles a consistent, slow-burning
coal that lasts through the night.

Steady progress in the faith is possible if you simply maintain a consistent pace. Shun the overconfidence that assures you that you can manage ok without ordinary disciplines. Remember Fab Freddy. Pray daily, read the Scriptures, go to church, partake of the Lord's Supper and repent of known sin. Do this until you are so old that your mind cannot connect thoughts, your eyes cannot discern print, your legs cannot bring you to church, your throat cannot swallow and your will cannot rebel. Then you will cross the finish line in the time your Lord has ordained, and receive the reward that he will delight to give you. Slow and steady will win the race.

Therapists Or Friends? (April 23, 2006)

One of my favorite pieces of folk wisdom comes from Crocodile Dundee. When the Outback croc-killer's love interest tells him that a friend has sought help from a psychiatrist, he says, "I didn't know she was nuts."

"Of course she's not nuts!" she responds. "People go to a psychiatrist to talk about their problems. She just needed to unload them - you know, bring them out in the open."

Then he asks, "Hasn't she got any mates?"

That is a good question. Maybe this woman should talk to her mates (friends) - unless, horror of horrors, she just hasn't got any. Is it that she is unwilling to talk to them about painful things? Are they unwilling to listen? Are they too cruel to sympathize, or too foolish to say something helpful?

I sometimes wonder what in the world people did with their problems before wise counsel became institutionalized in the therapeutic professions. Did "people issues" remain unresolved for millennia until psychiatry came to the rescue in the mid-20th century? I doubt it. I bet people used to talk to friends more often. Nowadays, those friends are quick to say, "Get professional help." Friends have been intimidated into thinking that they are too dumb to speak wisely, and they have been tempted into delegating the responsibility to listen to those who get paid for it.

Dundee's girlfriend answered him, "You're right. I guess we could all use more mates. I suppose you don't have any shrinks at Walkabout Creek?"

"No, back there if you've got a problem you tell Wally. Then he tells everyone in town, brings it out in the open. No more problem."
Very good, very good. Wally's method is brilliant. Not all gossip is malicious - sometimes it is the kindest therapy, since the weight of a problem dissipates when it is carried on the shoulders of many. Counselors (and pastors) are bound by rules of confidentiality, which can greatly limit their effectiveness. But a chatty friend like Wally might be the best thing that ever happened to your problem. If you're
just plain nuts, then by all means go to a psychiatrist and get some Risperdal or Depakote or Zoloft to set your brain chemicals aright. But if you have ordinary troubles, I recommend finding a Wally who will cheerfully relay your "issues" to a community of caring friends. Certainly they will listen, and probably they can help.

Serve Where You Are Competent (April 9, 2006)

Have you ever been asked to serve in an area you stunk at?

I have. When I was in seminary the associate pastor of my church had the bright idea of organizing a day of sport games in the park for kids. Then he made the mistake of putting me and two other seminary interns in charge of it.

The other interns were great guys, but neither had kids of their own and neither had a clue about how to work with them. And none of us knew anything, anything at all, about putting together a day of fun and games in the park. That would have been o.k. if, despite our inexperience, at least one of us had good instincts for that work. None of us did, and the thing flopped. The kids wound up scattering around the park, and I think more than a few just wanted to go home.

That incident has become a life template experience for me: it instructs me in the danger of hammering round people into square holes. Round people don't fit in square holes. When you stuff them in there they get annoyed and even the holes get frustrated. When King Saul sought to cover David with body armor for his fight with Goliath, the young man wisely demurred. "I just need my sling," he said (or something like that). He knew what fit him and what did not.

After Melissa talked about her mission work in Taiwan on Sunday, it struck me how well-suited she was to the job of running a VBS, making friendly contacts and conducting home Bible studies. The joy of a good fit shone from her face. On the other hand, when a married father of two told me he might go to Mexico for a short-term mission trip, I raised a red flag. "You speak no Spanish," I said, "and your duties will consist of...handing out tracts while an evangelistic troupe does street drama? Why exactly do they need you for this?" This man has a professional skill that I'm sure could be put to use somewhere. But from what he told me, the Mexico trip would demand nothing more of him than what a child could perform. My fear is that, unless he is given opportunity to exploit his skills, he might wind up as frustrated as those emergency personnel who went to areas devastated by Hurricane Katrina and were given the job of handing out fliers.

But I could be wrong. One of the things I wish I were better at is being right more often.

May God enable you to serve him in the things you're good at, sidestep the things you stink at, and perform just enough of those "jobs that anyone can do" (Jesus washed feet!) to keep you humble without causing you to think, "You know, maybe my service time could be better spent somewhere else."

The Poor Are Welcome Wherever We Worship (April 2, 2006)

Church must be free.

The English word "free" is ambiguous. I do not mean that the church must be liberated - I mean it should not cost anything. Gratis is the word in Spanish. Church must be gratis. Not so that anyone should be relieved of his duty to tithe and give generously, but so that the poorest of the poor will always be welcome to anything that the church, as church, does.

I can trace two sources of my conviction. One is my mother, who grew up in Chicago in the Depression as the daughter of a mostly unemployed alcoholic. She told me how pleased she was as a teenager to go to Moody Church and see at the entrance a plaque that read, "Ever welcome to this house of God are the stranger and the poor." She was welcome! You did not need a penny in your pocket to walk through the great wooden doors of Moody Church.

But you do need some pennies now, hundreds of them, to go to Moody's "Friday Night Sing." Before Mom passed away in 2001, she told me that she felt Moody betrayed its long-standing commitment to the poor when it started selling tickets to things that took place in the sanctuary.

The other source of my conviction is 1st Corinthians 11. The Apostle Paul was outraged at the way the Corinthian church was abusing Holy Communion. "It is not the Lord's Supper you eat," he said (v. 20). At issue was the fact that the rich had made it their private party - some were even getting drunk while the poor were shut out with nothing (vs. 21-22). Paul insisted that they reform their practice and celebrate the Supper worthily by doing it together and waiting for one another (v.33).

I don't think today that we violate the principle of egalitarian worship at the Lord's Supper. But we do violate it elsewhere. I believe the spirit of 1 Corinthians 11 is violated whenever we set up structures whereby poor Christians are denied worship opportunities that the rich can participate in.

That is why I will never authorize the selling of tickets to a church-sanctuary event. (We will either fund it some other way or we won't do it.) That is why, at my former church, when some wanted to assemble a group to attend a mega-church Christmas pageant replete with real donkeys ($5 tickets, $15 for good seats), I let others announce and organize it, but did not participate myself. That is why,
whenever Chuck Swindoll or David Jeremiah or Tony Evans announce another ocean cruise that features their Bible teaching, I turn off the radio or switch to the Catholic station. Cruises are fine. Jesus cruises are not. The poor can't participate.

Please understand, I have no problem with the rich being able to afford things that poor people can't. That is life. I favor right-wing capitalism, am at peace with the fact that the rich can get better health care and education, and believe that compulsory redistribution of wealth is a great evil. But in the church all worldly economic advantages and privileges have no place. As a pastor I guard against even their most subtle intrusions. As spiritual groundskeeper I try to keep things as level as I can at the foot of the cross.