What Never To Say To A Divorced Person

"We do not judge you."

I heard three pastors of the same megachurch say this to their group over the course of a few weeks in the spring of 2009. They were addressing divorcees. "If you are divorced, we want you to know this: we do not judge you." No doubt many divorced persons heard these words with gratitude. Having felt condemned elsewhere, they were assured that here they would be received with grace. The refusal to judge seemed intentional and premeditated. Since three pastors said it over a short time, I assumed that the senior pastor must have given the order at a staff meeting: "Get this message out: we do not judge divorced people."

Who could have a problem with that?

Me. I have a problem with it. It is wrong on two levels.

First, the overt pledge not to judge divorced persons fails to understand just how victimized some divorcees have been. To say to them, "I do not judge you" is like saying, "I forgive you" to someone who hasn't done anything wrong.

To illustrate: suppose a good woman has been beaten senseless by her evil husband. She is in the hospital in intensive care - concussed, straining to breathe because of broken ribs, struggling to talk through missing teeth and swollen lips. What would you think of someone who went up to her, touched her hand and said sweetly, "Megan, listen to me. I just want you to know that I do not judge you."

What? You don't judge her? Oh, good for you! How can the idea of judging such a person register enough plausibility that the temptation to it must be nobly dismissed,and the victim assured that she will not be looked down upon? Good heavens, of course you don't judge her! You don't even think of it, much less mention it. The thought of judging her is so offensive that its conscious rejection is troubling rather than reassuring. If you say to someone who has been gang-raped, "I don't judge you," you deserve a contemptuous glare and a "Go away!" rather than a "Oh, thank you so very much."

I am not equating divorce with torture and rape. I am simply pointing out that no victim of any kind is comforted by the assurance that his condition will not call forth judgment. Of course it won't. It is inappropriate to bring it up.

Three true stories, names changed:

Ann loved her husband Bill and raised three children with him over 25 years. A few months after her mother died and their 20-year-old son was murdered, Bill abruptly informed Ann that he had been having an affair for years and he was going to divorce her. Meanwhile he had run his business into the ground and their house teetered on foreclosure. Ann attended the trial of her son's killer alone. Newly impoverished, she scrambled to find work as a daycare assistant and janitor. An old high school friend, now drug-addicted, let her move in so she could have a place to stay.

Carl and Diane were married for 20 years and had two teenage boys. Half way into their marriage Diane got two Masters degrees. She "went college gay" (her own words, later), and secretly cheated on Carl with lesbian friends while treating him with contempt and neglect. Without warning she sprang divorce papers on him. Carl is a religious man who does not believe in divorce, but to his shock he suddenly found himself a penniless single dad divorced against his will.

After 30 years of marriage, Edward left his faithful wife Felicia for a stripper half his age whom he had impregnated. Felicia was left with the two teenage boys they had adopted as toddlers and who manifest profound behavior disorders. The divorce left her financially strapped. Felicia despairs, and struggles to make it through the day.

It is not right to say to Ann, Carl or Felicia, "We do not judge you." That is something you might say to a person who merits judgment but to whom you have decided to extend grace. It is what Jesus is reported to have said to a woman caught in adultery in John 8:11 ("Neither do I condemn you; go and sin no more."). But it is not at all what the Good Samaritan would have said to the beaten-and-bruised crime victim he found by the side of the road (Luke 10:30-35). Do not say to victims, "I don't judge you." Instead, bear their burdens and bind their wounds.

I said that telling divorced people you won't judge them is wrong on two levels. The second level is the flip side of the first. Suppose that one of the scoundrels above - Bill, Diane or Edward - walks into your church with their current partner. In their wake they have left abandoned spouses and neglected children and ruined lives that you know nothing about. They feel no guilt. Their charred consciences are insensitive to self-accusation. They have worshiped so long at the temple of self-indulgence that nothing will hinder their narcissism from wreaking future havoc.

Would you really say to such people, "We don't judge you"? What music to their ears that would be! These scum-mongers have never judged themselves, but they sure have gotten sick and tired of moralistic prudes looking down on them and disapproving of their behavior. When you tell them they won't be judged, they think, "Finally! It's about time! It's been hard to find a group that will let me go around destroying people without making me feel all guilty about it." Their cold-hearted, reptilian drive to exploit and discard others will meet no resistance in your preemptive, ill-conceived determination not to judge them.

No two divorces are alike, and no two divorcees are alike. Some cry out for judgment, rebuke, repentance, and demands for restitution. Others call for charity, compassion, and comfort. Till you know more, say nothing about judgment.

When God Just Seems To Be Messing With You

In John 11 Jesus is presented with two conflicting requests, and he cannot grant them both. Sisters Mary and Martha send word to him that their brother Lazarus is sick. They want Jesus to come right away and heal him. But Jesus' disciples want him to stay away, because there are some people in that area who want to kill him. So will Jesus race to Bethany and honor the sisters' request, or will he stay put and honor the disciples'?

He does neither! It is almost like he is deliberately being a jerk to everybody. First he delays, frustrating the sisters - and then he goes, mystifying the disciples so badly that poor Thomas says, maybe in resignation, "Let us also go, that we may die with him" (v. 16). Granted that Jesus could not say yes to both parties, couldn't he at least say yes to somebody?

When he gets to Bethany, it's too late. Lazarus has been dead four days. Martha gives Jesus a thinly-veiled rebuke: "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died" (v. 21). A few minutes later Mary comes out and says the exact same thing (v. 32). It is significant that Lazarus is four days dead. Jesus had done a couple resurrections before - the son of the widow of Nain (Luke 7:11-15) and Jairus' daughter (Mark 5:35-42) - but those two were freshly dead. They had not even been buried yet. Jairus' daughter may only have been in a deep coma, depending on how you interpret Jesus' words, "The child is not dead but sleeping" (Mark 5:39). But Lazarus is utterly, verifiably, stinking dead. When Jesus wants the stone cover on his tomb taken off, Martha warns him not to do that because the stench of Lazarus' rotting flesh will be really bad (John 11:39).

So it's too late for Lazarus, and Jesus has made a pointless trip endangering both himself and his disciples. I imagine some of them staring at their sandals and wondering, "How much longer do I follow this guy? He seems to have lost his touch."

Only then, when everybody is sad, ticked-off and frustrated, does Jesus demonstrate that he knows what he has been doing all along. He resurrects Lazarus and restores him to his sisters. He shows that he has power over death, because Lazarus' case is definitely a resurrection (dead four days!) and not, as some might suspect in previous cases, a mere resuscitation. Jesus' bewildering delay turns out to be a deliberate act of mercy to set the faith of his followers on firmer ground. He said no that he might say a greater yes.

Many years ago an administrator with Wycliffe Bible Translators asked a group of us trainees to consider what kinds of circumstances on the mission field might test our faith. I responded that I did not understand the question. I think I quoted a couple lines of the Apostles' Creed, "I believe in God the Father Almighty, maker of heaven and earth, and in Jesus Christ, his only begotten Son, our Lord," and said, perhaps naively (but sincerely), that I could not imagine any circumstances that would upend that faith.

He answered, "Maybe your faith in God won't be tested, but what might be tested is your faith that he knows what he's doing." That answer made sense to me. Christians who are in dark and bewildering circumstances and who aren't getting their prayers answered won't necessarily convert to atheism, but they might get discouraged. They might worry or despair to such a degree that it might not seem to them like God is paying much attention, or that he has their best interests at heart, or that in all things he is working for the good of those who love him and are called according to his purpose.

I know a Christian manual laborer whose knee began bothering him some months ago. He prayed for healing, went to an orthopedist, got an x-ray and MRI and treatment - and the knee is still bad. Now the other knee is going too. He said, "I used to think I'd look back on the summer of 2013 as the time when my knee hurt. Now I think I'll look back on 2013 as the year that both my knees started hurting!" In terms of the "God-is-messing with-you" theme, his thought might be expressed, "Lord, I just asked you to heal the right knee. I didn't ask you to afflict the left one too!"

What I'd say to him is the same thing I say to all Christians who face the minor irritation (or crippling sorrow) of unanswered prayers. Be patient. Trust God. He knows what he is doing. Some day, whether in this life or the next, you will know by sight what you now must take by faith. In the meantime, all you have to worry about is obedience. If you submit to what you know to be the will of God, then you can rejoice when he says yes to your prayers, and you can rejoice even more when he says no, because that can only mean that what he has in store for you is better than what you thought you wanted.

How To Understand The Six Days Of Creation

Two friends recently asked me what I thought about the six creation days of Genesis 1, and it seemed good to write out a response.

The analysis of creation days in Genesis 1 that I find most persuasive is the one that claims that they are meant to be understood as a thematic rather than a chronological arrangement. It works like this: on days one, two and three God creates

1. Light
2. Sky that separates water above (rain) from water below (seas).
3. Land with vegetation.

But the light, sky and land of the first three days are "empty" or "unstructured". See verse 2: the earth was "without form and void", or "formless and empty". It was like a house that has no furniture, appliances, utensils, electricity, plumbing or people - a house but not a home.

The point is that God did not make a fully functioning world all at once. He did it in stages. First he established the superstructure, and then he filled it up and made it work. Notice how creation on the fourth, fifth and sixth days parallels the first, second and third:

4. Sun, moon, and stars
5. Fish and birds
6. Land animals

On the first day there was light, but now on the fourth day that light is fashioned into sun, moon and stars - lights that mean something to us and that we can use to mark days and seasons, and from which we can get our sense of direction. It is no longer "light" in the abstract but structured light that gives us a sense of time and place. On the second day God creates sky that separates clouds above from seas below - but it is an empty sky and a barren sea. Now on the fifth day God fills the sky with birds and the sea with fish. On the third day God creates dry land, but there are no animals on it. There is vegetation but no gardens; there is nothing to eat the vegetation or make any use of it. But on the sixth day God fills the dry land with land animals, and then finally makes man to govern all of it. Now at last the "formless and void" world has structure and meaning. The light has sun and moon, the sky has birds, the sea has fish, and the land has animals governed by man.

Understanding the material as thematically rather than chronologically arranged neatly solves a problem in verse 16. How in the world can you have "evening and morning, the first day" (and second, and third) if the sun does not even get created until the fourth day? I deny that a strict chronological interpretation can adequately comprehend that sequence. But if instead we are talking about themes presented under the organizing structure of two sets of three parallel days, then it makes perfect sense. The sun fills and completes "light" just as birds fill and complete the sky, just as fish fill and complete the sea, and just as animals fill and complete land. The author is not telling you when or how these things were created but what function they fulfill in God's creation.

This understanding also provides a ready explanation for why birds and fish were created "before" land animals. Why not some other order? Why not fish on day five and birds and land animals on day six? Or why not land animals and fish on day five and birds on day six? The reason is very simple. Birds and fish on day five have to match up with sea and sky on day two, and land animals on day six have to match up with land on day three. Again, the organizing principle is not chronological order but theme.

One of the things that the Genesis creation account is doing is decisively rejecting the creation stories of all other ancient cultures and religions. In those stories, gods created the world out of existing materials. But in Genesis, God not only fashions a functioning, living world - he even makes the raw materials for it in the first place. That is, he does not fill up a pre-existing structure, he makes the structure itself from nothing by the mere power of his Word. As a teacher of mine liked to say, "God speaks, and worlds leap into being."

St. Paul Confronts Stockholm Syndrome

In the counterterrorism training I received with Wycliffe Bible Translators we were told to be aware of Stockholm Syndrome in case we were ever held hostage. Stockholm Syndrome refers to the unaccountably warm feelings some people have for those who mistreat them from a position of strong control. The phrase comes from a bank robbery in Sweden in 1973 where criminals held hostages for six days. Incredibly, the victims showed signs of emotional attachment to their captors and even defended them afterwards. In America, Patty Hearst is regarded as the poster child for Stockholm Syndrome. She was kidnapped by the Symbionese Liberation Army in 1974 and became so attuned to her captors' ideals that, armed with a rifle, she helped them rob a bank.

In our training we were not told, "Look, Stockholm Syndrome is weird, and if you ever start feeling warm fuzzies toward your captors, just stop it." Rather, we were told that victims can turn this tendency into a useful resource. If you get along with the thugs who kidnapped you and even sympathize with them, your ordeal will be more tolerable and they will be less likely to kill you. The important thing is to be aware of your own mindset, and keep tabs on your psychological state. Don't let sympathetic feelings blind you to the fact that your kidnappers have done a bad thing. Don't excuse them or become like them.

Stockholm Syndrome is not limited to hostage situations. Elements of it can be seen in battered wives who remain devoted to their husbands and in college students who bond with upperclassmen despite merciless hazing. It's in churches too. It seems to me that some pastors have managed to Stockholm-Syndrome their pliant congregations, prompting outsiders to ask, "Why do they put up with that abuse?"

I think that the Apostle Paul confronted Stockholm Syndrome in the church he planted at Corinth. It drove him nuts. He could not understand why Corinthian Christians disregarded him while favoring leaders who exploited and abused them. How could they prefer such treatment to the care and respect he showed them? He vented his frustration in 2 Corinthians 11 and 12. An excerpt:

You put up with it when someone enslaves you, takes everything you have, takes advantage of you, takes control of everything, and slaps you in the face. I’m ashamed to say that we’ve been too 'weak' to do that!...How did I show you any less favor than to other churches - except that in your case, I never became a financial burden to you? Forgive me for this wrong!...Did I take advantage of you through any of those whom I sent to you? I urged Titus to go, and sent the brother with him. Did Titus take advantage of you? Did we not act in the same spirit? Did we not take the same steps? (2 Corinthians 11:20-21; 12:13,17-18)

You can hear exasperation in his words. "What's the matter with you, Corinth? I was good to you. Why do you dismiss me but submit to egomaniacs who stomp on you?"

No one knows how the Corinthians responded to that letter. I like to think that his plea woke up some of them and made them say, "You know, Paul has a point. He never exploited us. He cared more about us than he did about himself. Maybe we have been brainwashed a little. Maybe we should take a second look at these strong-willed teachers who trash Paul and line their pockets at our expense."

An awareness of Stockholm Syndrome has tempered my anger when, like my apostolic namesake, I have seethed over the injustice of some harsh or self-centered individual being preferred to me. (Am I delusional to maintain that I'm the one who has been kind and helpful?). But if I am treated with less affection than someone who has behaved badly, I'm certainly not alone. A beleaguered pastor friend once asked me, "Paul, why in the world are they doing this to me?" A conscientious parent broke down in tears of anger and anguish upon realizing that a child preferred the estranged and neglectful spouse. Forest Gump - if you will permit a fictional example - could only look on broken-hearted and bewildered as Jennie, for whom he would have given the world, got back on the bus and went home with the guy who hit her. Maybe Swedish cops who risked their lives to rescue hostages at the Stockholm bank saw them flee into the arms of their kidnappers. It happens. Don't take it personally.

Strange as Stockholm Syndrome might seem, I think there is a good reason why it forms part of the psychological makeup of some people. It is actually a gracious gift of God that can help us obey some difficult commandments. Jesus said, "Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you" (Luke 6:27-28). He said if someone "sins against you seven times in a day, and turns to you seven times, saying, 'I repent,' you must forgive him" (Luke 17:4). St. Peter said, "Servants, be subject to your masters with all respect, not only to the good and gentle but also to the unjust" (1 Peter 2:18). How can anyone be that kind, that loving, that forgiving, that deferential? It's almost impossible. You need God's grace, and God's grace usually operates through means. As a Civil War soldier needed plenty of whiskey before a surgeon could cut off his gangrenous leg, so we may need a good hard dose of Stockholm Syndrome before we can be good to people who have been bad. Let us not be surprised if sometimes we do not get the dosage exactly right.

Do not fret if you find masochistic traces of Stockholm Syndrome within yourself. Give thanks, and let that tendency do its work in helping you to forgive the unforgivable, love the unlovable, and do good to those who do little good themselves. Just beware that, in your charity toward evildoers, you do no injustice to people who have actually been good to you.

And if you are ever on the bitter receiving end of someone else's Stockholm Syndrome that has run amok - like St. Paul, or Forest Gump, or a Swedish SWAT team - be patient and rational, and try to sympathize even though it galls you. At the right time you may be able to vent your feelings like Paul did to the Corinthians, and you may be heard, and heeded, by those who are at last ready to listen to reason. Even Patty Hearst eventually came around.

How To Honor Bernard of Clairvaux

A Catholic woman at work mentioned to me that she was looking forward to "Weekend at Bernie's", a festival that her church was putting on. They would have food and drink and live bands and activities for the kids.

"Weekend at Bernie's?" I asked. I knew that was the title of a comedy from the late 80's about two guys who prop up a dead man at a party so that everyone will think he's alive. Hilarity ensues. It did not strike me as a felicitous allusion for a church to want to appropriate! But she explained that her church was named St. Bernard's. I asked if that was in honor of Bernard of Clairvaux, and she said yes.

Bernard of Clairvaux was a 12th century abbot that even Protestants like. Luther and Calvin spoke highly of him, ranking him with Augustine and Pope Gregory the Great. He is the only medieval poet I can think of offhand whose hymns of adoration we still sing today - or should still sing today.

I can actually remember two occasions when I first became acquainted with his hymns. The first was from family devotions when I was about 10. Every night we'd gather as a family and my parents would read a Scripture passage, and we would say the Lord's Prayer together, and then one of us would close in prayer with particular requests. One night my brother Dave, home from college, added a wrinkle. He suggested we sing a hymn too. So we fetched a hymnal and he selected "Jesus, The Very Thought Of Thee".

Jesus, the very thought of Thee with sweetness fills my breast
But greater far Thy face to see, and in thy presence rest

O Hope of every contrite heart, O Joy of all the meek
To those who fall, how kind thou art; how good to those who seek!

But what to those who find? Ah this, no tongue nor pen can show;
The love of Jesus, what it is, none but his loved ones know

Savior our only joy be Thou, as Thou our crown shalt be
Be Thou O Lord our glory now, and through eternity

I was probably too young to appreciate the value of that devotional poetry, especially since it had the word "breast" in it. But later this hymn of Bernard's became one of my favorites.

I have no idea when I first heard Bernard's "O Sacred Head Now Wounded," but I have loved it for as long as I can remember:

O Sacred Head now wounded, with grief and shame weighed down
Now scornfully surrounded, with thorns thine only crown
O Sacred Head, what glory, what bliss till now was thine!
Yet though despised and gory, I joy to call thee mine

What Thou, O Lord, hast suffered, was all for sinners' gain
Mine, mine was the transgression, but Thine the deadly pain
Lo, here I fall my Savior, 'tis I deserve thy place
Look on me with Thy favor, vouchsafe to me Thy grace

What language shall I borrow to thank Thee, Dearest Friend
For this, Thy dying sorrow, Thy pity without end?
Oh make me Thine forever, and should I fainting be,
Lord let me never, never, outlive my love to Thee

When I was 18 I took a philosophy class with professor C. Stephen Evans, and one morning he said, "Let's open by singing together 'Jesus Thou Joy Of Loving Hearts'." We all looked at each other. Though it was a Christian college and most of us were from Christian backgrounds, none of us 80 students knew the hymn! Poor Dr. Evans looked crestfallen. (What are they teaching kids at church these days?) It was a sunny day, so somebody suggested we sing "Heavenly Sunshine", and we did:

Heavenly sunshine, heavenly sunshine,
Flooding my soul with glory divine
Heavenly sunshine, heavenly sunshine,
Hallelujah! Jesus is mine!

What can you say? Bernard of Clairvaux it isn't.

Later though I found and learned the Clairvaux hymn that Evans wanted us to sing, and have used it in private worship many times since. This is a great hymn to sing at holy communion too:

Jesus Thou joy of loving hearts; Thou fount of life, Thou light of men
From fullest bliss that earth imparts, we turn unfilled to Thee again

Our restless spirits yearn for Thee where'er our changeful lot is cast
Glad that Thy gracious smile we see, blest that our faith can hold Thee fast

Thy truth unchanged hath ever stood, Thou savest those that on Thee call
To them that seek Thee Thou art good; To them that find Thee: all in all

We taste Thee O Thou Living Bread, and long to feast upon Thee still
We drink of Thee, the Fountainhead, and thirst our souls from Thee to fill

O Jesus ever with us stay; make all our moments calm and bright
Chase the dark night of sin away; shed o'er the world Thy holy light

A good way to honor the worthy name of Bernard is to sing his songs. When my Catholic co-worker told me about "Weekend at Bernie's" I have to admit it jolted me a little - maybe along the lines of calling the Abraham Lincoln Memorial "Dear Abby's Place" or Mother Teresa's Calcutta mission "Momma Teri's Wonder Emporium". So I quoted some of Bernard's lyrics to her and decided to make a bold suggestion. "I can make available to you some of Bernard's hymns. What do you think about going to your priest and saying, 'Since our church is named for Bernard of Clairvaux, could we sing some of his hymns sometime?'" Who knows, maybe, just maybe - slight chance! - there will be in church that day some 10-year-old who, decades from now, will remember fondly how he first began to associate the name "Bernard" with noble words that directed heartfelt devotion and worship to the Lord Jesus Christ.

"Who Would Want That Rose?" - A Response To Matt Chandler

I write to call to task the increasingly popular "Jesus wants the rose!" meme of megachurch pastor Matt Chandler.

Chandler tells of the time a preacher urged his young audience to maintain premarital virginity. The preacher tossed out a rose and told people to smell it and touch it and pass it around. Then he preached about purity and warned about things like venereal disease. At the end the preacher asked for his rose back. Having passed through many hands it was now shabby and wilted, the stem was broken, and petals were missing. The preacher held up the miserable flower and asked, "Now who would want a rose like that?"

Chandler, sitting in the audience, says that he could barely contain his outrage. "I remember feeling anger - like real, legitimate, 'I-want-to-hurt-him' anger, and it was all I could do not to scream out, 'JESUS WANTS THE ROSE!' That's the point of the gospel! That JESUS wants the rose!" Chandler goes on to quote Bible verses about Jesus dying to save sinners. If you watch the video you'll see Chandler get emotional and teary as he rages against the preacher for "not even teaching the basics of our faith!"

But there are two problems with Chandler's response. The first is that it fails to understand biblical teaching about what Jesus wants. It substitutes an applause line, "Jesus wants the rose!" for patient reflection on the metaphors and parables that the Bible regularly uses to explain where we stand before God.

Suppose the preacher that Chandler wanted to maim had used a different illustration. Suppose instead of a shabby rose he showed a steaming cup of Kona coffee, a tall glass of iced tea with lemon, and a cup of water at 85 degrees Fahrenheit. The preacher says, "Now who would want to drink this lukewarm water?" Would Chandler still want to scream, "JESUS WANTS THAT LUKEWARM WATER"? The Bible says he doesn't, actually. Useless water like that makes him want to vomit. In Revelation 3:15-16 Jesus says to the church at Laodicea, "I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I am about to spit you out of my mouth."

Or suppose the preacher held up two baskets of fish - one with fresh salmon, swordfish and mahi mahi and the other with smelly, moldy, disease-ridden carp. The preacher says, "Now who would want this basket of rotten fish?" Would Chandler shout, "JESUS WANTS THOSE BAD FISH"? Because again, the Bible says he doesn't. Matthew 13:47-48: "The kingdom of heaven is like a net that was let down into the lake and caught all kinds of fish. When it was full, the fishermen pulled it up on the shore. Then they sat down and collected the good fish in baskets, but threw the bad away."

Or suppose the preacher put out two plants, one full of red ripe strawberries and the other a mess of thorny weeds. "Who would want this weed patch?" the preacher asks. "JESUS WANTS THE WEED PATCH!" is the indignant response. But again, no. In Matthew 13:24-30 Jesus explains that weeds will get burned up while the good harvest is taken safely home.

Time would fail me to recount all the stories in the Bible that make the same point. Would Jesus close the door and turn aside people whose behavior indicated that they were not ready for his arrival? Well, yes, as a matter of fact he would - that's exactly what Matthew 25:1-13 teaches. I wonder if on judgment day there will be people shut out of the marriage feast like the five foolish maidens in that story, and they will protest, "But I was told that Jesus WANTED shoddy roses!" No, you heard wrong. Jesus said things like, "Blessed are the pure in heart," not, "Blessed are those who screw around." He said, "Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness," not, "Blessed are those who indulge themselves and party like frat boys."

The Apostle Paul wrote to the Corinthian church saying, "I am jealous for you with a godly jealousy. I promised you to one husband, to Christ, so that I might present you as a pure virgin to him." (2 Corinthians 11:2). Imagine that! "A pure virgin." The image is clearly metaphorical and symbol-laden, but it is not hard to understand. Jesus wants a pure bride, not a filthy whore - a sweet rose, not a befouled one. So, if you are impure - a weed, a bad fish, a lukewarm cup, a nasty rose - REPENT. Call out for God's mercy, and, by his grace through Jesus Christ, stop being evil. Repent while there is still time.

Chandler's misguided rhetoric might be understood as a failure to complete a sentence. It is not accurate to say, "Jesus wants sinners." It is better to say, "Jesus wants sinners to repent." Because if they do not repent, Jesus will not want them. I'm sorry if that's offensive, but the Bible says it too clearly too many times to ignore. Or, we might say, "Jesus wants sinners to be made righteous through living faith in him." The point is, you can't merely say "Jesus wants sinners" (Jesus wants the rose!) without skewing the gospel in a bad and misleading way.

But there is a second problem with Chandler's outburst against the "Who-wants-that-rose?" preacher. Chandler faults him for not getting the gospel right, but by Chandler's own characterization, the man wasn't really talking about the gospel but about keeping yourself worthy of a good spouse. In that context, "Who wants a filthy rose?" is a very appropriate question to ask yourself when you are tempted to embark on a filthy life. I wish more people asked themselves that. Let me tell you a couple stories.

Four years ago I got married to the most wonderful person I have ever known. Lisa hates it when I say that, but it's true. I do not lie.

While we were courting I told her frankly my sexual history. I lost my virginity on my wedding night and remained faithful to my first wife through all our 20 years of marriage. I never kissed, caressed or even held hands with anyone else in my entire life. I remained faithful to my first wife even when she was treating me contemptuously and cheating on me with her lesbian friends, for whom she left me in 2005.

It meant something to Lisa that I had held the line on sexual compromise despite my misery. Some time before Lisa met me, some friends had tried to fix her up with a divorced man who had seemed to be eligible enough. But she knew that this man had cheated on his first wife, and so she did not trust him.

What if I had been a broken, befouled, petal-missing, much-used rose? What if I had hopped in and out of bed with a series of partners? Then I never would have gotten Lisa! She wanted to marry a good man. Had I slept around I would have disqualified myself in her eyes - deservedly so - and no words could ever express the regret I would have felt at missing out on such a treasure.

Lisa has a similar story. In 1986 she married a great man, Russell Krausfeldt, whom I'll get to meet in heaven some day. (He passed away in 2001.) Russ was highly regarded by everyone, especially by the one woman who came to know him better than anyone. Lisa told me that, 28 years ago, it was important for Russ, virginal himself, to marry another virgin. She was that. Had she not been, she would not have won the heart of the good man and faithful provider in whose house I am now privileged to live.

So, you who contemplate a life of fornication, please think about the question posed by the preacher who so annoyed Matt Chandler. It's actually a good question, and ought not be batted away with cheap rhetoric and tearful indignation. Sober reflection on it might - just might - preserve chastity and pave the way for a happiness that could not be otherwise obtained. Consider a rose rendered ugly by willful sin and ask yourself honestly,

Who would want that rose?

What I Love About Simon The Sorcerer

In Acts chapter 8 a Samaritan known as Simon the Sorcerer became a Christian. At least he seemed to be a Christian, because pretty soon there were doubts about the legitimacy of his conversion. He had been a magician who amazed crowds with his feats and claimed to be somebody great (verse 9). But when he heard Philip preach about Jesus, he believed the gospel and was baptized. The man who had made a living astonishing others was himself astonished by the real miracles that Philip did (verses 12-13). Maybe there was an echo of Jannes and Jambres (2 Timothy 3:8), who could do minor wonders with flim-flammery but had to admit to Pharaoh that Moses' power was from God (Exodus 8:18-19).

Then Peter and John arrived in Samaria, and Simon witnessed something else he could not do. When Peter and John laid their hands on new Christians they would receive the Holy Spirit, presumably showing the same signs that the apostles manifested on the day of Pentecost. Maybe Simon thought, "I can pull a coin out of someone's ear, and I can even saw a woman in half - but I have no idea how they do that." So in verses 18 and 19 he offered to pay Peter and John to teach him how to grant the Spirit too.

Peter turned on him brutally. "To hell with you and your money!" he said. "You thought you could buy the gift of God? You have no part or share in this matter, because your heart is not right before God. Repent of this wickedness and beg God to forgive - if possible - the intention of your heart. I can tell that you are full of poison and still bound by sin." (verses 20-23)

It goes without saying that nobody talks like this today. Some years ago I responded to Philip Yancey's lament that the church had lost its power to attract sinners with, "No, what the church has really lost is its power to confront sin." (See "The Godly Duty Of Inducing Guilt" August 15, 2004.) Many churches succeed magnificently in attracting and keeping sinners, because rather than warning them about judgment and threatening them with expulsion they assure them that God loves them unconditionally and accepts them just the way they are. In fact, these days I think that Peter would be the one excluded from our fellowships for being so hateful. A video of his confrontation with Simon would go viral, provoking laughter from unbelievers and hand-wringing from evangelicals overcome with grief that one of our own had revealed himself to be simony-phobic. Some Christians might arrange an apology tour, confessing to simonists that our treatment of them had been shameful and degrading. "Did Peter hurt you, Simon? Did he exclude you and make you feel like you were less of a person? Please forgive us!"

But Peter was a close servant of his Master, and no doubt had learned from Him to deal with corruption in a way that was sharp, immediate, vivid and uncompromising. (Meek and mild Jesus? No - read Matthew 23:27-28; Mark 9:42; Luke 19:45; John 8:44. There's a lot more where that came from.) Peter knew that you could not let a wolf into the sheepfold. All that would do is give you a fat happy wolf surrounded by bloody dead sheep. The wolf must be stopped at the gate and told, "No further. To enter, you must be defanged and declawed, and then you must go about sheepishly no matter how much your wolf nature tempts you to prey upon the flock. Either that, or be gone. Choose."

Thank heaven Simon heard Peter's rebuke with virgin ears unspoiled by "grace narrative" rhetoric that has come to dominate megachurch evangelicalism in recent years. If Simon had drunk deeply from the well of grace narrative preaching and made its rhetorical flourishes his own, he might have responded like this:

"Peter, I'm disappointed with you. I'm not offended or angry - just a little sad. You have forgotten the gospel. I see you are advising me to abandon simony, but remember: the gospel is not good advice; it's good news. The gospel I responded to is not a statement about what I have to do, but a proclamation of what Jesus has already done for me. This is not a rule-based religion, Peter! You're telling me that I have to do something - walk in integrity, reject simony - and then God will forgive me and I'll find favor with him.

"Oh Peter, don't you know that that is the way of all the other religions of the world? All the other religions are spelled 'D-O', but Christianity is spelled 'D-O-N-E'. Christ has done for me what I could not do myself. So I don't have follow a bunch of rules, a weary set of do's and don'ts - like 'Don't try to buy the gift of distributing the Holy Spirit' - or anything at all like that in order for God to be happy with me. God is already happy with me because he sees me through the righteousness of Christ! In fact, all this week I've been following the advice of a preacher I befriended on Countenancescroll who said, 'Every morning you should hear the Father saying to you, "You are my son and I am well-pleased with you."' He's right, of course. If God is pleased with Jesus, then he's got to be pleased with me no matter how sinful I've been this week engaging in simony, etc. It's only logical.

"Peter, you seem to think that just because you're more moral than I am in this area of 'personal integrity' that you're closer to God. But you're not. I've been assured by my pastor that, according to the gospel, moral people are no closer to God than the most immoral person, and immoral people are no farther from God than the most moral person. So you and I are exactly the same distance from God. Who are you, then, to judge me?

"What has happened here, Peter, is that you have made an idol out of 'good moral behavior'. You think this is all about being good. You're like the elder brother in the prodigal son story. You've been busy earning brownie points with God by being a 'good little boy', shunning simony and all that, and now you're upset because a sinner like me gets welcomed into the family of God with unconditional love. Don't you know that God's love is unconditional, Peter? Nothing I can do (renounce simony) could make God love me more; nothing I can do (practice simony) could make God love me less. Why, all the popular preachers today are saying that that is the very heart of the gospel! But not you. Your acceptance of me is clearly performance-based. That is, if I measure up to your standards of performance, if I abide by your list of do's and don'ts, then you'll take me in. But you need to know, Peter, that God's acceptance of me is not based on my performance but on his grace!"

I suppose if Simon had mouthed off in the familiar cadences of a modern grace-worshiper, Peter would have sighed deeply and cursed him dead on the spot.

But Simon did not have in his arsenal the rhetorical weapons that some evangelicals have developed to deflect rebuke and justify ongoing rebellion. Worldly and spiritually clueless as he was, Simon retained a certain simplicity that enabled him to listen, be afraid, and try to make it right. He said to Peter, “Pray for me to the Lord, that nothing of what you have said may come upon me” (Acts 8:24).

That's what I love about Simon the Sorcerer. I don't know how he eventually turned out. The Bible says nothing more about him. I just know that here in Acts 8, when rebuked and threatened with damnation he neither cursed the messenger (John 8:48), nor walked away sad (Matthew 19:22), nor accused his opponent of being theologically incorrect. Instead, he did the right thing - the very best thing he could. He quaked in fear and asked for prayer.

Do that when you are rightly called to account for wicked opposition to the will of God.