My people are destroyed for lack of knowledge (Hosea 4:6)
I expect to hear it from non-Christians. And I do, quite often. The Bible is not inspired by God, they say. Men wrote down the stories they heard, stories rooted in hearsay, tradition and a lust for political power. God had little – or nothing – to do with it.
I expect to hear that kind of argument from non-Christians. But I am always surprised – and disappointed (angered is probably a better description) – when I hear it from Christians. Especially from Christian teachers, writers and pastors.
In the past few weeks I’ve run across this kind of rationale from three different leaders in the Church. The reason for their dismissal of the full and transcendent inspiration of Scripture runs the gamut from believing the Torah (Five Books of Moses) were not written by Moses because there is evidence of a variety in writing styles among those books, to believing St. Luke wrote his gospel after the destruction of Jerusalem because Jesus’ warning about Jerusalem’s destruction (chapter 21), could not have been spoken by Him before it occurred. St. Luke, they argue, put the words into Jesus’ mouth to make it appear as a prophecy – when in fact, it was simply history. It doesn’t seem to matter to those who say this that their argument makes St. Luke a liar.
Much of what I’ve heard from these teachers in the last few weeks has focused on the words of Jesus in the Gospels. Essentially, the argument goes like this: The gospels were written decades after the Lord lived (which is true), and each writer wrote his gospel to address a specific 1st century Christian community (another true statement). But, they say – and here is where their philosophy goes dangerously off-center – the gospel writers put words into Jesus’ mouth so they could address social problems in those communities by using Jesus’ words as their authority.
Another way of saying it is this: The words of Christ were modified in the gospels to fit the needs of the community to whom the gospels were written. But the problem with that idea, followed to its logical conclusion, is that one can make a valid argument against using the gospels to guide 21st century Christian faith and morals because we live in a different time and culture.
In my nearly 40 years of walking with Christ, I have repeatedly witnessed how denial of the transcendence of Scripture across cultures and across time has always seduced people to ultimately reject Scripture as the foundation for Christian faith and morals.
How can anyone know for sure if God loves us if we can't trust the promises in Scripture to actually be Christ’s words – and, just as vital – that His words reach beyond first century culture and time? How can we believe God expects holiness from us if we can't trust the warnings in the Gospels are really Christ’s words? How can we trust the Church’s teaching that Jesus established apostolic succession through St. Peter if we can’t trust those words in Matthew 16:17-18 were Christ’s, and not a later addition to satisfy an agenda of some religious/political group? If, as is taught by some teachers in the Church, many stories in Scripture are simply allegories to illustrate a spiritual truth, then how can we be certain – for example – the story of Jesus feeding the 5000 is not simply an allegory to teach the importance of sharing with others, or how can we know for sure Jesus’ resurrection is not simply an allegory to illustrate life triumphs over death?
Late in September of this year, the Pew Research Foundation published a poll examining the religious knowledge of Americans. Their findings? Atheists know more about Christian faith than either Protestants or Catholics. And equally as telling, nearly half of Catholics polled do not believe the Eucharist is the very Presence of Jesus. They believe, instead, the Eucharist is simply a symbol of Christ’s body and blood.
But how can they be blamed when their teachers tell them – perhaps not verbatim, but by implication – they ought not believe their Bible is the transcendent word of God, but simply a compilation of the philosophies of men who modified Scripture to support their 1st century agendas?
Perhaps the tendency of some to dilute the timelessness of Scripture is one reason the Lord Jesus warned, “. . . everyone who hears these words of Mine and acts on them, may be compared to a wise man who built his house on the rock. And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and slammed against that house; and yet it did not fall, for it had been founded on the rock. Everyone who hears these words of Mine and does not act on them, will be like a foolish man who built his house on the sand. The rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and slammed against that house; and it fell--and great was its fall" (Matthew 7:24-27).
And St. Paul wrote to the church at Colossae: See to it that no one captivate you with an empty, seductive philosophy according to human tradition, according to the elemental powers of the world 3 and not according to Christ (Colossians 2:8).
(More to follow in subsequent posts to this blog).
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Thursday, September 30, 2010
My Unbelief
In hope against hope [Abraham] believed, so that he might become a father of many nations . . . [and] without becoming weak in faith he contemplated his own body, now as good as dead since he was about a hundred years old, and the deadness of Sarah's womb; yet, with respect to the promise of God, he did not waver in unbelief but grew strong in faith, giving glory to God, and being fully assured that what God had promised, He was able also to perform. Therefore it was also credited to him as righteousness. Now not for his sake only was it written that it was credited to him, but for our sake also, to whom it will be credited, as those who believe in Him who raised Jesus our Lord from the dead . . . (Romans 4:18-24. St. Paul is referencing the Old Testament story found in Genesis 15:1-6).
Sometimes I have difficulty trusting God to answer my prayers. Not the small ones that are of little consequence – like finding lost keys or quickly recovering from a cold. He’s answered those kinds of prayers numerous times for me during the past four decades. But I mean the ‘big’ prayers – like healing people of cancer or chronic illness, or my pleading for the salvation of those close to me.
Sometimes those prayers seem to fall on deaf ears. In a few cases, I’ve prayed for years. Even decades. And nothing has changed, except we’ve grown older, but no healthier or closer to Jesus. In some cases, people died before I could see the answer to my prayer.
Yet, at my age in Christ – I’ve been serving Him nearly 40 years – the smallness of my faith very much troubles me, especially when I read passages like the one in St. Paul’s letter to the Romans cited above. But I argue with myself that it was easy for Abraham to trust God’s promise because God actually spoke with him face to face. And so I tell myself if God made a face-to-face promise to me about the people for whom I pray, I could believe better, too.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.
Recently, as I contemplated this passage in Romans and told the Lord how disappointed I am that He has not yet answered some of my ‘big’ prayers, I sensed Him ask, “If you can’t trust Me to answer your big prayers, can you trust Me, nonetheless, to do what’s right – even if I don’t answer your prayers?”
I thought about that for a few moments, and as if to help settle the question, I remembered what Abraham said to the Lord before God destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah: “Shall not the Judge of all the world do right?” (Genesis 18:25).
It was a rhetorical question Abraham asked. He knew the answer. Of course God will do right. He can never do anything that is not right or just or pure or holy. Such virtues are part of His very nature, and to do otherwise would be uniquely impossible.
So the Holy Spirit’s question circled in my mind. If I can’t completely trust Him to grant me my ‘big’ requests, can I at least trust Him to do what is right?
I didn’t answer the question at the time. I still have not answered it.
The right answer requires a measure of faith – or trust, or confidence . . . whatever is the correct word I am not entirely sure even as I write this – the answer requires a measure of faith I am not sure I have. After all, if the people for whom I pray don’t get better – or even die, despite my prayers – with what can I comfort myself?
Or if those for whom I pray never accept Jesus as their Lord, if they do not serve Him in humility and obedience, I know they will enter an eternity of measureless emptiness and pain when they die. And I wonder how I would be able to reconcile myself with the knowledge that God is not willing that any perish, but those for whom I prayed did perish (2 Peter 3:9).
So, to glibly answer the Holy Spirit: “Yes, I believe You always do the right thing” is something I am, at the moment, unable to do because my answer would not be completely honest. And though I am embarrassed to admit my failure of faith, what good would it do to act as if my faith is greater than it is?
And so I keep circling.
And I plead with the Lord, “I believe. Help me in my unbelief” (Mark 9:24).
Sometimes I have difficulty trusting God to answer my prayers. Not the small ones that are of little consequence – like finding lost keys or quickly recovering from a cold. He’s answered those kinds of prayers numerous times for me during the past four decades. But I mean the ‘big’ prayers – like healing people of cancer or chronic illness, or my pleading for the salvation of those close to me.
Sometimes those prayers seem to fall on deaf ears. In a few cases, I’ve prayed for years. Even decades. And nothing has changed, except we’ve grown older, but no healthier or closer to Jesus. In some cases, people died before I could see the answer to my prayer.
Yet, at my age in Christ – I’ve been serving Him nearly 40 years – the smallness of my faith very much troubles me, especially when I read passages like the one in St. Paul’s letter to the Romans cited above. But I argue with myself that it was easy for Abraham to trust God’s promise because God actually spoke with him face to face. And so I tell myself if God made a face-to-face promise to me about the people for whom I pray, I could believe better, too.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.
Recently, as I contemplated this passage in Romans and told the Lord how disappointed I am that He has not yet answered some of my ‘big’ prayers, I sensed Him ask, “If you can’t trust Me to answer your big prayers, can you trust Me, nonetheless, to do what’s right – even if I don’t answer your prayers?”
I thought about that for a few moments, and as if to help settle the question, I remembered what Abraham said to the Lord before God destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah: “Shall not the Judge of all the world do right?” (Genesis 18:25).
It was a rhetorical question Abraham asked. He knew the answer. Of course God will do right. He can never do anything that is not right or just or pure or holy. Such virtues are part of His very nature, and to do otherwise would be uniquely impossible.
So the Holy Spirit’s question circled in my mind. If I can’t completely trust Him to grant me my ‘big’ requests, can I at least trust Him to do what is right?
I didn’t answer the question at the time. I still have not answered it.
The right answer requires a measure of faith – or trust, or confidence . . . whatever is the correct word I am not entirely sure even as I write this – the answer requires a measure of faith I am not sure I have. After all, if the people for whom I pray don’t get better – or even die, despite my prayers – with what can I comfort myself?
Or if those for whom I pray never accept Jesus as their Lord, if they do not serve Him in humility and obedience, I know they will enter an eternity of measureless emptiness and pain when they die. And I wonder how I would be able to reconcile myself with the knowledge that God is not willing that any perish, but those for whom I prayed did perish (2 Peter 3:9).
So, to glibly answer the Holy Spirit: “Yes, I believe You always do the right thing” is something I am, at the moment, unable to do because my answer would not be completely honest. And though I am embarrassed to admit my failure of faith, what good would it do to act as if my faith is greater than it is?
And so I keep circling.
And I plead with the Lord, “I believe. Help me in my unbelief” (Mark 9:24).
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Love Him, or Like Him -- There's Work To Be Done
Although I’ve grappled with forgiveness, commitment, holiness, and a dozen other spiritual markers along my journey with Christ, I’ve often had to repeat those same steps. Even as I write this, the grappling continues.
Yet, as I reflect over the decades, I can clearly see one predominant thread woven through each lesson learned. It is this: God loves me. His love was there when my father left us. I was five. It was there during my teen years when I got lost in immorality and rebellion. It was there when I raised my fist and accused Him of not caring about me. It was there when . . . when . . . .
Truth is, it’s always been there.
But now I will share one more thought. It centers on a Scripture I read a few years ago. The lesson summarizes the essence of the Father’s relationship with His children.
The New Testament writers used two words for “love” – phileo and agape. Phileo (fil-EH-oh) carries the idea of tender affection. Agape (ah-GAH-pay) is often used to describe God's unconditional, merciful, and enduring love – the kind of love He commands us to have for Him and for others.
One morning, I read the twenty-first chapter of St. John’s gospel and paused at verses 15-17. The margin of my Bible includes the Greek words used for “love” in this passage. I include the words in parentheses below:
When they had finished breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, "Simon, son of John, do you love (agape) me more than these?” He said to him, "Yes, Lord, you know that I love (phileo) you.” He said to him, "Feed my lambs.”
He then said to him a second time, "Simon, son of John, do you love (agape) me?” He said to him, "Yes, Lord, you know that I love (phileo) you." He said to him, "Tend my sheep.”
He said to him the third time, "Simon, son of John, do you love (phileo) me?” Peter was distressed that he had said to him a third time, "Do you love (phileo) me?” and he said to him, "Lord, you know everything; you know that I love (phileo) you.” (Jesus) said to him, "Feed my sheep.”
As I meditated on the passage, I wondered why Peter responded to Christ’s agape with phileo. A modern version of the conversation might sound something like this:
“Peter, do you love me with all your heart?”
“Lord, I have great affection for you.”
“Feed My lambs.”
“Peter, do you really love me?”
“Lord, I think you are wonderful.”
“Tend My sheep.”
“Peter, do you have great affection for me?”
“Lord, you know I do.”
“Feed My sheep.”
Two things caught my attention in this exchange between the Lord and Peter. First, I believe Peter must have felt miserable about his thrice denial of his best friend and Lord. But then I noticed how the Savior tried to help Peter move beyond his guilt. When Peter wouldn't say – couldn’t say – he loved Jesus, the Lord came down to his level: “Okay, my friend. Do you have affection for me?”
How like Christ to be so gentle to our wounded spirits.
And second – and this is equally important – after each agape/phileo exchange the Lord’s charge to Peter was essentially the same: “Feed My sheep.”
In other words, “Peter, I know you feel guilty, but your repentance restored our relationship. Your sorrow and guilt are unnecessary. Don’t let them keep you from your task to tend My flock."
How like the merciful Christ to call us out of our sorrow. How like Him to renew our relationship – vessels of clay that we are – and set us about the work He’s given us to do.
I need that gentleness and mercy. And I imagine you can probably use a dose of it yourself.
When we feel unable to tell Him, “I love You,” the Savior tells us it’s okay if we just like Him a lot. And when our sorrow overwhelms us, the Shepherd comes alongside, puts His arm across our shoulders and tells us, "I agape you."
“Oh, the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are His judgments and unfathomable His ways!” (Romans 11:33). The penitent's sins are forgiven. All of them, forgotten. All of them, washed in the Blood of the Lamb.
Now, let's get about doing His work.
Yet, as I reflect over the decades, I can clearly see one predominant thread woven through each lesson learned. It is this: God loves me. His love was there when my father left us. I was five. It was there during my teen years when I got lost in immorality and rebellion. It was there when I raised my fist and accused Him of not caring about me. It was there when . . . when . . . .
Truth is, it’s always been there.
But now I will share one more thought. It centers on a Scripture I read a few years ago. The lesson summarizes the essence of the Father’s relationship with His children.
The New Testament writers used two words for “love” – phileo and agape. Phileo (fil-EH-oh) carries the idea of tender affection. Agape (ah-GAH-pay) is often used to describe God's unconditional, merciful, and enduring love – the kind of love He commands us to have for Him and for others.
One morning, I read the twenty-first chapter of St. John’s gospel and paused at verses 15-17. The margin of my Bible includes the Greek words used for “love” in this passage. I include the words in parentheses below:
When they had finished breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, "Simon, son of John, do you love (agape) me more than these?” He said to him, "Yes, Lord, you know that I love (phileo) you.” He said to him, "Feed my lambs.”
He then said to him a second time, "Simon, son of John, do you love (agape) me?” He said to him, "Yes, Lord, you know that I love (phileo) you." He said to him, "Tend my sheep.”
He said to him the third time, "Simon, son of John, do you love (phileo) me?” Peter was distressed that he had said to him a third time, "Do you love (phileo) me?” and he said to him, "Lord, you know everything; you know that I love (phileo) you.” (Jesus) said to him, "Feed my sheep.”
As I meditated on the passage, I wondered why Peter responded to Christ’s agape with phileo. A modern version of the conversation might sound something like this:
“Peter, do you love me with all your heart?”
“Lord, I have great affection for you.”
“Feed My lambs.”
“Peter, do you really love me?”
“Lord, I think you are wonderful.”
“Tend My sheep.”
“Peter, do you have great affection for me?”
“Lord, you know I do.”
“Feed My sheep.”
Two things caught my attention in this exchange between the Lord and Peter. First, I believe Peter must have felt miserable about his thrice denial of his best friend and Lord. But then I noticed how the Savior tried to help Peter move beyond his guilt. When Peter wouldn't say – couldn’t say – he loved Jesus, the Lord came down to his level: “Okay, my friend. Do you have affection for me?”
How like Christ to be so gentle to our wounded spirits.
And second – and this is equally important – after each agape/phileo exchange the Lord’s charge to Peter was essentially the same: “Feed My sheep.”
In other words, “Peter, I know you feel guilty, but your repentance restored our relationship. Your sorrow and guilt are unnecessary. Don’t let them keep you from your task to tend My flock."
How like the merciful Christ to call us out of our sorrow. How like Him to renew our relationship – vessels of clay that we are – and set us about the work He’s given us to do.
I need that gentleness and mercy. And I imagine you can probably use a dose of it yourself.
When we feel unable to tell Him, “I love You,” the Savior tells us it’s okay if we just like Him a lot. And when our sorrow overwhelms us, the Shepherd comes alongside, puts His arm across our shoulders and tells us, "I agape you."
“Oh, the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are His judgments and unfathomable His ways!” (Romans 11:33). The penitent's sins are forgiven. All of them, forgotten. All of them, washed in the Blood of the Lamb.
Now, let's get about doing His work.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
A Personal Savior
I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine . . . (Song of Songs 6:3)
I thought of this verse as I listened to a CD of a well-known Bible teacher who, though he had some keen insights into the New Testament scriptures, told his audience the idea that Jesus is a “personal savior” is foreign to the New Testament message. The man said Jesus came to save the “Church,” to establish a Christian community, and (in his opinion) community salvation – not personal salvation – is the pre-eminent focus of Scripture.
Unfortunately, he is not the only person I’ve heard to teach that erroneous concept. No wonder so many people in the pew feel distanced from their heavenly Father.
It is true Jesus took on human flesh to save the “church” (Ephesians 5:25-27) and to establish a people for Himself (Titus 2:14). But it is also true the Good Shepherd left the ninety-nine sheep safe in the fold and searched for the one gone astray (Luke 15:3-7). It is also true that Jesus left the crowds and went out of His way to minister to the lone Gerasene demoniac (Mark 5:1-20). He sought for the blind man who was ostracized from his synagogue (John 9:1-38). He made a point to pass through Samaria to meet a women unwelcomed by her community (John 4:1-38).
Over and over, the New Testament writers make the point – Jesus longs for us to know Him as our personal savior. He longs for us to know Him in an intimate, warm and emotional relationship.
“What must I do to be saved?” The Philippian jailer pleaded with St. Paul. And the apostle answered, “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and you will be saved” (Acts 15:25-31). “Come to me” the Lord Jesus invited, “all you who labor and are heavily burdened, and I will give [each of] you rest” (Matthew 11:28-30). [Jesus said] “I will never desert [any of] you nor will I ever forsake [any of] you” (Hebrews 13:5); And St. Paul, longing to grow in his relationship with Christ, wrote to the Church at Philippi, ‘[Oh] that I might know Him, and the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of his sufferings . . .” (Philippians 3:10).
Yes, the Lord Jesus came to save the Church, but the Church is not an abstract entity. It is comprised of individuals – each of whom is critically valuable in God’s eyes. Without its individual members, the Church would not exist.
From Genesis through Revelation – and the testimonies of the Saints, from St. Francis to St. Augustine to St. Catherine of Sienna to St. Therese of Lisieux to St. Padre Pio -- the Holy Spirit assures us if you or I were the only people who needed to be saved out of the 6 billion people on planet earth – Jesus would have died for us.
By our baptismal faith and ongoing devotion to Christ, you and I – singular, unique, special – you and I belong to Christ. God personally formed us in our mothers’ womb (Psalm 139:13). He is intimately involved with us (Psalm 139:3). He knows our name (John 10:3), how many hairs we have on our head (Luke 12:7), and not a word passes across our tongue that He does not already know (Psalm 139:4).
We belong to the community called the Church, but we must never lose sight of the wonderful truth: Jesus came to save each individual who makes up the Church.
That means you.
And He wants to be your personal savior, friend, confidant, and lover.
You are, truly, your beloved’s. And He is yours.
His banner over you is love.
I thought of this verse as I listened to a CD of a well-known Bible teacher who, though he had some keen insights into the New Testament scriptures, told his audience the idea that Jesus is a “personal savior” is foreign to the New Testament message. The man said Jesus came to save the “Church,” to establish a Christian community, and (in his opinion) community salvation – not personal salvation – is the pre-eminent focus of Scripture.
Unfortunately, he is not the only person I’ve heard to teach that erroneous concept. No wonder so many people in the pew feel distanced from their heavenly Father.
It is true Jesus took on human flesh to save the “church” (Ephesians 5:25-27) and to establish a people for Himself (Titus 2:14). But it is also true the Good Shepherd left the ninety-nine sheep safe in the fold and searched for the one gone astray (Luke 15:3-7). It is also true that Jesus left the crowds and went out of His way to minister to the lone Gerasene demoniac (Mark 5:1-20). He sought for the blind man who was ostracized from his synagogue (John 9:1-38). He made a point to pass through Samaria to meet a women unwelcomed by her community (John 4:1-38).
Over and over, the New Testament writers make the point – Jesus longs for us to know Him as our personal savior. He longs for us to know Him in an intimate, warm and emotional relationship.
“What must I do to be saved?” The Philippian jailer pleaded with St. Paul. And the apostle answered, “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and you will be saved” (Acts 15:25-31). “Come to me” the Lord Jesus invited, “all you who labor and are heavily burdened, and I will give [each of] you rest” (Matthew 11:28-30). [Jesus said] “I will never desert [any of] you nor will I ever forsake [any of] you” (Hebrews 13:5); And St. Paul, longing to grow in his relationship with Christ, wrote to the Church at Philippi, ‘[Oh] that I might know Him, and the power of his resurrection and the fellowship of his sufferings . . .” (Philippians 3:10).
Yes, the Lord Jesus came to save the Church, but the Church is not an abstract entity. It is comprised of individuals – each of whom is critically valuable in God’s eyes. Without its individual members, the Church would not exist.
From Genesis through Revelation – and the testimonies of the Saints, from St. Francis to St. Augustine to St. Catherine of Sienna to St. Therese of Lisieux to St. Padre Pio -- the Holy Spirit assures us if you or I were the only people who needed to be saved out of the 6 billion people on planet earth – Jesus would have died for us.
By our baptismal faith and ongoing devotion to Christ, you and I – singular, unique, special – you and I belong to Christ. God personally formed us in our mothers’ womb (Psalm 139:13). He is intimately involved with us (Psalm 139:3). He knows our name (John 10:3), how many hairs we have on our head (Luke 12:7), and not a word passes across our tongue that He does not already know (Psalm 139:4).
We belong to the community called the Church, but we must never lose sight of the wonderful truth: Jesus came to save each individual who makes up the Church.
That means you.
And He wants to be your personal savior, friend, confidant, and lover.
You are, truly, your beloved’s. And He is yours.
His banner over you is love.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Not an Easy Thing
I knew that you are a gracious and compassionate God, slow to anger and abounding in love, a God who relents from sending calamity (Jonah 4:2-3).
Sometimes I wonder what went through Jonah's mind when God told him to warn the Ninevites of impending judgment. The reluctant prophet had good reason to hate them. Their army had ravaged Israel, perhaps even killing his family and friends. As Jonah headed in the opposite direction, I imagine he thought what I would probably would have thought, "Let them die. All of them."
And sometimes I think if we are not careful we might be more like Jonah than we like to believe.
What do we think of radical Muslims, especially in the aftermath of September 11, 2001? What do we think of them as we watch the continuing bloodbath at their hands since then? Do we spit, “Let them die. All of them”?
But what should be our Christian response?
Intuitively, we know the answer. But intuition is not the same as doing.
As I've thought about this question from time to time since 9-11, I've wondered how many Sauls God would convert to Apostle Pauls -- if Christians prayed? How many disciples of hate would become missionaries of love -- if Christians prayed? And I still ask myself, if God loved the world so much that He gave, can we -- can I -- not do so little as pray, even for our enemies?
I confess, I have a very, very difficult time with this question, for though I know what should be my response, I find myself often unwilling to do so little as pray for them. Or when I do pray, I do it grudgingly, out of a sense of guilt for being like Jonah
And then I think of the Lord's warning: But if you do not forgive others, then your Father will not forgive your transgressions. (Matthew 6:15).
The longer I walk with the Lord, the more I realize living the life of Christ is not an easy thing.
Sometimes I wonder what went through Jonah's mind when God told him to warn the Ninevites of impending judgment. The reluctant prophet had good reason to hate them. Their army had ravaged Israel, perhaps even killing his family and friends. As Jonah headed in the opposite direction, I imagine he thought what I would probably would have thought, "Let them die. All of them."
And sometimes I think if we are not careful we might be more like Jonah than we like to believe.
What do we think of radical Muslims, especially in the aftermath of September 11, 2001? What do we think of them as we watch the continuing bloodbath at their hands since then? Do we spit, “Let them die. All of them”?
But what should be our Christian response?
Intuitively, we know the answer. But intuition is not the same as doing.
As I've thought about this question from time to time since 9-11, I've wondered how many Sauls God would convert to Apostle Pauls -- if Christians prayed? How many disciples of hate would become missionaries of love -- if Christians prayed? And I still ask myself, if God loved the world so much that He gave, can we -- can I -- not do so little as pray, even for our enemies?
I confess, I have a very, very difficult time with this question, for though I know what should be my response, I find myself often unwilling to do so little as pray for them. Or when I do pray, I do it grudgingly, out of a sense of guilt for being like Jonah
And then I think of the Lord's warning: But if you do not forgive others, then your Father will not forgive your transgressions. (Matthew 6:15).
The longer I walk with the Lord, the more I realize living the life of Christ is not an easy thing.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Jesus Christ
While I am out of town this week, I thought I would post something from my first book, We Believe: Forty Meditations on the Nicene Creed. I hope you find it useful.
-------------------------
Creed Statement: We believe in one Lord, Jesus Christ . . .
Today’s focus: Jesus Christ
[Mary] turned around and saw Jesus there, but did not know it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, "Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?" She thought it was the gardener . . . . (John 20:14-15).
I’m such a light sleeper, I need “white-noise” to get a good night’s rest. That’s why I’ve slept with a box fan at my side of the bed for years.
As I meditated on today’s focus – Jesus Christ – I wondered how often His Name becomes white-noise in my spiritual ears. I hear His Name so often, my subconscious mind sometimes reduces it to just another word in my vocabulary, like “the” or “and.”
Jesus.
Christ.
The early Church recognized something extraordinary about that Name which many of us may have forgotten, or perhaps never learned: There is no other name under heaven given among men whereby we must be saved (Acts 4); prayers find their answer in that Name (John 14); the sick find healing through that Name (James 5); demons tremble at the sound of that Name (James 2); at his Name every knee will bow and every tongue confess He is Lord (Philippians 2).
The New Testament uses dozens of synonyms to describe Him: Lamb of God, Son of God, Anointed One, Shepherd, Bread of Life, Alpha and Omega, King, Savior, Messiah, Prince of Peace . . . And that Name has inspired men and women for two thousand years to live – and if necessary, die – for love of His Name.
So, why do people use the holy Name of Jesus as the punch line of a joke, or to voice surprise or anger, or to use as a swear word?
I have a theory: Satan understands there is eternal life in no other than Jesus. He knows forgiveness of sin is available through no other than Jesus. There is deliverance from his infernal grasp through no other than Jesus.
If the devil can delude people to believe Jesus Christ is the stuff of jokes and swear words, they won’t be so quick to believe He is Son of God, Lamb of God, Great Shepherd, and Light from Light.
When we say Jesus’ name in the Creed, and in reverential conversation, we join our hearts with all those in that great Communion of Saints. And we, too, have the same privilege as they: to fall to our knees in homage to Him whose Name is above every name.
Prayer: Holy Spirit, You spoke through the prophets. Speak also to us. Help us recognize Jesus when He calls. Help us hear above the white noise the voice of Him who loves us so much that He took our sins to Calvary’s cross. Amen.
-------------------------
Creed Statement: We believe in one Lord, Jesus Christ . . .
Today’s focus: Jesus Christ
[Mary] turned around and saw Jesus there, but did not know it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, "Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?" She thought it was the gardener . . . . (John 20:14-15).
I’m such a light sleeper, I need “white-noise” to get a good night’s rest. That’s why I’ve slept with a box fan at my side of the bed for years.
As I meditated on today’s focus – Jesus Christ – I wondered how often His Name becomes white-noise in my spiritual ears. I hear His Name so often, my subconscious mind sometimes reduces it to just another word in my vocabulary, like “the” or “and.”
Jesus.
Christ.
The early Church recognized something extraordinary about that Name which many of us may have forgotten, or perhaps never learned: There is no other name under heaven given among men whereby we must be saved (Acts 4); prayers find their answer in that Name (John 14); the sick find healing through that Name (James 5); demons tremble at the sound of that Name (James 2); at his Name every knee will bow and every tongue confess He is Lord (Philippians 2).
The New Testament uses dozens of synonyms to describe Him: Lamb of God, Son of God, Anointed One, Shepherd, Bread of Life, Alpha and Omega, King, Savior, Messiah, Prince of Peace . . . And that Name has inspired men and women for two thousand years to live – and if necessary, die – for love of His Name.
So, why do people use the holy Name of Jesus as the punch line of a joke, or to voice surprise or anger, or to use as a swear word?
I have a theory: Satan understands there is eternal life in no other than Jesus. He knows forgiveness of sin is available through no other than Jesus. There is deliverance from his infernal grasp through no other than Jesus.
If the devil can delude people to believe Jesus Christ is the stuff of jokes and swear words, they won’t be so quick to believe He is Son of God, Lamb of God, Great Shepherd, and Light from Light.
When we say Jesus’ name in the Creed, and in reverential conversation, we join our hearts with all those in that great Communion of Saints. And we, too, have the same privilege as they: to fall to our knees in homage to Him whose Name is above every name.
Prayer: Holy Spirit, You spoke through the prophets. Speak also to us. Help us recognize Jesus when He calls. Help us hear above the white noise the voice of Him who loves us so much that He took our sins to Calvary’s cross. Amen.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
From Each and Every One
Neither do I condemn you; go and sin no more.
(John 8:11)
Jesus knew she was guilty.
Everyone knew it.
Caught in the act
of adultery,
a sin so grievous,
so shameful,
the Law of Moses
demanded
she die.
Yet Jesus –
God from God,
Light from Light –
told her,
“Neither do I condemn you.
Go and sin no more.”
Sometimes I think we think
God stands at the edge of heaven
watching,
waiting for us
to do wrong
so He can “get” us,
so He can smack us to the ground.
Give us cancer.
Kill our child.
Take our home.
Teach us a lesson.
Show us who’s boss.
We expect Him to say,
with ominous warning in His voice,
“Go and sin no more.”
But who expects Him
to preface it with,
to preface it with,
“I don’t condemn you”?
Christ’s comforting word
to a woman
worthy of death
reminds me
God does not watch
and wait
for a chance to
for a chance to
whip us.
He watches
without condemnation,
He waits,
without revenge,
hoping that we,
in humility,
repent.
As St. John promised,
if we confess our sins,
God will forgive our sins
and cleanse us
from each –
from every –
one.*
No matter how
grievous,
or shameful
it is.
*1 John 1:9
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
The God of the Second Chance
I published this essay in my second book, "Lessons Along the Journey." That essay came to my mind this morning as I spent time with the Lord. I post it here for readers to contemplate.
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As the heavens tower over the earth, so God's love towers over the faithful. As far as the east is from the west, so far have our sins been removed from us. As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on the faithful. For he knows how we are formed, remembers that we are dust (Psalm 103:11-14).
If anyone had reason to count himself unforgivable, unredeemable, and useless to God’s community, it was St. Peter.
And it’s no wonder. The fisherman-turned-disciple had lived with Christ for three years. He enjoyed an intimacy with the Master known only to two others of the twelve disciples – James and John. Peter conversed for hours with the Lord. He ate with Him, watched Him walk on water, raise the dead, heal paralytics, and feed thousands with only a few fish and some bread.
Then things took a sharp turn. In Gethsemane, while the Lord agonized in prayer, Peter fell asleep. When soldiers dragged Christ before the civil and religious authorities, Peter cowered and swore – three times – “I don't know the man."
Had that been me, I don’t think I could have recovered from the memory of that night. My neglect and thrice-denial would echo in my mind like rocks bouncing against cavern walls on their way to a dark and unsearchable bottom.
Yet, the more I think about Peter's fall, the greater comfort I find – not because of his failure, but because of his reconciliation. Peter’s reconciliation holds the key for all of us who repeatedly stumble along our journey and wonder if we can get up again – or even if we should get up again.
What would the Church look like today if Peter, overwhelmed by his shame, returned the Kingdom’s keys to Jesus (Matthew 16:18-19) and slipped into the shadows of history? How much less would we understand God’s grace without Peter’s two epistles? How many are in heaven today because Peter discovered, as all of us – believer and non-believer – must discover: God is the God of Another Chance?
Scripture promises: “As the heavens tower over the earth, so God's love towers over the faithful. As far as the east is from the west, so far have our sins been removed from us. As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on the faithful. For he knows how we are formed, remembers that we are dust” (Psalm 103:11-14).
Satan – the Lord Jesus called him the Father of Lies – wants us to believe there’s no pardon for repeat offenders. If the devil can convince us of that lie, we lose a crucial battle. We get sidelined, lost in the shadows, and unable to help set free other prisoners from spiritual bondage.
But Scripture repeatedly assures us, there is abundant pressed-down-and-running-over pardon in Christ. Each time we come to the Father in repentance, we find another chance to stand with our Savior. When all the theologies, philosophies, and ideologies are stripped away, God’s forgiveness and mercy are why we can get up and start again. His matchless and enduring love for us, despite our failures and sins, is the reason we should get up and start again.
"There is a fountain filled with blood drawn from Immanuel's veins," an 18th century hymn written by William Cowper reminds us. "And sinners plunged beneath that flood lose all their guilty stains.”
Why would anyone not approach the God of Another Chance and ask His forgiveness?
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
As the heavens tower over the earth, so God's love towers over the faithful. As far as the east is from the west, so far have our sins been removed from us. As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on the faithful. For he knows how we are formed, remembers that we are dust (Psalm 103:11-14).
If anyone had reason to count himself unforgivable, unredeemable, and useless to God’s community, it was St. Peter.
And it’s no wonder. The fisherman-turned-disciple had lived with Christ for three years. He enjoyed an intimacy with the Master known only to two others of the twelve disciples – James and John. Peter conversed for hours with the Lord. He ate with Him, watched Him walk on water, raise the dead, heal paralytics, and feed thousands with only a few fish and some bread.
Then things took a sharp turn. In Gethsemane, while the Lord agonized in prayer, Peter fell asleep. When soldiers dragged Christ before the civil and religious authorities, Peter cowered and swore – three times – “I don't know the man."
Had that been me, I don’t think I could have recovered from the memory of that night. My neglect and thrice-denial would echo in my mind like rocks bouncing against cavern walls on their way to a dark and unsearchable bottom.
Yet, the more I think about Peter's fall, the greater comfort I find – not because of his failure, but because of his reconciliation. Peter’s reconciliation holds the key for all of us who repeatedly stumble along our journey and wonder if we can get up again – or even if we should get up again.
What would the Church look like today if Peter, overwhelmed by his shame, returned the Kingdom’s keys to Jesus (Matthew 16:18-19) and slipped into the shadows of history? How much less would we understand God’s grace without Peter’s two epistles? How many are in heaven today because Peter discovered, as all of us – believer and non-believer – must discover: God is the God of Another Chance?
Scripture promises: “As the heavens tower over the earth, so God's love towers over the faithful. As far as the east is from the west, so far have our sins been removed from us. As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on the faithful. For he knows how we are formed, remembers that we are dust” (Psalm 103:11-14).
Satan – the Lord Jesus called him the Father of Lies – wants us to believe there’s no pardon for repeat offenders. If the devil can convince us of that lie, we lose a crucial battle. We get sidelined, lost in the shadows, and unable to help set free other prisoners from spiritual bondage.
But Scripture repeatedly assures us, there is abundant pressed-down-and-running-over pardon in Christ. Each time we come to the Father in repentance, we find another chance to stand with our Savior. When all the theologies, philosophies, and ideologies are stripped away, God’s forgiveness and mercy are why we can get up and start again. His matchless and enduring love for us, despite our failures and sins, is the reason we should get up and start again.
"There is a fountain filled with blood drawn from Immanuel's veins," an 18th century hymn written by William Cowper reminds us. "And sinners plunged beneath that flood lose all their guilty stains.”
Why would anyone not approach the God of Another Chance and ask His forgiveness?
Saturday, August 28, 2010
How Can They Escape?
In those days John the Baptist appeared, preaching in the desert of Judea (and) saying, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand” (Matthew 3:1-2).
As I meditated on the first luminous mystery of the Rosary – the baptism of Jesus – I wondered why the religious and political leaders came to the Jordan. Many of them had little use for the common people, especially those like John the Baptist. And they often mocked the laity, saying of them “But this crowd which does not know the law are accursed;”* and “You were born entirely in sins, and are you teaching us?”**
So I sat there, fingering the Rosary bead, and wondered.
Perhaps they hoped to make points with the people whom they, in fact, disdained; to fool them into believing they were just as religious as the commoners. Perhaps they came to be part of the new religious club John was establishing. To get in on the ground floor, so to speak.
Whatever the reason, John the Baptist would have none of it. “You brood of vipers!” He called them. “Who warned you to flee God’s wrath? If you really want to be saved, do things that prove your repentance. Otherwise, you’re wasting my time and piling up more judgment to yourselves.”***
From the way the context reads (Matthew 3:1-12), John didn’t mince words. He didn't soften his tone. He didn't try to be inoffensive.
He knew the kindest thing he could say to them was truth – even when the truth was confrontational. To do otherwise would have done nothing less than help them remain in their sin – and condemn them to judgment. And I would not be surprised if John remembered the words of Jeremiah centuries earlier, “Your prophets have seen for you false and foolish visions; and they have not exposed your iniquity so as to restore you from captivity . . .” (Lamentations 2:14).
Oh, how I long for the time when all of our pastors exercise the spirit of St. John the Baptist, and speak truth – even when truth is confrontational. I long for them all to say “no,” every time phonies, even political and religious leaders, come for the sacraments without evidence of repentance.
Otherwise, how will they escape the wrath of God?
* John 7:49
** John 9:34
*** See Matthew 3:7-12
As I meditated on the first luminous mystery of the Rosary – the baptism of Jesus – I wondered why the religious and political leaders came to the Jordan. Many of them had little use for the common people, especially those like John the Baptist. And they often mocked the laity, saying of them “But this crowd which does not know the law are accursed;”* and “You were born entirely in sins, and are you teaching us?”**
So I sat there, fingering the Rosary bead, and wondered.
Perhaps they hoped to make points with the people whom they, in fact, disdained; to fool them into believing they were just as religious as the commoners. Perhaps they came to be part of the new religious club John was establishing. To get in on the ground floor, so to speak.
Whatever the reason, John the Baptist would have none of it. “You brood of vipers!” He called them. “Who warned you to flee God’s wrath? If you really want to be saved, do things that prove your repentance. Otherwise, you’re wasting my time and piling up more judgment to yourselves.”***
From the way the context reads (Matthew 3:1-12), John didn’t mince words. He didn't soften his tone. He didn't try to be inoffensive.
He knew the kindest thing he could say to them was truth – even when the truth was confrontational. To do otherwise would have done nothing less than help them remain in their sin – and condemn them to judgment. And I would not be surprised if John remembered the words of Jeremiah centuries earlier, “Your prophets have seen for you false and foolish visions; and they have not exposed your iniquity so as to restore you from captivity . . .” (Lamentations 2:14).
Oh, how I long for the time when all of our pastors exercise the spirit of St. John the Baptist, and speak truth – even when truth is confrontational. I long for them all to say “no,” every time phonies, even political and religious leaders, come for the sacraments without evidence of repentance.
Otherwise, how will they escape the wrath of God?
* John 7:49
** John 9:34
*** See Matthew 3:7-12
Monday, August 23, 2010
How Will We Answer?
And there was considerable murmuring about [Jesus] in the crowds. Some said, "He is a good man," (while) others said, "No; on the contrary, he misleads the crowd" (John 7:12).
It sometimes surprises me how people I talk to acknowledge Jesus as a 'good man,' or even a prophet of God, and yet deride the idea that He is Almighty God in flesh.
It was the same way with the crowds gathered that day in Jerusalem. The people jostled between two opposing opinions: Jesus was a good man, or He was evil, who led others astray from the faith passed down from Abraham and Moses.
And the argument continues to this very day. Jews, Mormons, Muslims, Jehovah's Witnesses, Buddhists -- even atheists and agnostics with whom I've spoken -- admire Jesus as a good man who did a lot of nice works, but they never seem to question -- or bristle -- at the words Jesus said of Himself.
CS Lewis, in his book, Mere Christianity, argued the question this way:
"I am trying here to prevent anyone saying the really foolish thing that people often say about Him: 'I'm ready to accept Jesus as a great moral teacher, but I don't accept His claim to be God.' That is the one thing we must not say. A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher. He would either be a lunatic - on a level with the man who says he is a poached egg - or else he would be the Devil of Hell. You must make your choice. Either this man was, and is, the son of God: or else a madman or something worse."
Lewis adds: "You can shut Him up for a fool, you can spit at Him and kill Him as a demon; or you can fall at His feet and call Him Lord and God. But let us not come up with any patronizing nonsense about His being a great human teacher. He has not left that open to us. He did not intend to."
Liar, Lunatic, or Almighty God and Lord.
If He is either of the first two choices, then nothing else we might say or think about Him really matters. But if He is neither liar nor lunatic, then how will the last -- and only other option open to us --affect our lifestyles and relationships?
We should be very careful how we answer, because our answer will determine our eternal destiny.
It sometimes surprises me how people I talk to acknowledge Jesus as a 'good man,' or even a prophet of God, and yet deride the idea that He is Almighty God in flesh.
It was the same way with the crowds gathered that day in Jerusalem. The people jostled between two opposing opinions: Jesus was a good man, or He was evil, who led others astray from the faith passed down from Abraham and Moses.
And the argument continues to this very day. Jews, Mormons, Muslims, Jehovah's Witnesses, Buddhists -- even atheists and agnostics with whom I've spoken -- admire Jesus as a good man who did a lot of nice works, but they never seem to question -- or bristle -- at the words Jesus said of Himself.
CS Lewis, in his book, Mere Christianity, argued the question this way:
"I am trying here to prevent anyone saying the really foolish thing that people often say about Him: 'I'm ready to accept Jesus as a great moral teacher, but I don't accept His claim to be God.' That is the one thing we must not say. A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher. He would either be a lunatic - on a level with the man who says he is a poached egg - or else he would be the Devil of Hell. You must make your choice. Either this man was, and is, the son of God: or else a madman or something worse."
Lewis adds: "You can shut Him up for a fool, you can spit at Him and kill Him as a demon; or you can fall at His feet and call Him Lord and God. But let us not come up with any patronizing nonsense about His being a great human teacher. He has not left that open to us. He did not intend to."
Liar, Lunatic, or Almighty God and Lord.
If He is either of the first two choices, then nothing else we might say or think about Him really matters. But if He is neither liar nor lunatic, then how will the last -- and only other option open to us --affect our lifestyles and relationships?
We should be very careful how we answer, because our answer will determine our eternal destiny.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Grace Alone
Thus did the children of Israel; according to all that Lord commanded Moses, so did they (Numbers 1:54)
In those days there was no king in Israel; every man did what was right in his own eyes (Judges 17:6).
Did the details
of their deliverance
from bondage
fall on dulled ears?
Did they tire of hearing God’s law,
and grow weary
of submitting their will
to His?
What robbed them of their love for God?
Or, who?
It frightens me to think
how easily their sin
could become mine,
how I could turn
from “all that the Lord commanded,”
to doing instead what is right
in my own eyes.
What protects us from the Thief?*
Which is why,
with love - laced
purpose
mercy
and kindness
the Savior offers
day by day
His drink to the thirsty,
His bread to the hungry,
and His yoke to the weary –
that we might find life,
and not death.**
*St. John 10:10
** St. John 4:14; St. John 6:51; St. Matthew 11:28
In those days there was no king in Israel; every man did what was right in his own eyes (Judges 17:6).
What caused Israel to turn,
in less than a generation,
from doing “all that the Lord commanded”
to the lament in Judges
“every man did what was right in his own eyes”?
Did the details
of their deliverance
from bondage
fall on dulled ears?
Did they tire of hearing God’s law,
and grow weary
of submitting their will
to His?
What robbed them of their love for God?
Or, who?
It frightens me to think
how easily their sin
could become mine,
how I could turn
from “all that the Lord commanded,”
to doing instead what is right
in my own eyes.
What protects us from the Thief?*
Grace alone.
Which is why,
with love - laced
purpose
mercy
and kindness
the Savior offers
day by day
His drink to the thirsty,
His bread to the hungry,
and His yoke to the weary –
that we might find life,
and not death.**
*St. John 10:10
** St. John 4:14; St. John 6:51; St. Matthew 11:28
Thursday, August 5, 2010
A Conundrum
Unlike most of my other posts to this blog, this one is directed specifically toward my fellow Catholics.
-----------
When He entered the temple, the chief priests and the elders of the people came to Him while He was teaching, and said, "By what authority are You doing these things, and who gave You this authority? (see Matthew 21:23-27).
I heard the other day that Anne Rice, famous for her books about vampires – and more recently for her books about Jesus – left the Catholic Church. She explained her departure from Catholic faith is rooted in her belief that the Church’s position on some moral issues is archaic and out of touch with the true teachings of Jesus.
As I mused about her rationale, I thought of the text from St. Matthew’s gospel in which religious leaders asked Jesus by what authority He said the things He did. In reply, Jesus asked them what they thought about John the Baptist’s message. Was it from God or from men?
And that presented them with a conundrum. If they said from men, they knew the people would stone them because they all thought John to be a prophet. But if they said from God, Jesus would ask them why they didn’t follow John’s teaching. And so they opted for the coward’s way out. They said they didn’t know where John’s message was from.
A similar conumdrum circulates in our day. Has the Holy Spirit “spoken through the prophets” as we read in the Nicene Creed? If not, then who’s to say one person’s opinion of morality and faith is better or worse than the next person’s? But if the Holy Spirit did speak through those prophets, then Jesus’ follow-on questions to us are the same as they would have been to the Pharisees – do you do as the prophets said? If not, why not?
Which brings up another question – especially for those like Anne Rice who claim (or claimed) to be Catholic.
Did Jesus give Peter and his apostolic successors authority over the earthly Church to delineate and define true Christian faith and morals (Matthew 16:17-19)? If not, then one can argue that God has given us freedom to live according to the teachings of any religious path of our choosing. But if the answer is yes, then Jesus’ follow-on questions demand sober consideration of people who call themselves Catholic: Do you obey His Church? If not, why not?
Those who believe Scripture about God’s justice, as well as His mercy, understand that to elevate our opinions higher than God’s is tantamount to sorcery and idolatry. And those who believe in an eternal heaven and an eternal hell also realize that the Pharisees of Matthew 21, if they persisted in their rebellion, still grind their teeth with regret over their decision to disobey God. Even after 2000 years.
And so, the point. To those of us who claim to be Catholic, Jesus asks the question that demands our answer: Will we obey Him by obeying His Church?
Our eternal home, even 2000 years from now, depends on our answer.
-----------
When He entered the temple, the chief priests and the elders of the people came to Him while He was teaching, and said, "By what authority are You doing these things, and who gave You this authority? (see Matthew 21:23-27).
I heard the other day that Anne Rice, famous for her books about vampires – and more recently for her books about Jesus – left the Catholic Church. She explained her departure from Catholic faith is rooted in her belief that the Church’s position on some moral issues is archaic and out of touch with the true teachings of Jesus.
As I mused about her rationale, I thought of the text from St. Matthew’s gospel in which religious leaders asked Jesus by what authority He said the things He did. In reply, Jesus asked them what they thought about John the Baptist’s message. Was it from God or from men?
And that presented them with a conundrum. If they said from men, they knew the people would stone them because they all thought John to be a prophet. But if they said from God, Jesus would ask them why they didn’t follow John’s teaching. And so they opted for the coward’s way out. They said they didn’t know where John’s message was from.
A similar conumdrum circulates in our day. Has the Holy Spirit “spoken through the prophets” as we read in the Nicene Creed? If not, then who’s to say one person’s opinion of morality and faith is better or worse than the next person’s? But if the Holy Spirit did speak through those prophets, then Jesus’ follow-on questions to us are the same as they would have been to the Pharisees – do you do as the prophets said? If not, why not?
Which brings up another question – especially for those like Anne Rice who claim (or claimed) to be Catholic.
Did Jesus give Peter and his apostolic successors authority over the earthly Church to delineate and define true Christian faith and morals (Matthew 16:17-19)? If not, then one can argue that God has given us freedom to live according to the teachings of any religious path of our choosing. But if the answer is yes, then Jesus’ follow-on questions demand sober consideration of people who call themselves Catholic: Do you obey His Church? If not, why not?
Those who believe Scripture about God’s justice, as well as His mercy, understand that to elevate our opinions higher than God’s is tantamount to sorcery and idolatry. And those who believe in an eternal heaven and an eternal hell also realize that the Pharisees of Matthew 21, if they persisted in their rebellion, still grind their teeth with regret over their decision to disobey God. Even after 2000 years.
And so, the point. To those of us who claim to be Catholic, Jesus asks the question that demands our answer: Will we obey Him by obeying His Church?
Our eternal home, even 2000 years from now, depends on our answer.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
While We Had the Time
Remember your Creator in the days of your youth, before the days of trouble come . . . (Ecclesiastes 12:1).
As I read Solomon’s words my thoughts traced back to an article I’d read years ago about former Beatle George Harrison. A year before his death at age 58, Harrison confessed that the last forty years of his life passed so quickly, they seemed like the snap of his fingers.
I wouldn’t say my last forty years passed that fast. They seem more like a few months than a quick snap. Nonetheless, forty years in a few months is pretty fast, and for those who take the time to consider the clock’s haste, Harrison’s comment resonates with wisdom.
And with warning.
Solomon discovered near the end of his life what many who are older try to convince those who are younger: Like a relentless drum-beat, our calendar pages drop like autumn leaves in a wind storm; and the time will come, for each of us, when our time runs out.
When that happens, we will be glad to have remembered – and served – our Creator.
While we had the time.
As I read Solomon’s words my thoughts traced back to an article I’d read years ago about former Beatle George Harrison. A year before his death at age 58, Harrison confessed that the last forty years of his life passed so quickly, they seemed like the snap of his fingers.
I wouldn’t say my last forty years passed that fast. They seem more like a few months than a quick snap. Nonetheless, forty years in a few months is pretty fast, and for those who take the time to consider the clock’s haste, Harrison’s comment resonates with wisdom.
And with warning.
Solomon discovered near the end of his life what many who are older try to convince those who are younger: Like a relentless drum-beat, our calendar pages drop like autumn leaves in a wind storm; and the time will come, for each of us, when our time runs out.
When that happens, we will be glad to have remembered – and served – our Creator.
While we had the time.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Reasoning with God
As for you, if you will walk before Me as your father David walked, in integrity of heart and uprightness . . . then I will establish the throne of your kingdom over Israel forever . . . (1 Kings 9:4-5).
Sometimes God confuses me. Like in this text, for example. As I read it, my memory took me back to the 11th chapter of 2 Samuel which records David’s adultery with Bathsheba, and his murder of her husband Uriah.
That’s why God’s message to Solomon here in First Kings is confusing. And – now that I think about it more carefully – maybe also comforting.
It’s confusing because although God gave David great wealth, power, and authority – and David repaid God by choosing to follow his own lusts instead of obeying God – the Lord nonetheless called David a man of integrity and uprightness.
God’s comment can also be comforting because it reveals the incomprehensible willingness of God to forgive everyone who confesses and repents of his or her sins. Regardless of the enormity of those sins.
Here is part of David’s confession after the Bathsheba and Uriah incident:
Be gracious to me, O God, according to Your lovingkindness; According to the greatness of Your compassion blot out my transgressions. Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin. For I know my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me. Against You, You only, I have sinned and done what is evil in Your sight, so that You are justified when You speak and blameless when You judge . . . Purify me with hyssop, and I shall be clean; Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow. . . . Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me. Do not cast me away from Your presence and do not take Your Holy Spirit from me (Psalm 51:1-11).
It is true that David suffered temporal punishment for his sins. You can read about it in the next several chapters of 2 Samuel. But because of his repentance, God removed from David the eternal consequences of his sin -- which would have been unimaginably worse.
What better comfort could there be for those of us who want to do right but so often do wrong, who think we’re beyond hope for forgiveness from a holy God? Temporal discipline in this life? Yes. Forgiveness, reconciliation and eternal life with our holy God? Of course.
The good news in this text is God doesn’t define “integrity of heart and uprightness” as sinless perfection, but rather as a willingness to repent, turn from sin and throw ourselves on God’s mercy.
And so, God says to us through the length and breadth of Scripture, Come now, and let us reason together. . . Though your sins are as scarlet, They will be as white as snow . . . (Isaiah 1:18); and, If we confess our sins, God is faithful and just to forgive our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness (1 John 1:9).
Sometimes God confuses me. Like in this text, for example. As I read it, my memory took me back to the 11th chapter of 2 Samuel which records David’s adultery with Bathsheba, and his murder of her husband Uriah.
That’s why God’s message to Solomon here in First Kings is confusing. And – now that I think about it more carefully – maybe also comforting.
It’s confusing because although God gave David great wealth, power, and authority – and David repaid God by choosing to follow his own lusts instead of obeying God – the Lord nonetheless called David a man of integrity and uprightness.
God’s comment can also be comforting because it reveals the incomprehensible willingness of God to forgive everyone who confesses and repents of his or her sins. Regardless of the enormity of those sins.
Here is part of David’s confession after the Bathsheba and Uriah incident:
Be gracious to me, O God, according to Your lovingkindness; According to the greatness of Your compassion blot out my transgressions. Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin. For I know my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me. Against You, You only, I have sinned and done what is evil in Your sight, so that You are justified when You speak and blameless when You judge . . . Purify me with hyssop, and I shall be clean; Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow. . . . Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me. Do not cast me away from Your presence and do not take Your Holy Spirit from me (Psalm 51:1-11).
It is true that David suffered temporal punishment for his sins. You can read about it in the next several chapters of 2 Samuel. But because of his repentance, God removed from David the eternal consequences of his sin -- which would have been unimaginably worse.
What better comfort could there be for those of us who want to do right but so often do wrong, who think we’re beyond hope for forgiveness from a holy God? Temporal discipline in this life? Yes. Forgiveness, reconciliation and eternal life with our holy God? Of course.
The good news in this text is God doesn’t define “integrity of heart and uprightness” as sinless perfection, but rather as a willingness to repent, turn from sin and throw ourselves on God’s mercy.
And so, God says to us through the length and breadth of Scripture, Come now, and let us reason together. . . Though your sins are as scarlet, They will be as white as snow . . . (Isaiah 1:18); and, If we confess our sins, God is faithful and just to forgive our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness (1 John 1:9).
Friday, July 23, 2010
It is Good To Remember
. . . the Lord Jesus in the night in which He was betrayed took bread; and when He had given thanks, He broke it and said, "This is My body, which is for you; do this in remembrance of Me." In the same way He took the cup also after supper, saying, "This cup is the new covenant in My blood; do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of Me (1 Corinthians 11:23-25).
Then [they] . . . will remember Me . . . how I have been hurt by their adulterous hearts which turned away from Me . . . and they will loathe themselves in their own sight for the evils which they have committed, for all their abominations (Ezekiel 6:8-9).
As I receive Holy Communion each week,
I try to quiet my mind and remember what Jesus did –
the whip
the blood
the cross
the nails
the thorns
the spear.
But I don’t so often take time to remember
why He did it;
And therefore I miss
the richness
of the
mercy
of God.
But when I recently read St. Paul’s words to the church at Corinth,
I took a moment to remember
the darkness I was before Christ –
and the darkness
I am without Him.
I remember the baby I slaughtered in the womb.
The young women I turned into whores and adulteresses.
The lies I told to gain advantage over others.
The robberies I committed to get what I didn’t earn.
The fledgling faith of friends I destroyed by my arrogant, self-justifying philosophies.
The memories – when I allow them to surface – hurt.
Very much.
And I loathe myself,
I grieve,
for the wickedness in my past.
But the memories also prove –
they undeniably demonstrate –
the wholly incomprehensible
grace of God,
love of God,
mercy of God,
who sent His only Son
to carry the full weight,
the full punishment,
the full and horrible penalty that I –
that I –
so richly deserve
for my sins,
so God could grant me forgiveness.
And with it,
eternal life.
It is good
to remember.
Then [they] . . . will remember Me . . . how I have been hurt by their adulterous hearts which turned away from Me . . . and they will loathe themselves in their own sight for the evils which they have committed, for all their abominations (Ezekiel 6:8-9).
As I receive Holy Communion each week,
I try to quiet my mind and remember what Jesus did –
the whip
the blood
the cross
the nails
the thorns
the spear.
But I don’t so often take time to remember
why He did it;
And therefore I miss
the richness
of the
mercy
of God.
But when I recently read St. Paul’s words to the church at Corinth,
I took a moment to remember
the darkness I was before Christ –
and the darkness
I am without Him.
I remember the baby I slaughtered in the womb.
The young women I turned into whores and adulteresses.
The lies I told to gain advantage over others.
The robberies I committed to get what I didn’t earn.
The fledgling faith of friends I destroyed by my arrogant, self-justifying philosophies.
The memories – when I allow them to surface – hurt.
Very much.
And I loathe myself,
I grieve,
for the wickedness in my past.
But the memories also prove –
they undeniably demonstrate –
the wholly incomprehensible
grace of God,
love of God,
mercy of God,
who sent His only Son
to carry the full weight,
the full punishment,
the full and horrible penalty that I –
that I –
so richly deserve
for my sins,
so God could grant me forgiveness.
And with it,
eternal life.
It is good
to remember.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Not So Successful
If someone, without being aware of it, commits such a sin . . . . the priest shall then make atonement for the fault which was unwittingly committed, and it will be forgiven (Leviticus 5:17-18).
As I read this passage in Leviticus, my thoughts raced back to 1972. I came to Christ in my early twenties after a life steeped in immorality, and from the moment of my conversion, I determined to avoid even the near-occasion of sin.
And at first, I thought myself successful.
However, a few months later I asked God to show me any sin still lingering in my life. I expected a clean report. At worst, perhaps a minor sin or two. But what He unveiled was so dramatic, so disturbing, so disillusioning, I still remember it thirty-eight years later.
Attitudes and thoughts, words and behaviors surged through my memory. Wave after wave, the images ebbed and flowed. I slumped from my knees prostrate before God, ashamed and bewildered at how many things I’d done wrong – just within the past twenty-four hours.
I think people have an uncanny ability of self-deception, to stand in a sewer convinced it‘s clover, to look at darkness believing it is sunlight. The prophet Jeremiah knew the phenomenon: “The heart is more deceitful than all else and is desperately sick; who can understand it?” (Jeremiah 17:9). The Psalmist asked God, “Probe me, God, know my heart . . . see if my way is crooked, then lead me in the ancient paths” (Psalm 139:23-24). And St. Augustine confessed, “I had known [my iniquity] but deceived myself, refused to admit it, and pushed it out of my mind” (Confessions, book VIII).
With slippery ease, we convince ourselves of the clover or the light, never recognizing our true condition. That is why we are prudent to regularly ask the Holy Spirit to show us our sins – especially those hidden from our eyes.
And prepare to fall prostrate.
As I read this passage in Leviticus, my thoughts raced back to 1972. I came to Christ in my early twenties after a life steeped in immorality, and from the moment of my conversion, I determined to avoid even the near-occasion of sin.
And at first, I thought myself successful.
However, a few months later I asked God to show me any sin still lingering in my life. I expected a clean report. At worst, perhaps a minor sin or two. But what He unveiled was so dramatic, so disturbing, so disillusioning, I still remember it thirty-eight years later.
Attitudes and thoughts, words and behaviors surged through my memory. Wave after wave, the images ebbed and flowed. I slumped from my knees prostrate before God, ashamed and bewildered at how many things I’d done wrong – just within the past twenty-four hours.
I think people have an uncanny ability of self-deception, to stand in a sewer convinced it‘s clover, to look at darkness believing it is sunlight. The prophet Jeremiah knew the phenomenon: “The heart is more deceitful than all else and is desperately sick; who can understand it?” (Jeremiah 17:9). The Psalmist asked God, “Probe me, God, know my heart . . . see if my way is crooked, then lead me in the ancient paths” (Psalm 139:23-24). And St. Augustine confessed, “I had known [my iniquity] but deceived myself, refused to admit it, and pushed it out of my mind” (Confessions, book VIII).
With slippery ease, we convince ourselves of the clover or the light, never recognizing our true condition. That is why we are prudent to regularly ask the Holy Spirit to show us our sins – especially those hidden from our eyes.
And prepare to fall prostrate.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Would Be Nice to Find Out
And [God] said, “ . . . . Have you eaten from the tree of which I commanded you not to eat?" The man said, "The woman whom You gave to be with me, she gave me from the tree, and I ate." Then the LORD God said to the woman, "What is this you have done?" And the woman said, "The serpent deceived me, and I ate" Genesis 3:11 13 (NASB).
Why is it so difficult for so many of us to admit our guilt to God? What is so hard about saying to Him, "I’ve sinned"?
Maybe pride stands in our way. We refuse to accept the notion that we are as bad as Scripture says we are. So we rationalize our disobedience with well-thought-out excuses and rehearse them so often we begin to believe our own stories.
Or perhaps fear keeps us aloof. We think if we do confess our sins, His discipline won’t be tempered by His mercy. So we hide the depth of our sins even from ourselves – hoping that maybe God Himself won’t notice them.
I wonder if things would have been different for our original parents if they had been certain of God’s love for them. If they had they known in their inner core that nothing they could do would separate them from His deep affection for them, would they have tried to hide from God – and then when He found them, shift the blame for their sins to another?
It’s a rhetorical question, I know.
But . . . is it?
I wonder how my relationship with God would change if I was convinced of His mercy which is rooted in Christ’s blood. How would my relationship change if I really trusted in His unconditional love for me – and that His discipline was simply an extension of His compassion? Would I be as quick to rationalize my sins or blame others for them?
I don’t know.
But it would be nice to find out.
Why is it so difficult for so many of us to admit our guilt to God? What is so hard about saying to Him, "I’ve sinned"?
Maybe pride stands in our way. We refuse to accept the notion that we are as bad as Scripture says we are. So we rationalize our disobedience with well-thought-out excuses and rehearse them so often we begin to believe our own stories.
Or perhaps fear keeps us aloof. We think if we do confess our sins, His discipline won’t be tempered by His mercy. So we hide the depth of our sins even from ourselves – hoping that maybe God Himself won’t notice them.
I wonder if things would have been different for our original parents if they had been certain of God’s love for them. If they had they known in their inner core that nothing they could do would separate them from His deep affection for them, would they have tried to hide from God – and then when He found them, shift the blame for their sins to another?
It’s a rhetorical question, I know.
But . . . is it?
I wonder how my relationship with God would change if I was convinced of His mercy which is rooted in Christ’s blood. How would my relationship change if I really trusted in His unconditional love for me – and that His discipline was simply an extension of His compassion? Would I be as quick to rationalize my sins or blame others for them?
I don’t know.
But it would be nice to find out.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Only Christ
For it is I, the LORD, your God, who brought you out of the land of the Egyptians and freed you from their slavery, breaking the yoke they had laid upon you and letting you walk erect. (Lev 26:13)
Sin is a merciless master.
It binds us with chains
tighter than titanium.
It takes us
where we do not want to go,
keeps us
longer than we want to stay,
costs us more
than we want to pay.
And only Christ –
not our virtue
Only Christ –
not our character,
Only Christ –
not our works.
Only Christ –
with His blood,
can rescue the penitent
from sin’s mastery,
break its chains,
and set us erect.
Only Christ.
And only to the penitent.
Sin is a merciless master.
It binds us with chains
tighter than titanium.
It takes us
where we do not want to go,
keeps us
longer than we want to stay,
costs us more
than we want to pay.
And only Christ –
not our virtue
Only Christ –
not our character,
Only Christ –
not our works.
Only Christ –
with His blood,
can rescue the penitent
from sin’s mastery,
break its chains,
and set us erect.
Only Christ.
And only to the penitent.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Throwing Jesus Over a Cliff
The other day I read a passage in Luke 4 that got me thinking of an essay published in my book, Lessons Along the Journey. I thought it might be good to adapt the essay for this blog.
--------------
Whom would you compare me with, as an equal, or match me against, as though we were alike? . . . I am God, there is no other; I am God, there is none like me. At the beginning I foretell the outcome; in advance, things not yet done. I say that my plan shall stand, I accomplish my every purpose (Isaiah 46:5-10).
As I sat one morning on my couch and pondered the idea of God’s absolute control over our every circumstance, a question slipped into my mind: Is God, who is in control of all things, good all the time and in all circumstances?
And I remembered a passage from St. Luke’s gospel about the Lord’s visit to Nazareth. The people in Jesus’ hometown challenged Him to work miracles for them as He’d done in other cities.
I could understand their argument. Jesus grew up in Nazareth. The people asking for miracles were His childhood friends and neighbors. He’d been in their homes, and they’d been in His. Why shouldn’t they expect Him to heal their sick and touch their hurting as He’d done in other cities?
But they learned, as I’ve learned – and have had to relearn time without number – God doesn’t always do what we want Him to do.
“Indeed, I tell you,” Jesus answered, “there were many widows in Israel in the days of Elijah when the sky was closed for three and a half years and a severe famine spread over the entire land. It was to none of these that Elijah was sent, but only to a widow in Zarephath in the land of Sidon. Again, there were many lepers in Israel during the time of Elisha the prophet; yet not one of them was cleansed, but only Naaman the Syrian" (Luke 4:25-27).
In other words, God does what He chooses and for whom He chooses. And no one – not even Jesus’ neighbors and childhood friends – has a right to expect or demand He do otherwise.
But Jesus’ remark infuriated them. In a flood of passion, the crowd “rose up, drove him out of the town, and led him to the brow of the hill . . . to hurl him down headlong” (Luke 4:28-29).
Seems to me, people haven’t changed much since that day centuries ago in Nazareth. Many still grow bitter toward God over withered dreams and crushed hopes. They rail against Him because an accident took someone they love, or their marriage crumbled, or their child wasn’t healed, or . . . .
And so, unable to throw the Lord over a cliff, they throw away their faith instead.
It’s a danger we all face.
Like Martha who wept at the Lord’s feet over her brother Lazarus’ death, I often wonder why God is silent when I need Him to speak to my heart. I wonder why He says no when I need so much for Him to say yes. Why does He work miracles for others, but not for me?
In my many years of walking with Christ, I’ve come to recognize these questions are critical questions of faith -- and I don’t think God will let any of us gloss over them. Our maturity as Christians depends on how we answer those questions, because each time we don’t receive what we ask, each time we get knocked to the ground, we face two choices: throw Christ over the cliff, or persevere in our faith that God will work grace into our circumstances – regardless of how things look or feel.
In her short life – she was only twenty-four when she died – St. Therese of Lisieux discovered, “Everything is a grace. Everything is the direct effect of our Father's love – difficulties, contradictions, humiliations, all the soul's miseries, her burdens, her needs – everything. Because through them she learns humility, realizes her weakness. Everything is a grace because everything is God's gift. Whatever be the character of life or its unexpected events, to the heart that loves, all is well.”
The answer to the question, Is God good all the time and in all circumstances? is rooted in what St. Therese can teach those who listen. When doubts hammer our heart into the ground – God is good. When tragedy explodes through our life – God is good. When all of hell itself rises against our soul and overwhelms our strength – in all circumstances and at all times, God is good.
We come to that conclusion because it is simply not possible for Him to be anything else.
--------------
Whom would you compare me with, as an equal, or match me against, as though we were alike? . . . I am God, there is no other; I am God, there is none like me. At the beginning I foretell the outcome; in advance, things not yet done. I say that my plan shall stand, I accomplish my every purpose (Isaiah 46:5-10).
As I sat one morning on my couch and pondered the idea of God’s absolute control over our every circumstance, a question slipped into my mind: Is God, who is in control of all things, good all the time and in all circumstances?
And I remembered a passage from St. Luke’s gospel about the Lord’s visit to Nazareth. The people in Jesus’ hometown challenged Him to work miracles for them as He’d done in other cities.
I could understand their argument. Jesus grew up in Nazareth. The people asking for miracles were His childhood friends and neighbors. He’d been in their homes, and they’d been in His. Why shouldn’t they expect Him to heal their sick and touch their hurting as He’d done in other cities?
But they learned, as I’ve learned – and have had to relearn time without number – God doesn’t always do what we want Him to do.
“Indeed, I tell you,” Jesus answered, “there were many widows in Israel in the days of Elijah when the sky was closed for three and a half years and a severe famine spread over the entire land. It was to none of these that Elijah was sent, but only to a widow in Zarephath in the land of Sidon. Again, there were many lepers in Israel during the time of Elisha the prophet; yet not one of them was cleansed, but only Naaman the Syrian" (Luke 4:25-27).
In other words, God does what He chooses and for whom He chooses. And no one – not even Jesus’ neighbors and childhood friends – has a right to expect or demand He do otherwise.
But Jesus’ remark infuriated them. In a flood of passion, the crowd “rose up, drove him out of the town, and led him to the brow of the hill . . . to hurl him down headlong” (Luke 4:28-29).
Seems to me, people haven’t changed much since that day centuries ago in Nazareth. Many still grow bitter toward God over withered dreams and crushed hopes. They rail against Him because an accident took someone they love, or their marriage crumbled, or their child wasn’t healed, or . . . .
And so, unable to throw the Lord over a cliff, they throw away their faith instead.
It’s a danger we all face.
Like Martha who wept at the Lord’s feet over her brother Lazarus’ death, I often wonder why God is silent when I need Him to speak to my heart. I wonder why He says no when I need so much for Him to say yes. Why does He work miracles for others, but not for me?
In my many years of walking with Christ, I’ve come to recognize these questions are critical questions of faith -- and I don’t think God will let any of us gloss over them. Our maturity as Christians depends on how we answer those questions, because each time we don’t receive what we ask, each time we get knocked to the ground, we face two choices: throw Christ over the cliff, or persevere in our faith that God will work grace into our circumstances – regardless of how things look or feel.
In her short life – she was only twenty-four when she died – St. Therese of Lisieux discovered, “Everything is a grace. Everything is the direct effect of our Father's love – difficulties, contradictions, humiliations, all the soul's miseries, her burdens, her needs – everything. Because through them she learns humility, realizes her weakness. Everything is a grace because everything is God's gift. Whatever be the character of life or its unexpected events, to the heart that loves, all is well.”
The answer to the question, Is God good all the time and in all circumstances? is rooted in what St. Therese can teach those who listen. When doubts hammer our heart into the ground – God is good. When tragedy explodes through our life – God is good. When all of hell itself rises against our soul and overwhelms our strength – in all circumstances and at all times, God is good.
We come to that conclusion because it is simply not possible for Him to be anything else.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
De Jure, De Facto
They claim to know God, but by their deeds they deny him . . . (Titus 1:16).
I recently relearned a couple of Latin phrases: de jure and de facto.
De jure refers to what a rule or law actually states, while de facto refers to how that rule or law is actually practiced. For example, there is a highway in the middle of nowhere in Montana where the speed limit is – de jure – 70 mph. But sit by the side of the road a while and you'd realize the speed limit is – de facto – 85.
I think Baptism is a good example of theological de jure and de facto in the Church. Catholics know Baptism brings a person into the salvation of Christ. We become God’s child. We are sealed by the Holy Spirit to live holy lives.
That’s the de jure position of Scripture and the Church.
For some Catholics, the de facto practice of their baptismal faith is, however, quite different. To hear and to watch them, one might conclude they believe because they are baptized and sealed by the Holy Spirit, they are eternally secure. They are forever God’s child – and so can do as they wish, believe as they wish, even if so doing and believing contradicts the clear teaching of Scripture and the Church.
In other words, they believe de jure they are Christians by their baptism, but they live de facto in sin as atheists.
But is that why God sent His Son to a torturous death, so we could live as we wish? Is that what God meant when He commanded, “Be holy even as I am holy”?
If our world ever needed Christians to unite their de facto to God’s de jure, it is now.
And we would all do well to heed the warning of Scripture, If we sin deliberately after receiving knowledge of the truth, there no longer remains sacrifice for sins but a fearful prospect of judgment and a flaming fire that is going to consume the adversaries. . . It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God (Hebrews 10:26-31).
I recently relearned a couple of Latin phrases: de jure and de facto.
De jure refers to what a rule or law actually states, while de facto refers to how that rule or law is actually practiced. For example, there is a highway in the middle of nowhere in Montana where the speed limit is – de jure – 70 mph. But sit by the side of the road a while and you'd realize the speed limit is – de facto – 85.
I think Baptism is a good example of theological de jure and de facto in the Church. Catholics know Baptism brings a person into the salvation of Christ. We become God’s child. We are sealed by the Holy Spirit to live holy lives.
That’s the de jure position of Scripture and the Church.
For some Catholics, the de facto practice of their baptismal faith is, however, quite different. To hear and to watch them, one might conclude they believe because they are baptized and sealed by the Holy Spirit, they are eternally secure. They are forever God’s child – and so can do as they wish, believe as they wish, even if so doing and believing contradicts the clear teaching of Scripture and the Church.
In other words, they believe de jure they are Christians by their baptism, but they live de facto in sin as atheists.
But is that why God sent His Son to a torturous death, so we could live as we wish? Is that what God meant when He commanded, “Be holy even as I am holy”?
If our world ever needed Christians to unite their de facto to God’s de jure, it is now.
And we would all do well to heed the warning of Scripture, If we sin deliberately after receiving knowledge of the truth, there no longer remains sacrifice for sins but a fearful prospect of judgment and a flaming fire that is going to consume the adversaries. . . It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God (Hebrews 10:26-31).
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