A Troubling Viewpoint

There is a sentiment that I often see expressed these days among some of my fellow Lutherans. It is that those who have fallen into very serious, life-shattering sin have a better understanding of sin, and therefore grace, than those who just plug along contending with a particular temptation without acting it out. An extension of this mindset is the idea that spiritual leaders who have committed one of these serious sins and have in the ensuing fallout "hit bottom" are better equipped to teach and preach about sin, repentance, grace, and forgiveness. (Side note: by serious, I mean serious in repercussions, not serious in substance, since before God all sin is the same in the effect of its separating us from Him. Sometimes the word that is used, especially in reference to ministers, is scandalous, representing the effect of the sin on the faith of others. See 1 Timothy 3.)

I think this is a dangerous way of thinking. In the first place, it minimizes the struggle of those who contend with inner sin without acting on it in an outer manner. Sin is sin, whether it's hidden or visible. We can sin in thought as well as in deed. The person who does the former, struggling day in and day out with temptation and sinful thoughts, can be just as well acquainted with the need for repentance and forgiveness as one who outwardly sins. So I think it is misguided to generalize about who better understands sin based on what we see on the outside.

Second, this way of thinking risks an odd sort of celebrating of one who has publicly sinned and publicly repented. Yes, we need to love the sinner. Yes, we need to embrace and care for one who has fallen, and repented, and is in desperate need of God's love and grace. Very often that love and grace are provided through the words and deeds of the Christian community who are called to put it into action. But I think we need to guard against turning such people, especially ministers, into examples, and assigning them special standing. It is especially risky to do so when young people, who are typically turned off by supposed hypocrisy, are involved. Our example should not be the one who has sinned. Our example should be the One who was sinless.

Happy Spring! (with update)

Wow, a month without a post. I don't know if I have ever gone this long. I have been pondering the reasons, and I think there are several. First, I am writing more places these days! Here are a few of my recent posts elsewhere. I am quite pleased with this development, but also regret that it seems to be making it harder to write on my own blog. Time to write is a precious commodity these days, and I must admit that the larger the potential audience for a piece, the higher its priority on my task list. But I also find myself wondering if maybe this blog is moving into the autumn of its life. Everything has its season, and I don't know if Round Unvarnish'd is still going to be telling tales when I'm in my eighties. But who knows? Maybe some day it will no longer be "A Round Unvarnish'd Tale" but "A Much Rounder, Unvarnish'd, Peeling, Cracked and Weathered Tale."

So, I guess an update is in order. Several weeks ago we enjoyed spring break with Caitlin. Now she is back at school and Trevor is home. Ah, that we could have them both at the same time. But I guess this way, the joy is spread out over a longer period. This past week we went to see Trevor play for the last time with the UNL Symphony. He won the undergraduate concerto competition for strings/piano two years ago when he was a sophomore and again this year as a senior (winning his sophomore year made him ineligible to compete his junior year). Here is a video of his performance on the winners' concert:

Brahms Second Piano Concerto, Finale from Cheryl on Vimeo.

I have been sick for about two weeks now. Not stay-in-bed sick, but dragging-by-the-end-of-the-day-I'm-behind-on-everything-because-I'm-so-drained sick. It started out as a cold, but the cough is hanging on, and hanging on, and hanging on. I will go to the doctor this week if I don't start seeing improvement.

Our pastor had a stroke. He is only in his mid-forties. Thanks be to God, it was a minor stroke, brought on by things that can be better treated and managed. His family--wife and four sons kindergarten and under--and his congregation are praying many prayers of thanks that he was preserved in life, is recovering well, and will in time be able to return to his call as a shepherd of souls. What a gift is life, always.

In two weeks Evan will take his First Communion at Easter Vigil. I only wish his big sister and brother could be here for the occasion.

Under the heading of "what I've been thinking about," I happened across a video of Monica Lewinsky giving a TED talk on what it's like to be publicly humiliated. It was quite compelling and made me think of the OU student who was videotaped singing a terrible and racist song on a bus. Here's an article expressing the hope that that young man's entire life is ruined because that is what he deserves. I am troubled by the thought that we live in an age where someone can do something admittedly cruel and stupid but even after repenting and apologizing and trying to learn from the mistake be never, ever able to put it behind him (or her) because of how thoroughly documented and public our lives have become. I am not thinking now of Parker Rice--I can't speak to his character or the sincerity of his apology--but of people in general and the problems posed by the permanence of the internet. Even those of us who are not public figures (and so have not sinned in such visible ways) can probably relate to the admonition that "the internet is forever." Most people have posts they wish they hadn't written, comments they wish they hadn't made, pictures they wish they hadn't shared--and how much more dangerous is the terrain for young people who are still in the phase of life where they tend to think they are invulnerable. I am reminded of that picture often shared on Facebook expressing gratitude for having come of age before social media. Oh, to be able to take back that word, that tweet, that . . . whatever. And yet, more often than not, we can't. Because even when the world with its short attention span has moved on and forgotten, and the "sinner" is redeemed and going on talk shows and writing books, there is still the knowledge that the offensive thing remains intact, floating in the cloud, retrievable at any time.

It is a knowledge that makes the forgiveness of sins and the forgetfulness of God all that more astounding.

Anyway

One of my Facebook friends recently posted a slightly different version of this poem on her wall. The words are often attributed to Mother Theresa, but according to this source they are probably based on something by another writer called "The Paradoxical Commandments."

People are often unreasonable, irrational and self-centered. Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives. Be kind anyway.

If you are successful, you will win some unfaithful friends and some genuine enemies. Succeed anyway.

If you are honest and sincere, people may deceive you. Be honest and sincere anyway.

What you spend years creating others could destroy overnight. Create anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness, some may be jealous. Be happy anyway.

The good you do today will often be forgotten. Do good anyway.

Give the best you have, and it will never be enough. Give your best anyway.

In the final analysis, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway.

 

When I first read this post on Facebook I found myself cheering. It sounds so simple. And I have so often seen what is described here: kindness and generosity perceived as selfish self-promoting; a person's honesty used against him; selfless acts quickly forgotten; someone's best effort pronounced as still not enough; the product of many years of work and sweat torn down, ignored or summarily set aside. The problem is that as beautiful as the poem's sentiment is, I can't follow it. I find it very difficult to forgive those who have hurt me or to not be discouraged when something I have worked hard to build or accomplish is disregarded or unappreciated. I want to be thanked when I have helped someone. I want to be appreciated when I have given my best. As I read these words, I again and again come face to face with my sinful condition. I find it impossible to do all the things the poem says I should do. And the reason is that I am not just the victim of the behaviors described in the poem; I am the perpetrator. I am not just the one of whom others are jealous; I am the jealous one. I am not just the one whose good deeds go unnoticed; I am the one who fails to notice the sacrifices of others. I am not only the builder; I am also the destroyer.

Thank goodness for the final line of the poem, which reminds us that while our relationships with others are dependent on sinful human beings, our relationship with God is dependent only on Him. While others let us down, He never does. He looks at us in all our unreasonable, self-centered, deceitful, destructive selfishness and He does what we are unable to do: He loves and forgives us anyway. And ultimately that is the only "anyway" that matters and the one to which we should all desperately cling.

A Bigger Sinner, Who Can Find?

Some time ago my buddy Rebekah suggested that I read Native Son by Richard Wright. (At least I think it was Rebekah. She can correct me if I'm wrong.) This week I finally took her advice and picked it up. I did not realize what I was getting myself into. It is an incredibly difficult, emotionally totalizing read. I don't mean difficult in the sense of difficult to comprehend but in the sense of disturbing. I have made the mistake several times of reading it before bed, not a good strategy for someone who grapples with insomnia under the best of circumstances. But I can't help it. I have heard of people not being able to put down The Hunger Games trilogy. After the first book, I had no trouble doing just that; I went on to read the other two mostly so as to be able to talk about the books with my teenagers. Native Son is far more compelling and far more troubling than anything I have read in a while.

I have not finished the book yet. I am about to start the third and last part. I am hoping for some sort of redemption or possibility of redemption for the main character but I don't know whether it's coming. I don't want to spoil the story for anyone who may wish to read it, but I don't think it will do so to say that Bigger Thomas, the main character, is a complete sociopath. He has no sense of right and wrong and he lacks any measure of empathy for his fellow human beings. His actions in the novel are shocking and sickening; equally so is his thought process as he reflects on those actions:

"Now that the ice was broken, could he not do other things? What was there to stop him? While sitting there at the table waiting for his breakfast, he felt that he was arriving at something which had long eluded him. Things were becoming clear; he would know how to act from now on. The thing to do was to act just like others acted, live like they lived, and while they were not looking, do what you wanted. They would never know. He felt in the quiet presence of his mother, brother, and sister a force, inarticulate and unconscious, making for living without thinking, making for peace and habit, making for a hope that blinded. He felt that they wanted and yearned to see life in a certain way; they needed a certain picture of the world; there was one way of living they preferred above all others; and they were blind to what did not fit. They did not want to see what others were doing if that doing did not feed their own desires. All one had to do was be bold, do something nobody thought of. The whole thing came to him in the form of a powerful and simple feeling; there was in everyone a great hunger to believe that made him blind, and if he could see while others were blind, then he could get what he wanted and never be caught at it."

The passage is terrifying in its depiction of a sociopath's discovery of his own sociopathy and his realization that if he hides it from the world, he can use it against the world. To this point in his life he has not worried about trying to fit in or play the game or seem normal but has flaunted his antisocial behavior for all to see. Now, suddenly, he realizes that it is much more useful to play along with society, at least externally. Bigger has also figured out a basic truth about human beings that he can use to his advantage: namely, that they tend to see the world as they want and to deny those things that don't fit their predetermined conclusion of reality. It is the amazing human capacity for self-deception, and we all have it. Unfortunately, we all also have a great capacity for deceiving others. And that is probably what is most disturbing about this book. While neither I nor you, dear reader, would ever in a million years be able to commit the kinds of acts that Bigger commits in this book, we all have in our hearts the same sickness that makes it possible for us to rationalize all kinds of lies and delusional thinking. We may not be sociopaths, but we are most definitely sinners. And like Bigger, we deceive ourselves into thinking we can keep up the facade and not get caught. I guess that's why even as I am literally kept awake at night by visions of Bigger's atrocities, I also find myself feeling sorry for him and desiring for him some ray of hope--some indication that his mind and heart might be changed. I have met some Bigger Thomases in my day, albeit on a much smaller scale. And if I am honest with myself, there is a tiny little Bigger Thomas inside of me. May God have mercy on us all, for in truth, without Him, we are all equally lost.

The Faith of a Child

Today at church I was visiting with a friend whose 87-year-old mother has been in the hospital. I asked my friend about his mother's condition and we talked for a little while as he filled me in on her health situation: pneumonia, erratic blood pressure, and degenerative heart disease. Evan, my 7-year-old, waited while we talked, but as we were wrapping up the conversation and my friend was starting to walk away it became clear that Evan had something he wanted to say.

"Mommy, Mommy!"

"Yes, Evan?"

"Does Mr. C_____ know about Honey-Nut Cheerios?"

"Um, I don't know, Evan. What about them?"

"They reduce the risk of heart disease!"

Wow. Evan hadn't just been waiting; he had been listening. My friend smiled at Evan, who was brimming with excitement to have this news to share (he knows the gentleman in question pretty well).

"Why, thank you, Evan! That is great to know!"

As my friend walked away, Evan smiled at me happily and said, "Maybe Mr. C_____'s mother will get better now!"

Sigh. If only it were so simple. And yet, when it comes to the thing that most ails us, it is. Honey-Nut Cheerios may not cure heart disease, but Jesus does cure sin. And we who are fed by Him have the great blessing of being able to share that Good News with others. May we do so with the faith and enthusiasm of a child, unquestioningly trusting in God's Word as a little boy trusts the label on his box of cereal.

Pass the Cheerios, please.

A God of Life

I'm turning my Facebook status this morning into a blog post.

Last night Evan, my 7-year-old, asked me one of those questions that makes ME feel like a 7-year-old: "Why didn't God kill the snake before it could tempt Adam & Eve?"

I fumbled around a bit with this and that, telling Evan that in His death on the cross Jesus did conquer the devil, but finally summarized with the standard "There are things we don't fully understand now that we will understand some day when we get to heaven."

This morning I shared Evan's question with my husband, who responded: "Well, God doesn't kill US before WE can sin, does He? The devil kills his enemies; the Lord kills Himself to save His enemies, reconciling the world to Himself."

See why I love this man?

Take Up Your Cross

"And he said to all, 'If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will save it. For what does it profit a man if he gains the whole world and loses or forfeits himself? For whoever is ashamed of me and of my words, of him will the Son of Man be ashamed when he comes in his glory and the glory of the Father and of the holy angels.'" - Luke 9:23-26

Christians love to make their salvation about themselves: their decision to pursue it, their choice to accept it, their works to earn it. Thus when we hear this well known passage our gut reaction is to think of the taking up of one's cross as something we do to earn God's approval--to prove ourselves to Him. We look at the ways we suffer in our everyday lives and congratulate ourselves for persevering in the face of that suffering: "See, Jesus? See? I'm suffering but I'm not giving up. I'm following you. I'm remaining faithful. Aren't you proud of me?" We are perhaps tempted to buy into the Roman Catholic view of our suffering as something we can "offer up" to Jesus, adding our suffering to His so as to help Him in his redemptive work.

Here's what Father Luther has to say about that:

"Illness, poverty, pain, and the like must not be called a cross; they are not worthy of that name. . . . This is finding the cross: to know your own self, or to know the cross. Where do you find that? In your heart. Unless you find it there the finding of it outwardly is of no avail. 'Whosoever willeth to come to me, let him take up his cross and follow me.' You must come to the point when you say, 'My Lord and my God, would that I were worthy of it.' You must be as joyful about it as were the dear saints." (Martin Luther, Day by Day We Magnify Thee, Sermons from 1527)

So much for smugly patting ourselves on the back for enduring all that this world throws at us. None of that can even qualify as a cross. "This is finding the cross: to know your own self . . . ." In other words, finding the cross is looking within and seeing the sin that is responsible for our Saviour's taking up His cross and then being brought to repentance and wanting nothing more than to follow that Saviour in the way of the cross because that is where hope, forgiveness, and new life are to be found.

Jesus doesn't ask us to take up our crosses so that we can help Him. He asks us to do it so that He can help us.

Saying and Meaning

One of my favorite confessional Lutheran blogs, The Brothers of John the Steadfast, has in recent weeks criticized the decision of Concordia Seminary-St. Louis to replace weekday chapel with Small Group Bible study once per quarter. The criticism is due in part to the cancellation of chapel. What is one of our seminaries doing cancelling chapel for any reason? But it also arises out of concerns about the nature of Small Group Bible study. I capitalize the letters "Small" and "Group" because they are not mere adjectives: rather, they signify a certain approach to Bible study with which most confessional Lutherans are decidedly uncomfortable. Small Group Bible study is in practice centered not as much on the Word as it is on the people in the group. One of its primary emphases is the social component: building relationships and encouraging personal sharing and accountability. Often Small Groups are instituted in an attempt to break a large organization into smaller cells so that everyone feels "connected." It's a laudable goal. But the introduction of Bible study into the Small Group structure (instead of just focusing the groups purely on fellowship) means that more often than not the Bible study is led by a lay person rather than a pastor. That is a dangerous path to trod. In addition, the Small Group approach to Bible study is to read a passage and then ask for input from the group with questions such as "What does this mean to you?" and "How can you apply this passage to your own life?" Those questions may seem innocuous enough. After all, what is the Bible if not God's Word for me? Shouldn't I be not just reading but thinking about how that Word is significant in my own life?

I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say no. And here's why. I don't have to think about how God's Word speaks to me because I already know. It speaks to me exactly what it speaks to every other sinner. It either kills me with the Law or it saves me by the Gospel. When I start thinking that it means anything more than one of those things--that maybe it speaks to me a little differently in this verse than it speaks to someone else--then I am getting into very treacherous territory. Because in my experience, the more human beings try to overthink God's Word the more likely they are to get it all mixed up. I don't know if this is his own expression or one he borrowed from someone else, but my Pastor likes to say that we Christians are highly prone to either "legalize the Gospel" or "Gospelize the Law." We like to take the Gospel and turn it into some sort of guide for living ("What Would Jesus Do?) and conversely we like to take the Law and use it to make ourselves feel better ("I'm not as bad as that guy over there"). Neither is proper. Both are pitfalls that lead us into all sorts of trouble. And both are highly likely outcomes of Small Group Bible study.

Now some might say, "But in the case you cite, the people in question are not laity but seminarians--pastors in training." Yes. And in this case Small Groups appear to have professors assigned to lead them. But I can't help wondering, what is the point? Aren't these seminarians in classrooms with those very same professors for hours each week? Aren't classes small groups? Why, then, the need to create another sort of Small Group structure?

I think the answer is two-fold. I think there is probably a sincere desire to offer an opportunity for the seminarians to support and encourage one another in the challenges of their various vocations. But I think this is the wrong way. It is a great example of the sort of legalism my pastor talks about. Something that should happen naturally--the mutual conversation and conversation of the brethren--is being prescribed. My guess is that there is already plenty of that conversation and consolation going on: between classes, in the library, in private homes, in local pubs, on the phone, or online. Why the need to systematize it? If there is concern that someone is being left out, why not just take steps to include that person and help him to feel more assimilated? The observant professor might invite the lonely seminarian over for a meal or perhaps encourage several of his students to invite him out for a beer. Why must there be an entirely new and sweeping structure put in place to achieve what a few caring souls could do on their own?

I think the answer brings us to the second likely purpose of Small Groups at the seminary. I think the second and perhaps primary goal has to do with pastoral formation. The desire is to give these pastors in training some Small Group experience in the hope that when they have their own parishes they will institute Small Groups. And therein lies the problem. If anyone can execute the Small Group model successfully, it is probably seminarians and their teachers. But when those seminarians become pastors who promote Small Groups in their parishes, I don't think there is any way they can possibly ward off the undesirable effects of the Small Group model. So why go there at all?

I think those who promote Small Groups probably have the best of intentions in most cases. They value Bible study and know that it is something that is sorely lacking in the lives of many Christians. They value people and long to bring God's comfort to hurting souls. Small Group Bible study seems a way to accomplish both. But if the outcome of Small Group Bible study is the tolerance of incorrect understandings of Scripture in the interest of not hurting feelings, or a harmful emphasis on subjective feelings rather than objective truth, or the turning of Gospel into Law through an emphasis on taking the day's learning and going out and doing something with it, or the establishment of small cells within a congregation in a way that may cause people to identify more strongly with their small groups than they do with their whole parish family, then there is a problem. And I think it is more likely than not that one or more of those problems is going to occur.

So what of the title of this post? I think when it comes to God's Word we might do well to focus less on what it means than what it says. Asking ourselves what that Word means rather than what it says seems to me an invitation to go down that familiar old path of "Did God really say . . . ?" And we all know where that leads. Don't we?

Life Under the Cross

One of the things I love most about the Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod, in which I was confirmed as a young married twenty-something in the late 1980's (having been Roman Catholic in my teenage years), is its perfect understanding of salvation and the individual's role in obtaining it. As human beings we naturally (and sinfully) desire ultimate power over our own lives and credit for our accomplishments. No wonder, then, that we struggle so with realizing that when it comes to justification--being made righteous in the sight of God--we have no role to play. Martin Luther described the human condition as that of a beggar standing before God. There is nothing we can do to remove the stain of sin, nothing we can offer to earn God's forgiveness. We are utterly dependent upon God's mercy, and because God is God and He demands perfection, our only hope is to plant ourselves firmly behind the cross of Christ, trusting the Father's promise to impute the righteousness of the Son to those who live under that cross. As the pastor who confirmed me described it, God looks at the sinner through the lens of the cross and, seeing only the perfection of Jesus, likewise pronouces the sinner to be "poi-fect."

To realize that there is nothing I can do to gain salvation--indeed, nothing I need to do, since Jesus has done it for me--brings a feeling of peace, rest and freedom that goes beyond human words because it is not of this world. And yet, the sinful nature still fights against it, wanting to reclaim that power and control. I am the master of my destiny, after all. Aren't I? Aren't I helping just a little by what a good person I'm being and how hard I'm working? "No," says the Father, smiling gently. "No. You are a poor, miserable sinner. But you are my child whom I love, so much that I sent my own dear Son to live the perfect life you couldn't and to pay for the sins you couldn't pay for. Rest in His triumph over sin, death, and the grave. It is finished. There's nothing more to be done!"

Oh. Yeah. I forgot for a moment there. And on it goes--the daily forgetting and reminding that is the essence of the life of a Christian.

I think it may be that constant need of the sinner to be reminded of his sinful condition that leads to something I sometimes encounter among my Lutheran friends.* Because they so deeply understand their sinful state and love the theology of the cross, I think there is sometimes a tendency to put their sins on display in a way that is not necessarily helpful to either themselves or those with whom they come into contact. And because it is so easy to fall into the "try to be good so God will love me" trap, they overcompensate by trumpeting as loudly as possible what wretches they are, turning their shortcomings, weaknesses, and sinful nature into almost a point of pride or badge of honor: "Look at me! Look at what a messed up, sinful excuse for a human being I am! Can you believe it? I'm even more screwed up than you!"

And indeed, they are wretches. We all are, and again, one of the things I love most about Lutheran theology is how effectively that message is communicated. But I think there's a balance to be had. There's a difference between quietly hanging our heads in shame as we acknowledge our sins and perhaps even share them in hopes of pointing another towards Christ, and standing before the world, playing a game of sinner's one-ups-man-ship as we tick off our transgressions with Technicolor detail and provide the equivalent of a Powerpoint presentation on our messed up selves.

I sometimes even see what strikes me as intentionally edgy behavior that has as its goal the avoidance of the dreaded "pietist" label: "See? I appreciate wordly music and pleasures. I can swear and drink and party and tell dirty jokes with the best of them. I'm no goody-two-shoes holier-than-thou Pollyanna. I'm a sinner!" The mind reels with the possibilities. "See Dick sin. Sin, Dick, sin!"

I think that sometimes our sins, like our prayers, might be best kept between us and God: “And when you pray, you must not be like the hypocrites. For they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, that they may be seen by others. Truly, I say to you, they have received their reward. But when you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will reward you." (Matthew 6: 5-6)

And you know, there's nothing wrong with trying to be good as long as we realize that, while it will certainly make our earthly life and that of those around us better, it's not going to get us any closer to heaven.

*I do it, too.

See You at the Party

In addition to the Tenebrae, our congregation has an afternoon Good Friday service. It is not technically a Tre Ore ("Three Hours") service because it does not start at noon and end at 3:00. It is also not three hours long, but it does have many of the elements of the Tre Ore (the reading of the Passion narrative, and the Bidding Prayer, for example). The service is held at 4:00 p.m.; from 12:00 until 3:00 our pastors are available for individual Confession and Absolution.

I normally attend the Tenebrae rather than the afternoon service because that's where I am needed to serve as a musician. And although I might personally choose to attend both services, asking young children to do so is pressing my luck. So I have not always attended the afternoon service. But yesterday I did, and now I don't think I will ever want to miss it again (and since my last baby is now 5 years old, I don't think I'll have to). I don't know why--maybe I am just finally growing up--but I have never been more engaged in the reading of the Passion than I was yesterday afternoon. It was broken into segments and interspersed with stanzas of "O Sacred Head, Now Wounded" and was followed by a homily during which Pastor pointed us to the various parts of Jesus' body and how they received the punishment that should have been ours. Then we sang, "Stricken, Smitten, and Afflicted," the final two stanzas of which speak Law and Gospel as clearly as anything I can think of:

Ye who think of sin but lightly
Nor suppose the evil great
Here may view its nature rightly,
Here its guilt may estimate.
Mark the sacrifice appointed,
See who bears the awful load;
'Tis the Word, the Lord's anointed,
Son of Man and Son of God.

Here we have a firm foundation,
Here the refuge of the lost:
Christ the Rock of our salvation,
Is the name of which we boast;
Lamb of God, for sinners wounded,
Sacrifice to cancel guilt!
None shall ever be confounded
Who on Him their hope have built.

By the end of the hymn I felt as though I could look Satan himself in the eye and without flinching tell the old buzzard to "Get lost! I have Jesus on my side!"

Of course I couldn't have. Not of my own power, anyway. And neither can you. But we who wear the name of Jesus may boast indeed, because it is He who stands between us and Satan and who in our stead 2000 years ago told Satan to "Get lost!" And He continues to do so today and every day in a million different ways, each time we flee to Him who is our refuge.

It is finished. The battle is won. I'm going to the victory celebration.

Are you?

Death and Life

My five-year-old (that angel face in the previous post) has been thinking about death a lot lately, probably due in large part to losing his granddad last month. He has expressed the wish that he could go to heaven without having to die (we have told him that if Jesus comes back in his lifetime he might just get to). He has reacted to people or situations that make him angry or upset by saying, "I want to die!" or "You want me to die!" He has been asking a lot of questions about other people he loves, wondering particularly how his grandmas are doing and if they're getting better. I think he fears losing someone else.

Last night he was feeling lonely and having trouble sleeping, so I lay down with him in his bed for a while. We chatted about everyday things and finally he was quiet. Then out of nowhere he asked,

"Jesus came to earth so that He could DIE?"

Isn't it amazing how children can sometimes just get at the essence of a thing? I replied,

"Yes, honey, He did. He came to die for us, to pay the punishment for our sins."

A moment of silence, and then,

"That's sad."

I agreed that it was very sad. But thanks be to God I was able to immediately follow that sadness up with joy, pointing Evan to the happiest day, the Feast of the Resurrection this Sunday, when we go to the tomb and find that it is empty!

But first we must walk with our Lord the Way of the Cross, watching as He prays in the garden and is handed over to suffer and die for sinners such as we. As we walk that lonely road this week, again coming face to face with the horror of our sin, may we keep our eyes fixed on the Christ, remembering that yes, He came to earth to die, but that the story doesn't end there. I'm going to stick around for the final chapter, and I pray you do, too.

A Perfect Christmas

My friend Elephant's Child has an Advent post that I could have written (but I wouldn't have said it as well). I hope you'll read the whole thing. But here's an excerpt:

My heart and my confidence has been in myself. I have sinned against the First Commandment; my special god has been my own good works of the season, my attempts to make Christmas "perfect" for my family. To these things have I looked for blessings, help, and comfort.

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.

Bring our hearts instead to know no other comfort outside of You.

A few days ago, feeling burdened by the demands of the season, I wrote my own Advent prayer. Today I'm feeling a little more relaxed. But is it because I was able to cross a few tasks off the task list yesterday and get a little closer to the "perfect" Christmas, or because I am entrusting my cares unto the Lord, who grants all peace and comfort?

I don't know. I really don't. I hope it's the latter. But I'm so steeped in my own sinful self-reliance that I fear it's the former. Probably, simultaneous saint and sinner that I am, it's both.

But there are things that need to be done. And I am the one to do them. So how do I keep it all in perspective, going about my work joyfully but not letting it become my god, finding my worth and reward in Christ who has claimed me rather than in my satisfaction at my own accomplishments?

Poor miserable sinner that I am, I can't. All I can do is lay my sinful self at the foot of the cross and plead for His mercy, which miraculously comes without hesitation or condition: "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do" (Luke 23:34).

Boy, is that the truth. The older I get the more I realize I have no clue what I am doing. Thanks be to God for His Son, who did it all so that I wouldn't have to, offering up His perfect life in place of my failed one, imputing his righteousness to me.

The perfect Christmas? You better believe it's coming to my house. And its name is Jesus.

Mixed Feelings

Although we are a committed homeschooling family, we have always been at parishes with schools and have made use of them during all of our children's preschool years. I wish it wasn't called preschool because the fact is we don't send our children to learn--I could fill that need at home--as much as to play and give me a few mornings or afternoons off. Preschool is a luxury, not a necessity, and once our children reach the age of needing more "book" learning they start staying home. With the first two children, now 16 and 13, the transition from preschool to home was nothing. They are both bookwormish introverts anyway, and didn't seem to miss the social aspect of going to school.

My youngest, age 5, is another story. An extrovert to the extreme, he LOVES school and has been known to cry when picked up to go home (not great for the ego, let me tell you). So I have worried that when it comes time to stay home in a few years he may not adjust as well as his sister and brother.

Today, however, I saw a glimmer of hope. Problem is, I shouldn't be happy about it. Because, you see, my 5-year-old lied to avoid going to preschool. This morning we went shopping for a Christmas tree. On the way home Evan informed me that he was sick and couldn't go to school. Since a cold has so far struck two of our number, I took him at his word. He did sound a bit congested this morning, and he has been sneezing. So instead of going from the Christmas tree farm to preschool, we drove straight home. And I couldn't help thinking to myself, "Wow! He actually asked not to go to school! Maybe we'll turn this kid into a homeschooler yet!"

But then the story changed: "I'm sick for going to school but I'm not sick for decorating the tree." Oops.

Boy, they learn young, don't they? So we discussed options. Make him go to school? I just couldn't bring myself to do that. It goes against every fiber of my homeschooling being. Banish him from decorating the tree? Too harsh. So we decided that for the rest of the afternoon--the time he would have been in school--he would not be allowed to see the tree but would have to stay in a different part of the house. When school time is up, so is his punishment. Of course, we also had a serious talk with him about lying and the 8th commandment.

(But I still think it's cool that he didn't want to go to school.)

More Screwtape Quotes

These are just so good! I have to share them. (Remember that the words are those of Screwtape, an experienced devil giving advice to his inexperienced nephew Wormwood. The "patient" is a soul, and the "Enemy" is the one true God.)

On prayer:
"The best thing, where it is possible, is to keep the patient from the serious intention of praying altogether. When the patient is an adult recently reconverted to the Enemy's party, like your man, this is best done by encouraging him to remember, or to think he remembers, the parrot-like nature of his prayers in childhood. In reaction against that, he may be persuaded to aim at something entirely spontaneous, inward, informal, and unregularised; and what this will actually mean to a beginner will be an effort to produce in himself a vaguely devotional mood in which real concentration of will and intelligence have no part. . . . Whenever they are attending to the Enemy Himself we are defeated, but there are ways of preventing them from doing so. The simplest is to turn their gaze away from Him towards themselves. Keep them watching their own minds and trying to produce feelings there by the action of their own wills. When they meant to ask Him for charity, let them, instead, start trying to manufacture charitable feelings for themselves and not notice that this is what they are doing. When they meant to pray for courage, let them really be trying to feel brave. When they say they are praying for forgiveness, let them be trying to feel forgiven. Teach them to estimate the value of each prayer by their success in producing the desired feeling . . . ." (The Screwtape Letters, Chapter 4)

On hatred:
"Do what you will, there is going to be some benevolence, as well as some malice, in your patient's soul. The great thing is to direct the malice to his immediate neighbours whom he meets every day and to thrust his benevolence out to the remote circumference, to people he does not know. The malice thus becomes wholly real and the benevolence largely imaginary. There is no good at all in inflaming his hatred of Germans if, at the same time, a pernicious habit of charity is growing up between him and his mother, his employer, and the man he meets in the train." (Chapter 6)

New Readaloud

One of the things we have always done in our homeschool is read out loud together. Even when other things fall by the wayside, if we have prayed and read together I feel like the day has not been a loss.

This past year, though, it has been harder to maintain a regular readaloud schedule. My two oldest children are branching out from the home more and more, pursuing individual interests, activities, and studies, and that makes it difficult to find time to read together. With our trip to Grenada and various other schedule demands, we went several months without doing so at all.

But I am not ready to give up on readalouds. Not yet, anyway. The time is simply too wonderful and too well spent. So yesterday we started a new book. Often our readaloud relates to whatever historical period we are studying at the time. Sometimes it's chosen just because it's a great story. But this time I decided to have us read something a little different: The Screwtape Letters, by C. S. Lewis. Have you ever read it? It has been about 10-15 years since I did. Wow--already in the first few chapters, I am reminded of why the book made such an impression on me back then. If you have never read it, add it to your to-do list now.

In the book, a demon named Screwtape writes a series of letters to his nephew, another demon named Wormwood, giving advice on how to win souls for the Devil. Here are a few excerpts from the opening chapters:

"Your man has been accustomed, ever since he was a boy, to have a dozen incompatible philosophies dancing about together inside his head. He doesn't think of doctrines as primarily 'true' or 'false', but as 'academic' or 'practical', 'outworn' or 'contemporary', 'conventional' or 'ruthless'. Jargon, not argument, is your best ally in keeping him from the Church." (Chapter 1)

"One of our great allies at present is the Church itself. Do not misunderstand me. I do not mean the Church as we see her spread out through all time and space and rooted in eternity . . . . [but] the half-finished, sham Gothic erection on the new building estate. . . . When he gets to his pew and looks round him he sees just that selection of his neighbours whom he has hitherto avoided. You want to lean pretty heavily on those neighbours. Make his mind flit to and fro between an expression like 'the body of Christ' and the actual faces in the next pew." (Chapter 2)

"Keep out of his mind the question 'If I, being what I am, can consider that I am in some sense a Christian, why should the different vices of those people in the next pew prove that their religion is mere hypocrisy and convention?' You may ask whether it is possible to keep such an obvious thought from occurring even to a human mind. It is, Wormwood, it is! . . . At bottom, he still believes he has run up a very favourable credit-balance in the Enemy's [God's] ledge by allowing himself to be converted . . . ." (Chapter 2)

"Keep his mind on the inner life. He thinks his conversion is something inside him and his attention is therefore chiefly turned at present to the states of his own mind . . . . Encourage this. Keep his mind off the most elementary duties by directing it to the most advanced and spiritual ones. Aggravate that most useful human characteristic, the horror and neglect of the obvious. You must bring him to a condition in which he can practise self-examination for an hour without discovering any of those facts aobut hiself which are perfectly clear to anyone who has ever lived in the same house with him or worked in the same office."

Good stuff, huh? In just a few paragraphs, Lewis takes on postmodernism, slams works righteousness and decision theology, and highlights the doctrine of vocation, the sinner's need for repentance, the eternal nature of the Church, and the Lord's free grace. My children, ages 13 & 16, were begging for just "one more chapter." Don't worry, dears, we have 28 more to look forward to!

Reformation Day

By grace! On this I'll rest when dying;

In Jesus' promise I rejoice;

For though I know my heart's condition,

I also know my Savior's voice.

My heart is glad, all grief has flown

Since I am saved by grace alone.

"By Grace I'm Saved" (Lutheran Service Book #566, stanza 6)

Text, Christian Ludwig Scheidt (1709-61)

Happily Ever After?

While doing some driving yesterday I stumbled upon a live radio broadcast of Oprah Winfrey's speech endorsing Barack Obama at a campaign rally in Iowa. During the approximately 10-minute period of time that I listened, there was one statement of Ms. Winfrey's that started alarm bells ringing in my ears. I'm not sure if I have the quotation exactly right, but the "gist" of what she said was this: "Human beings were put on this earth to evolve." In the context of a political speech, her point was of course to hold up Obama as a candidate who can help us to do that--who by virtue of his leadership and character and philosophy will enable the American people (and by extension their country and their world) to become the enlightened and perfected individuals we all know they were meant to be. And then there will be peace on earth and an end to poverty and we'll all live happily ever after.

The same hope is apparent in a "Christmas" song that has become popular in recent years (I guess it's popular, because I continually hear it on the radio, sung by everyone from Kelly Clarkson to Barbra Streisand to Natalie Cole): "My Grown-Up Christmas Wish." Have you heard it? Here's the opening verse and refrain:

Do you remember me

I sat upon your knee

I wrote to you

With childhood fantasies

Well, I'm all grown up now

And still need help somehow

I'm not a child

But my heart still can dream

So here's my lifelong wish

My grown up christmas list

Not for myself

But for a world in need

No more lives torn apart

That wars would never

And time would heal all hearts

And everyone would have a friend

And right would always win

And love would never end

This is my grown up Christmas list.

It's no wonder this song is so popular. Not only does it feature the lush pop diva ballad style--complete with a modulation into a fortissimo repetition of the refrain that shows off the singer's prodigious pipes--but it also reflects the philosophy that dominates our collective American mindset these days and was the foundation of Winfrey's speech: that if we just put our minds to it and follow the Golden Rule (and in the case of most politicians, spend enough money) we can create a perfect (or near-perfect) society on earth.

Yet as a conservative Christian and confessional Lutheran, I know another truth: this world is doomed, and there's nothing we can do about it. In the words of a friend of my husband, "It's all gonna burn." That doesn't mean that we shouldn't love and care for one another and try to make the best of our time in this earthly realm--that's what our Lord would have us do. But to labor under the assumption that we can by our efforts stamp out the effects of original sin is to sentence ourselves to despair. There is one line in the lyric above that I find particularly tragic: "That time would heal all hearts." In the face of my daily trials I am sustained by the knowledge that my heart is already healed by the death and resurrection of my Saviour. I can't imagine the sadness of a heart that is waiting to be healed by the passing of time.

It vexes me that the average American--whether or not he or she agrees with Winfrey's politics--would likely listen to her speech yesterday and accept its premise that the point of our existence is to make ourselves and our world better. In the world of argument, faulty premises logically lead to faulty conclusions. The premise upon which I stand is the truth of my sin and my need for a Saviour, and I know that if I cling to that premise the conclusion will take care of itself.

Why I'm Glad I'm a Lutheran

As I was out doing the grocery shopping this morning I drove by one of the larger churches in our town (large enough that its services are broadcast on local cable). The church's LED sign was flashing an advertisement for an event to be held there later this week. The title of the event--a class or seminar of some kind--was "God is my role-model."

My first thought was "how odd." Usually when I see this "how to be a good Christian" type of thinking the role-model is Jesus, not God. Jesus became fully human and walked on this earth with us, so it is much easier to make him into a role model for our own behavior. In fact this "be like Jesus" approach is the foundation for much of mainstream Christianity today (the obvious example is the "What Would Jesus Do?" movement that has swept through popular culture in recent years). Yet this church appears to have moved from exhorting people to be like Jesus to exhorting them to be like God.

My second reaction to this sign was pity for the poor people who will be attending that class this week. It makes me tired just to think about it. God is God and I'm not (we can all give thanks for that), and there's no way I can possibly be like Him, nor do I want to try. I'm too busy teaching and caring for my kids, doing the laundry, cooking the meals, cleaning the house, teaching my piano students, accompanying the choirs at church and writing my blog. I don't want to be responsible for hearing the prayers of the faithful and forgiving the sins of the repentant. That's God's job and I'm happy to leave it to Him.

But what makes me even more tired than the thought of doing God's job is the thought of trying to be like Him. For "in Him is no sin" (1 John 3:5), yet I am riddled with sin, drowning in it and unable to get myself out. Try as I might to do good and to be good (and believe me, I am really good at trying to be good), I daily fall and daily fail and have to look to God my Father to pick me back up again. And miracle of miracles, every day He does just that.

God is not my role-model. God in the person of Jesus Christ is my Saviour. This is why I am glad to be a *confessional Lutheran. Much of Christianity today teaches something called "works righteousness." This is the philosophy that a person can earn his way to Heaven by being good. Yet confessional Lutheranism teaches that we are "in bondage to sin and cannot free ourselves"--that because we are born into sin and are by our very nature sinful there is no act of will by which we can escape our sinful condition. If we can't get ourselves out of the quicksand called sin, how can we possibly do the good we need to do to get to Heaven? Jesus provides the glorious answer: "God made Him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God" (2 Corinthians 6:9). Our Blessed Saviour pulls us out of the quicksand, replaces our dirty clothes with his spotless ones, and sets us before the Father, proclaiming us perfectly clean.

As I reflect on my own life I realize that I have spent much of it trying to be good. I was the child of an alcoholic, and my coping mechanism of choice was to try to do everything I possibly could to not rock the boat, to make things run smoothly. So I overachieved. I behaved myself, I got good grades, I tried to be liked by everyone . . . I became a pleaser. Probably some of that was in my personality anyway, but the situation in which I grew up magnified it. But guess what? No matter what I did, my dad would not stop drinking. It was beyond my control--I simply couldn't be good enough to make him stop.

I also can't be good enough to please my heavenly Father. But in confessional Lutheranism I have found that I don't have to be. Jesus, knowing my sin, lived the perfect life for me. Now all I have to do is jump on His magic carpet (as one of my pastors likes to say) and enjoy the ride. In the words of James Taylor (I know, he's not a Lutheran, but this is a great song), "Try not to try too hard; it's just a lovely ride" (From "The Secret O' Life").

*There are many branches of Lutheranism today. For a definition of confessional Lutheranism, go here.