DIRGES, DANCES, DRINKING AND DEMONS: Why Trying to Fit In Doesn’t Work

One of the sayings of Jesus has stimulated my thinking lately about how difficult it is to be a Biblical Christian in the age of “tolerance.” Jesus Christ, the ultimate author and subject of the Bible, calls us to believe certain things and to live according to certain values. Doing that inevitably puts us in conflict with the values of the world around us. The whole “gay marriage” debate comes to mind (about which I plan to write later this summer). But that isn’t the only area of disagreement between Biblically faithful Christians and the rest of the world. The pre-abortion sonogram debate that recently raged in the Virginia Legislature is another example. Christian high school students who choose to live virtuously, who reject the “party lifestyle” stay well clear of drugs and alcohol, and otherwise behave themselves often become the butt of jokes and the targets of ostracism. Christian business men and women that choose to live and operate in truth also suffer for it. It’s just part of the reality of following Christ in a sinful world.

The problem is the pressure it creates to conform, to somehow change the message, to alter our lifestyle in order to appease. It’s a powerful temptation. We are social creatures. No one likes being rejected. So we think, “I’ll just adjust a little. I won’t abandon my faith or adopt worldliness. I’ll just keep quiet, do my best to fit in, live and let live and try to get these people to like me.”

The problem with that approach is that Jesus has already proved it doesn’t work. This is what he said to his generation.

"To what, then, can I compare the people of this generation? What are they like? They are like children sitting in the marketplace and calling out to each other: "'We played the flute for you, and you did not dance; we sang a dirge, and you did not cry.' For John the Baptist came neither eating bread nor drinking wine, and you say, 'He has a demon.' The Son of Man came eating and drinking, and you say, 'Here is a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and "sinners." 'But wisdom is proved right by all her children." (Luke 7:31-35 NIV)

Translation? When people have decided to reject God in their lives it really doesn’t matter who carries God’s message or what his or her style may be, the people will find fault with the messenger.

So here’s the deal: Are you trying your best to live for Christ in a fallen world and finding it difficult? Are you doing your best to be friendly and kind and loving and truthful and experiencing rejection anyway? Don’t take it personally. Don’t change your style. It isn’t about you (the messenger). It’s about the message and the God behind it. Trust him. Live in the freedom and love of his grace. The wisdom of walking with God will be vindicated in the end.

THE CRISIS OF FAITH

There is an old story; I forget where I first heard it, about a gathering of people listening to recitations of the 23rd Psalm. One man everyone wanted to hear recite was a well known actor with a deep melodious voice. He wasn’t a particularly spiritual man but he appreciated the Psalm and was happy to comply. He stood and delivered it beautifully and everyone was duly impressed. But then a very old gentleman, one with no real skill at public speaking but a man whom everyone respected, was also urged to recite. He slowly rose to his feet and in a quiet voice quoted the Psalm from memory. As he spoke a hush fell over the room, a silence and peace no one wanted to disturb even after he sat down. Finally the actor spoke the truth everyone knew: “I know the Psalm. He knows the Shepherd.”

Over the years I’ve come in contact with many people who are like the actor in the story. They say things like this: “I’ve read the Bible. The teachings of Jesus are brilliant. I like the idea of going to heaven when I die. As far as religion is concerned I check the “Christian” box on official forms. But this whole idea of a relationship with God is beyond me. I know other people experience it. I believe they are genuine. But I don’t seem to be able to have it myself. I have a lot of doubts.”

I was thinking about friends like that – wondering and praying about how I could help them find what was missing - when, in my regular reading, I came to Luke 5:1-11. It’s the story of the calling of the first disciples. Jesus is seated in Simon’s boat, teaching. He finishes, turns to Simon and says, “Put out into deep water, and let down the nets for a catch.”

Now Simon was an experienced fisherman, a concrete, rational business man if there ever was one. He was also tired. He and his partners had fished all night without a catch. He was also proud and very self-sufficient, as later episodes would show. He had every reason ignore Jesus' suggestion. What Jesus was asking wasn’t rational. Peter could have cited a dozen reasons why it wouldn’t work.

But here’s the thing, it wasn’t about the fish. It was about Peter’s faith. Jesus was precipitating a crisis in Peter’s life, purposefully, intentionally, meaningfully pushing him to choose between Peter’s will, Peter’s intelligence, Peter’s experience and knowledge and Jesus’ command. The question was not really: would they catch any fish? The question was: would Peter obey?

Peter did obey and the rest, as they say, is history. They caught so many fish that the boats began to sink. But again, it isn’t about the fish. It’s about what happened inside of Peter. “Go away from me, Lord; I am a sinful man!” he said. In other words, Peter now knew Jesus on a whole new level, knew Jesus as God’s anointed, because when the crisis came to choose obedience over experience, to put Jesus will over Peter’s, Peter in faith obeyed. Life was never the same for Peter after that day.

The ability to experience a living relationship with God through his Son Jesus Christ and by the presence of the Holy Spirit within does not depend on a blind leap of faith, far from it. It depends on how we respond to Jesus when he calls us to that moment of crisis. And call he will. Perhaps he already has in your life. Perhaps you’ve had many crises with Jesus and, like the rich young ruler in another story, “went away very sad…” without submitting, never knowing the incredible peace and power that comes from a relationship with God. My prayer for you is that the next time he brings you to that moment of crisis you will like Peter obey. I promise you, your life will never be the same.

SUBTLE DECEPTION

"Watch and pray so that you will not fall into temptation. The spirit is willing, but the body is weak." (Jesus, Matt 26:41 NIV)

The February 26, 1974 edition of Insight Magazine told the story of Major William Martin, a British subject who is buried near Huelva on the southern coast of Spain. Martin never knew the great contribution he made to the Allied success in the Second World War, especially in Sicily, because he died of pneumonia in the foggy dampness of England before he ever saw the battle front. The Allies had invaded North Africa. The next logical step was Sicily.

Knowing the Germans calculated this, the Allies determined to outfox them. They decided to give the Germans exactly what they wanted, accurate intelligence on the allied assault plan. Thus: Operation Mince Meat.

One dark night, an Allied submarine came to the surface just off the coast of Spain and put Martin's body out to sea in a rubber raft with an oar. In his pocket were secret documents indicating the Allied forces would strike next in Greece and Sardinia. The Allies had calculated the tides and currents in the area and knew within reason where the raft would land.

Major Martin's body washed ashore, and Axis intelligence operatives soon found him, thinking he had crashed at sea. They passed the secret documents through Axis hands all the way to Hitler's headquarters. So while Allied forces moved toward Sicily, thousands and thousands of German troops moved on to Greece and Sardinia--where the battle wasn't.

That story is a good example of the subtle deceptions involved in temptation. Some observations:

First, temptation isn’t always obvious, doesn’t usually hit us in the face. It is more sophisticated than that. It typically presents itself as what we think we want or need. It comes to us in a crisis of desire or danger, when necessity is upon us and the stress we are under is overwhelming and we’re looking for the solution, the release, the escape, or the fulfillment all at the same time. The Axis needed inside information. The Allies gave it to them.

Second, temptation is rarely hasty. It is unhurried, like the sunrise. The realization that what it offers is there for us, that it’s what we’ve been looking for, isn’t immediate. It is rather a slow dawning, a gradual reduction of rational arguments against error and a slow but sure gathering of seemingly sane, balanced, coherent arguments for it. Little by little the unthinkable becomes the ordinary, reasonable answer to our problem. The information planted on Major Martin slowly made its way up the chain of command to Hitler’s headquarters. Each office that passed it on gave it one more stamp of validation.

Above all temptation feels right. It feels like the natural way out of a difficult, seemingly intractable situation. It feels like “the answer.” The doors are all open. The path is smooth. Cool waters beckon. We want it to be so. The Nazis wanted Greece secured. They wanted to believe what the information told them.

Finally, temptation always makes the alternatives seem harder. There is always another approach, another way to solve the problem or meet the need. But that way seems unnecessarily inflexible, difficult, demanding, more than our resources can handle. The Nazis knew they couldn’t cover both fronts effectively. They had to choose where to concentrate their resources. Operation Mincemeat made it easier to choose Greece.

These are the subtle deceptions of temptation. These are the things to watch for when we pray.