There's No Way...But God

Let's take a walk down memory lane, back to childhood and Sunday school. Maybe your teacher even used a flannel board. What was the takeaway from the account of Gideon in Judges 6-7? Was it putting out the fleece, asking God for confirmation? Was it the excitement of pitchers breaking and warriors shouting, The sword of the Lord and of Gideon!? Or was it men "lapping like dogs" and the whittling down of Gideon's army to numbers barely above Superdome attendance in January?

Just the other day I was reading the account of Saul in 1 Samuel 13. His tiny army of 3000 had dwindled to 600 men as they waited for Samuel, the priest, to come and offer sacrifice to God before battle. Okay, 600 hundred men, not impressive; but still twice as many as stood with Gideon. However, Saul and his men were up against 30,000 chariots, 6,000 horsemen, and an infantry "as large as the number of sand grains on the seashore."  To make victory even less likely, the Israelites had become dependent on the Philistines, the very enemies they were fighting to do their metalworking. There were no hammers, swords, picks, or knives in the hands of the army of Israel but for the implements they used daily on their farms; and even those were not well-sharpened, as the Philistines weren't foolish enough to put a razor-sharp edge on the axes of their enemies. Outnumbered, outgunned, and undertrained. Have you ever felt that way? 

While Gideon remained in constant communication with God, Saul's response, as he saw his victory slipping away was to offer a sacrifice to God. Good idea, right? Not at all. He was not a priest, and in those days, only priests were given the authority by God to offer sacrifices. Samuel, Israel's priest had told Saul to wait seven days. As Saul and his army waited, the Philistines powered up. Morale amongst Israel's army began to sink and men began to desert. Can you feel Saul's anxiety beginning to build? Have you ever waited for a miracle or the end to a difficult season? As hours and days pass, as the bank account dwindles, as friends abandon you, as applications go unanswered, as pregnancy tests continue to read negatively, as your spouse's health continues to deteriorate, as your child's cutting escalates... You fight the urge to take matters into your own hands. You fight the urge to say, to do, to take one more pass. Prayer just doesn't seem to be working! The likelihood of victory wanes.

Gideon obeyed. Again and again. As God, right before his eyes diminished his resources; You have too many, and again, You have too many. The more Gideon obeyed, the more God let him in on His plan and offered reassurance. But Saul? Saul was king. Saul may have been humble of circumstance (1 Samuel 9:19-21), but not necessarily humble of character. As king, he began taking matters into his own hands; his reluctance to submit to God and His plans was Saul's Waterloo. God rewarded him with exactly what he wanted: the throne of his own heart. But not the throne of Israel.

Sometimes God places us with our backs against the wall. It might be because we are not His and are called to be, or because we are His and are called to be better. We might find ourselves in a place of subservience, much as Israel was brutally subject to the raids of the Midianites or bound by the metalworking skills of the Philistines. We might find ourselves underwater financially or in poor health, through no fault of our own. We might be overpowered and outnumbered by those who disagree loudly and violently with everything we believe. But if we are called to fight, to stand, to resist, to save; if this is the battle to which God has brought us, the only way we can win is by placing our trust in Him. The only way we can finish well is by obedience to God. And we can trust He is able --no matter the apparent delay, no matter the apparent dearth. He is not late. He is not lacking. We are seeing the battle from the cheap seats. Ours is only to trust the One who led Gideon and chastised Saul. For His glory and for our learning. (Flannel board not included.)   

Midweek: Has Anxiety Got You Seeing Red?

Last week we answered the question, "Can anxiety and gratitude co-exist?" The short answer is yes. The caveat is, like balancing an account, if deposits (gratitude) outnumber withdrawals (anxiety), you can wind up in the black, with a greater peace than anxiety. In our others "talks" about anxiety, we've reviewed the importance of "staying in our lane," minding our own business and not trying to control the behavior or choices of others. We've looked at what Scripture has to say about confession and repentance, freedom from anxiety as the blood of Christ releases us from the guilt and shame of our sin. And we've discussed the overall importance of giving our problems, our fears, our whole lives to Jesus and waiting on His timing in every circumstance. Today, I'd like to finish up our study on anxiety with the sin that has been my Achilles heel for many years: the sin of anger and how that impacts anxiety.

First of all, anger. Why is it sin? Shouldn't I be angry about those who do harm to children or a legal system that is so lacking in results? The anger to which I refer is not that. The anger I and so many others battle comes from feeling as though we are owed something; we are owed respect, we are owed the fulfillment of our dreams, we are owed a fair shake, fill in the blank. It is not anger for the sake of Christ and His righteousness. It is a selfishness. It is pride. It is sin.

Secondly, what does anger have to do with anxiety? When I was a silly little tyke, our neighbors had a dog that was, apparently, an escape artist. Despite having a picket fence around their yard, they kept the dog on a chain. The chain, however, was long enough that furry little Fido's nose juuuust reached the fence on one side. That was the side I chose to reach into the yard and pet the momentarily wagging canine. As soon as my fingers made contact with the soft fur, SNAP! The barking, snarling, whale-eyed and terrified dog used no uncertain terms to communicate her fear, and I wound up on my backside before the fence, by the grace of God escaping stitches (and a moment in which I would have to explain to my mother why I was messing with the neighbor's dog). The dog had learned her ability to flee danger was governed by the chain. That limitation taught her to fear. Fear caused her to react aggressively. I, in response to my sudden fear, stood up from my place on the ground and kicked the fence in anger. The dog, seeing only red
, responded with even more barking and growling, testing the strength of that chain for all she was worth. Anger was the means we both called upon to protect vulnerable places.

Human beings are not, in and of ourselves, well-balanced individuals. We tend to counter one unwelcome feeling or behavior with another from the far end of the spectrum. Like a pendulum swinging back and forth, we careen from one sinful "solution" to another. We counter shame with pride and, sometimes, outrageous behavior. We counter fear with pride and false bravado; Of course I can do this! while our insides are churning like butter. And we counter those anxious feelings of inadequacy, tininess, helplessness, and uncertainty with anger, rage at the people and circumstances who are "making things more difficult." In Peter's denial of Jesus, fear was a huge motivator. Peter feared the murder of his Rabbi and Friend and the likelihood that he, too, could suffer the same. When simple folks accused Peter of being associated with Jesus, he felt threatened. The situation was shocking, it was chaotic, and now these people were dragging him into it! Peter wanted nothing to do with Jesus at that moment, and he responded with angry curses to gain more distance and end the conversation. Anxiety uses anger as a defense.

So, in this our last installment on anxiety (at least, for the time being), I would encourage you, if you have struggled with anger, to ask yourself, "Are you afraid?" Maybe your angry responses to others are the way you protect yourself from being known, being vulnerable; maybe they are rooted in anxiety over what will happen if you do not control the situation. If there is something you fear, what is it? Is it a rational fear? Is there a response more appropriate, more beneficial than anger? And, above all, pray. Turn your thoughts, your words, your behavior over to Jesus and ask His Holy Spirit to be your guide as you seek to purge your life and your relationships of anxiety and its anger.   

The Invisible

I was about twelve when my mother broke the news to me that Santa --the one who came around our neighborhood the week before Christmas --would not be bringing me a gift. Of course, I knew he wasn't the real Santa, but it still hurt. The years were passing, my body was changing, but I didn't feel old enough to get dissed by the local Kris Kringle. To make matters worse, a miscommunication days later revealed to me that even the real Santa wasn't real. I'd looked at my dad's unshaved face (not sure what was going on there; typically, he was Brylcreemed and baby-faced) and in response to his whiskers called him "Santa." His response was, "Who told you I was Santa?" Huh? All the innocence of childhood shattered in two prosaic conversations. But I've made it; I've lived quite a long time without Santa or his other imaginary benefactors. And it's been quite some time since childhood. There are those, however, who might claim I'm just as foolish, those who have derogatory names for the One in Whom I do believe. They might say I'm a special kind of stupid to worship The Invisible...

...unless He exists. 

C.S. Lewis famously said, "I believe in Christianity as I believe that the Sun has risen, not only because I see it, but because by it I see everything else." Of course, Lewis wasn't talking about believing that Christianity exists or that real Christians walk the land; he was alluding to the validity of the beliefs and tenets of Christianity as given in the Word of God and walked out by Jesus Christ. Lewis believed in the truth with enough wholeheartedness and passion to pursue The Truth. He allowed it to transform his life and the way in which he saw everything. And that is both the difference between belief in the imaginary and the evidence for the invisible God.

Those days of believing in Santa, his fairy friend and cotton-tailed counterpart were times of imagination; not because their fetes were so incredulous, but because their existence was so manageable. We could send them wish lists, leave them empty vessels to fill with exactly the items we craved, stick useless body parts --okay, teeth under our pillows and be assured of the desired result. Almost. For the greater part of the year, these were unheard of, awaiting summons on some island of imaginary patrons. A month before Christmas, a week or two prior to Easter, and the second our tooth began to wiggle, our parents trotted them out with warnings to be good. As if that would regulate our behavior. Absent their generosity and absent any more baby teeth, they were of no consequence to us whatsoever. They changed nothing. Our deal was done; their obligation was fulfilled, and our fealty fell away. There was no relationship.

Despite the mockery of others, however, I have no need to give argument for belief in Jesus versus belief in Santa Claus. I will instead draw comparison between belief in the gods of this world and belief in such things as comprise the heroes of childish traditions. 

In 1 Samuel 5, we read that the Philistines had captured the Ark of the Covenant upon which the presence of God rested. They took it to the temple of their god, Dagon, hoping to harness its power like some sort of amulet. Instead, the following morning, they found their statue of Dagon face down before the Ark of the Covenant. So, being good little worshipers, they helped their god up, dusted him off, and stood him in his place. The next morning, it was worse! Dagon was face down before the ark, only his face was in one place, still attached to his head, but his body and hands were severed. Did the Philistines break out the glue gun and get to work? I don't know, but I do know that was only the beginning of their troubles. And all for a god who needed the help of men to pick his face out of the dust. The god they worshiped could not talk or walk or think or create or save himself, much less save or judge human beings created in the image of God. Any god unable to stand, any god who can be coerced out of retirement by a tooth, any god who can be manipulated into doing as I desire is no god at all. 

We make spouses our gods, jobs our gods, money our god, status and "LIKEs" and homes and education and food our gods. We can even make our church god. We put these things before everything else because we are getting something from them; they are filling some empty place within us. But when we run out of teeth? When the god is too small for the emptiness or too broken to stand on its own? When we have to keep grinding and giving to feed our god that it might feed us, where is the peace? Or when the god can be tossed out with the candy wrappers or given away like the bike we've outgrown, when we impute our god with worth, what sort of god is that? Or when the god sits silently in our wallets or hangs in an 11x14 frame on our wall as our character and our relationships burn to the ground, how can that be a loving god?

I'm not going to argue the existence of God. He is alive and He is God. But I will encourage you to question those things that have your attention. Can you say your character has been permanently, positively transformed because of them? I will encourage you to evaluate the fillers of your empty. How often must they be fed? I will ask you to inventory the activities, the relationships, the possessions you hold tightly and determine whether they are earthly treasure or eternal treasure. I will urge you to fall on your face before the One True God, and if your gods fall with you, leave them there. By the power and truth of the Invisible, the insufficiency and folly of gods crafted by human design is made visible all year long. 

The Extravagant Suburbanite