Thinking-Christianly

The town of Ogi suffered great damage from an earthquake in 2005. A humanitarian group, World Vision, organized an effort to assist victims and channel food and raise the living standards of the people in this desperately poor community. This week 10 militants entered the World Vision offices, sprayed gunfire in every direction, and tossed grenades on the floor before leaving. Six were killed and others injured in this act of senseless brutality.

What can explain this kind of behavior? One minute a group of people seeking to do good and improve the lot of their countrymen were alive, and the next their blood stained the walls and floors of a place that had dispensed hope. Their murder created instant orphans, parents without children, and siblings who had lost brothers and sisters. Those families are changed forever. And the community sinks deeper into fear and suspicion and despair.

What can turn the perpetrators from the kind of behavior that relies on raw power to snuff out lives? What can change the heart of someone who delights in magnifying fear by killing, destroying, and then leaving the scene?

Secular humanism might encourage us to educate the perpetrators. If they only understood their full human potential, if they wrestled through the brokenness of their past through therapy and values clarification, perhaps they would change. Their own brokenness is proof that society has parented them poorly. But as their egos are mended, as they awake to the potential of their true humanity, perhaps they will become healthy life giving human beings.

The problem with the secular models is that they do not have an adequate understanding of evil. Whether it happens in an office in a remote city in Pakistan or to an entire population in Cambodia, the perpetuation of senseless, life-destroying, heartless and unmerciful acts cannot be adequately explained from a secular perspective.

The God of the Bible insists that the moral wreckage of the world begins in the human heart. There is a component in each of us that is warped, twisted, defiled, and dangerous. We can be bitter, unforgiving, illogical, selfish, and merciless. Such tendencies can be exacerbated by events and conditions in our culture, but they do not start there. Such realities emerge from the heart. Jesus said, “The good man brings good things out of the good stored up in his heart, and the evil man brings evil things out of the evil stored up in his heart.” (See Luke 6:45.) Though our behaviors vary in degree, they all bubble up from the same polluted stream that flows inside all the offspring of Adam and Eve. When we face that reality, we begin to see our need for an outside solution—the supernatural help that God offers through a living relationship with Christ. The ‘bad’ news can lead to a better tomorrow because it points to a transformation that is more substantial than the cosmetic efforts of disciplines like sociology and psychology.

Stories of inhuman brutality and destruction also point to the amazing mercy of God, who does not fry the planet in a second of justifiable disgust, but instead offers the gift of his Son to reconcile millions over the course of history to a restored relationship with himself. In scripture we have both an understanding of the nature of evil and a personal remedy that brings us hope for this world and beyond.

You don’t have to listen to people talk for long before you get the message that character matters. We complain when store clerks are self-absorbed, surly, or indifferent. We become irate when politicians spend tax dollars to buy their re-election rather than to serve the common good. We seek retribution when educators, therapists, or law officers betray their trust and do damage to people. The creators of political attack ads understand that if they can persuade us to mistrust a certain candidate because of flawed character, it is unlikely we will vote for that person.

The Bible repeatedly speaks to the issue of character. The sermon on the mount, for example, offers a blessing on the merciful, the pure in heart, and those who hunger and thirst for righteousness. Micah summarizes some of God’s expectations by declaring the Lord requires that we act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with God. (See Micah 6:8.)

But there is a place where character does not matter—at least not much. Character does not matter when it is used as a diversion in an argument. The other day I was given a copy of a letter to the editor of a rural paper. The writer was challenging the perspective of a pair of biblical scholars. The letter writer argued that the research of these scholars should be rejected because in his opinion they drank a lot. I don’t know if historical research says much about the drinking habits of these two individuals. But that is beside the point of the argument. The issue is whether their findings are solid or not.

The same kind of criticism shows up in Matthew 11:18-19: “For John came neither eating nor drinking, and they say, ‘He has a demon.’ The Son of Man came eating and drinking, and they say, ‘Here is a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and “sinners.”‘” The critics of Christ and John the Baptist attempt to find something in their behavior they can magnify in order to challenge their trustworthiness and prevent people from listening to their messages.

When the truth claim is about an objective fact, we must be careful to separate the person from the issue. Otherwise we will find ourselves being persuaded because of something unrelated to the discussion point. Sometimes the character of the person is the issue. Then it’s proper to look at his or her behavior in depth. But we are sometimes quick to confuse the two in an unhelpful way.

Every Christ follower is a flawed representative of a perfect savior. Everyone who advocates for the truth of God as expressed in the Bible will behave in ways that contradict what God expects of his children. That brings confession and repentance into play. The issue is not human perfection, but the veracity of the claims of scripture. The character of a Christ follower can give credence to the Christian message, but it will never do so perfectly. While we pursue noble character, we must be careful not to let it distract us from the issue at hand when discussing truth.

Ever get lost in the details? Every become so immersed in the routines or the demands of the moment that you could not see more than fifteen feet away. Does it ever seem like you spend the bulk of your time paddling against the current of life’s massive whirlpool that wants to suck you down?

The pressures of the now can become depressing when all we see are the demands, expectations, brokenness, and challenge of the moment. And when tough times come, it’s more difficult to maintain our spiritual equilibrium if we don’t have a bigger perspective.

Jesus knew that his disciples were about to face some of the toughest challenges of their lives. The river of life was quickly taking them toward a dark and ominous whirlpool. He knew he would soon face betrayal, a merciless beating, mockery and death. And his followers had to realize that this would not be the end, but a beginning.

He could not allow the horror of some of the moments to come to obliterate their understanding of his nature and his work. So Jesus decided to do something about it. He would give three of his key leaders a look at the big picture that was the backdrop to his sacrifice. In Matthew 17:1-5, the gospel writer describes how Jesus took Peter, James, and John on an unusual excursion. They accompanied Jesus on a climb of a high mountain. I’m sure they were very curious as they followed him. Was there something he had discovered? Something he wanted to show them? Someone he wanted them to meet? Was there something he wanted to teach them far away from the crowds that increasingly flocked to him to benefit from his healing power?

The answer to all these questions was, “Yes,” but in a way they did not anticipate. Somewhere near the summit of this unnamed mountain they stopped. And then Jesus’ appearance changed. He cast aside the cloak of his humanity and they saw a radiance they could only compare to the sun. It enveloped his face, and then his clothing. He became other-worldly right before them. It was like a butterfly emerging from an ugly brown cocoon, but 1,000 times more radiant than they had ever seen. He was more than alive. He was more than human. He was like them but at the same time inexpressibly different from them.

And then two other figures appeared. They discovered that one was Moses and the other Elijah. We are not told how they identified them—certainly not from their picture on the 10 shekel bill or a painting from a history textbook. They were conversing with Jesus, so it is likely that their identities were probably discerned through what was said.

We don’t know how long they talked. But it must have captivated Peter, James and John. Before them stood two of the key figures in the work of God over nearly two millennia among the Jews. Moses was the lawgiver, the leader whom God used to deliver the nation from bondage. Elijah was a prophet who performed miracles and summoned the people to follow Jehovah exclusively. Together they represented two great epochs in the work of God on earth through the Jewish people. And on the eve of the great redemption and great deliverance that God would enact through Christ’s death and resurrection they interacted with the carpenter from Galilee. The central event in the great story of God was about to take place. But it was not an isolated event. It fit into the plan and purpose of God throughout all of history. Jesus gave these men a glimpse of the big picture so that they would have a foundation on which to stand in the dark and turbulent days ahead.

When life becomes messy with the mud of difficulty and the black grease of injustice, we need a bigger perspective. When the brokenness of others costs money, warps relationships, or endangers dreams, we need to see more than what looms largest in the moment. For the Christ-follower, that vision of who Jesus really is, and what he came to do out of love for us is the greatest antidote to the despair that circumstances can unleash into our minds. A growing picture of the reality of Jesus lifts our eyes above the gray clouds of hardship to a place where there is light and radiance and purpose and joy. And he invites us to hold tightly to his nail-scarred hand, because he knows one day we will see it shine with a radiance brighter than the sun.

It is this bigger picture that would keep James, Peter and John strong in the days to come. It is there for us to touch, feel, and re-live for ourselves. We are only a sentence in the multi-volume epoch that God is writing. When we look at the big picture we gain strength and perspective to keep moving forward by faith and to walk the path of obedience when the road is dim. Perhaps this is what Paul had in mind when he wrote, “I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.” (See Romans 8:18.) It is this grand view that keeps our hearts together, our faith vibrant, and our hope strong. It does so because it reminds us that Christ, not us, is the hero and center of the story of life. What’s in the center of your frame?

If your life were a movie, would anyone want to watch it? That’s the core question Donald Miller raises in his book A Million Miles in a Thousand Years. I’ve been making my way through this book as part of group of men that read selected publications and talk about them. It’s not one I would have likely chosen on my own. Miller is an engaging writer who basically thinks out loud on paper. You watch him process life and life’s challenges from page to page.

This title zeros in on significance. It challenges the reader to be the writer of their own personal life movie and to decide to be proactive rather than passive so that their life-story is worth listening to. It’s engaging, thoughtful, even heroic. I appreciate the way Miller challenges us to move beyond the boredom and safety of mediocrity, and to be intentional about living. The central question he asks is valuable.

On the other hand, something big is missing in Miller’s musings. His transparent journey into his own thoughts as he pursues what might be a love relationship and agonizes over reconciliation with his father arouses sympathy. But there is a tenor to this self-disclosure that feels a bit narcissistic. Even when he moves from a life without a compelling story to a life that is more intentional, it’s about him. It’s a journey into finding significance by adding zip and daring and adventure to life. Some of the changes may be altruistic and help others, but they are ultimately an attempt to improve my story.

What seems to be missing is the power of connecting my story with His story. It is God’s story that brings significance to my own. There are people whose lives are compelling reads on paper and fascinating when put on film. But that does not necessarily guarantee that their lives are meaningful in the eyes of God. We all know some folks who seem to always have a fresh adventure to tell. Their tales make our lives seem banal and predictable in comparison. But real significance doesn’t flow from trekking the globe, loving extreme sports, or creating a multi-billion dollar company from $1000 and a dream. Samson had an edgy, outlandish life that would fit the big screen well. But he had a huge moral vacuum in his heart and never achieved intimacy with God. Timothy lacked the fire and combative spirit of his mentor Paul, but he was an indispensable spiritual soldier in the establishment and training of saints in the early church. The prayer warriors whose lives would not make an interesting 30-second commercial made a huge difference in the ministry of Hudson Taylor and William Carey.

Should we step out on faith more? Certainly. Should we dream big? Of course. Should we welcome adventure as an indispensible part of following Christ fully? Yes! But we must remember that the most important question does not revolve around our story, but His Story. Paul’s imprisonment years would make for a boring segment in a screenplay, but it was critical for God’s development of his church in the first century. If our lives are totally dull, we may be hiding from faith opportunities God puts before us. But in the end it is our congruence with His divine narrative that brings significance into the paragraph of our own lives.

It’s natural for us to classify tasks before us in terms of degrees of difficulty. You may survey the week before you and give extra thought to a conversation that you need to have with a child, co-worker, or friend. You anticipate certain possible reactions, and know that it may cause tension. It’s more difficult than ordering a pizza to go. Or you may be pushing toward a deadline and know that making contact with the key people involved in pulling everything together will be a challenge. Perhaps you need to decide whether that major car repair is worth it. Do you spend a large sum to fix your car or get a newer model? Some tasks or decisions seem difficult, while others are simple and easy.

When our faith encounters difficulties, we tend to think in the same categories. We reason that a prayer for safety on a trip is easy for God to answer on a sunny day with dry roads and unlimited visibility. We consider this a more difficult challenge for God if we’re praying for a teenager who is traveling a long distance on ice at 2:00 a.m. Asking God to provide a job in a soft market is not as taxing on him as asking for a job when unemployment is way up. Requesting healing for a sprained ankle demands more of the Almighty than a similar request for the destruction of cancer cells.

One of the challenges of growing in faith is thinking differently about the abilities of God the Father and Christ our Savior. We have to remind ourselves of some of the scenes we see in scripture. In Matthew 15:29-30 we read, “Jesus left there and went along the Sea of Galilee. Then he went up on a mountainside and sat down. Great crowds came to him, bringing the lame, the blind, the crippled, the mute and many others, and laid them at his feed; and he healed them.”

We don’t know how many people Jesus restored, but it was probably many more than a few dozen. We learn in the following paragraphs that the crowd swelled to four thousand men, plus women and children. And the cross-section of maladies Matthew mentions suggests that Jesus faced most of what we would see in any hospital today. Typical of the Bible’s subtle language, Matthew says only, “and he healed them.” Those four simple words are profound. They remind us that none of the personal physical needs that Jesus faced were “difficult” for him as we use the word. Given the limitless nature of his power over life and death, such intervention was a simple reflection of his sovereignty over all of life.

When we seek Jesus’ intervention, we don’t need to fret about the difficulty associated with our request. That’s not an issue with him. He may not respond as we prefer because his agenda factors in realities we do not see at the moment. But Christ’s response will never be hampered by the “difficulty” of our request. May he grant us the grace to pray with a growing confidence in his power to bring about whatever he chooses.

Watching the slalom ski completion during the Olympics, it easy to be amazed at the strength, stamina, agility, and skill of the athletes. They fly down steep sections of the course I would be careful to walk down, making razor sharp turns from one gate to the next, using their speed and agility to reach the finish line hundredths of a second sooner than their competition.

Such athletic prowess is amazing to watch. And the reward is a chance to be one of three people in the world who can stand at a podium and receive a medal that belongs to that particular event.

As I was watching, I saw one of the skiers begin what looked like a record-setting run. The commentators were buzzing about his accuracy and speed. About two-thirds of the way down the mountain course, he took a turn a bit wide and then tried to correct for the next gate. He misjudged the turn and missed the gate before him. In that instant, the run was over. All the work he put in before didn’t matter. Any phenomenal skiing he might have done afterwards was irrelevant. This error, though wholly unintentional, disqualified him for a medal.

This is unfair. Can’t we factor in the years of hard training and sacrifice he devoted to this great endeavor? What about his character and the friends who appreciate him, don’t they matter? Why not give some credit for the fact that he can perform better than 99% of the general population on any given day? Isn’t it unjust to deprive him of an award for what he did, what he tried to do, and the accomplishments he made? It’s just not right. Why not award him Olympic gold anyway?

Most people who are sports enthusiasts would not agree with the sentiments of the previous paragraph. They realize that even though we may empathize with anyone whose heroic effort fails, we cannot award medals to competitors based on their good intentions and their nearly great accomplishments. That’s not the philosophy of sports competition at the Olympic level.

Oddly enough, we often fault the God of the Bible because he does not adjust his standards of righteousness for us as we ski down the mountain of life and miss some gates along the way. We sometimes demand that the one who is perfect and who defines in himself righteousness, holiness, and truth adapt to a relative standard that would never work in Olympic competition.

The parallel between the slalom and the moral ski slope of life is great. We’ve got to stay on the course all the way without any deviation from absolute truth. James states, “For whoever keeps the whole law and yet stumbles at just one point is guilty of breaking all of it.” (See James 2:10.) In short, we must either behave sinlessly all our lives, or we will be disqualified. The course of life is long, dangerous, and filled with temptations that we don’t always resist. And we can’t take another run at it. That’s bad news, because it means that none of us can stand before God on the basis of our own merit at the end of our lives.

The good news is that there is one—Christ—who skied the course perfectly. And he invites us to come to him in repentance seeking forgiveness. He offers a trade out of his love for us. Through his grace he’s willing to take our disqualification notice and the eternal judgment that goes with it and trade it for his Olympic gold. But we must give up the notion that our relatively good performance is enough. It won’t cut it in the Olympics. And it certainly won’t meet God’s much higher standard. We must let go of our pride and humbly accept that which we cannot earn. And then we can find out what it means to be winners.

We live in an age of specialists—individuals who bring finely-tuned skills to issues in our lives. Specialists can remove a gas tank to extract the fuel pump and replace it with a new one. Specialists can understand the nuances of the tax code and find deductions that the average person might miss. Specialists can take a laptop computer infected with a virus that freezes the operating system in an endless loop and make it useful again. Specialists can boost the yield of seeds to reach levels unimaginable a generation ago.

When we need a specialist, we seek someone who is has specific skills in the area of our need. If you need arthroscopic knee surgery, you would likely prefer someone who had a long record of successful procedures and who was informed about the latest techniques. If you wanted someone to design the electrical system for an addition to your house, you would want someone who was certified, experienced and who understands the options before you.

The strange fact is that when it comes to the area of religion and faith, the logic of relying on specialists who have a proven track record seems to go out the window. There is such diversity in American religion—even in Christianity. Individuals earn degrees from a variety of institutions, both public and private. And the content of the teaching they receive varies even more. Some are taught that Jesus did not exist and that Christianity is a psychological crutch. Others are told that the Bible is historically accurate, that it presents a true picture of Jesus as the incarnate deity he claimed to be, and that Biblical Christianity brings all of life into focus. This diversity has created a situation where we can select spiritual leaders who will say anything we want to hear. Their words do not need to correspond with reality—only with our preferences.

Surprisingly, our contemporary situation is not unlike that in the first century in Israel. The Jewish religious system was much more monolithic than American Protestantism is today. Though there was a gap between the Pharisees and Sadducees, it was not as wide as what we see across the American religious spectrum. Even so, it bred a large number of spiritual leaders who did not understand the spiritual realities taught by Moses and the prophets. The Pharisees and scribes specialized in a legalistic view of faith that implied that perfect obedience could somehow gain enough favor with God to make an eternal difference for the adherents of the faith. They developed systems of behavior designed to appease God and put the faithful on a path of success.

Jesus puts these religious specialists in the same category you would include a Boundary Waters fishing guide who had lost their eyesight. In Matthew 15:14, Jesus bluntly states, “Leave them; they are blind guides. If a blind man leads a blind man, both will fall into a pit.”

Jesus complaint is that they have lost their sight of spiritual realities. Therefore they have become useless. They cannot guide anyone across the spiritual terrain of life because they can’t see what is before them. They cannot perceive the spiritual realities that impact the soul, for good or evil. They must guess, grope in the dark, and hope that by some unknown means they can lead themselves and others to a place of safety and security. But because the world is a spiritually dangerous place, they will prove to be no match for the dangers they cannot see. They will slip into some unseen pit, along with those who trust them.

Jesus values the souls of men too much to opt for political correctness. He knows that spiritual blindness is not a small handicap for those who would lead others. It is a fatal shortcoming. Christ’s words are a warning to every Christ-follower who would seek to influence others. We cannot lead where we cannot see. We must constantly improve our perception of God by devoting ourselves to study and to apply the teachings of scripture as we open our hearts to his revelation in the Bible. We must never be content with what we think we know. We must cultivate both a humility and a hunger that will help us see Him more clearly. Any other pursuit will imperil both ourselves and those we seek to assist.

Take a small group of men and women to a meeting in a room they’ve never been in before. They will typically find a place in the room that is comfortable for them. Some sit at the front, others as the back, some in the center and still others to one side. If the meetings cover several sessions over several days, it’s likely that most of those who attend will gravitate to the same seats. In most cases, it’s not for functional reasons, but for comfort. We tend to declare our place in a room and hold on to it for the duration.

Habits simplify life. They reduce stress by making choices for us. We don’t have to think about how we are going to commute to work, which seat we will occupy at the kitchen table, how we’re going to groom ourselves to face the world, or how we might spend a typical Monday evening.

When habits become entrenched in a larger community, they take on the form of traditions. American families adopt certain behaviors associated with holidays such as Thanksgiving and Christmas. When parents or grandparents die, the family unit struggles to find a new equilibrium that will accommodate the current realities while preserving something of the past.

Religious bodies also develop habits that bring a sense of normalcy and stability into the lives of those in the church community. While such traditions can have value, they can become problematic. Jesus addresses this tendency in Matthew 15. The Pharisees criticize Jesus’ disciples for not performing a ceremonial washing of their hands before they eat. Jesus does not directly defend his followers. Instead, he castigates the Pharisees for elevating their traditions above the teaching of Moses. They set aside the command to honor father and mother by supporting them and put the money in a fund earmarked ‘devoted to God’ instead. Jesus faults them, concluding “Thus you nullify the world of God for the sake of your tradition.” (See Matthew 15:6.)

Having been involved in the lives of church for several decades, I’m convinced that one of the greatest threats to living the Christian life in community is traditions. The things that we do that make us comfortable and make faith predictable so quickly become sources of contention and conflict. Church members have been known to go for each other’s throats because a picture, piano, or other visible object was moved. Most of the readers of this blog can think of examples of small changes that caused great animosity.

This resistance to change and reaction to messing with traditions is not limited to the church, of course. It’s part of the human condition. You can find similar conflict erupting at a VFW meeting, a city council meeting, at a PTA gathering or at a family reunion. But if there is one place where tradition wars should not sidetrack the mission it is the church of Christ.

The protection of traditions among people of faith not only causes conflict, it can also trump truth. Jesus points out that the Pharisees were nullifying the word of God in their behavior. What God said was secondary to the preservation of the threatened tradition. When men win in this battle, God’s truth often suffers. Issues include the appropriate musical instruments, the dress of church leaders, the schedule or length of service, and the practice of baptism or communion. When God’s word is no longer the touchstone of our faith and when his mission is no longer the center of our thinking, other issues become fertile battlegrounds between believers. The smoke of contention and custom obscure the face of God and the church goes to war against itself.

Jesus words comprise a call to hold traditions with an open hand. Though they bring us great comfort, they are not the foundation of our faith. Though they promise safety, clinging too tightly to them brings death. Jesus’ truth and his call to seek him first must be primary in the thinking of mature Christ-followers.

Secular culture tends to classify people into two stereotypical categories. On the one hand you have the “normal” person. This individual looks at the world through rational glasses. He or she doesn’t look for miracles or the supernatural. They build their world view on science and the conclusions of modern education. They are naturalists and materialists in heart, whether they know the meaning of those terms or not. They process insurance claims, operate restaurants, pay mortgages, and buy Budweiser. They are normal people.

Then there are religious people. They coexist in the work world with others, but they think differently. They are not as rational, and prone to believe in myths. They look for spiritual shortcuts to simple problems. They have strange views of how life works and love religious words and practices. They are drawn to the mystical and the paranormal as long as they can attach religious significance to it. They don’t read widely or think logically. They lack sophistication and are culturally backwards and anachronistic.

Though both stereotypes are unfair to both groups, they reflect some of the presuppositions that secular thinking often brings to the table when it looks at “religious” people and “non-religious” people. And when the New Testament is read, the disciples are often put into this “religious” category. They are viewed as backwards, prone to dwell on the fantastic and the supernatural, irrational, and out of touch with the world of their day.

One of the refreshing realities of the New Testament is that it reveals that the disciples were very common men. They did not have a “religious gene” to predispose them to a weird kind of thinking that would tempt them to transform a normal Jesus into a supernatural messiah, as some claim.

Matthew 14:22-32 offers an interesting glimpse into the disciples as “normal” guys. It’s the darkest part of the night after a long day. Jesus commanded them to go to the other side of the sea of Galilee on the fishing boat after an arduous day of teaching and interacting with a massive crowd well exceeding 5,000. They are weary, eager for rest, and trying to get to the other shore by rowing against a stiff wind. (My guess is that the felt like we would huddled together in a poorly heated van traveling 400 miles on icy roads with lots of blowing snow and unexpected drifts.) They were having a rotten time.

My guess is that they were questioning Jesus’ wisdom in sending them off when he did. Where was he? How would he rendezvous with them? What was his plan? At that moment they were absorbed in the immediate task, eager to get to the other side. In the blackness through the waves and the blowing water they see what looks like the shape of a man. (See Matthew 14:26.) As rational men, they don’t jump to the “spiritual” conclusion that it is Jesus. Flesh and blood people don’t walk on water. Searching their knowledge for other explanations, they conclude it must be some kind of non-corporeal being, a ghost. There were legends of such malevolent beings. They couldn’t put what they saw into a clear category, but they were afraid.

What is striking about the narrative is that they do not drift to a “spiritual” explanation. Like one in twelve Americans who believe they have seen something in the sky that could represent life on other planets, the disciples were struggling to find some kind of explanation for what they saw. It was a guess, not a conviction. But it reveals that they were not inclined to deify Jesus.

When this figure speaks to them, Peter devises a rather odd test. He wants this ghost or whatever it is to respond to a challenge. He says, “Command me to come to you on the water.” Peter speaks in the imperative. It’s a challenge. If this thing is for real, and it is really Jesus, he wants proof. Why Peter devised this kind of test is a mystery to me. I can think of other proofs that wouldn’t involve my getting my feet wet.

Perhaps the best part is that when someone like Peter made a rather oddball challenge to Jesus, he responded in grace and gave Peter the ability to take some steps in his direction until Peter’s doubt overcame his faith. And then he rescued him. Even in the midst of doing that which was impossible, part of Peter’s mind kept saying, “This can’t be happening. People don’t walk on water—especially in storms.”

But again, it reflects the kind of blue-collar “show me” thinking that was typical of the disciples. They lived in a world where fish smelled, boats could sink, customers could haggle for the price of a day’s catch, and people you loved became sick and died. They were not prone to mysticism or spiritualistic thinking. They were normal guys who were friends of the world’s creator and redeemer.

It’s fashionable today in some circles to maintain that if there is a heaven beyond this life, all human beings will be part of that better future. One argument is that all people are going to heaven and that the difference between humans on the issue is only one of comprehension. Some know they are going and are not fearful. Others are going, but doubt it, and they are fearful or anxious. In this school of thinking, the good news of scripture is essentially the message that you are going to enjoy a heavenly eternity. It’s the declaration of something everyone will automatically experience, not the declaration that there is a volitional choice one must make about God and the place that Christ has in personal salvation, both in this life and the life to come.

This kind of ‘gospel’ is attractive. It promises something better to everyone on earth, regardless of their circumstances or moral choices. It sounds loving and gracious. It feels warm and friendly.

Underneath all the loving rhetoric, it encounters some serious problems. In reality, it teaches a kind of determinism that would rival that of the most ardent Calvinist. No matter what every human on the planet does, they are forced to spend eternity in heaven. There is no choice they can make on earth that will escape that reality. The issue is settled, and set in stone. What does this say about human autonomy? It levels all of life’s choices to something small and ultimately insignificant. They only influence our short years on earth. In light of all eternity, any acts of murder, theft, betrayal, adultery, or greed on any scale don’t really matter much. Our destinies are identical, and that’s it. Autonomy disappears—and we are forced to share in a single fate.

It does not ultimately matter whether I act justly or live as a moral reprobate. The notion of universal salvation also dismantles the concept of justice. Justice becomes only our flimsy way of addressing what we perceive to be ethical issues in our short lives here on earth. But acts of good and evil don’t matter in the long run. And justice becomes just a word without any lasting significance. Any earthly punishment will be a fleeting memory for those who share eternity with all their victims, juries, and judges.

But perhaps the biggest difficulty with this view from a Christian perspective is that Jesus repeatedly taught otherwise. In Matthew 13 Jesus teaches about the kingdom of heaven. He compares it to a fisherman who pulls a net full of fish to the shore. (See Mathew 13:47-50.) As he looks in the net, he sees two kinds of fish—those considered good, and those labeled as bad. He does not take all the fish and put them in the same place. The good fish go into a basket. The bad ones are thrown away. Jesus uses this example as a model for the kingdom. He says, “This is how it will be at the end of the age. The angels will come and separate the wicked from the righteous and throw them into the fiery furnace, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.” Both the real-life example and the words of Christ point to a separation, a distinction between the two groups. The least we can say of this comparison is that the outcomes are not identical. Any other kind of deconstructive interpretation reduces the teaching to gibberish.

The good news is that Jesus teaches that our volitional choices do make a difference. Justice is not crushed. Righteousness matters. Evil that apparently wins in this life does not win in the next. God’s love is not the universal acid that dissolves all his other virtues. What we do with God’s offer of life in Christ means something. And in those consequences, there is much to be thankful for.