Thinking-Christianly

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.

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.

It will be amazing to watch the performance of some of the best athletes in the world. Records will be broken. Years of sacrifice, training, and practice will pay off. There will be joy and satisfaction in victory and personal accomplishment. And all of that is good.

The opening ceremony surrounding the 2010 Winter Olympics is more about a philosophy of life than it is about athletics. Music, choreography, light show magic, and advanced technology combined to create a “wow” factor for those watching. It’s impossible to watch such an impressive demonstration and not be struck by modern man’s ability to create an experience that is rich in beauty and majesty. The creative genius resident in our race is noteworthy.

The pomp and ceremony of the opening and closing of the Olympics showcases a specific message. It’s not a humble declaration, but a modern and proud one—that man is great and glorious and the center of reality. The opening evening was designed to make a clear statement about mankind. Man is indeed the measure of all things and the center and hope of life on earth. The utopian words of the speakers lauded the genius of our race and offered praise to who we are and what we have accomplished. The speakers celebrated the glory of man and held to the promise of a bright and unfading future as we work together to make a glorious new world of peace, love, and respect.

This humanistic optimism is perhaps to be expected in these days. It is the foundational premise for the movers and shakers in the international community who desperately cling to the myth of the perfectibility of the human race and pretend that we can purge the brokenness from our race through altruistic endeavors and superfluous language.

It would rather not see athletes whose lives are falling apart because of the pressure of competing for a gold medal. It doesn’t want to notice the manipulation of totalitarian nations to intimidate some of their athletes not to defect while abroad in completion. It overlooks the prejudice and nationalism that will color the judging in those events where the scoring is not measured by an impersonal stopwatch.

The humanistic idealism revealed its limits when it noted the sad death of Nodar Kumaritashvili. The speaker called for a moment of silence. Silence for what? When faced with the reality of death, the response was one of an unexplainable, undirected silence. To say more or do more or ask the question, “What next?” for this young man is taboo. Humanism can paint an attractive picture of the world as it might be. It can celebrate the power and potential of man, both individually and collectively. But it has no answer for the painful realities of life—from corruption to pride to sectarian nationalism to death—that intrude into our daily lives. In the end it is only silent before such things.

In our culture a title is often used to give value to a person. Men and women who clean and maintain property were once called janitors, but now they might be referred to as engineers who work with building services. Wal-Mart is known for referring to its employees as associates. It’s the same work, but with a different label. I suppose that if we are going to label types of work there is nothing inherently wrong with using classy words as long as we don’t deliberately try to mislead people. There is a desire in the human heart to be regarded as significant—regardless of the role you play in the lives of others.

This “title inflation” has not escaped the church. Among evangelical pastors there has been a title change in the last 40 years. A new post-graduate degree called the D. Min is very popular. It’s not a true doctorate level degree, but many who obtain it gladly change their business card from Rev. to Dr. And multiple-staff churches can spend a significant time deciding what to call staff who hold certain kind of offices. Each title conveys something about its level of authority and responsibility.

When King David was consolidating power around his throne and organizing the nation’s government, he gave important titles to a host of people. The volunteer army was divided into twelve divisions of 24,000 each, with a leader for each monthly group. Those who served in the temple, who were responsible for security at the city gate, or who represented each of the 12 tribes were all given special roles and titles within David’s administration.

In the middle of the listing of all these people and all their responsibilities in the book of 1 Chronicles, one person stands out as quite unique. He doesn’t have a flashy title. His duties are not even listed or carefully described. But he is in the list anyway. His name is Hushai. His name appears between the person who was the king’s counselor and the person who was the commander of the king’s army. Yet he seems to have no direct military, political, or religious role. He is simply described this way. “Hushai the Arkite was the king’s friend.” (See 1 Chronicles 27:33.)

There is nothing very glamorous about the title of friend, but in some ways it’s the hardest role to acquire. You can’t appoint yourself to be the friend of another. You can offer friendship, but it has to be received. And true friendship requires a trust and a mutual respect that can’t be mandated.

Even a king like David needed a person around him who would be a friend. We all need those kinds of people. And when you experience the joy of an authentic mutual friendship, you gain a treasure that is exceedingly valuable. Jesus knew how to come beside others as a friend. In fact, he was mocked as a “friend of tax-collectors and of ‘sinners’.” (See Matthew 11:19.) As Christ followers grow to be like him, we cultivate the qualities to move beyond roles and titles to inject into our relationships the power of friendship. You never know the impact living as a friend can have on another.

Opening up the front door to look out on a pristine white landscape of fresh snow can be a delightful experience. But when it seems to happen over and over again in the same winter, the novelty wears off. “Oh, my!” eventually becomes “Oh, no.” This winter has brought unusually high amounts of snowfall to central Iowa. And with that comes school closings, challenging travel, unexpected delays, and the task of shoveling or snow blowing all the white stuff.

It’s daunting to look at 5-7 inches of new snow with a shovel in hand and believe that the sidewalk and driveway can look great in half an hour or so. Looking at what a single scoop can move makes you wonder if you might be at this kind of task all day, especially when you’ve already worn the plastic of the shovel down an inch or more, as I have. What can two hands and a piece of  uneven plastic on a stick accomplish?

We often look at life through that kind of lens. Our resources are always limited and the challenges before us sometimes look mammoth in proportion to our abilities. We’re not expert psychologists, yet we are expected to understand our kids and our spouse. The demands of the workplace constantly change, requiring us to constantly adapt and learn new things. The social rules around us are in constant flux as post-Christian and postmodern values seek to supplant the Judeo-Christian foundation that we’ve inherited in the West. Because of this constant change, the challenges before us can feel like hills that grow larger as we climb rather than smaller. The snow gets deeper and all we have is a little shovel.

Jesus reminds us that in his kingdom small beginnings are always packed with great potential. The pessimism that can infect our hearts need not rule in the heart of the Christ-follower. Jesus depicts the power of his life in his church this way: “The kingdom of heaven is like yeast that a woman took and mixed into a large amount of flour until it worked all through the dough.” (See Matthew 13:33.) Jesus compares his influence in the lives of his followers to yeast. In proportion to the dough of the culture, the yeast is not big at all. It may look like such a small thing that one might wonder if it can make any difference.

For some, their life seems like a big unfinished house, with falling plaster, damaged floors, and busted utilities throughout the structure. The past is full of regrets and the future looks little more than hopeless. Can something as simple as a relationship with Jesus make a difference in the midst of such brokenness. The good news from this simple sentence from Christ is, “Yes, it can!” Can an unwavering commitment to Jesus make a difference in a family, in a work environment, or in a church? Again the answer is, “Yes!”

It does not require 51% of the community to join the effort in order for the impact to be significant. Only a small percentage of the composition of bread is yeast. But the caveat is that is must be real yeast. Yeast that is not potent, not pure, and not active can do nothing. There is plenty of ‘Christianity’ in our culture that is full of the yeast of the world and is ineffective in moving Christ’s agenda forward in the lives of people. The early church did not transform the culture because it was large, but because it deeply committed to believe and obey the truth that Jesus taught. Some of our struggle with the impotency of the church is not because the yeast does not work now as it once did. It’s because the active ingredient has been replaced by other inert things that don’t have the power found only in a living loyalty to Christ and his word.

Jesus is willing to attack the snowdrifts of the world one shovel at a time. It doesn’t require the church to become a massive snow moving machine. The impact of his truth in a single life, and in a small community of believers devoted to his teaching, is beyond measure. But he must rule in our hearts and over our choices. When he does, he magnifies our impact for eternal good in ways we cannot see.

Whenever someone dies—whether it is Michael Jackson or your next door neighbor–people tend to speculate about the fate of the person. The questions we ask and the answers we pose depend on our personal theology. Some people reserve the word “theology” to trained religious leaders. But all of us have a working theology of some kind. Any set of assumptions we carry around about God (he, she, or it) or the non-existence of God are building blocks of our theology. We may never have written these ideas down in a clear form, but they nevertheless shape our thinking, our responses to life, and our world view.

Your theology may be a mixture of concepts from Oprah, The Matrix, a junior high biology teacher, a pastor, or an agnostic college professor. It may have been framed by values at your job, painful experiences you have had, or deep friendships you have enjoyed. All of us collect ideas that we value into some kind of blend that acts as a working hypothesis that we use to think about and answer ultimate questions in life.

Our personal theology may be good (based on truth) or bad (built on fantasy or reality) but it will be the lens through which we view life’s core questions. (We may feel that our theology is good, even if it is not built on truth, but that kind of blind devotion will ultimately disappoint us.) Since we do not possess all knowledge, our theology will be dynamic. Ideally, it will grow as we discern the difference between truth and error and discard those ideas that are logically contradictory or otherwise flawed.

For too many people their theology stagnates. They seldom think deeply about the ideas that frame their view of the world. They don’t look for evidence. They don’t ask hard questions. They ignore contradictions and obvious problems. They enthrone their preferences and prejudices as unassailable guideposts for life and arbitrarily dismiss any evidence to the contrary. Sometimes Christians are accused of blindly embracing a set of ideas that cannot stand up in the real world. There are certainly some Christians who do that. But that tendency is not unique to Christians. It can be found among Hindus, Buddhists, Muslims, materialists, atheists, and agnostics.

Paul noted this plethora of views when he came to Athens. Standing at the Areopagus, he said, “Men of Athens! I see that in every way you are very religious. For as I walked around and looked carefully at your objects of worship, I even found an altar with this inscription: ‘To an unknown god.’” (See Acts 17:22-23.) Like our modern religious diversity, the Western world of the first century was an array of diverse views and opinions.

Today in America this diversity has reached new levels. A century ago one might self-identify as a Jew, Catholic, Presbyterian, Baptist, or agnostic. Today it’s more likely to encounter people who claim general loyalty to a way of thinking, but whose personal theology is almost indistinguishable from others in the same group. It’s the Catholic who rejects any pronouncement from the Pope, who is pro-abortion, and who believes that everyone will go to heaven after death. It’s the Jew who does not believe God exists, who doubts the historicity of the Hebrew Old Testament, and who discounts any notion of a messiah. It’s the Lutheran who recoils at Luther’s teaching about man and sin in his Bondage of the Will, and who believes that saving grace is mediated only through infant baptism.

Unchecked, the American passion for individualism would create as many religions as there are people. In Christianity, it results in a widespread dismissal of any classical theological ideas built on a careful study of the Bible. When subjective opinions trump all else, there is no room left for any meaningful dialogue. Thoughtful interaction about objective truth gives way to persuasion and pressure, where the loudest voice or the view that is most popular at the moment wins.

Designer theology only leads to intellectual and theological chaos, as Paul saw in Athens. It’s theoretically possible that all our ideas about ultimate reality—all our theologies—are wrong. But that doesn’t preclude that there is one right way to think that actually matches reality. This is the perspective Paul brought to the Areopagus. He began his interaction by saying, “Now what you worship as something unknown I am going to proclaim to you.”

Paul argued that there is a clear and congruent set of truths that offer an explanation for the world and its form, the nature and problems of man, and for meaning and purpose in life. That is the starting point that God has given mankind in the revelation in Christ and in the Bible. It is an alternative to the subjective intellectual chaos that leads nowhere. In these days Christ-followers need to become men and women like Paul, who understood the world around him, and who could speak carefully into all the diverse perspectives of his day. When we fail to study, think, and speak with wisdom and grace, we join the cacophony of divergent voices instead of bringing needed clarity to our world.

Recent news reports reflect a new level of antagonism at words that are perceived as hurtful. Outcries and condemnation seem to fill the airwaves as people rip words or phrases out of context and label the one who spoke them as sub-human. Any poorly chosen but unintentional phrase spoken by a public figure can quickly result in a cry for resignation. This new reaction looks for offence when none was intended and polices syllables for political or personal gain.

The instant condemnation and eagerness to become offended is in line with our tendency to see ourselves as victims. Such condemnation, which is often more bitterly expressed than the original “offense,” shows that our culture has drifted from the careful and measured response to uncivil words that God would have us adopt. (This is not to suggest that people should not be criticized for patterns of vulgar or demeaning expressions that reflect prejudice and arrogance.)

Today we obsess about the emotional damage caused by words. This victim approach gives us permission to make unkind and bitter words of the past the reason why we can’t forgive, can’t relate, can’t succeed, or can’t become people of character and grace. It positions us to demand only affirmation and respect, believing that any other response will cause irreparable damage to our egos. It shackles us to the past and turns normal communication into a toxic arena where healthy conversation dies.

The world’s preoccupation with possible emotional damage has resulted in politically correct speech as well as other repressive solutions. Such responses are not new. Micah preached a message of impending disaster to a rebellious culture. The culture’s prophets would not hear of such negative things. “Do not prophesy,” their prophets say. “Do not prophesy about these things; disgrace will not overtake us.” (See Micah 2:6.) Jesus was slandered for associating with the outcasts, accused of healing by Satan’s power, and mocked even in his dying moments. Any culture that attempts to deal with the emotional pain of words by censoring the speaker will only produce more repression and fear.

For Christians, there is a better way. Remember the old adage, “Sticks and stones can break my bones, but words can never hurt me.”? It suggests that even malicious words can only damage the recipient to the extent he allows them to. If they are lies or slander, you do not have to believe them. One person can be in extreme anguish that someone would speak disparagingly of them, while another blows the statement off as the product of the speaker’s insecurity, envy, prejudice, or jealousy. We do have options about how we process what we hear. If we believe what God says about us is true, then we have facts to counterbalance the demeaning words we sometimes hear from others.

The biblical advice to those who hear malicious words lifts us from our culture’s victim mentality. Biblically informed people do not have to be crushed by the abusive words of others. Proverbs 10:14 states, “Wise men store up knowledge, but the mouth of a fool invites ruin.” Or consider Proverbs 15:2: “The tongue of the wise commends knowledge, but the mouth of the fool gushes folly.” Proverbs advises a cautious reaction to harsh remarks in Proverbs 12:16: “A fool shows his annoyance at once, but a prudent man overlooks an insult.” The wisdom literature of the Old Testament offers a better solution than the litigation, public outcry, and verbal lynchings that mark much of our public interaction these days.

When an individual or culture ignores the historic data of the New Testament, it moves toward a distorted picture of Christ. In the absence of facts, we tend to build our image around imagination and speculation. We reconstruct a portrait build around a Western, Freudian model rather than on the facts as revealed in the contemporary sources from authors like Luke, Matthew, Mark, and John.

The modern palate from which we create our picture of Jesus often produces an image of a man who was a humble itinerant preacher, adverse to publicity and attention. He is sometimes depicted as a man who made no pretension to divinity or status. It is argued that his followers and those who came after them inserted such wild claims into the documents in order to add weight to the emerging faith called Christianity.

Beyond the fact that the manuscript evidence gives us no room for such fanciful speculation, there are occasions in the text where this portrayal of Jesus is as unlikely a fit as trying to squeeze a cow through an opening in a back door designed for a dog.

For example, in Matthew 12 Jesus responds to a charge by the Pharisees that his disciples had desecrated the Sabbath. They noticed that when Jesus and his disciples traveled on a particular Sabbath, some of them picked heads of grain and ate them. In the mind of the legalists, this action was equivalent to harvesting and threshing, which was a violation of the laws of Moses. In response, Jesus points out two occasions where individuals ate or worked on the Sabbath without condemnation. The first precedent he notes was King David’s eating of the consecrated bread when fleeing from the murderous intentions of Saul. (See Matthew 12:3-4.) Both David and his men were given this bread to eat out of necessity. Jesus then points to the priests themselves, who labor on the Sabbath without condemnation. Having looked at one of the most respected kings in Israel’s history, and the elevated role of Levitical temple priests, Jesus states, “One greater than the temple is here.” He adds, “The Son of Man is Lord of the Sabbath.” (See Matthew 12:6 and 12:8.)

Jesus claims to be superior to the holiest place on earth and the holiest day of the week. He is not subject to the restrictions—real or artificial—that the Pharisees would put on his behavior. Because of his nature, he can override such things with impunity because they are not as important as he is.

Though Jesus demonstrated amazing humility in his incarnation, he was not the modest teacher who eschewed extravagant claims that some portray him to be. We live in a relational age that stresses his humanity and his immanence. Jesus breaks through that one-dimensional image and repeatedly speaks of his transcendence. All law, all moral categories, all rights and privileges flow from him. Because they derive from him they do not define him. He defines them. Any gospel declaration that sacrifices the supremacy of Christ impoverishes the church, because it replaces a Lord who has the authority to direct creation and mankind with an administrator who is restricted in the same way we are.

Imagine you are attending a performance of “Oklahoma.” The musical starts out as expected, but it isn’t long before you notice that one of the characters is saying strange things that do not fit into the setting. One of the actors was given lines from “Death of a Salesman” and uses this language instead of following the script of “Oklahoma.” If that unlikely scenario were to happen, you can imagine the conflict it would cause. There would be outrage and criticism on the part of some. Others might be mildly amused or confused. But the harmony of those on the set would be threatened by this renegade actor.

In some ways that is the picture of the Christian in the drama of human life. In Matthew 11:16-17, Jesus compares the people of his time to children playing make-believe. They complain that others don’t comply with their fantasy expectations. “We played the flute for you, and you did not dance; we sang a dirge, and you did not mourn.” They are critical of the script that Jesus and his followers are following because it does not fit into the screenplay they have written.

The storyline the culture follows has a radically different spin on life than God’s revelation in the Bible. Value is measured in the accumulation of stuff. People are the result of a freak accident in the ancient past, compounded by endless mutations. The individual is the measure of all things, and works best when he is autonomous from those around him. The supernatural is the byproduct of fertile imaginations, wishful thinking, and human ignorance. The only meaning you find in life is that which you construct for yourself. Truth is the byproduct of your own internal thinking and not universal. God does not (or may not) exist. Christianity is a religion populated with hypocrites who have no fun, condemn everyone, and are infected with a nasty bigotry against all others.

Such are the parameters of the play that men tend to write. They draft their own understanding of life and reality and expect everyone around them to follow the script and go along with the presuppositions that shape their version of life’s story.

In such a situation Christ-followers will always look strange. They will respond to situations differently. They will humbly but courageously challenge the values that the majority of people around them embrace (whether these friends and neighbors have thought through them or not). They will not fit in with the role culture assigns, and will be regarded as stupid, odd, mistaken, or dangerous by those who deeply value the storyline that is the cultural norm.

Neither Jesus nor John the Baptist fit the story their contemporaries scripted. (See Matthew 11:18 -19.) Anyone who dares to follow Christ today will encounter similar responses by those around them. It’s the natural consequence of following a screenplay drafted in heaven rather than the one written on earth.

Pat Robertson has provoked much anger and ridicule by maintaining that the because of the events of about 200 years ago, the nation has been cursed with all kinds of troubles.

In these kinds of circumstances, it’s wise to separate fact from speculation. Robertson is correct in maintaining that the Haitian people were under that heel of the French. Like many other Caribbean nations, they were a colony. As the desire for independence grew, in 1791 a voodoo priest named Dutty Boukman mobilized some Haitians in the north to begin a revolt not unlike the revolt in the American colonies against the English. There were no eyewitness reports about the meeting, so the details are obscure. Some later accounts suggest that because the French oppressors were being rejected, the God they spoke of should be rejected as well. Therefore, those who took part in the revolution should turn to whatever deity or deities they embraced before the French came to the island. (Historically, many had roots in the animism of Africa because that was their original pace of origin.)

The rejection of the French and their faith on the part of some has been described as some kind of pact with the devil. At best, that overstates the case. At worst, it’s a massive fabrication.

Whenever a nation claims to follow the Christian faith but does not apply the principles of justice and kindness, it invites rejection of the faith it bears. It’s not surprising that the abuses of colonization caused a backlash against Christianity in many places in the new world. Where moral principles of the New Testament were applied with love and sacrifice, good resulted. Where greed and power ruled, Christianity was rejected. Hypocrisy always invites rejection of faith and does not require some kind of contract with Satan.

Secondly, there is no biblical precedent for some kind of agreement between a nation and Satan to shape the future of a people group. Yes, Satan is called “the prince of the power of the air.” He does have regulated influence in the world. The book of Job illustrates that Satan is on a tight leash by God. In Luke 10:19 Jesus gives his disciples power over this enemy. This isn’t the place for an extended look into all the Bible says of Satan, but the overall picture does not depict him as one who rules over nations. The concept of a “pact with the Devil” makes for interesting drama in movies and books (Anyone remember The Devil and Daniel Webster?)

Some will refer to a heavenly messenger who meets with Daniel to help him understand a vision in Daniel 10. He mentions that the prince of the kingdom of Persia withstood him. (See Daniel 10:13.) Some have concluded that there are some kind of national malevolent spirits who may rule over nations. That conclusion reads too much into the text.

Satan’s malevolence touches all nations and all human hearts, seducing us from loyalty to God and enticing us to the same self-sufficiency and arrogance that Adam and Eve chose. Jesus described him as “a liar and the father of lies.” There is no biblical warrant, however, to conclude that entire nations are forever under the domination of Satan as Robertson suggests.

It must be added that there is a link between some of the brokenness in the Haitian culture and the common practice of voodoo. Historically, voodoo does not inspire its adherents to acts of mercy, love and kindness. It does not engender altruism, self-sacrifice, grace, or the elevation of the human condition. Like secular humanism, it lacks the moral foundation that biblical Christianity offers that can produce the best loving and nurturing environment possible.