Thinking-Christianly

Relativism maintains that truth is not objective. It is not the same thing for everyone. Because each of us lives in slightly different circumstances, and has a background unlike others, we are free to interpret reality around us and make moral decisions based on what works for us. My response to a situation may be different from yours because you and I are unique individuals. And even if the decisions are similar, they are never totally identical.

For example, I may choose not to tell the truth to my boss about a project I’m working on. He wouldn’t understand the reasons why I’m behind the preferred schedule. You might tell your boss, but you have a different boss, and work for a different department in the company. The factors in your life are different from me, as is your personality. Even time makes a difference. If he asks me on a Friday when the office is in an uproar, I might respond differently than I would on a Tuesday. So the morality of my response is relative to my unique situation. There is no objective standard.

While relativism correctly understands the uniqueness of every person and every situation, it destroys all common ground. For any life situation there can be an infinite number of legitimate responses, some of which may be contradictory to others. Carried to its logical conclusion, relativism produces moral chaos. We each justify our own choices as correct.

Such thinking, unfortunately, has crept into the church today. In an age of increasing biblical illiteracy we commonly hear one another justify our decisions and our priorities based on our personal conclusions. “I believe this is what God wants me to do” becomes a statement everyone is afraid to assess. We can unwittingly play the God-card and wrap our action in religious language to remove it beyond scrutiny.

Sometimes this is blatant, as when religious liberalism ignores rules of grammar and history and insists on farfetched conclusions from the biblical text. More often it’s our personal attempts to pass off our reason or common sense as equivalent to the wisdom of God. (When I find myself doing this, it’s usually because I’m lazy or because I don’t want God’s truth to interfere with my desires.) In either case, we substitute our subjective assessment for God’s objective revelation.

This kind of thinking is not new. In the days of Jeremiah the prophet the spiritual leaders of Judah took a similar approach. Instead of reflecting the truth that God had spoken to them and their forefathers, they passed off their own views as authoritative. And everyone had a different message for the culture. But most of these words of advice and counsel had little to do with God’s perspective of the moral compromise that had the Jewish nation on the road to judgment. Jeremiah says, “Every man’s own word becomes his oracle and so you distort the words of the living God.” (See Jeremiah 23:36.)

Our pleasure with our technological wisdom and our educational advancements blinds us to the pride that creeps into our thinking. We easily conclude that we can figure out life on our own—even as participants in the church of Christ—and we supplant God’s revelation with our own “sanctified conclusions.” Our goal is not evil, but the result is. We substitute our own ideas about faith, church, evangelism, family, and truth for God’s. Scouring the word of God and becoming dependent in prayer takes too long. It’s too slow. And we have thousands of books that can help us if we get stuck. And so the authority of God’s word silently fades in our minds as we trade ideas with one another in the hectic days of life on earth. We don’t realize that something invaluable disappears in the process. The voice of God changes from the roar of the lion of Judah to a murmur lost in the crowd. We become subjective without being aware of it. Worse, we take ourselves and Christ’s church off the trail of truth and into the wilderness without realizing what is taking place.

Last night some friends and I were engaged in learning together about prayer. Our investigation included the statement of Paul in Romans 8:26. He writes, “In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express.” God graciously partners with us on both sides of prayer. He hears our prayers. He also helps us as we pray—through the direct ministry of the Holy Spirit.

This verse does raise some questions, however. Exactly what does the Spirit do? Let’s unpack the language Paul uses a bit. The word NIV translates “groans” is used only one other time in the New Testament.

In Acts 7:34 Stephen is speaking to the Sanhedrin. He recounts the history of Israel from the time of Abraham to his present day. When he retells the story of God’s recruitment of Moses to lead the people from bondage in Egypt, he describes God’s response to the people’s plea for help. He reminds the Sanhedrin of God’s attention and mercy because God said, “I have seen the oppression of my people in Egypt. I have heard their groaning.” He thus describes his precise awareness of their condition—both visually and audibly. The Arndt-Gingrich lexicon defines this word as “an involuntary expression of great concern or stress.” It’s what we do when we sigh. The word expresses an attitude of weariness, or perhaps an inability to figure out what to do or where to go. Without going into any detail, it captures the difficulty we feel in our hearts as we look at our circumstances and wonder what to do.

The other word used in this text is translated “that words cannot express.” It’s a single word that’s a compound. It’s made from the negative prefix plus the word for “to speak.” The best English translation would be something like “unexpressed” or “wordless”. The noun form of the word is used to describe someone who is mute, unable to speak.

Some wonder if this is the languages of Pentecost in Acts 2:11, commonly referred to as “tongues.” It cannot be since the emphasis in the descriptive language of the verse is that it is wordless. The focus is not on some kind of sentences and words, but on conveying the spiritual, mental, and emotional state that we have as we seek God’s help in prayer.

What do we learn from this background to the language? The Spirit’s intercession for us is not verbal. It appears to be a communication of heart or passion to the Father on our behalf. In some mysterious way the Spirit of God partners with Christ followers when we speak to God about the confusing circumstances of life. He guides us in communicating with God when we don’t have precise words or clarity in our thinking. The bottom line is that we are not alone when we pray. The Spirit understands the condition of our heart and soul and joins with us as we take advantage of this communication link to God himself. Whenever we feel inadequate, tongue-tied, confused, or unclear, we have the assurance that if we have a relationship with God through Christ, our prayers are more than the byproduct of our own efforts—they are in some way empowered and touched by the Spirit. It’s a wonder to realize that our God does not simply wait passively for us to seek him in prayer. He actively helps us as we pray!

One of the social expectations of the church is that we demonstrate love and compassion for those around us. The Bible calls followers of Christ to love their neighbors and show mercy. James 1:27 states, “Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.”

We often look at the first part of that command these days—and we should. But sometimes we forget the second command. Part of the prescription for a Christ-honoring faith is that we not embrace the values and ideas of the world that would undermine and corrupt the teaching of Christ. There are truths that are to shape and guide our spiritual formation that must not be compromised.

In the first century the battle was often against syncretism—the tendency to bring in the beliefs of nearby religions. Thinking Christians face the same challenge today. Our battle may include shielding our faith from New Age pantheistic ideas, premises of pop psychology, and secular or humanistic values that permeate the culture in which we live.

As we seek to live generous and unselfish lives, the Bible calls us to give attention to the substance and practice of our faith. It’s not an either/or issue; but a both/and approach. If our world view becomes infected with ideas that compromise the centrality of Christ, the reality of our sinful condition, or the uniqueness of his saving work, then the recipients of our benevolent acts will not be closer to eternal life as a result of our influence in their lives. We lose creditability if our life does not align with our teaching. We lose our effectiveness if our teaching does not align with God’s revelation. We can improve the quality of their short journey in this life, but it will still be a journey toward absolute destruction if our life and our message are tainted with error.

The combination of compassion and truth is powerful. It will not persuade everyone because the ability to see the divine reality in both is a work of the Holy Spirit. But together these two elements present the world with a reason to join Christ followers in aligning their lives around the person of Christ and embracing the radical life he offers any who will surrender to him.

In America we celebrate our heritage of freedom. But in doing so we often individualize it in a way that makes it almost trivial. We are free to engage in the “pursuit of happiness.” To many today, our liberty is seen as a right to become ardent consumers whose hedonistic appetites set the agenda for our choices and actions. We defend our right to use our freedom to invest in ourselves and seek whatever we feel is necessary in order to live a fulfilled life.

The New Testament speaks much about freedom, but it is a freedom that is linked to a higher purpose. In Acts chapter 5 we discover that the disciples were in the habit of meeting together in Solomon’s Colonnade. Some who respected them did not join them because they were concerned about a reaction on the part of the Jewish authorities. Their concern was well founded. Acts 5:18 informs us that the high priest and the Sadducees arrested the apostles and put them in jail.

During the night an angel opened the doors of the jail and brought them out. Had that happened to me, I would have been overjoyed. I would also have looked for a place to hide where the authorities could not find me. My first thought would be to use my freedom for self-preservation. But the command of the angel points in a different direction. “Go stand in the temple courts and tell the people the full message of this new life,” he said. The freedom he was miraculously giving to the apostles was to be used for kingdom purposes. It was to be used to bring the message of life in Christ to the world about them.

It’s easy to spend our freedom on ourselves or on the things that matter to us in the moment. We are trained to put ourselves first and to use freedom to fuel our perceived needs and desires. A day off is about me. A vacation is about what I want to do. Years of retirement are for the things I hunger for. The directives to the apostles remind us that God grants freedom (both physically and spiritually) so that those of us who receive his grace might use that freedom to further his agenda. That does not rule out self-care. But it does require that we spend our freedom according to his priorities and his kingdom plan. Peter summarizes our use of freedom this way: “Live as free men, but do not use your freedom as a cover-up for evil; live as servants of God.” (See 1 Peter 2:16.)

Recently I had an opportunity to interact with a young man from the Mormon faith. I pointed out some problems about the scriptures that Mormonism embraces as divine and authoritative. When this young man had no answer for a serious question he responded, “I’ve prayed about it and it gives me peace.”

I’ve heard orthodox evangelicals make the same argument. They attempt to validate a certain doctrine, perspective, or course of action by appealing to the inner tranquility or positive joy that they gain from embracing a particular belief.

But such feelings of peace are not self-validating. In my conversation I asked what would differentiate the reply of the young Mormon man from that of a Hindu who might testify that his pantheistic believes provide him with an inner peace that surpasses other experiences. Or what would we say to someone who gets similar results through cocaine? How would we respond to the person who enjoys the peace and tranquility that comes with attaining great wealth, but who is unethical in reaching these goals that make them feel good inside? If inner peace validates any belief or action, can we rule out polygamy or pedophilia?

The “feeling defense” is inadequate because it is subjective. It does not prove anything beyond the notion that you are experiencing what you classify as good feelings. It does not address the issue of truth. A restored relationship with God ought to produce some good inner feelings. But good feelings can be a byproduct of all kinds of choices and options. You may be a Christian, a cult member, or a hedonist and have a story about how any particular pursuit brought you inner peace or joy.

The apostle Paul did not proclaim the implications of the death and resurrection of Christ because they enhanced his positive feelings. (They did—but that was not the ground of his claim.) He proclaimed the message of Christ because it was true. In our feeling-motivated culture it is easy to make the real feelings that come with a dynamic faith the ground and proof of the value of Christianity. But doing so leaves all of us with common subjective experiences that do not ultimately prove one option to be better than another.

In the end there is a difference between embracing Islam, Mormonism, Christianity, or secular humanism. The difference is that one of these perspectives is true and corresponds to the world as God made it. The others are not. As we demonstrate the veracity of the Christian faith, we may delight in our personal emotional satisfaction. But we must be careful not to make that satisfaction the ground of our defense.

Communication puts the burden on the author, whose intent shapes his words to convey messages of his choosing. The listener or reader seeks to understand what the “specific willed meaning” [to use a term from Robert H. Stein] the author had in mind. The meaning of a teaching, a parable, or an historical event comes from the author. The primary implications must also be shaped by the author. So where is there room for the reader in the process? Once we understand the core of the teaching, our individuality and personality comes in as we process the significance of what the text means.

For example, Paul gives clear direction to the believers in the church at Corinth. They repeatedly compromised biblical principles with the values of the pagan Corinthian culture. His two letters reveal that they found it difficult to break from the cultural norms in areas such as sexuality, social prestige, and materialism. He writes to them, “Do not be yoked together with unbelievers. For what do righteousness and wickedness have in common? Or what fellowship can light have with darkness?” (See 2 Corinthians 6:14.)

Paul uses the metaphor of a yoke to describe any kind of binding relationship. A yoke was not put on a beast of burden for decoration. It was a simple way of connecting two animals to do a common task. Where the one went, the other would also need to go. Their futures—at least for hours at a time—were parallel. Animals with divergent spirits pulling in different directions were not the kind of team a farmer wanted.

Paul does not tell us the kind of relationship he had in mind. Though there was no middle class in Paul’s day, we know that some of those in the church at Corinth were wealthy. He may be referring to a voluntary business relationship. He might have in mind his working relationship with Aquila and Priscilla. Or Paul might be applying the metaphor to deep friendships—social partnerships that in some sense bind two people together. On the other hand, he might be speaking to those with syncretistic tendencies who sought to combine the worship of Jesus with the assorted pagan beliefs that characterized Corinth. In any case, his point is that competing world views or life views don’t harness well together and should be avoided where possible.

As readers, we may be able to grasp the intended principle Paul expresses. When it comes to the application of that principle, we have freedom to apply it to our own context. 2 Corinthians 6:14 has been used by evangelicals as a guideline for marriage. Since marriage is perhaps the most intimate covenant a person can enter into, they reason that a Christ-follower should not be joined in marriage to someone who does not share that supreme loyalty to Jesus. Though the verse does not explicitly mention marriage, the principle Paul teaches applies to that relationship as well as others. Readers who ponder the significance of the biblical principle can apply it in different ways.

The text still has only one meaning, but the significance of that text will vary according to our circumstances and the choices before us. As readers, we must take care to make sure the significance of any biblical text that prompts us to action flows from an authentic principle or implication in the text. If we fail to do that, we may engage in behavior that we label as biblical, but which in reality may be no more than personal preference.

When someone dies, those who knew the deceased usually characterize their lives by one or two central things. We recently said good-bye to a lady named Dorothy, who left behind a reputation for laughter, warmth and hospitality, shooting straight with people, seeking to grow in Christ, and adoring her family and especially her grandchildren.

Memories might sound like this: Jake might have been known as a football enthusiast. His friends recall how he cheered for the Vikings, shaped his schedule around the games, and gave advice like many armchair coaches do. Melinda was renowned for her hospitality. She was always opening her home and heart to people in a way that will be deeply missed. Mason was known for his love for cooking. And the more spice the better. He would jump at opportunities to thrown on his chef’s apron and help out at community and church events.

In a conversation the other day, I overheard unflattering remarks of someone who died recently. They were not remembered for anything virtuous, but for being selfish, greedy, self-centered, and overbearing. I never met that person. Maybe I’m glad I didn’t . As I listened to the memories, it was evident that this person made an art of living for themselves. Apparently, anything they could do to get ahead or get an edge on someone else was regarded as a good thing. Their goal was to have more, regardless of the cost or the ethical and moral compromises involved. The memory of this person is a sad tribute to the truth of Proverbs 20:17 “Food gained by fraud tastes sweet to a man, but he ends up with a mouth full of gravel.”

Living selfishly appeals to the broken part of all of us. Ecclesiastes 5:10 observes, “Whoever loves money never has money enough; whoever loves wealth is never satisfied with his income. This too is meaningless.” Our desire for gain lures us into thinking that the extra possessions, larger bank account, or momentary glory of our achievements and success will fulfill us. But the warmth that comes from such things is a fire that dies out quickly. The treasures we chase after become junk in someone’s attic or clutter in the homes of relatives.

The reality of our mortality unmasks the narcissism and materialism of our age as ultimately empty. These values cannot build a legacy that most will respect. And they serve only to impoverish us in light of the world to come. Any cash we leave behind will soon disappear like the dew on the morning grass. Then what? What will be left is a portrait of character—whether good or bad. If good, our lives may inspire others to live in faith, trust Christ, and live humbly and with purpose. If bad, our lives will be warnings for those who might be tempted to follow in our footsteps and live lives of little consequence.

Jesus’ life was short, but he made it count. He disclosed the character and power of his Father to the world of his day. He trained a handful of men to convey the ultimate truths that God wants us to know. And he carried out a rescue mission that included his death in our place and his resurrection. Though mere mortals themselves, the disciples made their lives count. They began a revolution of the soul that encompasses the world today.

When our lives are ended, what will people say? What will they recall? What difference will our days on this planet have made? Living for ourselves will produce an inconsequential impact on the world. But living for Christ offers us the opportunity to find significance—both in this life and the life to come.

One of the most widely used words in our culture today is “crisis.” We don’t simply face problems. Calling a challenge a “problem” is not adequate. It does not grab the attention of people effectively until it is called a “crisis.” Whether the issue is economic, political, social, international, or personal, it has intensity only when it is described using this kind of language.

The word “crisis” brings with it a sense of immediacy. Problems, in contrast, might not need resolution right now. It might be possible to ignore a problem for a season. There may be consequences, but they will not be monumental. You might be able to squeeze 9,000 miles between oil changes or deal with that chip in the windshield months from now. Maybe you could live with that cavity for a while or settle that smoldering argument with your spouse in a few weeks.

The word crisis, though overused, calls us away from procrastination to action. It implies that inaction is deadly. We must face reality and do something now.

In that sense, I would suggest that we have a crisis of hope in our culture today. In many cases, the human spirit lies battered and bruised under the rubble of humanism’s broken promises. Optimism about the future gives way to doubt, apprehension, and gloom. We start to expect major problems to invade our lives on a regular basis. We feel vulnerable, insecure. Bitterness and self-pity start to mark our conversation. Our world gets smaller, and the forces arrayed against us feel greater.

None of the world’s prescriptions do much good. They offer band-aid relief, but do not deal with the inner angst that seems to bubble up whenever a fresh threat appears on the horizon of our lives.

The apostle Paul, who experienced more suffering than most of us will face, was an ambassador of hope to those he met. This was not the kind of superficial hope built on positive thinking. Its roots were in the revelation of God. Paul wrote, “I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.” (See Romans 8:18.)

Paul’s realism does not run from the challenges of life in a fallen world. But he views those challenges in light of the future that he has in Christ. He did not face a crisis of hope because he kept his focus on the future restoration that he would see because of the redemptive work of Jesus. Paul understood that not all the benefits of salvation are tasted in this life. Many more are part of the age to come. And what we experience now is but a shadow of all that is ours as heirs of the kingdom of the Father.

If you follow Christ as Lord and mature in your faith, you have the opportunity to share this grand perspective. Jesus gives you a way to see through the problems of the moment to the glorious consummation that awaits the children of the King. As he opens your eyes to these realities, he sets you to free to sing a song that can dispel the gloom of a world stuck in the grey fog of crushed hopes and faded dreams.

One of the most frequent claims leveled against those who believe in absolutes is the charge of hypocrisy.

Technically, hypocrisy relates to a charade. It’s the pretense of possessing a kind of character or meeting a moral standard when you do not. Paul chides self-righteous Judaism in Romans 2. He states, “You who brag about the law, do you dishonor God by breaking the law? As it is written: ‘God’s name is blasphemed among the Gentiles because of you.’”

In this sense, hypocrisy is less a claim about truth than it is about me. It’s the assertion that I behave a certain way—when in reality I do not. It’s one thing to say, “Stealing is morally wrong.” It’s another to say, “I never steal.” Defying a standard I hold to weakens my position because it gives anyone I meet the right to question the level of my conviction about the standard I put forth. If it is a principle I’m willing to forsake easily, is it not just words?

Sometimes the charge of hypocrisy is broadened to encompass any behavior that is inconsistent with a given standard—no matter how irregular or how it is viewed by the so-called Christian. That argument carries less weight because it implies that unless the adherents of a moral position can live out that position with absolute perfection, it has no weight. But part of the Christian gospel is that perfection is unattainable by fallen human beings. Psalm 14:3 states, “All have turned aside, they have together become corrupt; there is no one who does good, not even one.” Paul looked at his own inability to obey God perfectly and called himself a “wretched man.” (See Romans 7:24.) John states, “If we claim to be without sin, we deceive ourselves.” (See 1 John 1:8.)

The Bible insists that all people, including those who are spokesmen for biblical truth, fall short of the moral standards God has put into place. Our inability to perfectly conform to divine standards does not destroy those standards. It underscores our morally imperfect nature.

There is certainly a difference between those who espouse a standard for moral virtue and blatantly ignore that standard for themselves and those who hold to a standard and fail to perfectly meet it. If someone makes excuses and justifies himself when his behavior comes into question, any critic is justified in condemning his behavior as hypocritical. But if someone acknowledges that he is guilty of violating an ethic he aspires to, that his failure is real—then his inconsistency is not hypocritical.

Because we tend to behave as though we were more moral than we truly are, we frequently deny, dismiss, or excuse charges of ethical failure. Our pride leads us to put on the mask that gives rise to the charge of hypocrisy. Humility and honesty can be painful, but they are better responses than our natural inclinations to avoid admitting our sin.

The veracity of the Bible and its claims does not ultimately rest on the behavior of any person except for Jesus. Our pretense can destroy our credibility as spokesman for the truth. It may call into question the message we bear. But the revelation of God is predicated on his character and consistency rather than ours.

It’s difficult to speak out in a culture that is antagonistic to your message. Most of us don’t like to place ourselves in situations where others are irritated by our words, where backlash results, where honest dialogue gives way to irrational actions and feelings of animosity and alienation.

Faced with the real probability of sparking this kind of reaction, we tend to hold our tongues and not speak about controversial things. In some cases this caution is wise. We all know people who embrace certain values with bold and unrelenting arrogance. They won’t entertain the idea that another approach may be equal or superior to their own. Instead of bringing facts or evidence to the table, they simply talk louder and longer when challenged. They may threaten, berate, or intimidate. But they will not respond thoughtfully when their beliefs are challenged.

Some caricature followers of Christ after this pattern. Unfortunately, it does describe some. Those who believe in the things of Scripture sometimes argue that their belief is built on their faith apart from evidence. Such people may become belligerent and antagonistic in a way that is the opposite of Jesus’ approach to people.

More often, I suspect, it is the Christian who retreats into silence. In John 12, for example, the Bible states that many of the Jewish leaders believed in Jesus’ claim that he was the messiah. Verses 42-43 state that many remained silent “for fear they would be put out of the synagogue.” This was a legitimate fear because the threat was well known. (See John 9:22.) Exclusion from the synagogue was a “nuclear option” of the Pharisees in the first century. It alienated the individual from one of the most significant religious and social institutions of the day. Banishment from the synagogue impacted families, financial status, and connection with Jewish society. It was similar to the practice of shunning in some Amish communities. In short, it was a powerful tool to silence opposition and dissent.

The Bible gives the reason for the effectiveness of this tactic in silencing the believers. Verse 43 states, “for they loved the praise from men more than the praise from God.”

The encouragement that comes from others is obvious because it is vocal and visible. It’s an instant reinforcement that calls us to conform to the social norms of the moment and receive an appropriate reward. The praise of God seems more ethereal. It is a whisper that others do not hear. It is an affirmation that is quiet and internal, not outward and publically celebrated.

The praise of men is an easy thing to desire. It is an instant reward for behavior that conforms to the cultural norms of the moment. When the name of Jesus becomes the J-word, it is awkward at best to express spiritual convictions. Some of the early disciples were willing to forego the affirmation of those around them. They were willing to incur the wrath, slander, and mockery of others. They understood that the unseen God was watching their lives and expecting them to act for his pleasure. It’s a perspective we need to cultivate if the truth of God is not to be muzzled in our day.