Thinking-Christianly

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.

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.

The relativism that marks our modern thinking embraces the idea that each of us knows truth, is driven by truth, and expresses truth as we interact about the world around us. It redefines bigotry as the idea that when two or more statements conflict, they cannot all be correct. On the surface such thinking seems generous and gracious, but it fails on at least two major counts. First of all, it offers no way to resolve conflicts. Secondly, it has a naïve view of humanity and presumes a natural love of truth.

Relativism makes it difficult to resolve conflict because it tends to deny that conflict exists in the first place. If Tom is employed by Gary and promised $10 an hour, he expects to gross $400 after working 40 hours. But Tom opens his paycheck and discovers that his gross income is $200 for 40 hours. Gary defends the smaller amount by stating that he is paying Tom $400 an hour—in 1985 dollars. He has just picked a different year’s currency as the baseline for his pay scale. Both men are right, given their perspectives. But in order for them to work together, there must be a common frame of reference—a common standard that does not waver between people. When the issue is real dollars and cents, Tom will turn to someone who will look at the issue objectively (judge, lawyer, or labor board).

Jesus points out another weakness of relativism. It’s the hidden assumption that we are all looking for truth in the first place. In Matthew 13 he tells a parable about a landowner who plants good seed in his field. But the landowner has an enemy. And this enemy sneaks into the field to sow weeds into the fertile soil. The servants of the landowner offer to pull the weeds. He tells them not to because of potential damage to the wheat. He tells them to allow both plants to grow to maturity. Then they will be separated.

Most farmers would wince at this advice. They would hit the field with Roundup and take care of the problem immediately. But this is not a parable about farming, but about people. The premise of Jesus teaching is that the world is a place where God’s truth is sown, but where the seeds of lies are also sown. (It comes after the previous parable in Matthew 13, which pictures God as the one who has the seeds of truth.) The parable does not see the world through the lens of competing truths, as relativism does. It sees the world as a contest between truth and lies. This kind of thinking has its roots (pun intended) in the deception of the historic fall as described in Genesis. The challenge before Adam and Eve revolved around the accurate concept of reality as given to them by God and the alternative as described by Satan. In John 8:44 Jesus calls Satan a liar and the father of lies. It is this battle between alternate views of objective reality—one which is accurate and others that are not—that relativism cannot address.

In our own experiences we know how easy it is to lie, mislead, or misrepresent the facts in order to benefit from the spin we put on the truth. It may be to avoid punishment. It may be to cover up failure, either at work or at home. It may be to look better or gain respect in the eyes of others for exaggerated accomplishments. It may be to damage someone we don’t respect or dislike. It may be to persuade another to loan us money, give us a job, entrust us with a responsibility, or value us as a person. A myriad of motives come into play when we feel it is “necessary” to embellish the truth. And all of us find ourselves doing what is wrong at times for what we consider to be necessary goals. We tend to have selective amnesia about the many instances where lying caused more problems than it solved.

Relativism tends to mask this true moral dilemma in a shroud of nobility, claiming that we’re all just seeking truth in a different way. Jesus is more blunt and realistic. There is the seed of truth. There are weeds of lies. They both grow together in this age, but they are not equivalent. The assertions of Mahmoud Ahmadinejad about Iranian peaceful nuclear ambitions or Senator John Edwards about not fathering a child outside of his marriage are not variations on the truth. They are not truth. They echo the true condition of the moral field that all of us live in.

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.