Maybe change is supposed to be hard

You can't read Paul's letters for very long without discovering that God intends to change our natures. Paul says anyone in Christ is a new creation, (2 Cor 5:17), and that we died to sin in Christ (Romans 6:2-6), and that we have been crucified with him (Gal 2:20).

These verses have always made me think that for a Christian, overcoming a bad habit or a recurring attitude should be fairly effortless. All we need to do is have faith and ask God to change us, right? In fact, the change should already have taken place.

But I've never found change in my life to be effortless, like these verses imply. I've figured out in recent years that Scripture has another paradigm besides the total and instant transformation. The story of God's people coming into the Promised Land is a surprisingly complicated one. There are miracles (crossing the Red Sea, conquering Jericho) that feed the instantaneous, effortless paradigm. But there are also a lot of enemies, that have to be conquered one by one, and in not all cases is the victory supernatural and instantaneous. The biggest delay, the 40 years in the wilderness, comes because the people lose faith at a critical moment, but I'm not sure the story should be read that if the people had only had faith, all would have been effortless. What if God intended the process to be somewhat drawn out, because he wanted to give the people the experience of having faith in the promise, even when circumstances suggested that the promise couldn't be true? Faith is the assurance of things not seen, Hebrews tells us. That means something has to remain unseen for faith to take place.

Two phases of selfishness

I think selfishness has two phases. Phase 1 is when I want other people to get out of my way. Why do I have to wait for traffic, wait at the light, wait at the checkout line? Who do these people think they are? Slowing ME down!

Phase 2 is when I want to be noticed and applauded. I've gotten some good feedback about this blog, but I could take more. Sometimes at a party I can grumble inwardly that I'm not the center of attention. Who do these people think they are? Not noticing ME!

I'm an introvert, so the first phase predominates for me. But the second phase comes in as well.

God's antidote to the first phase: remembering that he loves others as much as he loves me, realizing this world is not for my benefit alone.

God's antidote to the second: Remembering that my story, my concerns are deeply engraved on his heart. I am his adopted child, Jesus is not ashamed to call me 'brother'.

A great prayer for New Years

     All year long you’ll prove your covenant and capacity to keep us from falling. Though we may falter in the journey, the grasp of your grace is steady and secure. When we waver in our adoration of you, you will remain constant in your affection for us. When we are faithless and disobedient, you will remain committed and fully engaged with us. Even when you must discipline us this year, it will be in love, never in disgust or regret that you have adopted us (Heb.12:7-12). We praise you for being the perfect Father to your daughters and sons.

     All year long you’ll be at work preparing us for the day when we come into your glorious presence. We’re confident and grateful as we face that day, because you have promised to complete the good work of the gospel you’ve begun in us (Phil. 1:6). Indeed, Father, if this should be the year in which you call me “home,” herein lays my humble confidence: I will stand before you without fault because you’ve placed me in the faultless righteous One, Jesus.

source: Scotty Smith's prayer

I like this. The habit of New Years resolutions can convey that we depend on our own willpower to change. Let us focus on the One who can bring change.

Reenacting the Incarnation?

I had an odd experience at Christmas Eve service last night. After the first song, a young woman (I guessed in her late teens) read a poem, which at first I didn't like. It sounded too touchy-feely, as if the wonder of the Incarnation was an excuse to celebrate ourselves. I also grumbled in my heart against this young woman reading it. An older person would have read with more authority, I thought. Then the poem did call us to remember that we, with our imperfections, are chosen by God, and we should present our imperfections to him and ask for his help.

Then I realized my grumbling about the youthfulness of the woman reading was in error as well. Mary was about that age (perhaps younger?) when she was chosen to become the mother of the Son of God. But I grumbled at someone so young being given such a small role as reading a poem from the pulpit in a service. I still have things to learn yet. But even so, God is with me, to help me do better than I would on my own.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

The theodicy on my computer

I have a theodicy on my computer. My son and I bought it at Walmart five or six years ago. It's called "Age of Empires II". The people who developed this game probably weren't thinking of vindicating God's goodness despite the existence of evil, but that is what they did.

If you've never played Age of Empires II, it is a game where you have villagers that gather resources, so you can build castles and make knights and archers and catapults to defend yourself against the computer's army and to conquer the computer's empire.

Like a lot of commercial games, it has cheat codes that you can look up online. One lets you create sports cars armed with machine guns, which totally dominate the medieval battlefield of the game. When I saw this code, I tried it out and it was impressive. One sports car basically won the game for me.

But I've played the game hundreds of times over the years, and only a handful of times have I used sports cars. After all, what is the point? It's not much of a game if I do that.

That is the theodicy of it. When I'm tempted to feel frustrated with circumstances that I know God could fix or remove in an instant, I think of Age of Empires. Does God delay his instantaneous triumph over evil to make the game more interesting? Scripture says he does want us to have faith in His power and authority even when we can't see it in our circumstances.

If my villagers were intelligent, they might well be frustrated with me. Why do I send them out to risk their lives building towers at the edge of the enemy territory when I could win an instantaneous victory? "How long, Master", they might cry out. "Do you not care that we perish?" But I don't want to win in an effortless, instantaneous manner, I want to overcome in a challenging, complex manner.

The analogy only goes so far. I don't care about my villagers because I know they are only pixels on a screen and objects in RAM with a few variables. God does care about me and about the world, he has assured me of that over and over. But he has a much bigger plan than just loving me, and his plan usually doesn't include giving me instantaneous relief over my problems. Age of Empires has helped me understand that.

God's pleasure

I believe God made me for a purpose, but he also made me fast. And when I run I feel His pleasure.

Eric Liddell in Chariots of Fire.

I've been thinking about that quote these last few days. When do I feel God's pleasure in what I do?

One time is when I write, either here or in my narrative projects slowly staggering towards completion. When I take the time to write, I'm often encouraged by a deeper sense of joy than my normal. The colors seem a touch brighter, the music in church seems a touch deeper, a touch happier.

This is a challenging fact, besides being encouraging. Often, I don't want to work at my writing, or anything else. I'm entranced by the 21st century false gospel: Life is supposed to be convenient and almost effort-free. If something is hard, I can't be expected to pursue it until "they" update it to make it easy.

But I think Scripture calls us to a long pilgrimage, often involving struggle against circumstances and my inclinations. There are moments of ease and comfort, an occasional dramatic victory when I see God's power unleashed, but the norm seems to be needing faith to believe in God's great power when I don't see it unveiled in my circumstances.

"My God, my God, why have you forsaken me!" -- a surprising blessing!

I've been meditating on Psalm 22 these last few days and have found encouragement in David's cry of desolation.

1) We worship a God who has endured far greater torment than anything we fret over.
2) We worship a God who promises to be with us in our distresses. The desolate feeling of verse 1 isn't the end of the story, read v 22, 24, 29-31.
3) we worship a God who receives and welcomes our honesty when we pour our distressed feelings out to him.

Do people still talk about the Four Spiritual Laws? I'm thinking Spiritual Law #1 could be reworded. Instead of "God loves you and has a wonderful plan for your life," I'd say "God loves you and has an astonishing ability to give contentment in distressful circumstances."