The Stephen Curtis Chapman family, who lost their 5-year-old girl, Maria Sue, in an accident at home yesterday.

The John Dobbs family, who lost an 18-year-old son, John Robert, yesterday in a motor vehicle accident.

The family of Eric Noah-Wilson, executive director of the ZOE Group, whose 33-year-old sister Kristi Blank left this life last night after an intentional overdose of ordinary pharmaceuticals Saturday.

My blogging friend John Mark Hicks, who has been mourning dearly loved ones this week on the anniversary of his son Joshua’s death May 21, 2001. These new losses in God’s family must be especially trying to him.

I just have no words. No wisdom. No solace. No comfort to offer. Only grief shared, and prayer, and love for these who hurt too deeply for words or wisdom or solace or comfort.

A break from the “innovation” series is needed, at least by me.

I’ve read some interesting tomes the last few weeks, among them unChristian and Pagan Christianity.

I’ve been writing a morning devotional pretty much every day at the ZOE Group / New Wineskins Daily Life of Worship blog.

(For the moment, our main ZOE Group and New Wineskins sites are down. Yet, through messages on a separate e-mail subscription system and the New Wineskins blog, we’ve been able to get out the message about the tragedy that has befallen our Executive Director Eric Noah-Wilson’s family, and hundreds have already responded with e-mail messages of prayer and hope to him.)

All of these things in my life -for very different reasons – have formed a question in my mind and heart that I think has been nudging at many others within our faith for a long time now:

Could we do better for the cause of Christ if we saw Christianity less as a religion and more as an identity?

As we cautiously adapt popular Christian music for our hymnody in churches, may I offer this as an option to some of our most cautious brethren …?

Our god is a “gotcha” god
he feigns his heavenly love
then smites you from up above
our god is a “gotcha” god

When he rolls up his sleeves
he’s preparin’ you a blitz
(our god is a “gotcha” god)
roll you under with his footsteps
zap with lightning from His fist
(our god is a “gotcha” god)
Well, he really isn’t joking
’bout his mind you should be readin’
if you do something unauthorized
you’ll be dead; you’re best believin’
that our god is a “gotcha” god

Our god is a “gotcha” god
he feigns his heavenly love
then smites you from up above
our god is a “gotcha” god

And if you worship some way that you think is right
(our god is a “gotcha” god)
he’ll blast you into darkness in his holy spite
(our god is a “gotcha” god)
judgment and wrath he’ll pour out on ya
mercy and grace aren’t options for such loss
don’t you know that all your innovation’s misbegotten and
our god is a “gotcha” god

Our god is a “gotcha” god
he feigns his heavenly love
then smites you from up above
our god is a “gotcha” god

our god is a “gotcha” god

our god is a “gotcha” god

(with sincerest apologies to Michael W. Smith the late Rich Mullins)

I just can’t bring myself to capitalize the “g,” though … I’m not sure the deity pictured in these verses is well-rounded enough in justice and mercy, righteousness and love to be the genuine article.

Twenty-four hours ago Angi and I finished our second and last day at the Pepperdine Lectureship, sitting in the courtyard of the little 1960s motel on the beach that she loves and has wanted to share with me, and we listened to the waves crash a few yards from our feet and reflected on the blessings of the previous forty-eight hours:

Safe arrival. Beautiful weather. Our kids’ safety at home while thunderstorms and tornados passed to the north and the south of them. Two wonderful surrogate houseparents for them, freeing us to travel alone together for the first time in a decade.

Listening to Randy Harris before about 5,000 assembled Christians in the fieldhouse, admitting that he could not preach his assigned topic from the Sermon on the Mount about loving one’s enemies; he was still learning it from his students at ACU.

Hearing Rick Atchley, the embattled minister of North Richland Hills Church, describing his need to change his message to an audience of 400 in Africa because, odds were, more than a quarter of them would be dead from AIDS within a few years, and all of them were hungry to the point of starvation. The passion in his voice when he quietly said, “I’m done with arguing about the things that rich Americans can or can’t do for one hour a week on Sunday. If you folks want to go home and do that, that’s fine; you go ahead. But I’m through with it.”

Sitting on the stage a few feet behind Mike Cope, our minister during our three-year sojourn in Abilene, as he declared the soteriology of Paul to Galatia: that Jesus was enough; that Jesus plus anything else – circumcision, law, acts of righteousness, anything – was powerless to save.

Accepting the solo singing of “Redeemer” by Sheryl Thomas for the first time in person as a priceless blessing with our shameless, grateful tears – while we were still on the platform behind the ZOE Group and Mike; right in front of everyone else in that auditorium of 700-800 souls. Longing to share that blessing with our church family in a gathered worship setting even as a recording – yet knowing that some, like the spiritual hatchlings of Jerusalem that Jesus would have gathered under His wings – some simply would not.

So we do not.

After a silence there by the sea, I confessed to Angi: “It’s taken me a long time to realize that I grew up in a church that really was liberal; it wasn’t just called that by the other churches who wrote us up in their bulletins. It was truly liberal; liberal in love. I grew up hearing sermons about Jesus and about grace and how our own righteous acts are powerless to save us but are powerful to lead others to salvation; and when I hear messages and share in songs that are all about Jesus and all about His grace … I’m home.” And I found myself in quiet tears again.

And the waves went on crashing on the sand.

As a second-grader, I thrilled to be able to actually see, close-up, a genuine U.S. Navy fighter jet parked on the tarmac of a base visitor’s center while we were on vacation to the east coast. So, a few weeks later, I was overwhelmed when my dad brought home my first Renwal plastic model kit – “AUTHENTIC IN EVERY DETAIL” – of that fighter jet, and I couldn’t wait to rip off the cellophane and open the cardboard box and peer inside.

It was almost as advertised on the box, down to the last rivet, except for one major detail: the nose cone. While the prototype jet had a sharp, pointed, air-piercing nose; the model kit had a blunt bulb of misshapen plastic and an instruction sheet which advised the modeler to soften the bulb chemically or with heat and shape by hand to conform to the original.

Clearly, this required powers and abilities far beyond those of a seven-year-old child and a father who had never before assembled a plastic model kit.

So we put it together as it was and mounted it on its clear styrene stand. But with its Jimmy Durante schnozz, it was pretty hard for me to imagine it soaring in the stratosphere at supersonic speed.

The U.S. Navy fighter jet I saw was genuine – the real thing.

The model kit was not quite authentic – like the real thing; only smaller. (And with a pug nose.)

Genuine, Authentic. These words, as here compared, have reference to historical documents. We call a document genuine when it can be traced back ultimately to the author or authors from whom it professes to emanate. Hence, the word has the meaning, “not changed from the original, uncorrupted, unadulterated:” as, a genuine text. We call a document authentic when, on the ground of its being thus traced back, it may be relied on as true and authoritative (from the primary sense of “having an author, vouched for”); hence its extended signification, in general literature, of trustworthy, as resting on unquestionable authority or evidence; as, an authentic history; an authentic report of facts.

A genuine book is that which was written by the person whose name it bears, as the author of it. An authentic book is that which relates matters of fact as they really happened. A book may be genuine without being, authentic, and a book may be authentic without being genuine. –Bp. Watson.

– Webster’s Revised Unabridged Dictionary

I’ll leave this thought with you while I’m winging to California on a decidedly subsonic passenger jet with a nose cone somewhere between the two described above:

I wonder if too many Christians aspire to – and are satisfied with – an authentic faith, an authentic worship experience, an authentic church,- all just like the real thing IN EVERY DETAIL ….

… rather than the genuine article, the real thing, the faith that comes from the heart, the worship that is in Spirit and in truth, the church that the Lord established through the water and His blood.

It’s a fine distinction.

But an important one.

Angi and I will be presenting a class on the Pilgrim Heart Group Guide we wrote on Friday at the Pepperdine Lectureship (http://www.pepperdine.edu/biblelectures/schedule/complete-by-participant.htm?id=10337), and we’re looking forward to seeing good friends, meeting new friends and enjoying our first getaway together – without our kids attached – in about a decade. Too long!

Our home church is really well represented among presenters this year … our Singles Minister, our Family Life Center Manager, even a part-time member who lives in Tennessee but has family here and visits frequently.

We’re eagerly anticipating Pie Night, fish tacos, ocean air and ZOE worship.

And you, hopefully!

I just received my copy of Pagan Christianity? by Frank Viola and George Barna from Amazon, and have begun to read the first chapter.

I’m going to withhold full judgment until I’ve read it fully, but my first impression is mixed.

I can’t disagree with the premise that a lot of what Christians do today in gathered worship has little in common with what Christians did in their worship together in century one.

What I’m not certain about is whether that’s a completely bad thing.

The first chapter of the book speaks to the point that both Jews and pagans differed from early Christians in their worship by their emphases on sacred places, people and things – and that, over time, Christianity began to absorb the same fascinations. Did Christians in century one never purchase or build a place for worship together? There’s no record of it in scripture. Can we assume that it never happened?

More importantly – does it matter?

Can God be worshiped acceptably in other places?

In the early days of Christianity, Jewish Christians met in the temple courtyards. Daily.

For good reason: Jesus taught in the temple courts, too. And on mountainsides, from a boat, on a plain. He accepted worship in the home of a Pharisee, on the streets as he traveled, on horseback … all right, donkeyback. He went to synagogue, read Isaiah there. (Synagogue was not something God included in His commandments revealed through Moses.) He prayed in lonely places. He sang with his followers after Passover in a second-story room. He prayed in a garden.

Stephen taught on the road in a chariot. Paul taught (and presumably worshiped) in synagogues, and when they booted him out, went next door to the synagogue ruler’s house or rented a lecture hall. (He could have spent the money on meeting the needs of the poor.) Or looked for a place of worship and prayer by a river where there might not be any synagogues. Christians met in homes, broke bread together – however you wish to interpret that phrase.

You can probably think of a lot more.

I get the picture that what’s important about worshiping together is not so much the where, but the how: in spirit and in truth. With His Spirit poured into our hearts to commune with Him; with our hearts, minds, souls and strength truly engaged.

If God accepts worship from within a stinky animal stable from foreign astrologers, from inside a religious leader’s home tainted by a sinner’s perfume, from a magnificent incense-fragranced temple made with hands, from a fresh-aired lake or a mountainside or a plain made by His hand – where can we go to escape His Spirit? Where can we flee from His presence?

Are we not to be the aroma of Christ to others wherever we are?

Are the prayers of the saints not regarded as incense to Him in heaven?

Does scripture ever, at any point, say that God has vested authority in scripture?

He has given it to His Son, to His Son’s followers, to leaders, even in a limited way to Satan for a time. But to scripture? Ever?

If not, where do some folks get that idea?

Three simple verses, all beginning with the word “but.” They have a couple of other keywords in common.

“But go and learn what this means: ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’ For I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.” ~ Jesus, Matthew 9:13

“But the tax collector stood at a distance. He would not even look up to heaven, but beat his breast and said, ‘God, have mercy on me, a sinner.’ ” ~ Jesus, Luke 18:13

“But for that very reason I was shown mercy so that in me, the worst of sinners, Christ Jesus might display his unlimited patience as an example for those who would believe on him and receive eternal life.” ~ Paul, 1 Timothy 1:16

Did you catch the keywords?

I think they begin with “but” because they state a truth that is in contrast to the world’s view and behavior. That is, to my view and behavior, all too often.

When I think I’ve sacrificed, when I’m tempted to boast to God in prayer about all I’ve done for Him, when I’m convinced that I’ve been doing the right thing in the right way and for the right reason … I need to be reminded Whose perfection and sacrifice did everthing for me that I could not do.

I need to be reminded that – though forgiven – I am still a sinner, and that I should show what I have been shown; give what I have been given: mercy, faith, patience, an example.

Some things I’m curious about:

Was the “Law of Prohibitive Silence” created from the motto “We speak where the Bible speaks; we are silent where the Bible is silent” created by the Restoration founders?

What name(s) can be credited with its first phrasing and defense? (Surely – unlike Topsy – it must have be borned rather than just growed.)

Was its use initially or primarily to refute instrumental worship, or was its early use just as often dedicated to refuting cooperation among churches, multiple communion cups and sundry other items termed “innovations”?

Has anyone done a scholarly study of any elucidations of the “Law of Prohibitive Silence” regarding the amount of inductive reasoning compared to the amount of deductive reasoning used?

By the way, I don’t know the answers to these questions; I am honestly asking them.

It just seems like the answers would be enlightening.