Also known as Pharisee Syndrome. Patients often express that they have “done it” right; others are “doing it” wrong; specifically, that others have partied all their lives and should not be treated with another party, let alone party clothes and jewelry. They will often express gratitude that they are not like tax collectors.

The condition is more common than has been thought and is persistent. It is generally resistant to treatment and has a tendency to spread and deepen.

Symptoms: General lack of joy and cheer; puffiness around the ego; occasional reddening of the eyes and face.

Prognosis: Invariably leads to serious and sometimes fatal cardiopulmonary complications.

Treatment: Strong dose of gently-applied equilibrium. Difficult, as patients are often convinced that their Physician’s purpose is not to seek out and treat them, but others whose conditions are fatal.

See also “Penitent Prodigal Therapy” and “Kneeling Facedown Regimen.” (Self-applied thoracic compressive thrusts accompanied by verbal pleas for mercy may also be indicated.)

Mike Cope’s latest column in the Christian Standard describes the healing and comfort offered by those who stand in for parents who can’t be there, and in so doing, stand in for a heavenly Father:

We Must Welcome the Children.

He recounts both the accident on the way back from Winterfest which injured his son Chris (and took the life of one of Chris’ close friends) and a double homicide near Highland Church of Christ where he preaches.

No one could redefine the term “godparents” like Mike.

Not to make light of an outstanding book by C.S. Lewis, but most divorces aren’t that great.

Mine wasn’t. Angi’s wasn’t either – though she is more resilient than most other people I’ve ever met. We happened to meet at church when her divorce was in its final stages. Mine had been complete for seven years.

A couple of days ago, I received an e-mail from a person who had read my post at One Christian’s Affirmation and poured out her heart about her restrictive upbringing in the church, her marriage to someone that should have been fine because he was a Christian, their divorce after two children, and now his desire to reconcile to her. “Reconcile” may be too strong a word. He wants her back.

I don’t want to disclose specifics beyond that; she was simply writing to express her joy that not all of her fellow Christians buy into the dogged doctrinal details of our fellowship, which she didn’t see in my post.

I haven’t known how to write her back, and so far I haven’t. Angi and I have co-taught classes for separated, divorced and widowed people both at my home church here in Little Rock and at Highland Church of Christ in Abilene. The people of both those classes were great blessings to us, though sharing their challenges was often spiritually and emotionally draining.

The truth is, I feel like I’ve lost whatever “touch” God gave me. I used to be able speak confidence and comfort to people who were hurting. I wasn’t afraid to go back to the hurting place of my second single life with others who were currently in theirs.

I’m happy now. I have a marriage that I never dreamed could be possible; two adorable and energetic children by adoption; no classes to teach to spiritually sick and wounded people. I’m happy.

I already said that, didn’t I?

Then why do I feel like I’m a little bit divorced from reality?

The apostle Peter, that is.

I don’t know how to put it any more plainly. He wasn’t a violent, village-burning, lynching, hateful racist. He just didn’t like Gentiles. He didn’t want to preach to them. He hesitated to baptize them. He didn’t want to eat with them.

Hmm. Three things. That’s kind of a pattern in his life, isn’t it? Deny Jesus three times. Be told three times to feed His sheep. Receive three corrections about his reluctance to reach out to non-Jews.

You remember the stories. God sent a vision of unclean animals lowered in a sheet or sail to convince the fisherman to preach to Gentiles. God sent the Holy Spirit to a group of Gentiles to persuade Peter they ought to be baptized, just like any Jews. God sent Paul to teach Peter some table manners when he wouldn’t fellowship Gentiles at dinner.

All of this took place long after Pentecost, long after we would assume Peter himself was immersed in both water and Spirit, long after he exercised church discipline in the extreme because of Ananias and Sapphira.

Can God use racists in His work? Does He instantaneously zap them into a Spirit of love and acceptance? Or does He just keep nudging, working with them as well as through them?

I responded to Greg Kendall-Ball’s righteously-angry post The More Things Change this morning that I think the problem with our nation’s reluctance to intervene in the Sudan is “the fact that such a small percentage of men are affected by color-blindness.”

Don’t get me wrong; I’m not at all delighted at the prospect of sending more people to war. I’m not at all certain that military intervention is even the right answer.

But would it kill us to fast and pray that God will nudge and work with/through some people who desperately need to become – or struck – color-blind?

Too many are being killed each day that we don’t.

You might have to be my age or a little older to understand that “tell it like it is” was a byword of the late 1960s and 1970s. Which is relevant to the point I’d like to meander toward, because those days was a lot more “modern” than these days am.

I’m a late-comer to the modern/post-modern discussion, partly because I always (and mistakenly) thought of “modern” as a term that moved forward in time, just like the word “contemporary” used to do. Nowadays, if you live in a “modern” or “contemporary” house, it was probably built 40-50 years ago. I couldn’t grasp the discussion because I couldn’t understand the terms.

“Telling it like it is,” contrarily enough, is a “modern” concept. Like old journalism, it hangs on the notion that a person can tell a story without a particular point of view or slant; that he/she can see it from all sides and recount it factually, unemotionally, disconnectedly. The “post-modern” notion is that it’s impossible for anyone to do that; we’re all going to have our own histories, beliefs, opinions, and colored lenses (preferably lavender with wire rims) – and no one can tell a story exactly the way it happened. We all “call it like we see it.”

Science, for instance, used to be pretty sure about everything. Then chaos theory started punching quantum holes right through the fabric of certainty. Pretty soon, every other discipline (even religion) became perforated with doubt.

That’s not necessarily a bad thing. Some things should be doubted. At the same time, there are some things that are functionally and permanently true and they should not be doubted for a moment. Gravity comes to mind, and the inherent unreasonability of any given bureaucracy. Oh yes, and God.

Doubt everything else, but none of it makes sense without God. It’s all just chaos theory and entropy and a supragalactic toilet without God.

And the process of reductionism/deconstructivism isn’t necessarily a bad thing, either – if it helps us peel away and trash outdated and nonsensical and unbiblical beliefs, doctrines, practices and traditions. Several things come to mind here, but I’m not going to mention any of them. Aren’t you proud of me?

On the other hand, maybe we could stand to be less reductionistic. (That’s what I want on my bumper sticker: “Be less reductionistic.”) Maybe deconstructivism isn’t all it’s cracked up to be … if it goes too far.

My twelve-year-old son is fond of collecting big-scale metal model cars and then taking them apart to see how they’re put together. The problem is, he’s not very adept at putting them back together – and they aren’t really made for customizing or swapping parts like he has seen on “Monster Garage.”

That brings up my fear about the pendulum swinging too far toward post-modernism. One of its bywords is “You can’t know everything.” Which leaves the committed post-modern dude or babe with a major heinous dilemma: Once you’ve taken everything apart and nothing makes any more sense than it did before, and you’ve accepted the axiom “You can’t know everything,” what do you do with all the busted pieces? (My son’s answer is to box up the little ones and put them in a closet and display the stripped carcasses of all his formerly-beautiful metal cars. This is not a comforting thought to me.)

So I finally come wandering to the point. Is post-modernism really a kind of pendulum swing that necessarily over-corrects the excesses of modernism? Is there a point ahead in the process where it will settle in a stable center?

And in the meantime – with the one and only truth in the universe that you can put an anchor into – will Christians have the faith and courage to do so?

Can we tell the Story from our own point of view; enriching it with the embellishments of our own individual stories – yet still letting it point unmistakeably to the known and the sure; to scripture itself; to truth; to God and His Son? Can we be part of the ongoing Story of Jesus without claiming our version is the only one?

Can we take off the lilac granny glasses long enough to see the Story just as it is, and its glorious, multicolored power to take each one of us in?

Can we also tell it like it is?

We like to know who’s in and who’s out. More than that, we like to decide.

But, failing that, we’ll tune in to Entertainment Tonight, American Idol, Jeopardy, Hardball, Survivor and anything on ESPN to see to see who’s in and who’s out – socially, intellectually, competitively, politically, athletically, whatever. If we can vote somebody in that we like, or vote someone out that we don’t like … so much the better!

Jesus had a way of turning who’s in and who’s out inside-out.

When His followers found a fellow driving out demons in His name, they put the brakes on him fast. Why? “Because he is not one of us,” John explained.

Jesus said: “Don’t stop him! Whoever is not against you is for you.” (Luke 9:49-50) And in Mark 9:39 he adds, “No one who does a miracle in my name can in the next moment say anything bad about Me.”

John understood the reverse, in Luke 11:23: “Whoever doesn’t gather with Me, scatters.” He “got” the truth that Jesus is an all-or-nothing proposition; you love Him or you hate Him. You’re with Him or you’re against Him. You’re “in” or you’re “out.” But, as far as John was concerned, if someone didn’t follow and wasn’t “in,” no demons should be cast out by him.

He didn’t stop to consider whether possessed people were better off without the demons.

Or the possibility that the power of Christ transcended one little group of followers.

Or the fact that Jesus could see and know about that person casting out demons as clearly as He could see Nathanael under the fig tree before Philip called him; as surely as He could feel virtue leave him when a woman touched His cloak to be healed.

Or that it’s Jesus who decides who’s in and who’s out.

I’d rather accept someone as “in” and then be disappointed not to see them in heaven, than to declare them as “out” and then be disappointed that I wasn’t in heaven with them. – Old Preacher Saying

I trust you, God; I’m in safe hands
You are my Lord; You give good things
The good who dwell within your lands
Delight in what Your glory brings

Yet sorrows will increase for those
who scurry after other gods
whose names my lips will not disclose
nor will I pour their cups of blood

My cup and portion, Lord, you give
and make my place in life secure:
a pleasant place for me to live;
a legacy that You make sure

I’ll praise the Lord who counsels me,
instructing my heart day and night
My faith will not be shaken free;
You stand before me on my right

My heart is glad and sings all day,
My body also rests assured
Your Holy One sees no decay,
You lift me from a grave secured

You’ve shown the path of life to me
and in Your presence I will stand,
filled up for all eternity
with joy and bliss, at Your right hand.

(Psalm 16, quoted in part by Peter when preaching in Acts 2:25-28)

– WKB, ©2005

My college roommate Steve (I don’t know if he was pulling my leg) insisted that the original dust-cover of a book popular in our fellowship had its titled printed as “What Is Hell Like? – Sermons By Jimmy Allen.” Later, he said, it was changed to read “- And Other Sermons By Jimmy Allen.”

It seems that Brian McLaren’s latest book The Last Word and the Word After That has stirred the controversy to life from the embers once again. (I haven’t read it. I haven’t read any of the series. It’s not really the book or series that I’m blogging about here; so please don’t expect a review or summation. I’m just pointing out the ripple effect which inspires people to dive back deeply into scripture to re-examine why they believe what they believe.)

The book is reawakening a controversy that goes back to at least the time of Constantine about whether hell’s torture is permanent, or just hell is permanent. Eternal punishment vs. annihilation after punishment that destroys. Is it just the fire and the worm that are eternal, or are those whom they consume eternal as well?

I don’t have a clue. To me, it’s clear that the Bible speaks of hell – at least of a lake of fire – as a permanent fixture in eternity; and that eventually death and Hades (the place of the dead) will be thrown into it; and that the devil, the beast and the false prophet will be tormented there forever. Whether that applies to others I can’t say. However, that last part is in a highly interpretable prophetic passage, the Revelation to John. Here’s my question:

Why do we limit the discussion to basically only two alternatives?

What if the body we are given after death – designed to be eternal – is slowly and painfully consumed in punishment for sin? How long would that “slowly” have to be not to seem like forever? A year? One year for each one we lived in sin? A million years? What’s the difference if it all ends anyway? Will it really be a relief to know that it’s all temporary; or to know how many demons can dance on the head of pinhead when the pinhead is me?

What if that body is destroyed, yet a spirit endures – separated forever from God? Separated from pain, yes … but also separated from delight; from the feast at the table of heaven; from the hearing of eternal songs of praise; from the seeing of God’s children around His throne; from the ability to voice our penitence – all due to a lack of body: eyes, ears, tongue. Is that kind of non-existence any less torturous than fire and worm?

Is this possibility really all that different than knowing the punishment is finite, and at some indeterminable time in the unforeseeable future we’ll cease to exist – knowing all along that we could be at that table, in that choir, at those pierced Feet?

What if God graciously forgave all and ushered us into the heavenly kingdom – but many of us would have eternity to look back on all of the lost opportunities when we could have chosen to live a life that spoke of His Son? Whom would we want to sit by at the table of heaven? Would we huddle down at the far end from God with the rest of the ungrateful and ungracious, creating castes of people forgiven by God – but, in varying degrees, not by themselves?

What if God ushered us all in, rebuilt our self-esteem, wiped all of our tears away, and kindly explained that He had just expected too much of us; that He loved us all and forgiveness should not have been conditional on our gratitude for Jesus’ sacrifice? Wouldn’t there be a part of you that would make you wonder: “Then, You sent Your Son to the cross … for nothing?”

Would that really be heaven? Or a tin-foil and tinsel-decorated imitation? Or hell itself?

Are those possibilities somehow more “humane” or “just” or “merciful” or “Godly” than a place of eternal discipline for the lifelong rejection of God’s eternal Holy One? How can we possibly fully perceive and comprehend what is divine justice or divine mercy – both eternal qualities of God – in a finite and imperfect world?

And as for eternal punishment for the ever-existing sinner … well, Steve used to point out that even people who liked being spanked would tire of an eternal spanking after a few billion years.

Do any of those possibilities about the nature of hell give you any less of a case of the heebie-jeebies than I’ve got right now, writing about them?

To me, it’s the whole concept of eternity that makes ALL of the those possibilities hellacious. Because whether we would last in hell forever or not – God ain’t there! And we could have chosen to be where He is.

No matter how you interpret hell as presented in scripture, it’s not a pretty picture.

Maybe we’re not given all the details in this life because – if we knew them – we would desperately and irrevocably wish that we couldn’t know them. It would force our hand in life’s greatest choice – and choice was one of the first precious gifts God gave us in Eden. If we could see all the cards now, the hand we choose to play wouldn’t be so much a choice as a foregone conclusion.

On the other hand: perhaps the same would be true if we knew and understood every glorious thing to be known about heaven.

I think that’s why we’re given the gift of faith. Like any gift, we choose what we do with it. Some people are more motivated by love and grace; some by fear and punishment. Hardly anyone can resist the persuasive power of both. If we can see God in His handiwork and hear of His love in the Story of Christ and still choose self, we are – as Romans 1 says – without excuse.

Just being there and knowing that would be hell enough for me.

The folks who have signed and posted A Christian Affirmation 2005 have been posting some comments, and a well-reasoned one has appeared there from Edward Fudge of Austin Houston,Texas – presumably the Christian preacher and author of books like The Grace of God (which you can read free online) and The Sound of His Voice.

And, yes, the comment which appears immediately below (and therefore preceding) his is from me – as the page is now structured.

I heard Him speak upon the hill
Though He was meek, He spoke God’s will
My heart awoke; I wanted more
For no one spoke like this before. (Matthew 7:28-29)
 
I saw Him throw some demons out
Told them to go; put them to rout
We common folk saw our Savior
For no one spoke like this before. (Mark 1:27)
 
I knelt to share a fragrance sweet
And with my hair I wiped His feet
My guilt lay broken on the floor
For no one spoke like this before. (Luke 7:36-50)
 
They sent us out to take Him in
He said no doubt we would lose Him
We took His joke; we took no more
For no one spoke like this before. (John 7:30-49)
 
Though I am weak; and my words poor
His words I’d speak; His praise outpour
His Name invoke; His strength implore
For no one spoke like this before.

– WKB, © 2005
 

If anyone speaks, he should do it as one speaking the very words of God. If anyone serves, he should do it with the strength God provides, so that in all things God may be praised through Jesus Christ. To him be the glory and the power for ever and ever. Amen. (I Peter 4:11)