Dear Brothers (and a few Sisters, but mostly Brothers),

I have a confession to make.

In many ways, I want to be just like you.

I truly admire your passion and respect for the Word of God, and the knowledge of it that so many of you have. I am a little bit in awe of your courage to call ’em as you see ’em, spiritually speaking, drawing on that vast reservoir of scriptural familiarity.

In many of you, I’ve encountered a confidence in Christ to be able to call someone a false teacher – even when it’s someone you may not have met nor whose words you’ve heard or read first-hand. And, though I understand why doing that could pose a danger of contaminating the listener with their “false teaching” ….

I am having trouble with that kind of courage.

If I were compelled to display that kind of bravery, would it be fair for me to evaluate the teaching of others (I won’t use the word “judge” just yet) without having thoroughly examined it? Could I accuse someone of spreading falsehood on the word of someone else? Would I really be operating in the spirit of Paul, who admonishes me to “prove all things; hold fast that which is good” if I have only explored some things for myself and have taken someone else’s word for the rest? Even if that someone else is a sincerely dedicated student of the Word?

And if I referred to a work that lists false teachers and their teachings in question but the work is more than, say, fifteen years old – shouldn’t I double-check to make sure that the list is still accurate?

How would I know for sure that a teaching is false? Or if it’s just something that I disagree with? I should know them by their fruits, right? But what if they’ve led dozens – maybe hundreds or thousands – to belief in Christ, even if I don’t agree with them on every point of doctrine? Does that mean they are unequivocally false teachers?

Or would it mean that I could be wrong about something, too?

Would I be too narrow in trying to lock down the Bible as being no more and no less than the Law of God? Would I be too liberal in admitting that it is also a story of love and grace? Is it possible that the Bible is both, and many more things, beyond simply a pattern to which I must conform in every detail of my life – whether I understand what or how or why?

Because I can see in scripture all of the aspects of God that so many of you continue to point out in the works of yours that I’ve read: He is demanding. He is all-powerful. He is all-knowing. He is all-sufficient. He is, often, very specific. He does not always take kindly to infractions.

Yet I can also see aspects of God in His Word that I don’t as often hear from you, and do hear frequently from some of the folks you critique: He is kind. He is loving. He is forgiving. He sometimes permits brothers and sisters to disagree on certain matters without revealing judgment. He is a rewarder of those who diligently seek Him. He let His Son die for me. For you. For all.

Is it possible that He is both just and merciful? Both righteous and gracious? That God is big enough to handle and be the tension between the two?

Is He always waiting on the edge of His throne to consign one of His children to the everlasting flames of hell because that child has taught others about Jesus but gotten something wrong in the teaching; has honestly and misunderstood it; or has just been transparent enough to admit, “I just don’t know. I don’t know exactly what God meant in this case. But I trust His grace and His mercy.”?

If I felt compelled by the Spirit to never dare stray from the old paths; to become a watchman on the tower for the misdeeds and misteachings of others – if I actually caught someone in incontrovertible error – would it be the infallibility of the Spirit Himself that I would borrow to do so?

Would I be right in calling that person down in public shame before all of his/her brothers and sisters, snatching my beloved fellowship away from him/her, at my very first mention of his/her fallacious teaching?

Or would it be more conforming to Christ’s nature of me to go to him/her privately … and if that didn’t work, to take one or two of my brothers or sisters with me again to indicate that I’m not alone in seeing the teaching as false … and if all else failed, after exhausting every possible alternative to persuade that loved child of God to desist from teaching error, THEN to shake the dust off my feet and the puzzlement from my head and the tears from my eyes?

Wouldn’t it be more efficacious to at least begin the way Aquila and Priscilla did with Apollos – privately, in the hospitality of home, teaching a more complete truth so as not to expose and ridicule and humiliate and ruin the powerful witness of a teacher of God’s will?

You know, even as I write this, I just know in my heart that it would mean more if I wrote it out by hand and addressed it personally to each of you by name, rather than classing you all under the label “correctors” when I am convinced that each of you has unique qualities and qualifications given as gifts by God that I can’t possibly recognize adequately and lovingly in this way.

For you see, that label fits me as well as anyone else.

Oh, I do understand that you feel compelled to right the wrongs of others, for there are some who are grievously in error; that there were those whom Paul would call down by name in his epistles – but is there any evidence that he and/or the churches ever circumvented the first steps as Jesus described them in Matthew 18 and went straight to public chastisement? And weren’t Paul’s judgments urgently needed to protect the very core truths of the gospel … the humanity AND divinity of Christ; God’s acceptance of Gentiles AND Jews; the priority of teaching the gospel above any lesser and selfish desires to be seen and known and recognized and rewarded?

Because isn’t that exactly what the false teachers of the New Testament were mostly called down for – thinking themselves and their interpretations more important and more binding than the simple truth about Jesus – from the scribes, Pharisees and Saducees to the Judaizing teachers to the Gnostics to the Antichrists themselves?

And when a false teacher is truly and inarguably teaching doctrine that threatens the very unity of the church, should I still call him/her a sibling; a brother or sister in Christ – when that person has stubbornly and willfully lied, misrepresented his/her own teaching as that of Christ? Should I not completely dissociate myself from that person, so that my influence as a teacher will not be called into question? Shouldn’t I refuse to call such a person a brother or sister? Shouldn’t I stop praying for something as absurd as their repentence or their salvation? Shouldn’t I concentrate my efforts on those who will listen and accept good news, rather than squandering it over and over and over again on those who will not heed?

I know these are hard questions, but I felt that if there were people who loved the Book as much as you do, those people could help me find answers.

But in the end, I wonder if it wouldn’t just be easier to leave all the judging up to God. He is so much better qualified for it than I am. Maybe all He really wants of us is to judge for ourselves, and not for others … to judge actions and words, rather than people … to love each other deeply, even when we disagree … to address false teaching directly, rather than false teachers indirectly.

Well, all I can really ask of you is to consider these questions prayerfully with me. I know I’ve written some of them with an obvious bias, but I thought maybe they would provoke a reaction from some of you – just as things that some of you write are obviously designed to provoke a reaction from someone like me.

Maybe the dialog would do us all some good. Maybe we’d be less tempted to see each other as mere bylines on articles on Web sites or church bulletins or other printed publications. Perhaps we’d begin seeing each other and ourselves just as we are; just as God Himself sees us – pitiable sinning creatures, forever lost were it not for His love and grace toward us, expressed so powerfully in the blood of Christ.

We might even be more likely to display the kind of courage He seeks in us, the kind that is willing to say “I was wrong.”

I hope that you will pray fervently for my forgiveness if I have erred in writing this brief and inadequate epistle. I hope that you will pray that I will open my mind and my heart to every aspect of God’s good nature. I hope that you will understand that it is my love for you that prompts my prayers for the same blessing on you, so that because of, rather than in spite of, our differences and gifts the whole body of Christ will be built up together, complete and well-armed and unified, so that we can address each other with full hearts as ….

Your brother in Christ,

Keith

Do you have one? A favorite, angelic verse that speaks – no, sings – to you; that lulls you to sleep at night and whispers you awake in the morning again? That sometimes turns into an almost-Satanic verse by shouting at you when you’re wearily burying your head in your pillow and trumpeting you out of bed before dawn?

Right now, my bedevilling, blessing verse is I Peter 4:8:

Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.

I’m the first to admit I don’t fully understand the implications of those 14 words. I know they’re important, because it’s the second time Peter says many of them in the span of one letter.

I know they’re important, because they’re preceded by the phrase “Above all”.

I know love is important, because that’s a word that personifies God.

I know “each other” is important, because our mutual love and unity was uppermost in Jesus’ thoughts when praying the night before He gave His life for us.

I know love obscures a lot of sin. Love makes it easier to ignore my kids’ tiny crimes and microscopic misdemeanors when I want them to be perfect like I can’t be.

I know God’s love has the power to render it invisible, washed clean away by the sacrificial blood of Christ and rinsed for good measure by the baptism that mirrors it.

I know the toughest word in the whole sentence is “deeply,” because it’s easy to love (puppies can do it); it’s easy to prioritize (bureaucrats can do it); it’s easy to hide sins (politicians and celebrities do it all the time) but to do anything deeply is bound to be hard.

Study. Believe. Care. I can do all that, and sometimes deeply. But to love deeply, especially those imperfect folks who make up my surround of “each others,” is not easy.

What I really don’t know is how.

And then I remember:

• We learn by hearing.
• We learn by repeating.
• We learn by watching.
• We learn by imitating.
• We learn by doing.

Well … right now, I’m only at the repeating stage with this verse.

But as I keep learning it, its voice is growing softer; it’s losing its horns and starting to grow white wings.

I don’t know how a movie could be any more chocked (forgive the pun) with Christian values than this four-years-in-the-making Disney-Pixar reunion movie. It survived their breakup; it may have helped nudge them toward reconciliation.

Because that’s part of what it’s about. That, and the value of friends and community. The treasure of small-town heritage. And the lure of the open road. (Jesus spent a lot of time on it, you know.)

Oh, and it’s also about selfless sacrifice.

All wrapped in a colorful eye-candy shell with a fast-paced, gorgeously-animated package and a killer soundtrack, including a score by Randy Newman.

And there’s a scene with tractors that will have you rolling (okay, no more puns) on your back with laughter. But I don’t want to have to post a plot spoiler here.

Just go see it. We went to see it Saturday night. My 13-year-old son liked it so much that he went to see it again Sunday night with a friend’s family.

I would have, too.

And, as with all Pixar movies, don’t leave before ALL the credits have rolled!

• Last week, some scientific research team somewhere announced their findings that road rage may be largely caused by hereditary factors. I’m not scientist, but my anecdotal research indicates that road rage is largely caused by other drivers doing stupid things which threaten your life and the lives of your passengers.
• Ann Coulter recently released a book called Godless which has already wasted more ink and pixels on criticism than it could be worth. But if they redesigned the cover, leaving out the subtitle between “Ann Coulter” and “Godless,” I think the cover, at least, might be more accurate.
• When my kids look back on this part of their history, will they talk about Bono the same way my generation talks about Mother Teresa?

“A new command I give you …”

Perhaps John sat up from reclining against his Master’s chest to look Him in the eye. Maybe Matthew made a mental note that he needed to remember this and write about it later. Then he forgot.

“… Love one another …”

Maybe the thought raced through all the minds of the eleven: Wait, that’s not new! That’s in Leviticus! You told us it was the second-greatest commandment after loving God with all our being!

Then the Master finishes His sentence: “… as I have loved you.”

Did they all think: Master, no! You say it’s time to be glorified; that you’re going away and we can’t follow; and … and you’re leaving us with this impossible new command? ‘As I have loved you’?

Though they have seen Him live this command every day, they will sometimes fail to obey it, but for the most part they will succeed.

So will we.

And someday we’ll join them in praise of the One who led a life of love; who went first where we have followed; who makes all things new.

One of the most profound bits of advice I have encountered is in Darryl Tippens’ new book Pilgrim Heart: “Let go.”

He is careful to explain that the person who gave it to him was not advising letting go of the end of the rope he found himself clinging to, but to let go of the frustration, helplessness, and overwhelming imperative need for self-sufficiency in a predicament beyond his control.

Let go. And trust God. Empty yourself.

Go kenotic, not psychotic.

What I wanted to do with this post is not what needs to be done. So as I put my fingers to the keyboard, with a good warmed-over anger seething and the eloquent riposts flowing and the self-righteous indignation honed to a slicing edge …

… unbidden, the words “Let go” came to my mind and heart from the pages of Pilgrim Heart I had read again earlier this week.

Let go.

Not Obi-Wan’s “Let go of your feelings”; not Jean-Luc Picard’s “Let the past be the past”; not the Beatles’ “Let it be.”

Just “let go.”

Why is it so hard to let go?

Why is it so hard to trust the One who formed you in the womb, has seen to your every need and perhaps permitted too many of your desires, and has sent His own dear Child to take the blame for your selfishness when your desires became more important than others’ needs?

Well, here it is: the post I didn’t intend to write.

I won’t regret it later, like the one I had to remove some time back.

You won’t know for sure what it was that I did intend to write, because I won’t post it later.

Because, for this one time, I just let go. And you know what?

It really does feel better.

It’s been a year, and a little more.

Do you remember A Christian Affirmation?

Did it rock your world? Did you rush to sign? Did you hold your breath to await the fallout? Did you pray that it would succeed in strengthening and uniting the fellowship of the Churches of Christ? Was it worth the price of a full-page ad in The Christian Chronicle and of a Web site?

It didn’t do much for me. I quietly sent my own response, and the signers of A Christian Affirmation were kind enough to post it on their site:

I would much rather have seen a document proposing the convening or committing of the best minds, hearts, prayers, wealth and other resources among us toward the proposition of inspiring, training and leading members of the body of Christ in telling His story to people who have never heard it nor perceived their own need for the benefits it offers.

That would be a project worthy of the leadership who signed “A Christian Affirmation” and of the approval and affirmation of many, many Christians. I believe it would have greater potential in motivating and uniting than this document’s ability to do so. However, I will borrow the wisdom of Gamaliel regarding the document: if it is of men, it will come to nothing; if it is of God, it would be pointless to oppose it.

Somewhat less gracefully, I posted a response some have felt was a parody of the Affirmation called One Christian’s Affirmation, and I have no quarrel with that word to describe it.

My opinion hasn’t changed, upon rereading the document more than a year later – though I am less proud of what I was feeling when I posted that second response. In fact, the whole idea has become a bit repellent to me: the idea of creating documents of policy and minimal requirement, full of vague wording that everyone can agree upon for the sake of everyone being right together and therefore united.

The whole value of having varied opinions on matters of opinion; of gaining perspective and strength through dialogue; of being blessed and matured by the interchange of ideas … is simply lost in such an approach.

I was curious to see if hundreds had “signed” the document by e-mail since its inception. I counted 53, in addition to the 24 original signatories, some of whom are siblings in Christ whose words and works have blessed me.

(Some, whose signatures there were a surprise to me.)

So maybe I was right about it having little value in forging unity.

Maybe they were right about it having great value.

The Affirmation did provoke us to briefly dialogue about some things … maybe until the reality descended upon us that virtually no one outside of Christ and very few people who have called on His name know or give a flying hoot about our fellowship’s “distinctive” opinions – or our petty squabbles and divisions – except those who cite them as evidence of our inability to love each other, and therefore as evidence that perhaps Jesus wasn’t the Christ, the Son of God, after all.

Maybe the Affirmation proved in an unintended way – a less-than-earth-shaking number of signers, ultimately – that what we share in common belief is so much more important than what we do not share in common opinion.

_{Postscript: Don’t use the old URL for the Christian Affirmation. It evidently was allowed to expire, or was hacked by German-language porno promoters. Oh, and Howard Norton is signed up twice.}