On why I am not a Calvinist (Part 1?)

So, I was chatting with my cousins (technically my cousin and her husband but I digress) after community group about Calvinism and why I am not a fan (it was a lengthy conversation and I'm not sure how we got on to it; no seriously, I know I dog Calvinism a lot but I don't know how this particular conversation started). My cousins are going to this new, Acts 29 church and Acts 29, as an organization, is very heavily Calvinistic. I don't think my cousins had been Calvinist before this church but they would have been listening to Chandler and Driscoll for at least a year so who knows. In any event, I disagree and we hashed it out with no decisions made and that is perfectly okay for an opening salvo. But I wanted to put out what I think is the strongest philosophical argument against Calvinism. Actually, that's not true. I was thinking about the discussion as I was walking back to my car and this argument nailed me with all the force of why I don't think I ever could believe in Calvinism.

When I first started listening to Chandler and Driscoll, I found them to make a whole lot of sense. They are both clearly gifted preachers who love God, Scripture, the Church global, and their local congregations. I was being moved spiritually; I was experiencing depths of grace that I had only heard of before; and was generally improving and maturing in all areas of my life. And as they preach, Calvinism is trickling through their preaching. Now, I don't mean to say that Calvinism is evil or insidious. But I do believe that it is wrong and that the natural outworking of the Calvinist worldview is Hyper-Calvinism. I don't think I will ever forget Driscoll's narrative about Calvinism, which in brief is as follow: his daughter, in disobedience to his will, was running toward the street where she would have been run over; election is like when Driscoll reached out his hand to pull his disobedient daughter back from death. It is a good illustration and he tells it well. Here is my counter.

I have an adopted sister. She is by blood my cousin, the daughter of my father's sister. She was horribly abused as a child and as such, even though she was raised by my parents from about five till adulthood, she was always at odds with them. She was disobedient and manipulative every day of her time at my parents' home. But they didn't kick her out or disown her, even when keeping her has meant pain for them as well as embarrassment. And when I first started to give Calvinism thought, my sister not being in the elect was the perfect explanation. But here is what that would practically mean. The love my parents have shown to my sister is wonderful because despite her responses, they loved her. But if my parents had in their possession a pill that would cause my sister to reciprocate, to be able to build healthy relationships and mature; if my parents had had that pill the entire time she was with them and withheld it, purposefully, all the love they had showered on her would not be wonderful or glorious but exceedingly cruel. And it would be even worse if she would one day receive that pill but only after it was too late to have any kind of relationship with them. This is the other side of Calvinism, the daughter who is equally in sin and equally in need of saving but is not. It does not matter what the reason for not saving is and you cannot argue that God so loved the world if Calvinism is true. Period.

To Live is Christ

Here is a post based on a devotional I did a couple weeks ago. I hope it blesses you.
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I eagerly expect and hope that I will in no way be ashamed, but will have sufficient courage so that now as always Christ will be exalted in my body, whether by life or by death. For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain. If I am to go on living in the body, this will mean fruitful labor for me.

Philippians 1:20-22a

 

I imagine that most Christians have heard this text a few times in their life. But if we are honest with ourselves, I don't think that is how we live or even how we want to live. It was about this time last year that hurricane Ike swept through Houston leaving power out for many for a week or more. By day five, I was seriously contemplating the whole Tower of Babel concept. I like creature comforts. Video games, TV, Internet, AC. I can live without them but there is a reason I don't go camping. For me, and I think American Christians on the whole, it can be so easy to get caught up in our things.

The average American Christian sees the Christian life as being a good person, go to church, and raise good kids. None of that is bad but it makes life so small and so safe. This is not the life that the early Church was called to and it is certainly not the pattern Christ set for us. In fact, when Jesus was tempted by Satan himself all of the temptations were to make Christ's life easier. Turning the stone into bread was a life of luxury, a life without need. Jumping off the temple was a life of invulnerability, a life without pain. And bowing to Satan was a life of fame, a life without anonymity. Christ turned away from all of this, even though He deserved all of those things. Instead of luxury, Jesus dies poor with even the few possessions He had being taken from Him. Instead of invulnerability, Jesus was beaten and died the most painful of all deaths. And instead of fame, He died abandoned by His friends and mocked by the lowest common denominator. All that Satan offered to Jesus were things that He had possessed in Heaven. It is not that Satan tempted Jesus with bad things but with bad timing, to seek paradise on earth. To seek Jesus' comfort over God's will. Instead, Jesus sought the will of His Father above His own life so that we might be saved and God would be glorified.

And this is what it means when we say to live is Christ: to pursue the will of God with single-minded purpose. Again, if I am honest, I would have to say that my pursuit is seldom single-minded. What holds me back, same as you, is sin. Whether it is ours or another's, we can neither receive nor grant forgiveness. The pain or the guilt seems too great. Ultimately, it comes from our lack of belief that Jesus is big enough to deal with our sins, or that the problem is too small or insignificant for Him to care. And yet the God we serve is He who knows both the number of stars in the sky and the number of hairs on your head for He made them both. The Creator of all things, who knows all things, chose you and me and He did it with full knowledge of who we are.

Here is this huge thing that we miss about Jesus and the cross, mainly because we know how the story ends. The cross is the most painful and despised death in human history and it was reserved for only the worst offenders. For the Jews, it signified being cursed by God. By any standard of the ancient world, the cross meant defeat. This is why Peter, while being used by Satan, spoke out against Jesus when Jesus spoke of the death He would die. For Peter and the others, any work Christ would attempt would be undone by the cross. And yet, God turned the worst possible defeat into the greatest victory, to the point that the cross is always the center of the gospel. And this is what the God we serve has always done and continues to do: He turns our biggest weakness or shame or defeat or sin, by His redemptive work, into an example of His grace. Abraham, childless till his late nineties, is known as a father of nations. Moses, having a speech impediment, spoke for God to Israel. Gideon, a coward, was called a mighty warrior and led 300 against hundreds of thousands. David committed adultery and murdered to cover it up. Elijah ran away in fear of Jezebel. Peter denied Christ, himself. Paul persecuted the Church. And the list goes on and continues to grow because this is what our God does and He is very good at it.

And so, with a God who is so much greater than we can fathom, how can we remain quiet about Him? There is work to be done, to proclaim the gospel and encourage the brethren. There is no retirement plan, at least not this side of Heaven. But one day, we will walk golden streets with those who have gone before us. And there, we will get to see Him whom we love face to face and hear Him say those words I long to hear: "Well done, you good and faithful servant." And we really will rest with Him forever.

 

Brothers, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.

Philippians 3:13 & 14

Purpose and Practice

Well, my month of mourning is done. Time to get back on the stick. Here is the question that I am dealing with: what am I going to do with the rest of my life?

The first part of the question deals with purpose. I went to Temple to help start a church and that went belly up in less than six months. I don't regret that decision but I am still a little gun shy, I guess. I mean that I still want to serve God by building up the Church universal but I don't know how to go about it. If I didn't have to worry about the lease in Temple, I would see about joining up with a church planting organization. As it stands right now, I have no idea what is next. I think I can be okay with that, it just means that now is a time to prepare for whatever comes next. Time for spiritual and physical self-discipline.

The second part of the question deals with practicality. I need money to survive so that I can serve. And I just don't see myself getting a career that is not in ministry. Frankly, I don't do well in jobs I don't care about and I find it harder and harder to care about any job that isn't directly ministry. But a funny thing did happen to me, in that Holy Spirit sort of way. I typed in a Google search, asking God what job He wanted me to have. And the first item on the list was about monetizing my blog, among other things. So, before this month is through, I am going to get my own blog address and see what there is to see. I'll post an update with the new address when that is ready. In the mean time, I'll have to make money more traditionally. We'll see what I can scrounge up.

I am 28, single, and back living with my parents. A year from now, I have no idea where I might be. But if 27 was any indication, it should be a wild ride. I hope it will be interesting to the audience, too. But mostly, I hope to serve You well.

The Short Version

It has been two months since my last post. Though I have written things in that time and am in the process of writing more, there has been no utilization of this blog. So, I might as well put up an update:

My car broke down. I was on my way to Abilene when my car overheated without warning. Unfortunately I was on the road and needed to get back to town. So my radiator was totally busted (which turned out to be not that big of a deal) but the heat caused damage to my engine. My brother's brother-in-law is working on it but for now I am sans ride.

I called my friend a false teacher. In case someone is reading this and is not a Christian, what that means is I said that he was worse than a non-believer. So yeah, we're not hanging out anymore. For the record, the teaching which he promotes is a false gospel and not a mere difference of opinion. But yeah, for my birthday I got to see a friendship of nearly 10 years die.

I turned 28. Almost thirty. I feel like I should be mature and responsible. Not so much.

I moved back to Houston. I was delivering pizza and helping my buddy with his church. With those two things gone, there was not much to keep me in Temple.

So yeah, busy. Also, those events happened, from start to finish, in a little less then 2 weeks. Only 14 days for my life to disassemble. I hurt still and am waiting to see what God has in plan next. My mentor said something to the effect that when God removes one thing it is to replace it with something better. I don't know what that will be but I do want to find out, and soon.

Unless its patience.

Seeing the Whole Board

I remember watching this episode of the West Wing (over which I will probably still get grief from my very conservative father; Dad, it didn't turn me into a liberal, I promise) and the president and Rob Lowe's character were playing chess. And Sheen kept reminding Lowe to look at the whole board. It has stayed with me because I like to think strategically. What action will lead to the greatest good for the most people. And by and large I do okay, unless I am under quite a bit of stress or I think I have seen the task I need to complete to finish my larger plan. Case in point: when I was a kid, 12 or so, I was playing against my cousin in a game of Connect Four. We were several rounds in and then I saw it, the series of moves I needed to make to win. So I went after it with reckless abandon, and very quickly lost. While I went with a slow, sneaky route to victory, my cousin, seeing my distraction, went for a more direct path. That surety of victory replaced with the reality of defeat has stayed with me over 15 years because it reminds me of just how focused I can become on whatever it is. Then I stop looking at the whole board. Kind of like this last week.

I was in quite a bit of a funk this last week, mostly on Tuesday and Wednesday but a little for the rest of the week and on into this one as well. I didn't really think about what might be the underlying cause. I had some trouble with lust on Tuesday and I just wouldn't let go of the guilt or shame. I wasn't accepting the grace of God, even though I know better than to reject it. It doesn't serve Him to beat myself up or help me to avoid failure in the future. It's pretty meaningless. But the funk remained. And it didn't come together for me until Wednesday night what was going on. Hank had a meeting with the elders of our church Wednesday night about the direction of the congregation and his vision for it. It was one of those meetings that could well determine the future of our church for the long term, as well as what tasks we have before us in the short term. And even with knowing that this meeting was going to happen, even with knowing what is at stake, it didn't occur to me that I might face spiritual oppression leading up to it. And not just me but our whole crew. I forget about the reality of spiritual warfare. I stop looking at the whole board.

I was listening to John Piper this last week ad he was talking about prayer. He used the analogy that prayer is like a war-time walkie-talkie. He went on to say that the reason we have so much trouble with prayer is that we use it as if it were an intercom to get the attention of our servant. This just makes sense for the Christian. The Christian longs for Heaven, to see Jesus face to face, no more pain, no more tears, just unending joy and fellowship. Yet we are still on Earth, and with that being the case there must be a good reason why God has not called us home yet. And that must be to serve Him, to share His love and His grace to a world that is dying. And we will need His power to do it. So prayer is us on Earth radioing into Home Base for new orders or back-up or a resupply. It's not us asking for things to make us comfortable but that which makes us combat ready.

Even though I remained oblivious to what is now very obviously a spiritual attack, I was useful, for which I praise God. Nor do I think missing such attacks would make one useless. The issue is that if you are a soldier and you start taking fire, if you ignore it you will get shot. And I took more than a few hits because of my lack of awareness. All of that is to say, Lord, teach me to be more observant and to pray more in whatever circumstances I find myself in. I need Your wisdom and Your power so I can fight well, so I can bring glory to Your Name. May Your Name be exalted in my life.

Inner Battles

"We are the middle children of history, with no purpose or place. We have no great war, or great depression. The great war is a spiritual war. The great depression is our lives." –Tyler Durden, Fight Club.

So, I was watching Fight Club with my friends the other night. It remains probably the most quotable movie of my generation. But I noticed something last night that I had not noticed previously. There is about a 5 minute stretch with humping sounds in the background. This was strange to me because I forgot about it. I remembered the brief sex scene, but not that. Which just reminds me how desensitized I became while looking at porn. Also, I was watching with a mixed crowd, which always makes such things more awkward, at least for me. But all that is mostly a side note. Here's the real deal: I increasingly wanted to get drunk and get in a fight. And I don't fight. Or drink.

So, after we stopped for the night, I went for a walk so I could think and pray. Not to calm down, because I wasn't mad. It felt like there were embers in my belly that needed just a little fuel to become a fire. And I needed that fire; I just didn't know what for. Here is what I learned:

I have always been afraid of a fight, but not simply because I am afraid to get hurt. I am 6'4" and about 285 pounds. Suffice it to say, I have always been big for my age. And I have, for as long as I can remember, been afraid to hurt others. It's strange, because I see that same fear in my friends' kids. They aren't worried about hurting kids bigger than themselves but they are for the smaller ones. And I am surrounded by those smaller than myself. What if I break them?

What that has resulted in is a subconscious desire to weaken myself so I would be easier to restrain. So I didn't drink or smoke or curse, I never made myself stronger, and I did everything I could to not be intimidating. And this is not the only reason I avoided things but the more I look at it the more I see it as the underlying reason. Now, I'm not saying any of this is evil or wrong, but what it is for me is refusing to grow because I don't want the added responsibility that being stronger would mean. Because what if I fail? What if I break someone?

Now, it's been a few weeks since that night and here are some things that have happened since then: I have been trying alcohol. I have sampled a few beers and a Crown Royal my brother got for me years ago and I tried a cigar. So far, they have not been to my taste. And if the end result is that I try these things and nothing is to my liking, I can live with that. If I stick with root beer instead of real beer, it won't be out of fear but preference. But here is what I did not expect, and that is that I am not as afraid of heights anymore. I was hanging out with my friends last Saturday and saw a ledge to jump off of that was probably ten feet off the ground. So I jumped it. And it was fun. I was walking over a bridge that was at least 30 feet off the ground and I looked over at the ground. And it was okay. And just in general, I am less afraid because I don't have to fear myself; I just have to trust God. Trust Him that He will keep me in check but also that He is actually bringing about all things for the good of those who love Him. And Lord, you know I love You, and I am so grateful that You love me and are teaching me to love You better and better. It's a good life. Let us press on.

The Thief on the Cross

Not much to do, hanging there. The pain of it makes minutes into hours. The insults of the crowd don't help much. As if the pain, as if the price of my life weren't enough. So I take what shots I can. I have never been a man of words, certainly no poet or philosopher. But right now curses flow from my lips like water down a stream. Any fool who gets close enough gets dowsed by a different fluid. Just trying to cool off some hot heads.

I listen to the others with me, too. The guy on the far side gives as good as he gets. But the one in the center stays pretty quiet. I know some folks aren't too chatty because of the pain. But I don't hear him sobbing either. Breathing hard when he can. Gasping for breath on occasion. So when he does open his mouth, I listen:

"Forgive them, they know not what they do."

Forgive them? Them? "You're the one on the cross, buddy." No reply.

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For all of the people who pass by the spectacle which is a crucifixion, you don't see a whole lot of acquaintances to the soon-to-be deceased. I look anyway. No family in town, not that they would be here even if they were local. A few friends, though friends like mine probably wouldn't want to hang around with so many soldiers. But I keep looking, hoping someone will want to say goodbye. What else is there to do?

As I'm looking, I see a group work its way to the front. It's an odd group, certainly for the occasion. It's mostly women, and old women at that. You don't see women at a crucifixion. It doesn't happen. They may pass by on the way to wherever they're going, but they don't linger, certainly not in groups, and definitely not at the front.

They reach the front of the mob, right by the center cross. And they just stand there, weeping. It's not too long after they start that I hear the man in the middle say, "Dear woman, here is your son." Then, a little pause. "Here is your mother." He spoke clearly, though tired. And he spoke with compassion, as though their pain was greater than his own.

After he spoke I saw the man with them, pretty young, turn to the woman crying the most. She must have been center guy's mom. I wonder if my Mom will shed any tears for me. I wonder if she'll ever find out. Anyway, the old woman turned to the young man and seemed to nearly collapse onto him.

The group stayed a bit longer but then the young man started to lead them away. I think the man in the center motioned for him to do so because the young man gave a little nod. So away they went, at least to the back. But I don't think much could have dragged them away from this scene. And I started to ask myself, "What is so special about this man?"

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And then I heard a name: Jesus. And I remembered a day many months ago. I was in a large crowd, so large people were getting trampled on. My kind of crowd. It is hard to notice someone reaching for your pouch when five other people are already pressing into you. I didn't even know why the crowd had gathered, not until I heard Him. "Be on your guard," were the first words out of His mouth. I would have run right then if there had been any room to do so. Suffice it to say, He had my attention.

He spoke about avoiding hypocrisy and that all our actions would be revealed. Wish I had paid more attention then or I might not be hanging here right now. And then He said not to fear those who can kill you but He who can throw you into Hell. And He spoke about our lives having value in the eyes of God. And then, He said, "I tell you, whoever acknowledges me before men, the Son of Man will also acknowledge him before the angels of God." And for a moment, even through the crowd, I could swear He was looking right at me. But then the moment passed.

The Man spoke some more and I listened a little. As the crowd dispersed, they called Him Jesus. I've tried to forget Him, everything He said. That look. I didn't make much that day anyway. And now, here I am, all of five feet from Him. And even now, at the very end, my life still has value to Him. What kind of man forgives those who mock and kill Him? I've never met the like, but surely no one who deserves to die, surely not like this. They called Him the King of the Jews. Maybe they were right.

As I am thinking about all this, the guy on the right chimes in again. He heckles Jesus, saying, "Aren't you the Christ? Save yourself and us!" And then I surprise myself: "Don't you fear God, since we are under the same sentence? We are punished justly, for we are getting what our deeds deserve. But this man has done nothing wrong." It all just flowed out. And as I paused to think about what I had just said, I believed every word. And I knew what I had to ask for next. "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom." And it was quiet for just a moment but that moment seemed to stretch on forever. And finally, He answered, "I tell you the truth, today you will be with me in paradise." And then it gets dark.

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I'm not too old, but old enough to have seen some strange weather: fierce wind and rain; thunder and lightning; the roof torn off one house while the house next door is fine; clouds so thick they look like the gates of heaven. But I have never seen anything like this. It was a clear day, no clouds, a little wind. And I blinked. I closed my eyes to blue skies and opened them to pitch black. It wasn't like night. There was no moon, no city lights. It was so surprising that out of reflex I tried to rub my eyes. I couldn't reach them, of course.

At first, some of the people thought it was an eclipse. But a minute passed, then two, then ten, and still no light. Some of the soldiers, after the shock wore off, tried to light torches. And it looked like the light was being sucked into the darkness. It was eerie and quiet, broken only by the sounds of our breathing. And the sounds Jesus was making. I don't know that I could describe it. He had been tired before, but now it was like He was burdened, deeply so. He had been sad before but now it was as if He were in the greatest anguish a man could know. It was almost as if He had lost the best thing He ever had and was given the worst thing He could ever imagine. And it was like this for hours. To hear such sounds…no one spoke. Everyone there just bore silent witness. Finally, Jesus spoke, loud and clear, "Father, into your hands I commit my spirit." And just like that, Jesus died.

It was quiet again. A centurion broke the silence: "Surely, he was a righteous man." I don't say anything, don't even nod my head. What more could I add to what I have just witnessed? The crowd started to disperse, beating their breasts as they went. They came for a spectacle and they certainly got it, just not what they expected. They didn't care to ridicule anyone anymore today, to see anyone else die. Not everyone left, though. I could see that Jesus' friends were still off at a distance. Even now, they couldn't let go. I don't blame them a bit. Even though the price I paid was my life to be this close to Jesus, I would pay it again. To have seen Him, to hear Him, to know Him…not even this pain compares. And in my last hours, I keep thinking about the words He told me: "Today you will be with me in paradise." Today. Just a little bit longer. And when I see the soldier come up with the hammer, I know that it is just a little bit longer. And as the life is leaving my body, I feel that it is just a little bit longer.

And then I blink. I close my eyes to a world of darkness, and open them to a world of all-encompassing light. And I feel this weight I never knew I had lifted from my shoulders; I feel His forgiveness, His acceptance into His family. And finally, I see Him. He is no longer a broken and beaten man but a glorified king. No more a man of sorrows but endless joy. And for a moment I know He is looking right at me. And the moment stretches into eternity. And the moment never passes.