"If you will, you can make me clean."

I've been thinking a lot about predestination vs. free will lately. What it comes down to, in my mind, is that going completely predestination, with no sense of real free will, means that Jesus does not want most people to get better.

Think about that.

It means that when Jesus tells all who are burdened and heavy-laden to come to him, it is inevitable to some (those he has already irresistibly called), and a taunt to everyone else, all the poor saps who will never receive rest because Jesus doesn't love them enough. Whatever terms you use, whether you separate divine desire from divine providence or insist on some sort of "totally depraved" free will that is no free will at all, that is ultimately what it comes down to. And that is not the Jesus I see in the Gospels.

Check out Mark 1:40. Jesus is just walking along, going from town to town in Galilee, preaching, and a leper comes to him and says, "If you will, you can make me clean." Most other translations say, "If you want to," or "If you wish." That is what he is saying. The leper says, "I know that you are capable of making me clean. I want you to make me clean. Do you want to make me clean?" Immediately, Jesus is "moved with pity" and says, "I will; be clean." Jesus wants to make him clean. He desires it. He doesn't hesitate. He doesn't test him further. This verse demonstrates Jesus' fundamental attitude towards humanity: "I want to make you clean. Be clean." This is Jesus' attitude towards literally everyone who comes to him or asks him for help. Now let's check out another instance, this time of a person rejecting Jesus' offer of help.

Flip forward to Mark 10:17-22. A young man comes up to Jesus and asks him how to inherit eternal life, saying that he has kept all the commandments since he was a child. And the text says that Jesus, "looking at [the man], loved him," and Jesus tells him that he still lacks one thing: he needs to sell everything he has and give it to the poor, so that he may follow Jesus and receive treasure in heaven. The young man, however, is unable to do this, so he goes away sad. This man comes to Jesus for help. Jesus loves him and tells him what he needs to do, actively calling him to follow. But the man is unwilling to do so and walks away.

Is Jesus just messing with the guy? Did he know that the young man would be unable to follow his teaching? Did he "call" him, but not really call him? It doesn't appear so. It appears as though Jesus loved him sincerely, called him earnestly, told him how to respond to that call... and yet the man walks away anyway. That's what appears to happen.

Reading the Gospels without an underlying assumption of free will makes for a very strange Jesus. Every time Jesus tells the people to come to him, it is either pointless (it would have happened anyway) or a taunt (they are literally incapable of following him). Pure predestination amounts to Jesus telling the lame man to pick up his mat and walk without healing the man’s lameness. Put that into spiritual terms and you have what the Calvinist Jesus does to all the non-elect. It is Jesus telling the Centurion that his son has been healed when in fact he has not, Jesus smearing mud on the blind man’s face not to restore his sight but merely to remind the man that he is blind and will never see.  It is mere mockery—mockery of the hapless damned, offering them glimpses of something that Christ has no intention of giving them.

To all Calvinist brothers and sisters in Christ: I think you're wrong, but I love you. I pray that all of us continually strive for and, in fact, achieve greater maturity in the faith, as Hebrews 5:11-6:3 teaches.

Blessed be the Name of the Lord

A good friend of mine recently told me that sometimes they feel guilty when worshiping. They get excited, singing praises to God, and then feel guilty when they get to a song that they aren't really "feeling." The song is not true to their immediate experience with God, and so they wonder if they should even sing it at all. I myself have felt this at times--I suspect that most Christians have, at some point in their lives. We don't always feel like worshiping God. How fortunate for all of us, then, that possibly the most epic book of the Old Testament relates the story of another man's struggle with this feeling--not only his struggle, but his epic, vindicating victory over it.

I told this friend of mind to read Job. It's usually a good piece of advice. Job is a pretty good book--in fact, Job is a pretty cool guy. He vindicated God's trust in him and doesn't afraid of anything (internet meme, don't worry about it). Job loses almost everything in the space of about 2 minutes: all of his cattle, the entirety of his wealth, are either taken by enemies or burned by the fires of heaven. His children are all killed in an instant. All he has left are his house (tent, maybe?), wife, and the four servants who were the ones to tell him of all the disasters that just happened to him. His response to losing almost everything he had? He tore his robe--a sign of mourning. He shaved his head--also a sign of mourning. And he fell on the ground and worshiped--also a sign of--no, wait, never mind.

In the midst of this great mourning--mourning for his 7 sons, 3 daughters, very many servants, and literally thousands of cattle--he worships. He says, "Naked I came from my mother's womb, and naked shall I return. The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord." The first part of this will never be made into a worship song, and even the song "Blessed be the name of the Lord" shoehorns the giving and taking away into the bridge, not even part of the chorus. It is not a cheerful statement.  But it is worship nonetheless. "Blessed be the name of the Lord." We need to recognize that Job does not see the disasters as merely some chance occurrence. This is not bad luck. Job recognizes that this is something direct from God himself. And immediately after he voices this recognition, he praises God. "Blessed be the name of the Lord."

Job is not happy when he says this. He is not some kind of robot who doesn't care that all of earthly possessions besides his wife (who doesn't seem to have been entirely helpful throughout the ordeal) have been taken from him in an instant. He mourns the loss of his children deeply. He probably didn't really feel like praising God. But he did it anyway.

Worship can be about expressing the feeling that you already have towards God. And when it is that, it is a wonderful, joyous occasion, and you can sing and clap spontaneously, practically dancing in the aisles (unless you're Mennonite) . But it can also be about recognizing the objective fact that God is worthy of praise--not just abstractly worthy of praise, but worthy of your praise in particular. It can be about recognizing that God is worthy of praise even when he does not seem present to you, or when his gifts seem to turn to curses. In that case, worship is the conscious decision to offer him the praise he deserves, without regard for your own personal circumstances. And that kind of worship, while not so easy, nor so pleasurable, as the first kind, is a victory worthy of Job.

The God of Peace

Anna has recently learned that I have this bad habit when I'm in a church service or Bible study. The pastor or study leader will have us turn to a particular passage, and after I read it, I sometimes keep going. I can get so into what I'm reading that before I know it, I'm on the next page and not really paying attention to what is being said. This seems like a good trait for personal study: not so great when you're supposed to be learning from someone else. Anyway, this is only to explain to you how I came to notice the particular passage this note is focusing on. I was in church, and Pastor Pat was reading from Romans: I can't even remember where, exactly. I got caught up, and soon I was at the very end, reading Romans 16:20: "The God of peace will soon crush Satan under our feet." This verse, with it's sense of an inherently peaceful crushing of Satan, got me so excited that I had to grab a pencil and jot a couple things down. Here they are, expanded.

"The God of peace will soon crush Satan under our feet." "The God of Peace" isn't a terribly well-known title for God, but most people, when thinking about God, do have this sort of assumption of peacefulness. When we think about peace, we think of... I don't know, clouds drifting slowly across the sky. Green meadows. Bunnies. That kind of thing. "Crushing" does not usually come into it. "Crushing" anything, whether it's Satan or only a soda can, seems like an inherently violent act, jarring us out of our daydream of bunnies frolicking in green meadows while clouds drift lazily by over-head. And indeed crushing is an inherently violent act. It is a forceful suppression and breaking-down of something. And yet it is apparently not opposed to peacefulness.

Paul deliberately uses this title. He does not say "The God of righteousness," or "the God of wrath." He purposely says "the God of peace," and that means that he sees the crushing of Satan as an inherently peaceful thing. It is not enough to look at this and grudgingly admit that crushing may not be contradictory to the peace of God. We must look at this and see that the crushing of evil is a necessary, integral part of God's peace. God would not be "the God of peace" if he did not crush Satan under the feet of his saints. At some point in the history of our world, God will crush Satan, and his peace will be fulfilled.

Nor is this some purely abstract theological truth with no bearing on ourselves. This is a fundamental truth of how the world works. There are people, even Christians (in some cases, especially Christians) who advocate "peace at any cost"--they will make any sacrifice or any compromise in order to "keep the peace" with evil. This passage shows that true peace cannot exist in the presence of evil. A peace that is achieved by allowing evil to remain is no peace at all--ultimately, then, "peace at any cost" results, at best, in the absence of peace. At worst, it results in the victory of evil. This applies to the church, both individual churches and the visible church as a whole. This applies to nations. This applies to our physical world. And ultimately this applies to everything, visible and invisible. Peace will not be achieved while evil remains at large.

Prayer

What is prayer? Talking to God. Every Christian knows that. But what are you talking to God about? What is your purpose in praying? That's where you start getting different answers depending on who you ask, and where and when you ask them. Because you can talk to God about anything, for any reason. But what I want to talk about right now is petitionary prayer: when you ask God for something.

Not the earliest, but probably the most well-known, instance of petitionary prayer is found in the Lord's prayer: give us this day our daily bread. Asking God to give you your food for the day. But there's more. James tells us "If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask God, who gives generously to all without reproach, and it will be given him" (James 1:5). What's more, 1 John tells us that "If we ask anything according to his will he hears us. And if we know that he hears us in whatever we ask, we know that we have the requests that we have asked of him." (1 John 5:14). Possibly the coolest example of petitionary prayer is found in Daniel. Daniel sees a vision and fasts for three weeks, praying to God that he may understand the vision. At the end of the three weeks, an angel appears and says, "Fear not, Daniel, for from the first day that you set your heart to understand and humbled yourself before your God, your words have been heard, and I have come because of your words" (Daniel 10:12).

James links the giving of wisdom to the asking for wisdom, and John says God hears us "if we ask." Some Christians seem to think that the only purpose prayer has is to draw us closer, spiritually, to God. To align ourselves more closely with him. And that is indeed one of the main purposes of prayer, possibly the main purpose. But it is not the only purpose. Look at Daniel's prayer. The angel has come "because of [Daniel's] words." Daniel's prayer literally sets celestial events into motion, resulting not only in an answered prayer but also an angelic showdown between the "prince of Persia" and Michael the freaking archangel. That is unbelievably awesome.

Prayer has the power to literally change the world: without Daniel's prayer, we don't have that vision. We don't have the explanation--at least, not in the same way. The Bible would be different if the authors had not prayed.  And I think Christians every day operate on this basic assumption that prayer can change things, even if unconsciously. When you pray for someone to get well, what are you praying for? Are you asking God to merely watch something happen that was already going to happen naturally? Ludicrous. Why are you praying at all, if you are asking that? You are asking God to supernaturally heal someone. To change the world, or at least the small bit of the world that you and your friend inhabit. Christians have the unique privilege of talking to God, and the Bible teaches us that when we ask God to change the world, he will. We need to use that privilege.

Cheap Shots

So, I was in Germany for 2 weeks at an English Camp. Near our camp was a missionary school-type thing (I think) called Black Forest Academy, and it seemed pretty cool. There was also a church associated with it, that spoke English but had a translator for German. We went there one Sunday, and for the most part, it was pretty alright. But there was one thing that really bugged me. Irritated me, even. Ticked me off.

The sermon was about the temptation of Jesus in the wilderness. The pastor had some good stuff, focusing on Jesus' rebuttals and why they were important and appropriate. And then (I don't really recall how), it segued into a discussion on the absolute necessity of Christ and the inherent hopelessness of man on his own. Amen. I am all for that. He talked about the rise of humanism, talking about how many people now believed that people could do it all on their own: that they could find salvation and meaning in their own selves, without God. Yes, it is true that people say that, and it is true that they are wrong. But then, issuing a number of one-liners targeting and ridiculing these people (humanists), he said, "And some say 'Love wins!'" And the tone was so contemptuous that I was shocked.

Now, Rob Bell, a controversial contemporary theologian, recently wrote a book called "Love Wins," which, while it doesn't directly say that Christian Universalism is the correct view, at least calls it better than the traditional view of eternal suffering for non-believers (Christian Universalism is the belief that all people, while inherently sinful and broken, will eventually be saved through Jesus Christ). This is undoubtedly what the pastor had in mind when he took this incredible cheap shot. And a cheap shot it was indeed, because Bell's views, wrong though they are, have nothing to do with humanism. Humanism believes that humanity can do it on it's own. That humanity is not essentially broken, or if it is, it can fix itself. This view is directly anti-thetical to the Christian faith. Bell would agree that it is impossible to hold to humanism while claiming to be Christian.

I am all for correcting false teaching (which I believe "Love Wins" to be). But it must be done correctly. Criticizing "Love Wins" for being humanistic is ignorant and actually harmful to the cause of orthodox Christianity, because it demonstrates that the one doing the criticizing doesn't know what he's talking about. Criticizing is not important: correcting is. And correction requires a knowledge both of truth and what you are trying to correct. Otherwise you just sound dumb.

Literally mocking a crippled dude

Another blog post, for reals this time. In Germany, the staff went through the first few chapters of John over the course of the camp. When we got to John 5, I winced a little, because I had a good idea of what was coming. We read John 5:1-15, which is the story of the crippled dude who had been at the pool for 38 years, trying to get in and get healed. Jesus asks him if he wants to be healed, and the man says, "Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up, and while I am going another steps in before me." At least 3 or 4 times, when I have been in a study where we read this passage, the person leading it asks, in a particularly leading voice, what the man's answer was. After a couple people point out that he didn't actually answer "yes, I want to be healed," someone starts "rephrasing" his answer in a very whiny voice: "well, it's just so hard, and I can never get into the pool and everyone always goes in front of me." And everyone laughs. This has happened, as I said, multiple times, and you may also have experienced it.

Are you freaking kidding me? Mocking a disabled guy? If you have read the passage in this manner, you have literally been making fun of a crippled guy--for being crippled. This man is an "invalid." Since Jesus commands him to take up his bed and walk, it is almost certain that he is paralyzed, lacking the use of his legs. He cannot walk. And he has been waiting at the pool for thirty eight years.

The whole reason someone points out his answer is so that they can say that he doesn't really want to get well. That he's just making excuses for why he hasn't already gotten better. Again: are you freaking kidding me? The fact that he has been at the pool for 38 years is testimony enough to his desire to get better. 38 years. 13,870 days. And why hasn't he been able to get into the pool? Because he's paralyzed! He literally cannot walk. He is not whining when he tells Jesus why he has been unable to get into the pool. He is stating the plain facts of the matter, without embellishment.

Lastly: if he was whining, and if he didn't really want to get better, Jesus wouldn't have healed him. When people say the wrong thing to Jesus, he lets them know. When they say the right thing to him, he rewards them. Please stop making fun of the crippled dude. Thank you.

2 Swords (just for fun)

We all know the story of Peter trying to protect Jesus by cutting off the ear of Malchus with a sword (John 18:10). While researching for my story, I was forced to ask: why the heck does Peter have a sword? And why, having a sword, is he so incredibly bad with it? At first, only those two facts are apparent: Peter has a sword, and he doesn't know how to use it. The Bible doesn't directly tell us how he got it, or when or where, but there is an interesting verse in Luke that possibly sheds light on the issue.

Luke 22, Luke's account of the passover, contains several interesting passages, including a controversial passage concerning the proper conduct of Christians following the death of Christ (not gonna cover that now, because I'm in the mood for something easy and non-controversial right now). Jesus mentions the need for a sword in the coming days, saying that the need is so great that one should sell his cloak and buy a sword if he does not already have one (the controversy is whether he is speaking of a literal sword or a figurative one). Immediately following this (Luke 22:36), the disciples, not having understood very much of what Jesus was saying, latch onto one thing: swords. Their response? "Look, Lord, here are two swords" (Luke 22:38).

This is an interesting verse, and I think it offers a good explanation of why Peter has his sword. (Note that I did not come up with this explanation: I read it in Lenski's commentary on Luke, and it fits Peter's story far better than any other explanation I have heard). They are not talking about the passover knives: the word consistently means "sword." So they are definitely talking about two literal, physical blades, almost certainly Roman short-swords. Why, then, are there two swords here at Passover? Even if it were true that Jewish men were in the habit of carrying swords (and this probably was not the case), why would two of them (and only two) have swords on Passover? Actually at the Passover feast, in Jerusalem, where only days before the entire city had welcomed Jesus and supported him?

Lenski offers an alternate explanation. The proper reading of "Look, Lord, here are two swords," is not "Hey, Jesus, we brought two swords with us." Instead, it should be read, "Check it out! There are two swords right here in this room!" Lenski theorizes that two swords were hung up as decoration in the upper room, and that Peter just takes one. Peter is probably thinking, "Awesome! I've always wanted a sword! This is gonna be sweeeet." Jesus is talking about swords, saying they really need them now, and that things are going to be super crappy for them now. Why not just take the sword? Maybe it'll come in handy.

I love this explanation. It fits perfectly. It explains how Peter, a fisherman from Capernaum, came to posses a sword: not only possessing a sword, but having it on him on Passover in Jerusalem. It also explains why he is so terribly bad with it. He attacks, not a trained soldier, but a servant of the high priest, and he only succeeds in cutting off an ear. He doesn't even do enough damage to make arresting him worth while for the soldiers. He has clearly never handled a sword before.

Just a bit of fun, something interesting that I learned while writing my story. Later.

If you enjoyed this post (which was written in 2011), you should check out my recently published book (2014), Simon, Who Is Called Peter!