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What Biblical Teaching have I Missed?

The Parable of the Sower is a pat on the back to people like me, at least the way I’ve always heard it. I’m not the rocky or thorny ground. I’m the good fertile ground, where the seed took root. Jesus was saying he likes people like me. Right?

Then on Saturday I’m reading in “Jesus: a Pilgrimage,” and James Martin says this: “It may refer to those parts of ourselves that are open and not open. Can you see your whole self as the field and consider what parts are fertile, what parts are rocky, and what parts are choked with weeds?”

I then went on a two-hour solo drive to Indy, so I had a lot of time to reflect. I could see rocky areas, where I was spiritually passionate about something for a period of my life, but then the fervor subsided. I could see thorny areas choked with weeds–areas like my media consumption and materialism (thank you, American society, for providing weeds in such abundance).

But I was most curious about the seeds that fell on the path and were immediately eaten by birds. Those seeds had absolutely no affect. So I spent a lot of time mentally scouring Scripture, and musing on biblical emphases which have passed me by. What have I just totally missed?

I think for a lot of evangelicals of my generation and older, injustice is not on our righteousness radar. It’s certainly not something I ever heard emphasized growing up in the United Brethren Church. I was two years gone from a Christian college before God put issues of justice and the poor on my radar…and then God forced it upon me in what was practically a Damascus Road experience in 1981. But it’s been there, for ME, ever since.

But are there other biblical teachings which are important, but which I’ve never paid much attention to? I thought hard about that, and came up with a couple possibilities. I’ll keep an eye on them.

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Congressmen Not Doing Their Job

Interesting piece on Vocativ.com about the voting attendance of Congressmen.

In the Senate, Marco Rubio has the highest absentee rate, missing 8.3% of the votes since taking office. Only one Democrat made the top 10 of “Most Missed Votes in the Senate.”

But then there’s Susan Collins, the Republican from Maine (whom I’ve always liked). She has a perfect attendance record since taking office in 1997–a stunning 5,788 consecutive votes with no misses. The next closest has 712 votes and no misses, so there’s no comparison.

In the House, 8 of the 10 most delinquent are Democrats, led by John Conyers of Michigan, who has an absentee rate of 16%. That means he skips one of every six votes.

Now that Republicans control the Senate, I’m guessing Democrats will be absent much more frequently, using the time instead to do fundraising.

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A Bone to Pick with Hoda Kotb

I am troubled by Hoda Kotb. Specifically, by her last name, with that inexplicable “b” at the end. The name is pronounced “cot-bee,” yet there is no vowel to go with the “b.” Either the “t” should be strangely silent, or the “b.” It’s not Kid Roc-kay, after all. You don’t clim-be a hill or sing a hym-nee.

We simply cannot allow people to stick random consonants on the end of words without an accompanying vowel. We are not barbarians.

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White, Black, Brown

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Last week I came across these two graphics. The first one was reposted by someone who commented, “This is at least half true.” I would echo that sentiment for the other one.

Back in September, a Muslim guy in Oklahoma lost his job at a food processing plant. He walked into the workplace and attacked one of the first people he saw, a woman. He cut off her head, then attacked another woman. Conservative pundits quickly labeled it Islamic terrorism, and criticized the President for not jumping to the same conclusion.

More recently, a Muslim went into the home of three whites and shot them in the head. That, too, is terrorism…. Oh, I’m sorry, it was a white guy who shot three Muslims in the head. So that is NOT terrorism. That’s just a dispute over a parking space. My bad.

If nothing else, these graphics should admonish us to think about how we view other persons, and caution us against letting the media shape our view of people who are not like us.

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The Crusades: For I’m in the Lord’s Army

I learned something about the Crusades that made me laugh, if it’s permissible to laugh about something involving the Crusades.

Since so many folks currently claim to be experts on the Crusades, and I skeptically figure “claim” is the operative word, I decided to educate myself. I found a short book (135 pages) by a real authority on the Crusades, Jonathan Riley-Smith, “The Crusades, Christianity, and Islam.” There are massive, multi-volume histories of the Crusades, but being a simple person, I wanted something short and sweet.

Sure enough, I’m learning, too many people are full of hooey when talking about the Crusades. It’s all very complicated and nuanced.

But I digress from the aforementioned laughing point. It regards how the Catholic Church recruited people for the various Crusades. This is back in the 1100s and 1200s, but it sounds startlingly akin to 20th century evangelistic revivals and missionary appeals.

Church leaders, accompanied by Crusade vets, would travel from town to town holding inspirational recruiting services. Many of these places had never been visited by Cardinals, Bishops, and war heroes, so they were star-struck.

They would emphasize the penitential aspect of the Crusades–forsaking everything, putting your life on the line to engage in this holy pilgrimage to liberate the Holy Places from the Muslims. Do you want to deny yourself, pick up your cross, and follow Christ? Then join our holy Crusade. Demonstrate your unreserved love for God, and watch God return the favor.

They held services which, intentionally, tugged mightily at heartstrings. They would read a letter from the Pope himself. Crusaders would testify to the holiness of the mission and how it had deepened their devotion for God.

Then they would invite men to come forward to dedicate themselves to the upcoming Crusade. It was like an altar call. Peasants, nobles–anyone yearning for a deeper relationship with God, and wanting to be absolved of their sins and get a fresh start–would come to the front and be embraced by church leaders. Probably a few psychopaths, too. A cloth cross was pinned to their clothing; they were to wear it until they returned home, their vow fulfilled.

It was not unlike a challenge to missionary service, inviting someone to leave everything behind to serve God in a foreign land–and perhaps die there.

Here’s the part that made me chuckle. When the invitation was given, the standard order of service required a hymn being sung underneath, probably by a choir. They found that very effective in pulling on emotions. It was not “Just As I Am” or “I Surrender All,” but probably close. Maybe some combination of “Onward Christian Soldiers” and “I’ll Go Where You Want Me to Go.” In Latin.

Truly, there is nothing new under the sun. Billy Sunday was just ripping off the Crusades.

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Lingering Regrets from the Mountaintop

In 9th or 10th grade, I bought a pack of cigarettes (it was Winston), rode my motorcycle out into the Arizona desert, and smoked 5 or 6 of them. I didn’t know how to smoke, and wanted to figure it out on my own, without anyone watching. I didn’t want to make a fool of myself.

I’ve (happily) never smoked since. But let me tell you the backstory.

Dick and Nora Lundy were a fabulous couple at my United Brethren church in Lake Havasu City, Ariz. They ran Lundy’s Diner. They also built a big lodge in the Hualapai Mountains, about 60 miles away. It would host church retreats.

Three of us from the youth group spent a couple weekends helping Dick with construction. Tom Wilson and Tim Armour were fairly new Christians. And me. It was a blast. We worked hard, and the Lundys fed us royally. Dick was a big, jovial guy, somewhere well above six feet. We held our breath every time he ventured onto the makeshift scaffolding he cobbled together from scrap pieces of 2x4s and plywood. It always held, but only by divine intervention.

On one perfectly calm star-lit night, the three of us sat outside the lodge just chillin’. out. That’s when Tom and Tim pulled out some “supplies” and began rolling their own cigarettes. They offered to make me one. I said no thanks. Are you sure? Yep, no thanks, but you go ahead.

It wasn’t a principled no. I said no because I’d never smoked before and feared making a fool of myself. I didn’t want to leave Tim and Tom and the Lundys with the burden of explaining to my parents how their firstborn son asphyxiated himself in the Hualapais.

I watched Tim and Tom sit back against large rocks and leisurely puff away, with tiny tendrils of smoke wafting skyward. The stars, the fresh mountain air, the pine trees all around–it was so tranquil, so peaceful. Nicotine addiction played no role. They were just young Christians relaxing after a very long day of servanthood.

I wished I had said yes. Even now, I do. I feel like I missed sharing a very special moment of community with my friends in the Lord. As I watched them sitting there smoking away, they were so at peace with the world. Me? I was thinking more about my ambivalence and discomfort, and felt a bit envious. I wanted to join them. I really did. Having a cup of coffee in my hands might have accomplished the same thing, but I was 7 years away from trying coffee. In that moment, a cigarette just seemed perfect.

After finishing one cigarette, my memory is that Tim and Tom smoked a regular cigarette. When it was done, they were done. And then we just sat there a while longer under the heavens.

Reflecting on that specific moment, in that specific context–yes, a cigarette would have been just right. Just one. I should have told Tim, “Sure, I’ll take a cigarette, if you’ll show me how it works.” Just one cigarette, nursing it slowly, while gazing into that vast sky with my friends in Christ.

In the 40 years since, I’ve never had a sense that God would have minded. As long as it went no farther than that. And that’s why, if this situation ever arose again (which it never did), I wanted to be prepared.

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The Continuing Indiana Soap Opera

Indiana schoolteachers are hopping mad at Gov. Mike Pence. Every day, my Facebook timeline is strewn with links to articles which, basically, express disgust at what Pence is doing to public education, and in particular, how he is treating Glenda Ritz, the state’s elected Superintendent of Public Instruction. We’re talking conservative evangelical teachers who would probably prefer voting for Republicans, but have had it up to here.

I have no horse in this race–we’ll homeschool our cats–but it’s been interesting to follow. The policies of two successive Republican governors have thoroughly demoralized Indiana schoolteachers. In 2012, teachers mounted an impassioned campaign to get rid of Tony Bennett, the Republican superintendent (a total jerk by all accounts, and now being brought up in federal charges), and elect their own. They succeeded.

But now Glenda Ritz is the only Democrat holding statewide office, and Gov. Pence is doing everything he can to marginalize her and make her powerless. Pence already appoints members of the State Board of Education, which the Superintendent has always chaired. But now, the Republican-dominated legislature is working on a bill that would enable the board to select its own chairman–in other words, Pence’s choice. Ritz, the teachers’ choice, would be powerless. David Long, who is president of the state senate and represents my own district–I’ve voted for him every time he has run–dismissed Ritz as a mere “librarian.” Okay, I won’t be voting for him again.

This is just pouring gas on what already is a raging fire.

Then there’s the annual ISTEP test given to kids in grades 3-8. This year, the length of the test has increased from 5 hours to 12 hours for third-graders, and more than doubled in length for every grade up through 8th. Yes, third-graders sitting for 12 hours taking a test. From what I’ve read, you can trace this right back to Republican policies. However, the other day Pence came out saying the test’s length was unacceptable and he would have none of it, and he pretty much blamed Glenda Ritz. It’s almost comical (especially since the testing starts in just a couple weeks).

The thing is, if Mike Pence runs for president–and he probably will, at least eventually–he’ll get points by bragging about how he “took on the powerful teacher’s union.” But it sounds to me like all he’s doing is demoralizing teachers and hurting the state of education. On teacher told me she was so upset, she would never again vote for a Republican governor.

Like I said, I have no stake in this. But it’s interesting to watch. No doubt my timeline today will contain many additional articles linked by totally disgusted educators.

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Christians, Muslims, and Mongols

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“The Next Christendom,” by Christian historian Philip Jenkins, provides an interesting take on Christianity in the Middle East. In the Middle Ages, he writes, Christianity was much stronger in the Middle East than in Europe. In fact, Christianity came to dominate Europe much later than we normally think. So in 1200, the world’s “average” Christian was not a French artisan, he says, but a Syrian peasant; an Asian, not a European.

Christianity in the Middle East largely survived the Muslim conquest, and the two religions co-existed pretty well for centuries. Yes, the Muslims were definitely in charge, and not always nice about it. Yet, large Christian communities flourished throughout what are today predominantly Muslim countries.

So what happened to all of those Christians?

Jenkins points to a force we don’t normally think about: the Mongols, from central Asia. Several times over a 200-year period, they invaded the Middle East, slaughtering Muslims and Christians alike. The Mongols threatened to wipe out Islam, and were allied in ways with Crusaders coming from the west.

Interestingly, some prominent Mongols identified as Christians as a result of the ancient Nestorian movement in the East (the Mongols practiced freedom of religion). Some Middle Eastern Christians came to see the Mongols as potentially liberating them from Muslim domination, and so allied themselves with the Mongols. The Mongol king who captured Baghdad in 1258 had a Christian queen who influenced the Mongols to destroy Muslim mosques (the Mongols took a high view of women, as compared to the Muslims).

In 1260, a Mongol Christian led the Mongol invasion of Palestine. However, Muslim Turks stopped them cold at the battle of Ayn Jalut, near Nazareth. This ended the Mongol advance, and Islam once against took the lead…and began exacting revenge on Christians for siding with the Mongols. Since then, it’s been downhill for Christians in Muslims lands. In addition, Jenkins says, while Europeans blamed the plague on Jews, Muslims blamed it on Christians and intensified their persecution.

Jenkins estimates that between the Nestorians and Catholics, there were several hundred thousand Christians in China, and they were associated with the Mongols. When the Ming dynasty took power from the Mongols, they began wiping out Christians. By 1500, says Jenkins, “There is no evidence of any organized Christian activity in China.”

And thus did the mainstream of Christianity shift to Europe.

It’s a bit of history I find quite fascinating.

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Do Miracles Require a Charlton Heston Voice?

To learn the do’s and don’ts of healing, you need to watch TV faith-healers in action. Healing someone requires strutting around a stage in front of a lot of people. Healing requires using a deep, authoritative voice to say, “Be healed!” Healing requires knocking somebody in the head so they topple over. Just ask Benny Hinn.

James Martin, in “Jesus: a Pilgrimage,” suggests a different approach. He notes that Jesus described himself as “gentle and humble in heart.” With that image in mind, he mentions the demon-possessed man in Mark 1 whom Jesus healed in the temple at Capernaum. We sort of imagine Jesus silencing the demon by shouting loudly in a Charlton Heston voice. But Martin writes: “Isn’t it possible that when Jesus saw the terrible force that consumed the man, he first paused in silent pity, as any compassionate person would do when faced with such torment? Maybe Jesus simply turned to the man and said quietly, ‘Come out of him.'”

There’s nothing magical about tone of voice when it comes to God doing a miracle. At the Bridge at Khazad-dum, Gandalf yelled at the balrog, “YOU SHALL NOT PASS.” If that were Jesus, he could have just wagged his finger and mumbled, “That’s far enough.” No booming voice required.

Now, John says that when he raised Lazurus from the dead, Jesus “called out in a loud voice.” But he didn’t need to. He could have walked up to the tomb, gently rested his cheek against the stone, and whispered, “Lazarus, you can come out now.” And it would have happened. Amazing to think about.

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Conversion Experience? Converting from What?

An interesting point was raised on a private Facebook forum I’m part of. It regards the Christian term “conversion experience.”

For example, I point to my conversion experience as occurring at age 9 at Rhodes Grove Camp in Pennsylvania. However, what was I converting from? I was raised in a strong Christian home, had always attended church, had always been taught the Bible, and had never strayed from that path.

My parents, essentially, had put me on a course which led directly (but not inevitably) to that camp altar in 1967. I didn’t convert “from” anything. It’s not like I was a Hindu or atheist. I was just accepting for myself what I’d been raised with.

I had never thought of this before, and have no replacement lingo to suggest.

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