Note: This is the second in a Wednesday series about the Bible. You can check out the first article (The Bible Is About…) if you missed it.

Why do you read the Bible?

I suppose answers vary with individual needs and life’s seasons. At different moments we seek knowledge, inspiration, encouragement, comfort, and guidance.

When I thought through this idea (I actually do that occasionally) I wondered if there was a single, best, right answer. Since The Bible Is About God I was going to offer something profound like “…acquiring a better, more intimate knowledge of God” (thanks Clark).

It’s always comforting to have a nice, tidy answer to such a complex question, even if it’s far too simplistic.

Upon further review, I realized that I was really thinking about some uses of Scripture that seem decidedly inappropriate.

Pick-n-choosers

My friend Liz offers a wonderful word picture of folks who use Scripture as a weapon. She calls them “Bible-thumpin’ pick-n-choosers.” (I just love the image!)

Pick-n-choosers pre-determine their version of truth, search for a verse that seems to support their position, and then pound on the Bible. “It’s not me saying this—it’s the word of God!”

It reminds me of the iPhone ads that say, “Want to ____? There’s an app for that.”

For pick-n-choosers, it’s “Got an idea? There’s a verse for that.”

The pick-n-chooser rallying cry …

God’s on our side.

Hard to argue with that—it’s God’s word, right there in official King James English. And if one translation doesn’t quite work, we can look around until we find one with just the right words.

Ever meet one of these folks (nod your head)? Every discussion, every political debate, every question about truth or justice or anything else, ends with the definitive single verse that provides the right answer.

It’s especially interesting when two pick-n-choosers disagree. They throw apparently contradictory Scripture passages at each other like darts, complete with “gotcha that time!”

Who’s following whom?

I’m all for measuring our thoughts, ideas, and behaviors against the truth of Scripture. But I want to keep in mind who’s leading and who’s following.

I’d respectfully suggest that the goal ought to be to conform to my best understanding of God’s word rather than twisting Scripture to support my pre-conceived conclusions. That means two things for me.

I bring personal biases and blind spots into the discussion. If I acknowledge that human weakness, I can try to set it aside and be more aware of places where it clouds my vision.

I need to ask God for an open heart so I can hear the truth even when it contradicts deeply-held political or relational beliefs.

We’re all pick-n-chooses to some extent. It’s part of being human. I fall frequently into the trap of trying to get Jesus to follow me.

I want to move toward listening better, learning more, and making sure I’m the one who’s following.

Why do you read the Bible?

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The Bible Is About…

Life Is Not A Game: A Free Ebook

The God Of “Re”

Do you think your story is worth telling?

I believe the answer is emphatically “Yes!”

God tells us about Himself through stories. Most of the Bible is stories about real people in real circumstances who struggled and failed and got it wrong more than they got it right. God’s own story comes to us through tales of people and their relationships. (How Important Is Right Theology?)

I’m thinking there’s a message there, that God’s choice to reveal Himself through human stories might be telling us about the best way to tell others about Him. Maybe people learn best about God through the stories of His people.

I operate from the premise that a story is worth telling if it brings people closer to Jesus. In a non-church setting it’s worthwhile if it helps listeners embrace His principles even if no religious terminology is involved. I can talk about love, respect, and forgiveness in any context.

If I’ve learned anything through talking to people about the story of Relentless Grace, it’s that “everyone has a story.” And I believe those stories are worth telling, if …

I’d like to spend a few posts talking about the “if,” because I think we can tell our stories in ways that are more or less helpful to others.

Today’s focus:

TELL THE TRUTH

A story that’s a lie won’t be helpful to anyone. That might seem sort of obvious, but apparently it’s not. I’ve heard, and told, stories that include intentional and accidental untruths.

Many Christians seem to believe that they can only talk about the victories, the good stuff, and the instances in which things turned out just right. They fail to acknowledge the struggles, failures, and weaknesses. These folks seem intent on portraying life as an endless progression of roses and sunshine.

Even tragedies are quickly transformed into celebrations. These stories are Hollywood movies—in one scene a horrific loss occurs, and in the next scene everyone’s happy. Injuries and illness miraculously disappear, grief and pain are compressed into a few seconds, and then the violins reach a happily-ever-after crescendo.

No one benefits from stories that relate this sort of impossibly false perfection. Reality includes conflict, pain, and doubt. Look at the heroes of the Bible—God didn’t tell us only their triumphs. In fact, we often learn more from the struggles of people like King David.

I’m not suggesting that we ought to manufacture problems, because the real ones are all to plentiful. But you do no one, including yourself, any favors by hiding behind a freshly scrubbed, Sunday morning façade.

A more subtle deception happens through an unintended choice of words. An example: “I’m thankful for the experience of cancer and chemotherapy.”

I don’t believe that. I’ve watched both of my parents and my best friend struggle through horrible deaths from cancer. I don’t believe anyone is thankful for that kind of pain. I’m certainly not grateful for the “opportunity” to watch their suffering, just as I’m not thankful for the pain and loss associated with my injury.

I am, however, abundantly grateful for the many things God has taught me through those experiences. I do not believe my injury was necessary for me to learn, but I believe God works for good even within tragedy (Romans 8:28)

My principle for story-telling is Grace And Truth (John 1:14). If you tell the truth with grace and love, then I believe you take a step toward a story worth telling.

What’s your take? Have you found that telling your true story helps others?

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Do you ever have trouble knowing the right thing to do?

I’ve recently listened to a number of presentations by a very smart man about “discernment.” I won’t name the speaker because I’m not certain I understood exactly what he said and I don’t want to misrepresent his position.

Basically, here’s what I heard:

1. There’s always a highest, best right in every situation.
2. Everyone can learn to discern that highest, best right.
3. If discernment is thorough and honest, there will be no disagreement about the highest, best action. As I understood the notion, if my version of right differs from yours, one of us must be “more right.”

I wasn’t sure if I agreed, or even understood, so I spent some time researching discernment. As usual, I discovered that I’ve been guilty of some pretty fuzzy thinking.

In general usage, we tend to use the terms discernment and wisdom interchangeably. In fact, some sources list them as synonyms. While there’s certainly some overlap, I think there are subtle-but-important distinctions. They’re even listed as distinct spiritual gifts in 1 Corinthians 12.

The discussions in which I encountered these notions were not overtly faith-based, but I happen to know that the presenter is a committed follower of Jesus. So I decided to seek an understanding of discernment from a biblical perspective.

I checked several sources, including major denominational web sites, for definitions. Not surprisingly, they didn’t all agree. (Interesting aside—a search of one very large denomination’s site returned no specific information concerning spiritual gifts. They did, however, provide ample discussion on the “spiritual” blessings of “giving,” including estate planning advice and a ranked list of regional contributions.)

Sorting through the semantics, here’s what emerged as my understanding:

Discernment is more accurately labeled as “discernment of spirits.” It’s the gift of determining whether a particular teaching or behavior is from God, Satan, or human. Discernment is a matter of intuition and insight, and may be based on a sense of being in touch with the Spirit on a heart level. As one source described it, discernment is a type of knowing at a visceral level that transcends empirical knowledge.

Wisdom is the gift of applying knowledge and spiritual truths in practical, everyday situations. Wisdom allows one to make connections, understand root causes, and see the deeper implications of beliefs and actions. Wisdom leads to the best individual and group decisions.

OBSERVATIONS

Based on my understanding, here’s what I think I know about discernment.

1.    There’s always a highest, best right in every situation.

From my perspective, this is obviously true. God’s will is always the highest, best course of action. Basically, the answer to “What Would Jesus Do?” would represent the highest, best right.

2.    Everyone can learn to discern that highest, best right.

I’m not sure about this one. Theologically, discernment is a gift of the Spirit. As I understand it, some people will be better “discerners” than others because that’s their gift. So while everyone can and should practice discernment, some folks are given the ability to discern at deeper, more accurate levels.

Practically, even the most gifted human cannot completely know God’s thoughts. We can pray and seek guidance, but I’m not sure anyone can always know God’s will with absolute certainty.

3.    If discernment is thorough and honest, there will be no disagreement about the highest, best action. As I understood the notion, if my version of right differs from yours, one of us must be “more right.”

Theoretically, this conclusion follows from #1. Any behavior or thought must either be “right” or “not right.” God’s will is a very small target—you either hit it or you don’t.

On a practical level, I can’t envision a situation in which individuals can ignore deeply-held personal biases and beliefs. We may agree on the existence of ultimate truth in all circumstances, but I doubt our ability to agree on the precise nature of that truth.

So … ?

I began with a question: Do you ever have trouble knowing the right thing to do?

Of course the question is rhetorical. I’m sure we all agree that knowing what’s right is a struggle. But I think there’s an even tougher, more convicting question: When you know what’s right, do you do it?

I’m thinking that this whole debate about absolute truth and not knowing God’s perfect will for every situation might be a smokescreen.

As long as I operate with a limited human brain I’ll encounter circumstances in which I’m uncertain about what’s right. No amount of prayer, discipline, or searching will alter that fact of human nature. As Paul writes [1 Corinthians 13:12], “Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.”

God’s thoughts will always retain an element of mystery—at least on this side of eternity. But mystery doesn’t mean I know nothing, it simply means I don’t know everything.

Someday I’ll know for sure. In the meantime, I believe that I need to focus on the truth I know. If I do that, I believe God will show me the truth I need to know.

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love. [1 Corinthians 13:13]

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Evidence

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Do you believe absolute truth exists?

I do. I believe some notions are set-in-stone, no-exceptions-allowed, no-question-about-it, all-time-and-forever true.

I also believe most ideas don’t qualify for that status. I’ve written about this before (Left, Right, Or Something Else?) but it’s one of those topics that keeps poking at me. Apparently I still have more to learn.

Maybe it’s the mid-term elections and the reappearance of nasty, negative campaign rhetoric. Maybe it’s my own tendency to argue and debate, my habitual need to win. But whatever it is, I seem to be bumping into an awful lot of either-or thinking lately.

It’s a natural tendency. We get attracted to an idea, accumulate some evidence, and decide that’s our position. So far, no real problem.

The difficulties begin when we drive a stake in the ground and decide that’s where we’re going to make our stand. So we set up camp, build a house, and suddenly an idea becomes a sacred fortress that must be defended at all costs.

It started with an idea, a thought, a perception based on what we knew at the time. We were traveling in the wilderness and came across a pleasant place to rest. But that stake-turned-camp-turned-fortress somehow became the destination, the ultimate end of the journey. We can’t move—too much invested in this spot. And if someone comes along with new evidence of a much more sensible place to settle, it’s as though they’re telling us we’re stupid for stopping here. Our identity is so intertwined with this place that we’ve almost become the location.

We’ve become the idea.

The guy with the new take, the fresh evidence, must be evil, the enemy. After all, he’s attacking OUR PLACE, which means he’s attacking us. We can’t allow that, so we fight back. We twist data, manufacture facts, and perform convoluted mental gymnastics to force the new square peg into our entrenched round hole.

Why? Because we can no longer perceive that it was just an idea. Pausing there made sense, at least until new information indicated the existence of a more suitable campsite. And now moving makes even more sense, but we can’t because the idea, the position, is our identity.

And now, not only do we refuse to move but we demand that everyone else move to our spot. If they don’t, then they’re saying we’re wrong. Can’t have that.

A man once told of defending a hill in Viet Nam. They’d fought to take the hill from the enemy, and now it was THEIR hill. People died to drive the other side from the hill, and if they didn’t defend it the sacrifice would be wasted. So they repelled withering assaults, suffered dozens of casualties, and eventually prevailed.

A few days later, they picked up their gear and marched off the hill. No replacements—they just vacated this space for which many died. And why did they fight for it in the first place? Because the other guys had it.

I think a lot of our ideas are like that hill. We defend them simply because they’re ours and we’ve invested in them. We can’t just toss them aside, so we defend the hill that may not be worth defending any longer.

This sort of thinking prevents learning and growth. If life is a journey, if there’s always more to be discovered, what’s the sense in picking out the first convenient spot and settling there?

Some hills are worth fighting for. Some are worth dying for.

But most of them aren’t. They’re just hills.

Are you so identified with any ideas that you can’t separate your self from the idea? How might that prevent you from considering new evidence?

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Left, Right, Or Something Else?

Clanging Cymbals

Which are you—left, right, or somewhere in the middle?

We’re apparently programmed to think of nearly every aspect of our lives in terms of a linear continuum.

Politics provides the most obvious example. Left/right, liberal/conservative, red/blue. While most of us don’t reside at an extreme, we’re certainly conditioned to think of ourselves at least on one side or the other of center.

But it’s not just politics. I’m struggling to come up with an example of a choice or behavior that doesn’t convey the implication of a continuum on which you’re either toward one end or the other or closer to the center, but everyone occupies some position along the line.

One of my friends holds a strictly literal interpretation of the bible. Another claims that scripture is conveys principles—the details aren’t important. I know a pastor who maintains that the bible is God’s complete revelation and another who says that “humans shouldn’t put a period where God placed a comma.”

I’ve always felt a bit uncomfortable, or maybe out of place, with the notion that everything in life is represented by a left-right continuum. I think I finally understand why.

Continuums are about debate and compromise.

But compromise is inherently values-neutral. Compromise is about what’s possible, not what’s right. In order to “get things done” we take some of the good—and some of the bad—from each side. Everyone gets a bit of what they want and swallows some distasteful medicine. It’s the price of doing business in a democracy. I get that.

But the “muddled middle” of compromise doesn’t define truth. The center of the continuum may be the place of consensus, but that doesn’t make it right.

I believe in truth. I don’t claim to always—or even mostly—know what that truth is, but not being known doesn’t prevent truth from being, well, true.

And since I believe truth exists, my goal ought to be to discover as much of it as possible.

If that’s REALLY the goal, a lot of my behavior needs to change. I’d like to spend this week looking at some of that, but today I’d like to get your reaction to this idea:

Truth may not be anywhere on any continuum.

I’m thinking that the lines are human creations, expressions of our need to make sense and order from apparent chaos. But as long as we seek truth along a continuum, we’re always thinking in terms of debate and compromise.

TRUTH or RIGHT isn’t on the line at all.

I think that might have been Jesus’ message. Perhaps He was saying that the gospel isn’t left or right but a different thing entirely. Perhaps He was so radical precisely because He didn’t fit an existing category.

He wasn’t liberal or conservative or anywhere in between. He was something else altogether, something that didn’t fit into any human preconceptions. Some folks rejected Him, some followed Him. some tried to kill Him. Didn’t matter—He was still I AM.

What would change if we tried to simply know Him rather than boxing Him into the corner that makes us most comfortable?

How about you? What’s your response to the idea that TRUTH may not be anywhere on our lines?

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Oncoming Traffic …

What do you think when you see this little blue guy?

I asked some middle school kids that question. Hands went up, signaling a number of insightful comments. The sign reminded some of friends or family members. A few said they wondered about the people who needed those parking spaces. One appreciated that we care enough to provide this simple aid for folks in need.

After they seemed about finished, one boy who might have been a stand-in for Dennis the Menace raised his hand.

“Technically, the little guy’s white. The background is blue.”

We all chuckled as he protested that he was just being observant.

As I mentally de-briefed the presentation, I was reminded why I liked working with kids. And I also wondered if he understood how much insight he’d demonstrated.

I’ve looked at that symbol hundreds of times in dozens of different settings, and I always think of “the little blue guy.” I never noticed that he’s not really blue.

How often do we all do a similar thing with our perceptions? We get an idea in our heads, and that’s just the way it is. We react so automatically to the perception that we no longer even see the details.

I think that was one of Jesus’ central messages, especially to the religious leaders. They “knew” so much that they couldn’t see Truth standing right in front of them. They felt so threatened by His fresh perspective that they killed Him.

How often do I become so entrenched in my thinking that I fail to see simple Truth right in front of me? How many times do I persist in convoluted logic to preserve my treasured ideas?

How many times do I fail to hear the beauty of Jesus loves me, this I know because I’m too busy being smart and sophisticated?

God promises a new beginning, a fresh start, a cleansed heart. But to really experience that promise, we need fresh thoughts as well.

What perception do you cling to? Maybe it’s refusal to forgive, a grudge or an old wound. Perhaps it’s a prized political or social viewpoint, or a pattern of thoughts you’ve carried since childhood.

What about those most dangerous notions, the ones so close to the target that they keep us away from genuine center? Are you focused on something almost-but-not-quite true north?

I’ll likely continue to refer to “that little blue guy.” It’s a bit more lyrical somehow than “that little white guy.”

But I’ll never see the blue guy quite the same. A twelve-year-old pointed to simple truth I couldn’t see with my educated eyes.

I have a feeling that Jesus is inviting us to look—and see—more frequently with twelve-year-old eyes.

Do you cling to any perceptions that might keep you from seeing the simple Truth?

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Happy Monday. I hope your week’s off to a great start.

Monday’s word-of-the-week day, and this week’s word is discernment.

I encountered this term last week in a wonderful workshop offered by Gus Lee. Gus talked about courage and leadership, and one of his key points was that courageous leaders must exercise discernment.

In this context, discernment implies searching beyond what is obvious or superficial. It’s developing and exercising the power to distinguish and select what is true or appropriate or excellent.

Discernment seeks to understand what’s right, true, and best. It searches deeper than what’s expedient or acceptable.

I think I was struck most by Gus’ statement that discernment isn’t values-neutral. It operates from the premise that absolute truth exists. In a culture drowning in moral and ethical relativism, discernment involves the difficult quest to know what’s really right.

Discernment thinks long-term, digging to uncover elusive eternal truths that supersede cultural norms and rules. It recognizes that such a search involves life-long learning and a willingness to grow and learn as wisdom develops. It demands change in the face of new discovery and understanding.

Here are a couple of ideas I scribbled as I thought about being a person of discernment.

• What’s right? is a better question than What’s legal?
• What’s true? is more useful than What’s everyone else believe?
• What’s best? is better than What works?
• Good enough is never good enough in matters of truth.
• Wisdom is more important than knowledge.
• What’s right? gets me closer to truth than What are my rights?

Discernment isn’t easy or comfortable. Worthwhile goals seldom are.

This is also Word-of-Mouth Day, when I kindly encourage (or, from your perspective, pester) you to help spread the word about Bouncing Back. Today’s request is simple:

Forward the link to someone who might be interested. Help us grow the circle by suggesting this site to others who might like to join the discussion.

Thanks for all of your help and support.

The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth. [John 1:14]

Grace and truth?

I think a lot about John’s opening verses describing Jesus simply as The Word. I love the poetry, the imagery, and the intimate spiritual experience John portrays.

In his first letter (1 John 1) he expands the picture of a sensory, experiential encounter with Jesus: That which was from the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we have looked at and our hands have touched—this we proclaim concerning the Word of life.

Can you feel his passion? John isn’t just relating words. He’s proclaiming a deep connection involving his senses—he touched The Word, saw and heard The Word, felt and experienced The Word of God. I sense that John invites me to allow The Word to wrap itself around me and soak into me until I’m literally infused with its presence and power.

But I’ve always sort of wondered about the linkage of grace and truth, which he repeats in verse 17: For the law was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ. 

Grace and truth—doesn’t that seem like an odd combination of attributes?

I understand that Jesus is all about grace. And I certainly believe that he came to proclaim truth. But why did John emphasize the juxtaposition of grace and truth in describing Jesus?

I’m beginning to understand that, in a sense, experiencing Jesus almost requires combining these two apparently disparate notions. My experience with grace and truth forms a cycle.

The primary truth I learn from Jesus is my need for Him. I’m lost, and I can’t discover my own path from darkness. I can’t earn my way. At its core, truth involves acknowledging that I’m broken.

But by itself, truth leaves me hopeless. Truth highlights my need for grace.

And the moment I confront that first kernel of truth, grace washes over me. The same Word that convicts me also sets me free. I’m free to confront deeper truth, secure in the hope that grace will always be sufficient. More hope allows me to acknowledge more truth, which allows me to experience even more grace.

• Truth, without grace, creates hopelessness.
• Grace, without truth, can’t be experienced.

I think that’s what John wanted to communicate. He wanted to express that when he walked and talked with Jesus, he touched, heard, saw, and intimately encountered both the truth that condemns and the grace that liberates.

In a strange way, I learn each day about the message of my own story. The cover of Relentless Grace includes this subtitle: God’s Invitation To Give Hope Another Chance.

I’m learning that “hope” leads me out of darkness and into the wonderful light of truth, secure in God’s limitless, matchless, relentless grace.

How have you experienced this cycle of grace and truth?

Grace isn’t a little prayer you chant before a meal. Grace is a way to live.

Truth creates the opportunity for more truth.

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The Perfect Title

Why Relentless Grace?

Relentless 

 An ethical person ought to do more than he’s required to do and less than he’s allowed to do.

You can’t mandate morality.

Call it what you want—morality, ethics, or character can’t be codified. Laws, rules, and regulations are always lowest common denominators. Attempts to legislate moral behavior simply create a cottage industry aimed at finding loopholes or avoiding detection.

I think that’s one of our biggest dilemmas as a society. We seem to believe that “legal” equals “ethical” and debate endlessly the government’s proper role in determining “right” behavior. But it’s simply a fact that the best laws can do is determine minimum standards, and those can never be the same as proper ethics.

As a wheelchair user, I see this principle constantly in the public access requirements of the Americans With Disabilities Act (ADA). People use reserved parking spaces “legally” because they have someone else’s permit. Ramps or doors meet ADA requirements but are difficult to access because or location. Accessible seats at a ballpark are more desirable because they have a bit more legroom.

This isn’t intended as a complaint. I appreciate the ADA both for access requirements and for the awareness it’s created. The ADA is really a legal acknowledgment of society’s collective belief that everyone should be able to contribute to, and participate in, public activities.

But the ADA, like any law, can’t change the hearts of those who seek ways to circumvent its spirit. Morality isn’t concerned much with what I’m allowed to do, because it’s about doing what I know I ought to do. Ethics isn’t about my rights; it’s about what’s right.

Ethical questions are difficult, because they arise in the grey areas that can’t be legislated. Some would argue that right and wrong are relative, but I disagree. Just because a concept can’t be neatly wrapped in words with no ambiguities or gaps doesn’t mean it’s nonexistent or irrelevant.

I believe that absolute truth and right exist. I also believe that the best I can do is a closer approximation of behaviors that align with what’s right. My goals are to proclaim truth and do right as I understand them and to always seek deeper, better understanding.

Tomorrow I’ll talk about my filter for ethical choices.

What’s your take on ethics, morals, and laws?

One has not only a legal but a moral responsibility to obey just laws. Conversely, one has a moral responsibility to disobey unjust laws. I would agree with St. Augustine that “an unjust law is no law at all.” Martin Luther King, Jr. 

I hope you’ll take a look at my new e-book titled STICKS AND STONES: Finding Freedom In The Face Of Criticism. It’s a free PDF download. You can click the link in the sidebar or go to my resources page to download.

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A friend reminded me yesterday of the subtle, subversive nature of sin. He pointed out how the world offers many shiny promises of hope and fulfillment. Money, possessions, and accomplishments dangle before us constantly, cleverly tempting us to swallow the lure of false security.

I thought about his observation in terms of The Story of the Jar. I won’t repeat the story, but please click the link if you’re not familiar with this image.

Jesus spoke directly to our tendency to fill our jar with shallow, meaningless rubble until there’s no space for the truth.

This is the verdict: Light has come into the world, but men loved darkness instead of light because their deeds were evil. Everyone who does evil hates the light, and will not come into the light for fear that his deeds will be exposed. But whoever lives by the truth comes into the light, so that it may be seen plainly that what he has done has been done through God.” John 3:19-21

I so frequently fill my jar with the artifacts of darkness, as though a newer car or a bigger bank account will supplant gnawing emptiness. I seek acknowledgment and approval, hoping in desperation that a human spotlight can drive away fearsome shadows. I’m certain that enough success will somehow cast out the fear lurking in dark corners of my heart.

Cars and bank accounts enhance emptiness because there’s never enough. The spotlight only sharpens the shadows. Each accomplishment highlights lingering failure. Human attempts to fill the jar are simply false.

There’s only one source of light and truth. I can never fill the jar properly, but fortunately I don’t need to. Jesus fills my jar, and the entire world, with the true light. He stepped down into my darkness and offered a simpler way. My frantic efforts to shovel the world’s version of meaning into my jar aren’t required.

I want to live by His truth and come into His light.

Question: What’s one way you scramble to fill your jar that doesn’t work ?

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