the Good Question

Fairness is the line between to opposite horizons: darkness and light. It is the twilight that is itself not yet darkness, but that cannot quite be called very light, except by comparison to heavy darkness. It is the point one foot past which, in one direction, a traveler can be confidently declared to be in the light, and in the other direction, just as equally in the darkness. It is the first point that really seems light to a man who stands deep in the darkness. But many things stand in the darkness, in evil, with toes hung over the line, seeming good to themselves merely by proximity to the line. Indeed, they can make out vague shapes in the darkness, and they are quite proud. But the further you walk away from the line, up the path of love, toward the gilded, broadening light, the dimmer the line appears to you when you turn around to give it a look, the drearier its surrounding environment, and the closer the line looks to the dark horizon on the other side—because the farther you are from a place, the closer it looks to everything else in that direction you are far from until the whole collection of distant things in the same direction becomes a single thing you can point at and call "over there." Fairness is a great distance from the horizon on love's side—like the trickling light of the very early dawn is very far from the white-hot passion of the high noon sun.

Fairness is a good thing to begin upon, if you must, because it is, after all, not itself darkness; it even seems to have been created for this reason: if one cannot love, one can at least be fair. But it is not—oh, do not be tempted to think—even bright enough in that spot to tell where a stone landed if you tossed one casually from you. It isn't that bright. But you will make out your hand, so that you may see what it does. And that is a start.

But how is Good satisfied in that? Fairness demands its own rights; it is not selfless. It allows; it does not give. It begrudges; it does not delight. It is exacting; it is not generous. It is harsh; it is not merciful. It is mechanical; not gracious. It is mathematical; not beautiful. It is just; it is not love. Fairness measures all things in equal proportion; love gives all things without reserve.

Fairness cannot even be a virtue! The thing that calls you to meet the minimum requirements of the law, or of the ethics of personal relationships, is not a virtue. The thing that calls you to exceed the requirements of the law, or the demands of civil relation, is a virtue. The Decalogue, all morality, most personal grievances, and many of the world's commonest pet-peeves call for the fair, the right, the just from people. And that is good. Let it be.

But if all God wanted was for everything to be just just, then biological robots would have been the sure-bet inhabits of this Earth. Something is given, something of exact value is paid back; a deed done for another, and a deed precisely it's twin in return; an action, and a directly proportional reaction—these are the ways of gears and levers and physics, dull grays and metallic clanks, not lovers.

Above all things, be a lover. Give freely. Be unscrupulously merciful. Allow the beauty of people loving each other without claiming rights, without holding expectations, without demands, agendas, and manipulations—loving and moving and giving and deferring—remind you of dance. Let it remind you of art and other things robots cannot do. Let it remind you that there are greater things than to be merely lawful, to have merely your rights, to pursue merely wages.

If you see even the Bible tell you "Do what is right," remember that it goes on to say, "Above all, love." John said, "This is how we know who the children of God are and who the children of the devil are: Those who do not do what is right are not God’s children; nor are those who do not love their brothers and sisters." Yes, do what is right, but do not stop there. God's children are found doing right, certainly. But they are found doing much more than that! Love always does what is better than merely right. It is at least right. If love is "not against the Law," and it "fulfills the Law," and it is "the greatest," then there can never be a time in which it is a wrong decision to do what is loving and gracious over what is fair and just.

But remember, when you are trying to love, to expect to find yourself attempting to make an alloy of love and fairness. It's easy to reason yourself into loving only those who love you in return. But that's a tepid, weak love, not in the pattern of God's unconditional love, which is a wild, fiery, potent thing. So Jesus said, "If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? Even sinners love those who love them."

But then, there are also times so momentous that to choose to do what is fair, rather than to do what is love, is to keep your friend, or enemy, or husband, or daughter, back on the line in the twilight beside yourself—a critical opportunity missed to pierce through the haze with the light and step forward with them into a new day. You think your nagging someone to do what is right—to do what is their just portion—or your demands for fair treatment and equal work will accomplish your goals? You are sadly mistaken. Fairness may be moral, but it doesn't inspire anyone to do anything. Oh, maybe on this occasion or that, something may get done out of resentment, guilt, or shame...

But is that what you want? Just what is fair and no more? Love fulfills the Law. The Law can't even do that. When voices shouting for fairness, justice, and rights only get enough to fill shallow pockets, love produces what is better than fair, better than just, and better than right! Tell me which is the "more excellent way"!

In order to fulfill the commonest law... we must rise into a loftier region altogether, a region that is above law, because it is spirit and life and makes the law.... The law comes to make us long for the needful grace—that is, for the divine condition, in which love is all, for God is Love.

(George MacDonald)

There is no fair in love.

LYCABAS

"A name of the Year. Some say the word means a march of wolves,
which wolves, running in single file, are the Months of the Year.
Others say the word means the path of the light."

   O ye months of the year,
Are ye a march of wolves?
Lycabas! Lycabas! twelve to growl and slay?
Men hearken at night, and lie in fear,
Some men hearken all day!

   Lycabas, verily thou art a gallop of wolves,
Gaunt gray wolves, gray months of the year, hunting in twelves,
Running and howling, head to tail,
In a single file, over the snow,
A long low gliding of silent horror and fear!
On and on, ghastly and drear,
Not a head turning, not a foot swerving, ye go,
Twelve making only a one-wolf track!
Onward ye howl, and behind we wail;
Wail behind your narrow and slack
Wallowing line, and moan and weep,
As ye draw it on, straight and deep,
Thorough the night so swart!
Behind you a desert, and eyes a-weary,
A long, bare highway, stony and dreary,
A hungry soul, and a wolf-cub wrapt,
A live wolf-cub, sharp-toothed, steel-chapt,
In the garment next the heart!

   Lycabas!
One of them hurt me sore!
Two of them hurt and tore!
Three of them made me bleed!
The fourth did a terrible deed,
Rent me the worst of the four!
Rent me, and shook me, and tore,
And ran away with a growl!
Lycabas, if I feared you a jot,
You, and your devils running in twelves,
Black-mouthed, hell-throated, straight-going wolves,
I would run like a wolf, I too, and howl!
I live, and I fear you not.

   But shall I not hate you, low-galloping wolves
Hunting in ceaseless twelves?
Ye have hunted away my lambs!
Ye ran at them open-mouthed,
And your mouths were gleamy-toothed,
And their whiteness with red foam frothed,
And your throats were a purple-black gulf:
My lambs they fled, and they came not back!
Lovely white lambs they were, alack!
They fled afar and they left a track
Which at night, when the lone sky clears,
Glistens with Nature's tears!
Many a shepherd scarce thinks of a lamb
But he hears behind it the growl of a wolf,
And behind that the wail of its dam!

   They ran, nor cried, but fled
From day's sweet pasture, from night's soft bed:
Ah me, the look in their eyes!
For behind them rushed the swallowing gulf,
The maw of the growl-throated wolf,
And they fled as the thing that speeds or dies:
They looked not behind,
But fled as over the grass the wind.

   Oh my lambs, I would drop away
Into a night that never saw day
That so in your dear hearts you might say,
"All is well for ever and aye!"
Yet it was well to hurry away,
To hurry from me, your shepherd gray:
I had no sword to bite and slay,
And the wolfy Months were on your track!
It was well to start from work and play,
It was well to hurry from me away—
But why not once look back?

   The wolves came panting down the lea—
What was left you but somewhere flee!
Ye saw the Shepherd that never grows old,
Ye saw the great Shepherd, and him ye knew,
And the wolves never once came near to you;
For he saw you coming, threw down his crook,
Ran, and his arms about you threw;
He gathered you into his garment's fold,
He kneeled, he gathered, he lifted you,
And his bosom and arms were full of you.
He has taken you home to his stronghold:
Out of the castle of Love ye look;
The castle of Love is now your home,
From the garden of Love you will never roam,
And the wolves no more shall flutter you.

   Lycabas! Lycabas!
For all your hunting and howling and cries,
Your yelling of woe! and alas!
For all your thin tongues and your fiery eyes,
Your questing thorough the windy grass,
Your gurgling gnar, and your horrent hair,
And your white teeth that will not spare—
Wolves, I fear you never a jot,
Though you come at me with your mouths red-hot,
Eyes of fury, and teeth that foam:
Ye can do nothing but drive me home!
Wolves, wolves, you will lie one day—
Ye are lying even now, this very day,
Wolves in twelves, gaunt and gray,
At the feet of the Shepherd that leads the dams,
At the feet of the Shepherd that carries the lambs!

   And now that I see you with my mind's eye,
What are you indeed? my mind revolves.
Are you, are you verily wolves?
I saw you only through twilight dark,
Through rain and wind, and ill could mark!
Now I come near—are you verily wolves?
Ye have torn, but I never saw you slay!
Me ye have torn, but I live today,
Live, and hope to live ever and aye!
Closer still let me look at you!—
Black are your mouths, but your eyes are true!—
Now, now I know you!—the Shepherd's sheep-dogs!
Friends of us sheep on the moors and bogs,
Lost so often in swamps and fogs!
Dear creatures, forgive me; I did you wrong;
You to the castle of Love belong:
Forgive the sore heart that made sharp the tongue!
Your swift-flying feet the Shepherd sends
To gather the lambs, his little friends,
And draw the sheep after for rich amends!
Sharp are your teeth, my wolves divine,
But loves and no hates in your deep eyes shine!
No more will I call you evil names,
No more assail you with untrue blames!
Wake me with howling, check me with biting,
Rouse up my strength for the holy fighting:
Hunt me still back, nor let me stray
Out of the infinite narrow way,
The radiant march of the Lord of Light
Home to the Father of Love and Might,
Where each puts Thou in the place of I,
And Love is the Law of Liberty.

"Love is a better 'standard of conduct,' because it is more comprehensive than the Law. Love will tell you what shouldn't be done, but even more so, it will tell you what should. It analyzes your motives and requires actual transformation, and it reflects the character and nature of God. It is at once both simple and deep: being one thing easily identifiable once you know it, and the one answer universally applicable to every question of action. There is nothing that is more practical, yet it is at the same time inexhaustibly rich, abstract, and profound. Every theologian, poet, and philosopher to ever live could waste themselves on fishing out its truths without successfully plumbing its depths, and every pragmatic man of simple action could find in it his final, universal principle of living and the ultimate how-to to every human interaction and question of morality.

"All the Law is summed up in this one thing: Love. Now that you are free from the Law and have the Spirit of God in you, it isn't important to spend your time analyzing your conduct for its compliance with a list of rules. It's not all about that. What is important is accepting the full weight of truth of God's love and letting it overflow out of yourself in every way that you relate to God, Humanity, and Creation."

"Some so-called Christians... sneaked in to spy on us and take away the freedom we have in Christ Jesus. They wanted to enslave us and force us to follow their Jewish regulations. But we refused to give in to them for a single moment. We wanted to preserve the truth of the gospel message for you... You and I are Jews by birth, not 'sinners' like the Gentiles. Yet we know that a person is made right with God by faith in Jesus Christ, not by obeying the law.... No one will ever be made right with God by obeying the law.

"But suppose we seek to be made right with God through faith in Christ and then we are found guilty because we have abandoned the law. Would that mean Christ has led us into sin? Absolutely not! Rather, I am a sinner if I rebuild the old system of law I already tore down. For when I tried to keep the law, it condemned me. So I died to the law—I stopped trying to meet all its requirements—so that I might live for God. My old self has been crucified with Christ.... I do not treat the grace of God as meaningless. For if keeping the law could make us right with God, then there was no need for Christ to die....

"Let me ask you this one question: Did you receive the Holy Spirit by obeying the law of Moses? Of course not! You received the Spirit because you believed the message you heard about Christ. How foolish can you be? After starting your Christian lives in the Spirit, why are you now trying to become perfect by your own human effort?... But those who depend on the law to make them right with God are under his curse, for the Scriptures say, 'Cursed is everyone who does not observe and obey all the commands that are written in God's Book of the Law.' So it is clear that no one can be made right with God by trying to keep the law. For the Scriptures say, 'It is through faith that a righteous person has life.' This way of faith is very different from the way of law, which says, 'It is through obeying the law that a person has life.' ...

"Through Christ Jesus, God has blessed the Gentiles with the same blessing he promised to Abraham, so that we who are believers might receive the promised Holy Spirit through faith.

"Dear brothers and sisters, here's an example from everyday life. Just as no one can set aside or amend an irrevocable agreement, so it is in this case. God gave the promises to Abraham and his child. And notice that the Scripture doesn't say 'to his children,' as if it meant many descendants. Rather, it says 'to his child'—and that, of course, means Christ. This is what I am trying to say: The agreement God made with Abraham could not be canceled 430 years later when God gave the law to Moses. God would be breaking his promise. For if the inheritance could be received by keeping the law, then it would not be the result of accepting God's promise. But God graciously gave it to Abraham as a promise.

"Why, then, was the law given? It was given alongside the promise to show people their sins. But the law was designed to last only until the coming of the child who was promised.... Is there a conflict, then, between God's law and God's promises? Absolutely not! If the law could give us new life, we could be made right with God by obeying it. But the Scriptures declare that we are all prisoners of sin, so we receive God's promise of freedom only by believing in Jesus Christ. Before the way of faith in Christ was available to us, we were placed under guard by the law.... And now that the way of faith has come, we no longer need the law as our guardian. For you are all children of God through faith in Christ Jesus....

"Think of it this way. If a father dies and leaves an inheritance for his young children, those children are not much better off than slaves until they grow up, even though they actually own everything their father had. They have to obey their guardians until they reach whatever age their father set.

"And that's the way it was with us before Christ came. We were like children; we were slaves to the basic 'spiritual principles' of this world. But when the right time came, God sent his Son, born of a woman, subject to the law. God sent him to buy freedom for us who were slaves to the law, so that he could adopt us as his very own children. And because we are his children, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, prompting us to call out, 'Abba, Father.' Now you are no longer a slave but God's own child. And since you are his child, God has made you his heir....

"So now that you know God (or should I say, now that God knows you), why do you want to go back again and become slaves once more to the weak and useless spiritual principles of this world? You are trying to earn favor with God by observing certain days or months or seasons or years.... I plead with you to live as I do in freedom from these things, for I have become like you Gentiles—free from those laws....

"Tell me, you who want to live under the law, do you know what the law actually says? The Scriptures say that Abraham had two sons, one from his slave wife and one from his freeborn wife. The son of the slave wife was born in a human attempt to bring about the fulfillment of God's promise. But the son of the freeborn wife was born as God's own fulfillment of his promise. These two women serve as an illustration of God's two covenants.... And you, dear brothers and sisters, are children of the promise, just like Isaac. But you are now being persecuted by those who want you to keep the law, just as Ishmael, the child born by human effort, persecuted Isaac, the child born by the power of the Spirit.

"So Christ has truly set us free. Now make sure that you stay free, and don't get tied up again in slavery to the law.

"Listen! I, Paul, tell you this: If you are counting on circumcision to make you right with God, then Christ will be of no benefit to you. I'll say it again. If you are trying to find favor with God by being circumcised, you must obey every regulation in the whole law of Moses.

"But we who live by the Spirit eagerly wait to receive by faith the righteousness God has promised to us. For when we place our faith in Christ Jesus, there is no benefit in being circumcised or being uncircumcised. What is important is faith expressing itself in love.

"You were running the race so well. Who has held you back from following the truth? It certainly isn't God, for he is the one who called you to freedom. This false teaching is like a little yeast that spreads through the whole batch of dough!...

"For you have been called to live in freedom, my brothers and sisters. But don't use your freedom to satisfy your sinful nature. Instead, use your freedom to serve one another in love. For the whole law can be summed up in this one command: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.' ...

"So I say, let the Holy Spirit guide your lives. Then you won't be doing what your sinful nature craves.... When you are directed by the Spirit, you are not under obligation to the law of Moses.... The Holy Spirit produces... love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. There is no law against these things!

"Those who belong to Christ Jesus have nailed the passions and desires of their sinful nature to his cross and crucified them there. Since we are living by the Spirit, let us follow the Spirit's leading in every part of our lives....

"Those who are trying to force you to be circumcised want to look good to others. They don't want to be persecuted for teaching that the cross of Christ alone can save. And even those who advocate circumcision don't keep the whole law themselves. They only want you to be circumcised so they can boast about it and claim you as their disciples.

"As for me... my interest in this world has been crucified, and the world's interest in me has also died. It doesn't matter whether we have been circumcised or not. What counts is whether we have been transformed into a new creation. May God's peace and mercy be upon all who live by this principle; they are the new people of God."

If you like, read the next post, consisting of my comments on Paul's discussion here.

At length I came in sight of the keeper's farm; and just at that moment the moon peeped from behind a hill, throwing as long shadows as the setting sun, but in the other direction. The shadows were very different too. Somehow they were liker to the light that made them than the sun-shadows are to the sunlight. Both the light and the shadows of the moon were strange and fearful to me. The sunlight and its shadows are all so strong and so real and so friendly, you seem to know all about them; they belong to your house, and they sweep all fear and dismay out of honest people's hearts. But with the moon and its shadows it is very different indeed. The fact is, the moon is trying to do what she cannot do. She is trying to dispel a great sun-shadow—for the night is just the gathering into one mass of all the shadows of the sun. She is not able for this, for her light is not her own; it is second-hand from the sun himself; and her shadows therefore also are second-hand shadows, pieces cut out of the great sun-shadow, and coloured a little with the moon's yellowness. If I were writing for grown people I should tell them that those who understand things because they think about them, and ask God to teach them, walk in the sunlight; and others, who take things because other people tell them so, are always walking in the strange moonlight, and are subject to no end of stumbles and terrors, for they hardly know light from darkness.
[from Chapter 24 of "Ranald Bannerman's Boyhood" by George MacDonald]

"This then is the message," he says, "which we have heard of him, and declare unto you, that God is light, and in him is no darkness at all." [1 John 1:5]... Whatever seems to me darkness, that I will not believe of my God. If I should mistake, and call that darkness which is light, will he not reveal the matter to me, setting it in the light that lighteth every man, showing me that I saw but the husk of the thing, not the kernel? Will he not break open the shell for me, and let the truth of it, his thought, stream out upon me? He will not let it hurt me to mistake the light for darkness, while I take not the darkness for light. The one comes from blindness of the intellect, the other from blindness of heart and will. I love the light, and will not believe at the word of any man, or upon the conviction of any man, that that which seems to me darkness is in God....

Neither let thy cowardly conscience receive any word as light because another calls it light, while it looks to thee dark. Say either the thing is not what it seems, or God never said or did it. But, of all evils, to misinterpret what God does, and then say the thing as interpreted must be right because God does it, is of the devil. Do not try to believe anything that affects thee as darkness. Even if thou mistake and refuse something true thereby, thou wilt do less wrong to Christ by such a refusal than thou wouldst by accepting as his what thou canst see only as darkness. It is impossible thou art seeing a true, a real thing—seeing it as it is, I mean—if it looks to thee darkness. But let thy words be few, lest thou say with thy tongue what thou wilt afterward repent with thy heart. Above all things believe in the light, that it is what thou callest light, though the darkness in thee may give thee cause at a time to doubt whether thou art verily seeing the light.
[from "Light" in "Unspoken Sermons, Third Series" by George MacDonald]

¹  Technically, I was listening to an audiobook version from Librivox.org. To see how I am progressing in "Ranald Bannerman's Boyhood" and, when I'm finished, my review of the book, please click here.

Thanks Ron for the comment! I appreciate your bringing up the definition issue within the rather broad subject of morality—i.e. that God's "good" is very different from our own. I assure you I didn't forget it. ;)

I wasn't trying to make that differentiation here, though that is a very important issue, because I thought it to be implicit (and to keep the essay as brief as possible). In light of the conscience that we all bear (though with increasingly less motivating influence the more twisted an individual becomes), everyone has a sense of what "good" is—our vision is blurrier than God's, but we generally "get the picture." I am here contrasting the "evil" kind of man in the worst sense (whom I think all sane humanity would recognize given a decent showing, even if some may side with him) and the "good" kind of man in the best sense (whom all sane humanity would also recognize, even if some people might pervert or ignore it's interpretation). Implicit in that contrast is that the "good" kind of man of which I am speaking in the first paragraph—the "ideal" you might say—is the man who is made good by God (in the sense of justification) and is continuing to develop in good by God's definition (in the sense of sanctification). There can be no other kind of "best" man.

In the second paragraph, I discuss "the crowded middle," in which I purposely focus on simple morality. Obviously, I'm not saying there isn't a difference between "good" and "bad." Instead, without clarifying what definition I'm using for "good," I intended the reader to interpret it for themselves, because this paragraph applies to all definitions of "good." This is because it only addresses the general categories of people's actions, without attempting to be specific. So, generally, I expected the common meaning of "good" and "evil" to come to people's minds.

If the common criminal (or the more-or-less average person who commonly crosses the morally-questionable line) really cares about the way people perceive him, then he will to some degree "listen" to his conscience, if for no other reason than the preservation of his reputation, because he knows his conscience is similar to theirs—it tells him "This is too wrong, even for you" and that is precisely what others would think. So, he is kept from evil even worse still and its condemnation and we are kept from its presence and effect.

If the "decent" guy really cares about people's judgments of him, he won't want to do anything that jeopardizes his social standing. So, he wouldn't be likely to do any of the radical acts of goodness that goodness might compel him to do (because, let's face it: extreme goodness is usually radical even to people we consider "good folks"). His mother and father would think it's crazy. His co-workers would laugh at him and "talk." Many would question his motives or sanity. He wants to be like everyone else, and thereby win their approval. (Who didn't learned this in high school? It doesn't stop when you graduate.) Some of these people are Christians and some are not, but it doesn't seem to matter much to those who are, and it won't matter practically until they are willing to, as you said, "lay their lives down" and begin to develop in the way of Christ which is infinitely better morally (and in every other way).

So, both groups of people maintain a fairly close resemblance to one another (so much so that, compared to men of great evil, they are all considered rather normal). They stick pretty tight to the middle line—the "bleh." This is the pull of peer pressure in all society. In regard to Evil, society's pull is beneficial: we don't live in the presence of wickedness nearly as gross and prevalent as we would otherwise and the people who would do those unspeakable acts of wickedness don't, which, of course, is better for them as well. In regard to Good, society's pull is degenerative: hardly a soul pushes the frontlines of virtue, nearly everyone is content merely eating, drinking, and being merry, and scarcely can we find even a Christian who reminds us of Jesus. Furthermore, history has shown that morality within societies inevitably decays, which means that the baseline—the "normal" around which both the (subjectively) "slightly" bad and "slightly" good orbit—slinks gradually closer to the Evil side of the spectrum until the society's eventual collapse. This should all the more urge us to know God, to live loved and love in kind, to embody His goodness, His grace, and His liberty in increasingly radical, abnormal ways.

....I always appreciate a swift reply prompting me to clarify! Thank you!

[If you haven't already, read the original article, if you like.]

So, for every practical purpose, God doesn't love you for a reason. He loves you. And there is absolutely nothing you can do about it.

He loves you, and not for any action or ability or quality that you can manipulate, formulate, postulate, propagate, or create. If there is indeed a reason we can know, it has more to do with your origin and the core makeup of your soul than anything you can quantify. And in that reason, even if it be solely a reflection of God's character and nature and nothing else, He loves you uniquely, but still not more or less than any other person—just as a father would love his children, and just as the God-figure in The Shack said "I'm especially fond of that one" and then said it of every one.

Your Father—the Source of your life—adores you and He'd have you crawl onto His lap and tug at His beard, if only you knew Him like that. A tragedy! To be loved so richly and think yourself a pauper! And then to deny His displays of affection, His attempts toward your good—to deny that you own whole galaxies worth of tenderhearted love in your Father's eyes and go on eating meat from dumpsters and cursing life! Ah, good thing it is He doesn't love for a reason!

Oh, but don't be condemned! There is no fear in love! Love doesn't carry forward last month's negative balance! If you remain dispirited because He loves you richly and you love Him poorly, you forget He doesn't love you for a reason! His love is completely without respect to your merit. Love, of this kind, is also called "grace" and forgiveness is a grace. And if it is a grace, then it cannot be earned; it is given. It doesn't need to be asked for—only, we usually need to ask for it before we will trust that we have it. God doesn't need reconciled to us. We need reconciled to Him.

Trust from the place you are. You cannot manufacture trust. God will win you to it. You will trust Him more when you know more how He loves you, and that comes when you know Him more, the way He really is. Your trust is exactly proportional to how convinced you are of His love, which itself is exactly proportional to how well you know Him. Be patient (but be passionate); He is patient. And He will win you to it.

Seek Him. Look everywhere for Him. —Except, that makes it sound like He is hiding. But He isn't. He is at times subtle, but usually it only seems that way because our senses are dulled to the ways He speaks to us and reveals Himself to us. One day He may woo you to Him by a pinecone or the reflection of light on a door handle just as He might on another day by a sermon or a book or a prayer. He speaks to us in people's scars and the stories they tell over dinners and late-night games of cards. He reveals Himself in epiphanies and gradual increments so intangible that months or years may pass before you even realize a significant change has occurred.

But know child: He is your Father—yes, your Papa and Daddy, more loving, affectionate, wise, and strong than any mud-and-clay parent could be. You are His darling. Hop into His lap. Cry, laugh, or complain, and nuzzle close, curl up into His arms and rest. He'll hold you, wipe your brow, and whisper you songs.

You may be an adult in relation to people of Earth. But in the same way you cannot be more than a small child to Him. So while it may seem very childish to talk like this about your relationship with "Papa," that is precisely why it is true. You are a child. So, you must in a sense be childish. After all, He is your Father and what else is there left for you to be?

But I'm particularly annoyed by "First" churches. Really? You were first? Are you in competition with the other churches?: "Ha! We got here first! Nah nah nah nah nah nah!" Or, "We've been here the longest! That proves something!" All it proves is age and that we've made the Kingdom into a competitive sport. Oh, how darling! Who really cares who was first? ...Other than the people who wish they were, or those poorly misinformed folks who think "First" is a denomination and actually means something. (I've come across several of those.)

:)

Really, back hundreds of years ago, who's idea was it to call their community of believing friends by a name?

I imagine it probably started with place names. "The church* in Troas" may have eventually become "The Church of Troas" and when, because of the hardness of their hearts, people tore away, they didn't want to call themselves "The Other Church of Troas" (because that sounds tacky), so they decided on "The Harmony Church of Troas", because, they felt, that's what best described their vision: harmony. And... well, you can easily imagine where it led from there. Here we are now!

Understand me, here: I'm not trying to be critical in a cynical way, rather I think it is pretty funny. I'm chuckling.

But to be a bit more serious: I am a little mad about it. Just what the heck are we thinking? It totally wrecks the beauty and purity of what the Body of Christ is supposed to be! It makes a lively, relationally-oriented community made up of people who believe God out to be an organizationally-oriented religious club, location, or event. It makes a family into a team. And when you "join" a team "of faith," the faith becomes a game and you can't help but feel better about yourself because you are on what you perceive to be the winning team. Competition with other teams is, without having to think one moment about it, the automatic sociological response to joining a team. It's you versus them.

Don't believe me? Just listen to the way people talk about their church! I'm sure you know what I'm talking about, so I won't even bother to quote anyone.

Once it gets this far, it stops being about people and starts being about numbers (although, to be fair, it is never so cut and dry as this—or at least I hope not). And that's what people on the outside will think of it immediately. That's what people on the inside will come to think of it eventually. And down the road, no one will scarcely be able to perceive that anything is wrong with the picture. You call it by a name and that's what you get. You don't get a family of people. You get a roster and a point scale. Because you treated it like a team.

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will make me crawl up into a ball and weep." Words are power things. If you call your friend "stupid" or "ugly" and keep calling him that—no matter how obviously untrue it may be—he will begin to doubt himself and will eventually accept it as truth. Adolf Hitler even said it of bold-faced lies: "If you tell a lie long enough and loud enough and often enough, the people will believe it." And if that is true of lies (as Hitler clearly demonstrated), then surely it must be true of half-truths, which are much easier to accept.

Remember what was said in the scenario I gave?: "...the moment you start referring to it that way, you start thinking of it that way, and pretty soon your children think of your family as an event and a tradition. And you'll be fighting that for the rest of your life."

Words shape worldviews and ideologies and revolutions. I know it's hard, and I know everyone else does it, and I know this is totally opposite of the standard paradigm, but don't allow yourself to make into something less what is intended to be something so much more.

Be a "Hudson." Be a part of Christ's "body." Be Father's loved child. Be the community of people who have been absolutely—I love it!—changed by the happy news about God.

Be more than a product of easy slips.

*   Understand that "church" (really Greek's "ekklesia") was a simple, everyday word and functionally meant "community," especially to Jewish hearers who were accustomed to hearing it used repeatedly in the Greek versions of the Old Testament for "the jewish community"—not at all the loaded, technical word we use today.