100 Years Ago

One hundred years ago, in 1908, the world was a very different place. It’s rather hard to grasp, in fact, how much the United States and the world have changed over the course of a single century.

One hundred years ago, the average life expectancy in America was 47. Only 14% of American homes had a bathtub, and just 10% had a telephone.

In 1908 Henry Ford began production of his Model T. William C. Durant established the company that would become known as General Motors. There were fewer than 10,000 cars in the United States and less than 200 miles of paved roads. The maximum speed limit in most cities was 10 mph.

Alabama, Mississippi, Iowa, and Tennessee were all more heavily populated than California. About 30 people – ranchers and their families – lived in a desert hamlet known as Las Vegas, Nevada.

One hundred years ago, sugar cost four cents a pound. Eggs were fourteen cents a dozen. Most women washed their hair only once a month, using borax or egg yolks for shampoo. Some 18% of American households included at least one full-time servant or domestic.

More than 95% of births in the United States took place at home. About 90% of US physicians had no college education. Only 6% of Americans were high school graduates.

One hundred years ago, marijuana, heroin, and morphine were all available over the counter at corner drugstores. Coca-Cola contained cocaine instead of caffeine. One pharmacist gushed, “Heroin clears the complexion, gives buoyancy to the mind, regulates the stomach and is, in fact, a perfect guardian of health.”

As 1908 came to a close, Republicans were celebrating president-elect William Howard Taft’s victory over Democrat William Jennings Bryan. Europeans were confident that a century of peace and prosperity lay ahead. Germany was considered the global center of Christian scholarship. A number of scientists and politicians predicted that the emerging field of eugenics would soon allow humanity to purge itself of undesirable breeding populations.

On hundred years ago, the Boy Scout movement was founded. Mother’s Day was celebrated for the first time. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid were gunned down in Bolivia. And the Chicago Cubs won the World Series – something that only seems like 1,000 years ago.

Looking back over a long stretch of history can be an interesting exercise. It can even be provocative. But one would hardly consider it transforming. History is, well…history. If it’s a change of life that we’re seeking, there’s only one direction to point: We must look ahead.

Specifically, what will be true in your life one year from today?

At the doorway to a fresh set of 12 months, people generally wonder how many pounds they will lose, what vacation spots they might visit, and how their investments will fare. But certain other questions are of considerably greater value.

Within the next year, what significant books will you read? What habit will you confront and leave behind, by God’s grace? What broken relationship will you seek to restore?

What changes will come about in your prayer life? What experiences will stretch you beyond your current comfort zone? What will you sacrifice to help the poor?

What teacher from your past will you go out of your way to thank? Who will be emotionally richer because of your friendship and encouragement? What more will you know of God’s love, grace, and faithfulness by choosing to be brave instead of safe?

As Alfred, Lord Tennyson once wrote, “Today is yesterday’s tomorrow and tomorrow’s yesterday.” The intersection between our recollections of life a hundred years ago and our hopes for 2009 is today. We can remember the past and we can yearn for the future, but today is the only day that in which we can actually live. It also happens to be the only place where we can trust God.

May God bless you, then, with an entire year of today’s – incredible, unrepeatable 24-hour gifts in which your life becomes more and more like the thing of beauty he intends it to be.

In Search of the Real Enemy

In his book The True Believer, Eric Hoffer makes this significant statement: “A movement can exist without a God but never without a devil. There has to be an enemy to be destroyed.”

Identifying a dangerous enemy that is Out There is without question the most effective short-term mobilizing principle for groups, including entire nations. Religious movements have long known that money, passion, and commitment will come flowing their way if a scary enough devil can be shown to be a clear and present danger.

As a seven-year-old I remember hearing that John F. Kennedy would endanger our country if he were elected. After all, he was Catholic. Protestant America feared that an Oval Office resident who bowed to the authority of Rome would subvert our entire culture.

Communists were a target of Christian preachers and teachers for generations. Entire denominations sustained their momentum for ministry by appealing to the need to block Communist incursions into the West.

But as sociologist Tony Campolo puts it, “All of a sudden one day the Communists were gone… We needed a new devil and we found one. He’s called the secular humanist. ‘They’re taking over the whole country. Look what they’re doing in the public schools.’” Campolo goes on to quote a study by the National Education Association that 72% of all teachers in America attend church at least once a month. He concludes that it would be far more redemptive for churches to honor and thank public school teachers for their tireless service instead of assuming they are agents of the evil one.

My pastoral email inbox is regularly filled with dire warnings about the many enemies who are confronting Christians in the 21st century. Islamic terrorists are trying to destroy our way of life; Hollywood is ruining our values; gay activists are targeting our youth; Darwinists are attempting to exclude all mention of God from public dialogue.

In recent years even Christmas has been thrust into the culture wars. The new enemy is the person who sends out a greeting card that says “Happy Holidays” instead of “Merry Christmas.” Some church leaders have agitated for shopping boycotts against stores that have removed Nativity scenes or Christmas trees. In his book, Lord, Save Us From Your Followers, Dan Merchant (who is an ardent follower of Jesus) asks, “Why is the gospel of love dividing America?”

Before we divide the entire universe into ideological camps of Us vs. Them, it would be wise to check out what the Christian sourcebook has to say. The Old Testament prophets loudly proclaimed that all of God’s people must indeed battle an enemy. But instead of locating the devil “out there” somewhere, they bluntly told their audiences to look within. The Old Testament perspective is summed up in 2 Chronicles 7:14: “If my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then will I hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and will heal their land.”

You can pick over the words of Jesus with a fine-toothed comb, but you will never find a summons to fight a holy war or draw lines of cultural demarcation. Yet Jesus had a great deal to say about battling the inner enemies of prideful stubbornness, unforgiveness, and refusal to walk with God. Before we call out the evil in others we must take a fearless personal inventory of the evil that remains deeply rooted within our own hearts.

As the infomercials might put it, “But wait. There’s more!” Jesus commands us to pray for the terrorist, the pornography distributor, and the secular humanist who wants to cleanse school textbooks of even the option of believing in God. We are to reject their messages. We should resist their means. But we are not to think of them as enemies to be destroyed. They are people for whom Christ died – men and women who stand, as we do, in constant need of his love and grace.

In short, Jesus' message is that if we courageously choose to be the right kind of people, we won't squander our lives trying to figure out how to eliminate the wrong kind of people. That's a strategy that would almost certainly prompt our "enemies" to give our faith a second look.

A Chance to See Jesus

When my son Tyler was 19 years old, he and I had the joy of experiencing a summer trip together to Europe. Early on we had an entire day – a Sunday, it turned out – to explore London on our own. We left our hotel about noon and took a thirty-minute trip on the London Underground subway system in the general direction of the British Museum.

Halfway to our stop it was obvious that Tyler, out of the blue, suddenly wasn’t feeling very good. He began to assume the color of this page. We exited the Underground and found ourselves in the middle of a busy and stiflingly hot downtown street, in a city not known for its air conditioning.

All I wanted to do was get Tyler into some shade. At that moment we were hit by a blast of cold air. I looked up and noticed that it was coming from the wide open doors of the Dominion Theater. All that summer the Dominion Theater was performing a tribute to the rock group Queen. This didn’t seem to be a very optimistic scenario, but without hesitation we stepped inside.

Immediately a young man greeted us warmly. “Do you need a place to sit down?” he asked. “Can I get anything for your son? If you’d like, you’ll find a place to relax at the top of those stairs.” We were total strangers, with no interest in seeing a performance. But he was incredibly kind. As we walked up the steps I noticed a table brimming with Christian books. Then it hit me. We had stumbled into a church that was using the theater this one day of the week.

In fact, this was the Hillsong Church, a remarkable congregation that began in Australia but now has planted itself in downtown Paris and London. Every Sunday in the Dominion Theater, Jesus the King was replacing Queen.

Tyler worsened by the minute. We didn’t know it at the time but he had a severe case of food poisoning and would ultimately spend the coming night in a London hospital. What I did know for sure is that we had better find a bathroom, and find one fast. But it was too late. Tyler was already down on his hands and knees throwing up into the plush carpet of the Dominion Theater. If lead singer Freddy Mercury were still alive, I’m sure that Queen would have been singing,Another One Bites the Dust.

We were now a major challenge for this church. What did we have to offer them? Nothing. We were first-time visitors who would never come back. We weren’t going to make a contribution to some capital campaign. We weren’t going to volunteer for the doughnut ministry. We had just wrecked an area of the carpet, for which Hillsong Church was responsible.

But all they did was care for us. They loved us. For that first hour, when Tyler could hardly get up on his feet, they watched over us. They made sure that we had a cab to get back to our hotel and provided words of blessing and encouragement. We were in dire straits in the middle of a big city and had been led to the Body of Christ – right when we needed them.

Jesus says something fascinating in one of his parables. In the story of the sheep and the goats (Matthew 25:31-45), he indicates that his future followers will be able to “see” him in the lives and contexts of seriously needy people. He goes on to announce that the ultimate indicator of whether or not we have had an authentic relationship with him will be the degree to which we have responded to those needs.

Our final exam will not concern ministry experience, reputation, or spiritual books that we read – even though some of us excel at such things and are hanging on to the hope that Jesus might be willing to change his mind. Instead, the great divide will concern how we served Jesus when we encountered him in those we might label “the least of these.”

Jesus declares that his own followers will be surprised about that. “Lord, we spent our whole lives trying to see you. We went on retreats, we pursued multi-year Bible study plans, and we sang the same praise choruses over and over and over again just to get a glimpse of you. Lord, when exactly did we see you?”

And he will tell us that every time we encountered the poor, the vulnerable, the rejected, and the abandoned, we were actually relating to him. Mother Teresa said it beautifully – that whenever she looked into the eyes of the diseased and the poor on the streets of Calcutta what she saw was “Jesus in his distressing disguise.”

So who is the “least of these” for you? It may be a co-worker or fellow student whose performance or attitude disgusts you. It may be a physically challenged person whom you’ve never met, but whose needs have forced you to make expensive facility adjustments. It may be someone who has sinned her way off your dinner party guest list.

It may be someone with a sexually transmitted disease. It may be an underemployed family that can’t pay its bills this month. It may be someone concerning whom you can hardly muster the energy to sustain a relationship, even though they seem eager to hang around you. It may be one of the 2.8 billion people on planet Earth who live on less than two American dollars per day – a sum that can’t even buy a Happy Meal. It may be a college-age kid who ate some bad mayonnaise and is now ruining a carpet that is your responsibility.

People who commit themselves to a life of following Jesus tend to daydream: “What would it have been like to be one of those first disciples who actually saw him?” Jesus himself seems intent on dispelling that mystery. He invites us to open our eyes and serve the neediest people around us.

Quite simply, to love them is to love him. 

The Price of Unpreparedness

Last month I took off on a journey that I had dreamed about for the better part of one year, ever since I received an invitation to speak at a church in the eastern Pennsylvania town of Chambersburg.

Chambersburg just happens to be up the road from a small village that for three days in 1863 became the epicenter of American history: Gettysburg. More than a decade ago I had explored what Abraham Lincoln had called “this hallowed ground,” slowly traversing such legendary sites as the Peach Orchard, Devil’s Den, and Little Round Top. Now I had the chance to fly early to the state capital of Harrisburg, rent a car, drive down the road on a beautiful October day, and spend at least six more hours in and around the famous battleground.

It’s hard to overstate how exhilarated I felt as I buckled myself into my airplane seat. Then, quite without warning, I remembered something. It was something overwhelmingly important. My driver’s license was expired. One part of my brain actually knew that. That’s why I had brought a separate picture ID to board the plane. But how could I have forgotten that you need a driver’s license to rent a car?

I felt like a moose that had wandered into Sarah Palin’s yard. This was not going to turn out well.

We landed in Harrisburg. Maybe the guy at the rental counter wouldn’t notice that my license was expired. “Um, Mr. McDonald, we have a problem here.” Certainly he would make an exception in my case – you know, because he would recognize that I’m such an amazingly nice guy. “I’m sorry, sir, but no one in the state of Pennsylvania will rent you a car without an license.” Maybe he would break the rules and risk his own job and a couple of nights in jail because I was now stranded an hour away from Chambersburg, and I so deserved that extra adventure in Gettysburg. “My suggestion is that you try to find some form of public transportation.”

My heart sank. My mind simultaneously descended into a bit of irrational darkness. Who’s responsible for this? Someone should have to pay for such a grave disappointment. Who could I scapegoat? Who could I blame? The truth was both stark and obvious, of course. One and only one person was responsible. I had subverted my own long-awaited trip by failing to be prepared.

In the end I took a cab, which wasn’t exactly the way I had pictured this mid-autumn excursion. It cost a mere $139 for a one-way trip to beautiful downtown Chambersburg. Ouch.

As a pastor I routinely have the opportunity to hear people’s dreams about their own lives. They want to know God. They want to please God. Followers of Jesus yearn to embark on history-changing journeys of radical faith. They will step out of their comfort zones, bind up the broken-hearted, confront systemic evil, and stand tall for the truth. These are beautiful dreams, and they never fail to move me.

But they seldom come true. That’s because something is often wrong from the get-go. These earnest men and women aren’t prepared for a life of radical trust in God because they have failed to give themselves to the God they so want to serve.

I’d love to be more patient. I’d like to be as patient as Jesus, as a matter of fact. But that won’t happen “in the moment,” when extraordinary patience is actually required, just because I intend to be a person of exceptional forbearance. Long before that moment I will have to have spent much time in God’s presence, gradually allowing God’s character to supplant my own.

The same thing is true with regard to humility. And having the power to extend forgiveness. And being able to relinquish control to God in the midst of chaos or uncertainty. Long before the challenging moment arrives, I will have to have practiced surrendering control to the Lord as an actual way of life. In other words, I will need to be spiritually prepared.

Otherwise I will find myself saying (or praying), “Why is this happening to me? Where are all those blessings that were supposed to come my way because I am following Christ? Who is responsible for this?” Well, that would be me. I cannot experience a transforming journey with God if I have failed to undertake – with all my heart, mind, soul, and strength – the essential preparation that is required for that journey.

Take it from a guy who has seen rural Pennsylvania from the back seat of a cab. There’s a real price to pay to be prepared. But it’s worth it.

A Dog's Life

Last month my wife and I were awakened at 2:30 a.m. on a Sunday by the sound of our oldest dog, Cory, who is a 13-year-old Sheltie, collapsing on the floor in our bedroom. After we tended him for a while and realized that his condition was grave, Mary Sue scooped him up and drove him to an all-night vet clinic. There he was X-rayed. Blood was drawn. The doctors offered to perform exploratory surgery to see if there was a blockage somewhere in his abdomen. We declined. Cory stayed in the intensive care unit of that clinic for two days. After an investment of about $1,000, Cory’s outlook brightened and we were able to take him back home.

Later that same morning I stood in the pulpit of my church to launch a series on how followers of Jesus should respond to people trapped in poverty.

The irony was not lost on me that there are more hospitals and clinics for pets in the state of Indiana than there are hospitals and clinics for people on the entire continent of Africa. The combined economies of all 48 sub-Saharan African countries are about the same as the city of Chicago. About one half of the world’s 6.3 billion people live on less than $2 a day. Approximately 30,000 children age five and under die every day from preventable diseases and starvation. 

I told Cory’s story that morning as an illustration of the fact that our family has the means and the motivation to put him into the hands of a professional caregiver with no notice whatsoever, whereas myriad people around the world are likely never to see a doctor even once in their lives.

After the service, a number of worshippers wanted to talk with me. Most of them asked about…our dog. “We truly hope Cory is all right.” “I know what it’s like to have an old friend like that go through so much pain.” Their comments were touching and sincere.

I think, if I had been in their shoes, I might have offered the same sympathy and good wishes. Our family, after all, loves animals. We have three other dogs and five cats. We are convinced that their lives are not trivial. Nevertheless, the contrast could not have been more dramatic. On a Sunday in which we sought to raise our mutual awareness of the fragility of so many human lives, we found it far easier to express our concern for a pet. Wrapping our minds around the reality of global suffering proved to be a seriously difficult task.

Several times in recent weeks we have stayed up late at night waiting for “prodigal cats” to return home. We fret that they may have ended up on a local coyote’s menu. I must admit that I have prayed for their return, asking God to spare us the sadness of a burial or a never-ending missing cat story. In each case they have materialized a day or so later. They generally reward our shouts of joy by wearing the expression that you only see on a cat’s face: “whatever.”

Meanwhile there are countless parents around the world who wait, pray, and anguish over their missing children. International Justice Mission reports that millions of young girls have been kidnapped from their barrios or villages and forced into prostitution. They are particularly vulnerable because they are poor. They are raped several times each day by sex tourists or pedophiles. In the most desperate situations, the life expectancy for these children after kidnapping is about five years.

Those tragedies are so heartbreaking that I don’t know how to respond. I don’t even know where to start. I don’t know whom to trust. I’m afraid of being drowned by guilt feelings, but just as leery of ending up jaded, cynical, or insulated because my predictably comfortable life allows me to look the other way.

There’s no retreat into the safe haven of personal spirituality, however. When we open our Bibles we discover that there are 2,003 verses on the subject of poverty – second only in number to verses concerning salvation and redemption. What God has to say about poverty and injustice is not a Republican issue. It is not a Democratic issue. It is a matter of asking what God would have us do whenever we pray those words in the Lord’s prayer – “may your will be done on earth as it is in heaven,” and, “give us this day our daily bread” – and realize that we ourselves must be the answer to that prayer for many other people.

I’m learning that it’s possible to make compelling, personal responses to the world’s most painful dilemmas. I can change the way I live. I can change the way I pray. I can partner with credible organizations that are making a difference just down the street and in the darkest corners of the world. I can wrestle with the tough questions as to how God wants to leverage my affluence to bless others.

Meanwhile, I keep hearing that other question: How's Cory doing? The answer is that he's still hanging in there. I'm glad we were able to pass along to our kids a respect for the lives of God's creatures. But my deepest hope is that they would far exceed their father's late-blooming commitment to the lives of so many fellow human beings whose pain is so much more profound. The exciting news is that the more we seek to embody genuine love and care for desperately hurting people, the closer we get to the heart of the One who lived and died for them all.

I've Grown Accustomed to His Grace

Scott Shelton is one gracious guy. Scott is a fellow staff member at my congregation – specifically, the Director of Family Life Ministries at Zionsville Presbyterian Church. He also happens to be roughly my height and my build, although my body is increasingly becoming what that small boy used to call Mrs. Butterworth’s Syrup in the TV ads: thickerer.

About five years ago I noticed that a beautiful navy blue blazer was hanging just behind Scott’s office door, alongside his pastoral robe. I own a navy blue blazer, too – it’s a standard wardrobe accessory for the smartly dressed male pastor – but mine has clearly seen better days. When I volunteered that information one day, Scott perked up. “You can borrow mine any time you want.” “Really?” I said. “Of course,” he answered.

Wow. That was a gracious offer. Guys, of course, typically don’t borrow clothes from other guys. But maybe I would wear Scott’s blue blazer after all. You know, until I went out and bought a new one for myself. Just once, on a Sunday morning.

First, I re-sought Scott’s permission. “Are you sure this is OK? I’ll make sure absolutely nothing happens to it.” As it turned out, his jacket fit me better than my own. It looked so nice on me that I decided to borrow it again. And then again. And suddenly I realized that I was no longer jumping through the hoop of even asking for it.

I would arrive on a Sunday morning, sans coat, and hope (OK, expect), that the blue blazer would be hanging there behind the door. A couple of times Scott has come to church on a Sunday expecting the same thing. I’ve been tempted to say something like, “Oh, so you’re going to be wearing our jacket for the first hour, and I can put it on after that?” On every occasion, Scott has been exceedingly gracious.

Fast-forward to the present. I have now worn the blue blazer to several weddings outside the church. And to a couple of speaking engagements. And on a few trips to other states. And to Turkey, Greece, Germany, Holland, and Romania. But who’s keeping track? The other day my wife said to me, “Honey, is that Scott Shelton’s jacket hanging in our closet?” Oh, yeah. I should probably get that back to him. Soon.

What has happened over the past five years? Like Henry Higgins in My Fair Lady, I haven’t merely grown accustomed to Scott’s face. I’ve grown accustomed to his grace. At first his generosity seemed amazing and surprising.You would really let me do that? But gradually, imperceptibly, I began to take Scott’s kindness for granted. Of course he will let me wear his blue blazer. That’s just what Scott…does.

The parallels to my relationship with God are stunning. When I first learned that God offers his love and grace to me, I couldn’t believe it. I mean I literallycouldn’t believe it. There had to be a catch. Why would God care about my misguided life? What would prompt him to invest time and energy in my future? How could there be a never-ending reservoir of hope and good will in God’s character that would call me, again and again, to imitate his Son who died for me?

After choosing to believe that God was entirely serious about blessing me, I was overcome with grief the first few times I disappointed him. God, is our relationship finished, or can we still walk together? It’s hard to overstate the wonder of discovering his forgiveness.

But soon enough I grew accustomed to God’s forgiveness. I became accommodated to his grace. I stopped feeling the sense of wonder and gratitude that had permeated the earliest days of my life with Christ. Would God continue to love me, even if I should obstinately make decisions that would break his heart? Well, sure. That’s just what God…does.

And it’s that attitude that kills the spiritual life. Human beings have the unimaginable privilege of enjoying God’s amazing grace. But God’s love and forgiveness are not entitlements. We cannot presume upon them, else the very capacity within us to receive such love and forgiveness begins to die. All we can do – humbly, and with a sense of brokenness and wonder, just as did when we first heard that God might truly care for us – is to lay ourselves before him and to say “Thank you.”

Just this last week I brought Scott’s blue blazer back to the office and hung it behind his door. “Thank you,” I said. “It has meant so much that you’ve let me borrow this so many times.” Scott was his usual gracious self. “Any time, Glenn,” he said.

I'm thinking of asking Scott something else one of these days. Is there any chance I could borrow your car this weekend? 

A Nation Rises from Ruin

Like most Americans, I have spent few waking hours thinking about Eastern Europe. In the back of my mind I have always been aware that there is a loose collection of nations that have had the geographical misfortunate of occupying the ground between Russia and the more advanced European states, and that Soviet Communism pillaged all of them in one way or another.

My working acquaintance with life in Eastern Europe after the fall of the Berlin Wall began with a trip to Romania in 1997. I visited again in 2003, and a third time earlier this month. On each occasion I have connected with a group of Romanian Baptist pastors who are facing the daunting task of launching a new generation of churches in a nation that just 20 years ago officially dismissed the claims of Jesus Christ.

Communist despot Nicolae Ceausescu ruled Romania like a tyrant beginning in 1967. He and his wife Elena were caught trying to flee the country on Christmas Day, 1989; they were summarily tried and executed by firing squad. The celebratory mood that immediately swept the country seemed inappropriately macabre to outsiders. Then the world began to learn the details of Ceausescu’s regime of terror.

Ceausescu's policies had crushed the nation with indebtedness. In an overnight effort to balance the books, Ceausescu ordered that every Romanian household be limited to a single 40-watt bulb. Thermostats in Bucharest office buildings could not exceed 57 degrees, even in the dead of winter. Individuals buying a ream of paper were likely to be interrogated by secret police. 

In an effort to raise up multitudes of workers to his fulfill his dream of a fully industrialized state, Ceausescu demanded that every young woman produce children. Women of child-bearing age were subjected to mandatory monthly OB-GYN exams to ensure that if they were pregnant, each child would be brought to term. The burden of extra children became so great that when news of his execution became public, tens of thousands of little ones were immediately orphaned – released to the streets or into the “care” of the state.

When I first visited Romania in 1997 there was a full-fledged national crisis of providing for these children. Multitudes of pre-teens were living in the sewer system of Bucharest, sniffing glue to stave off hunger. Christian organizations and compassionate individuals poured into the country. Who would give these kids a future and a hope?

I recall that during my one-week stay back then I never saw a single pregnant woman. I don’t believe I ever saw a baby. In response to the Communist horrors, Romania seemed intent on turning away from the primary social task of bringing a new generation to life and health. A few weeks ago it was a joy to see moms and dads and expectant parents everywhere. Still, there is a long way to go. There are three abortions in Romania today for every live birth. The nation is shrinking in size.

I remember walking into an orphanage in 1997 and feeling overcome by emotion. I approached the director (who was a young American woman who had given up her high-paying job with IBM to devote all of her time to rescuing kids in Bucharest) and assured her that families in central Indiana would gladly welcome these little ones in their homes. I believe she appreciated my tears and my sincerity. But I will never forget her words: “These children will all be staying here. We are loving them, teaching them, and equipping them so they can be the future of Romania.”

That’s when I got it. Hope is what restores a shattered nation. And hope is embodied not so much in programs or initiatives as in long-term investment in the lives of real men and women, boys and girls.

I saw much hope in Romania a few weeks ago. In 1997, just a few years after the Revolution, the landscape was still dominated by hulking, uncompleted buildings which loomed like statues of long-forgotten gods out of some scene inLord of the Rings. Today those legacies of Communism are being completed, converted, or swept aside. Roads have been repaved. The stores are brimming with food. I even saw, on the shelves, the ultimate sign of advanced civilization – Mountain Dew.

Our group helped dedicate a brand new church in a small town near the Black Sea. This congregation, which is only seven years old, has already established a dozen “mission points” in outlying villages. In each case they have trained and sent a young man to go live in a neighborhood where there is virtually no presence of Christian faith.

We talked with a pastor who has done what others might consider unthinkable: Armed with nothing more than confidence in Christ and personal outrage, he has stood up to the local mafia boss, the man who has been deporting young Romanian girls into lives of prostitution in Western Europe. The boss has backed down. There is great power when one man speaks with moral authority.

How has ZPC invested in this spiritual revolution? At least 60 ZPCers have made visits to Romania with Dave and Joan Gall, our Romanian mission “champions,” during the past decade. We have underwritten an orphanage and a shelter for sexually abused girls. We have served as the sponsoring congregation for a pair of vibrant new churches. Every summer our mission dollars provide a week-long summer camp adventure for Romanian teenagers, and the one-and-only “vacation” for four dozen pastors – a conference in which they can share Bible study, worship, conversation, and much-needed rest with their spouses and with each other. It was my privilege to provide the teaching for that event this year.

Eugen Groza, who oversees these Romanian Baptist pastors who are working to make a difference in their country, lived through the Ceausescu era. Now he has known almost two decades of freedom. Eugen has said, “I know what it is like to have to be ready to die for Jesus. I also know what it is like to be able to live for Jesus. I have become convinced that it is harder to live for Jesus than it is to die for Jesus.”

Indeed, it is. That’s true in Romania, and that’s true in Zionsville. Only a long and persevering obedience is equal to the task of transforming our nations, our communities, our households, and our own hearts. But by God’s grace, it is possible. And it is happening right before our eyes.

The Road We Never Intended to Take

A few summers ago my three sons and I undertook the ultimate road trip: a 9,300-mile venture from Zionsville to Alaska and back. Every stage of our trip went according to plan until we reached the Yukon Territory on our way home. There were wildfires in the area – more than one thousand of them, we later learned.

We pulled into the town of Watson Lake and noticed that a barricade had been stretched across the Alaska Highway. It was Monday afternoon. “We’ve had to close the road for a while because of the fires,” a highway worker told us. “When do you think it might reopen?” I asked, still hoping to arrive at our scheduled stop for the evening. “Oh…it should reopen by Thursday,” he said.

Even though the thought of spending 72 hours in a small village in the Yukon was fascinating in a certain horror movie kind of way, we decided to take our chances by backtracking to the only other road in that part of North America. It was a bad road. We saw wildfires burning right along its shoulder. Small reminders of civilization appeared at about fifty-mile intervals. Our cell phones were useless. Nevertheless things were going remarkably well – until we blew a tire on the rough surface.

There in the middle of the evergreen wilderness we met what can only be described as the Army Rangers of the mosquito world. While my son Mark changed the tire – I made sure to stand back and give him plenty of room – the mosquitoes descended on us as if were a long-awaited buffet. Impervious to bug spray, they went down our socks. They ventured behind my glasses. We drove off knowing we were now one more blowout away from being stranded without communication in the presence of mosquitoes that were imagining how they might use us as a future illustration.

To be honest, we were scared. We drove almost 24 hours straight, stopping only for gas, staying up most of the night inventing games to entertain whoever happened to be driving. Today, however, without hesitation, all four of us would say that that turned out to be the best part of the trip. We would concur with G.K. Chesterton, who said that an adventure is just an inconvenience misunderstood, and an inconvenience is just an adventure misunderstood. So often it is the unplanned stretch of road that generates the most lasting impressions and teaches the most important lessons.

Are you on such a road today? Do you feel as if you are walking through a wilderness? You never planned on having cancer; or losing your job after age 50; or having someone you love tell you that they don’t love you anymore. What assurances do we have? Only this one: We never go down such roads alone. God is always present with those who cry out for his love and his gift of hope.

To be fair, all wildernesses are not created equal. Sometimes we enter personal wastelands because we have stumbled through our own foolishness. Sometimes we suffer because of the actions of others. Jesus journeyed to the desert so his loyalty to God could be tested to the fullest degree. And we cannot overlook the reality that wasteland experiences are sometimes an outright punishment. The first year or so of Israel’s time in the Sinai was a God-designed spiritual classroom. But the next 38 years of wilderness wandering represented a judgment for failing to trust God.

For all its value as an opportunity for growth, however, the spiritual desert is not a place for weekend camping trips. Our goal must be to walk through it. Where is our hope that such a thing is possible? We find this refrain in Psalm 42:

• Why are you downcast, O my soul?
  Why so disturbed within me?
  Put your hope in God
  For I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God.

People of faith frequently conclude that the arid seasons of life turn out to be some of the best years of life. God teaches magnificently in the wasteland. It was in the wilderness that David, Elijah, and Moses had to choose between bitterness and trust. Would they become cynical about God’s promises, or renew their hope that God alone was faithful?

As we learn to keep company with God, we learn to see reality differently. Perhaps we began our spiritual journey years ago by thinking, “I want God to help me.” Increasingly we found ourselves counting on God’s positive response to our yearnings for signs of his favor: “I want God to bless me.” We may even have collected books and sermons and retreats to reinforce the goodness and rightness of that desire.

But then came a time in the wilderness. Gradually another possibility – raw and difficult – began to emerge. We began to imagine crying out, “I want God to be God. I want God not for what he will do to make me happy, but because walking with God is itself the greatest human happiness.” Keeping company with God in a barren time of life is a graduate education in learning not to cling to God’s blessings, but to cling to God alone. It may not be the road we ever intended to take, but it’s the pathway to some of life’s deepest happiness.

Fantasy & Reality

Americans love fantasy. We daydream about spectacular vacations. We wonder what we would do if we were holding the winning Lotto ticket. We transport our children to Disney World, where Cinderella’s castle dominates the landscape. Millions of us pretend to be NFL owners and draft our own fantasy football teams. Entire industries have been created to do little more than indulge our occasional escapes from reality.

But fantasy can also be relationally catastrophic. Gifted marketers are committed to luring us into the gray area of wondering if we aren’t missing out on life, simply because of the apparent tragedy of being stuck with the wrong life partner.

“Don’t you want to know who’s looking for you right now?” So beckons the Internet ad. Click on this space and you can be connected with a new best friend or a fantasy lover. What sells new products and experiences in our culture? The answer is dissatisfaction. Disappointment with my current job, or hairstyle, or car, or spouse, or religion is reason enough to go prowling for alternatives.

Hollywood has reinforced the notion that living out fantasy relationships is, well, fantastic. Media observers report that more than nine out of ten sexual encounters as portrayed in American cinema and television are between unmarried partners. Somebody else out there is always having the great sex. In the hopes of sharing that fantasy, some of us ultimately cross the line.

And then we get a taste of reality.

Senator John Edwards has become a wrenching object lesson in the cost of relational boundary-crossing. So have countless other politicians, entertainers, sports stars, business people, and religious leaders, including the pastor who helped introduce me to Christ. Fantasy can look so fantastic. But sooner or later it morphs into reality.

Author John Ortberg recalls hearing some compelling advice from a speaker: “Sit down and make a list of all the things that will happen to you if you mishandle your sexuality.” Ortberg did that. He wrote, “If I step away from God’s intentions in this area of life, I will stand to lose my marriage; the trust of my children; my capacity for experiencing intimacy; and my ability to worship. I will undoubtedly end up facing guilt and fear; the temptation to become a hidden person; loss of character; crushing damage to my reputation and ministry; weakness the next time I feel temptation; and the deep sadness that I would be passing on a legacy that would compromise my children’s ability to trust God.”

Ortberg keeps that paragraph close at hand. He reviews it regularly. It has become a safeguard in a culture that thumbs its nose at the ideal of personal purity.

All of this invites an important question: Why is relational fidelity such an ongoing struggle for virtually every generation?

I heard a few years back that the space shuttle burns something like 96% of its fuel in the first few minutes after launch. That massive burst of energy is required for the shuttle to escape the Earth’s powerful gravitational pull. The little fuel that remains is all that is necessary for orbital maneuvers. In the same way, God seems to have hardwired human love relationships with a “blast-off” phase. The forces of attraction that we initially feel, powered by hormonal surges, can feel like a real rocket ride. A good many songs are devoted to the excitement of the relational launching pad – although it must be admitted that at least half of the Country-Western songs are about coming back to Earth with a thud.

When it comes to relationships, Americans are addicted to rocket rides. Why not pursue serial launches? If you can’t blast me off (at least, the way you always used to) I’ll go and find somebody who can.

There is a world of evidence, however, that the “orbital” phase of a love relationship – the so-called straight life toward which every friendship and marriage is ultimately pointed – is the goal that God always intended for men and women. It is the context in which God’s gifts of kindness, love, and grace are best given and received. The absence of that launching pad “hot burn” is hardly a sign that a relationship has fizzled; rather, in the setting of healthy commitment, it is more likely an evidence of growing maturity – and the promise of deeper joys to come.

King David, who more than any other Old Testament character embodied the hopes and yearnings of ancient Israel, learned from experience the difference between fantasy and reality. His illicit relationship with Bathsheba nearly brought down his reign. But something crucial happened in David’s heart: He found his way back to God. His personal spiritual recollections of that event are recorded in Psalm 51:

“Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me… Restore to me the joy of your salvation and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me.” The good news is that no matter what our experiences have been, God will hear us when we call. And that is the reality on which we can ultimately count.

Shack Attack

There are a dazzling number of ways to divide humanity into two groups.

There are men and women; morning people and night people; Coke drinkers and Pepsi drinkers; introverts and extroverts; IU fans and Purdue fans; risk-takers and play-it-safers; and those who unroll the toilet paper from the bottom vs. those who unroll it from the top (as God always intended).

This year we can add a brand new way of dividing American readers: There are those who think that The Shack is a dangerous little book that distorts classically mainstream means of understanding God, and those who think that The Shack is a refreshingly imaginative way of introducing the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit to those who are confused, bored, or outright angry with God.

I count myself a member of the second group.

The Shack, by William P. Young, is a work of “Christian fiction” – two words that don’t all that often come together in a particularly creative or transforming way. Regardless, The Shack has become a phenomenon that cannot easily be ignored. It has rocketed to the top of the New York Times bestseller list. Bookstores can hardly keep it on their shelves.

The story spotlights a middle-aged dad named Mack who lives in the Pacific Northwest. Mack suffers a terrible loss – an event so painful that he describes the aftermath as the Great Sadness, an all-consuming heartache that dogs his every step and every thought for several years.

Mack is resigned to the fact that life will never feel safe again. He will never again experience true happiness. At a more subterranean level, Mack is deeply angry with God. Of what value is a deity who claims to be all-powerful and all loving, if in the face of the worst thing that has ever happened to him, God seems abjectly silent and unresponsive?

Within the first few pages Mack gets an invitation. It seems ludicrous. It appears to be from God. “I’ll be at the shack next weekend if you want to get together.” I don’t believe it will spoil the book for you to learn that Mack does indeed venture to the shack – curiously, cynically, and bitterly all at the same time – and receives an unexpected opportunity to rethink his entire life.

I have listened to a smattering of pastors and critics express their fear that the theological twists and turns of The Shack will lead people astray. I disagree. Given dozens of opportunities to venture into the deep weeds of confusing contemporary doubletalk about God (something which characterizes all too many recent bestsellers), Young stays within the boundaries of classic theistic orthodoxy, albeit with amazing daring and inventiveness.

My primary reason for recommending The Shack is simple: Here at last is a book that helps make sense of God for those who are so angry with him that they want to shake their fists at heaven. Mack learns something that has escaped a good many of us: God can handle our darkest feelings. Church can be infuriating for many people, especially if there is implied or explicit teaching that being mad at God is a terrible thing, and may actually prevent us from knowing God at all. It’s truer to say that God is far bigger than our wounds and our smoldering resentments.

This couldn’t be plainer than in the lives and the prayers of many of the Old Testament’s key characters. Moses becomes so exasperated with God at one point that he begs, “Lord, if this is the way you’re going to treat me, then just kill me right now.” Job goes toe to toe with God for three-dozen chapters, demanding that the Lord explain why his life has spiraled into non-stop suffering. Elijah, the prototypical prophet, descends into a suicidal depression that is fueled by resentment of God’s apparently flawed management of national affairs. David screams in one of the Bible’s most poignant psalms, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

In every case, God can handle the anger. He isn’t offended by human exasperation. It’s not an exaggeration to say that God picks a fight with both Moses and Job. “Come on,” he seems to say, “is that the best you’ve got?” The overwhelmingly message of the Bible is that we can dump a mountain of damaged emotions into God’s lap, only to discover that God’s intention to bless us will not be frustrated, and we ourselves will not be destroyed.

Is The Shack for you? I think it’s worth a try. Warning: If I had to do it over again, I wouldn’t have read the last 40 pages in a public place. Young makes an earnest effort to connect our fragile emotions and our deepest hopes with God’s amazing provision.

But then, that’s just the opinion of a male, Pepsi-drinking, extroverted night person.

Loyalty Worth Hanging On To

What’s the biggest change our culture has experienced over the past 40 years?

You can make a case for the explosion of technology, the decline of civility, the collapse of communism, the ascent of terrorism, the rise and fall of Britney Spears, or the spread of a pervasive “me-first” attitude in a majority of society’s members.

From my perspective as a church leader, I think the most compelling change since 1978 is the death of institutional loyalty. The church, in fact, happens to be a prime example.

Generations of Americans churchgoers were guided by a few simple principles. Worship locally. Virtually everyone lived within three miles of the local church (which happened to be roughly the distance they were willing to walk on a rainy Sunday morning). Brand loyalty. Once a Catholic, always a Catholic. Born a Methodist, die a Methodist. Hang in there. Even if you could barely stand your current priest or pastor, another one would probably come along before the next presidential election. Commitment was more important than comfort.

How things have changed! Loyalty to local congregations has now become negotiable – as has loyalty to the local hardware store, beauty shop, restaurant, and movie theater. The freedom provided by General Motors has gradually eliminated what used to be called the neighborhood church.

A “good sermon” is now 100% the responsibility of the preacher. We can thank television for that. Pastors had an unspoken covenant with the congregation: “I will do my very best to keep your attention. You do your best to listen.” That arrangement was shattered by the convenience of holding a remote control capable of changing anything remotely uninteresting at home, and by exposing church members to nationally known preachers who make their local pastor seem…well…not ready for prime time. It’s safe to say that most clergy don’t have hair as amazing as Joel Osteen’s.

Twenty-first century churches are expected to follow the path blazed by shopping malls, museums, and network news shows: We should be entertaining. Actually, the word is edu-taining. “Please entertain me while you teach me something I need to know.”

Ecclesiastical brand loyalty has relentlessly slipped away. Today’s churchgoers are far more interested in being spiritually fed, or enjoying outstanding programming for their children or teenagers, than signing off on a denominational creed. “Church shopping,” once comparatively rare, is now the preoccupation of up to 20% of American worshippers.

I don’t find such observations discouraging. The audience for God’s good news, after all, has always been a moving target. Contemporary culture waits for no one. But deep inside the human heart there are hopes and dreams that never change. People want to know Truth with a capital T. They yearn to be part of a movement that cares, and that will call out their very best efforts to make a difference. In a world that veers toward cynicism, young people especially seek some unmoving basis for hope.

During the 40 years that I’ve hung around church, I’ve noticed a growing hunger for spiritual vitality. “Challenge me to be a 24/7 disciple of Jesus, not just a two-hour-a-week student of religion.” Spiritually inquiring minds want to know: Is there life before death? How can an ordinary person change the world, right here and right now?

Institutional loyalty may be fading. But it’s impossible to overlook an incurable interest in Christ-loyalty. Church may seem boring, but Jesus is endlessly fascinating. Take him at his word: A practical commitment to Jesus’ agenda for life is something that in 40 years or 4,000 years will never go out of style. It’s a loyalty worth hanging on to.

Is There Only One Way?

Several years back I read excerpts of an interview with Sheila Larson, a young nurse. “I believe in God,” she said. “I’m not a religious fanatic. I can’t remember the last time I went to church. My faith has carried me a long way. It’s Sheliaism. Just my own little voice.”

Sheila Larson speaks for multitudes of Americans. Unlike other Western nations, which in recent decades have seemed to abandon religious impulses at every turn, America has seen an enthusiastic pursuit of personal spiritual experience. This is not to be confused, however, with the embrace of the traditional claims of religion, especially those of Christianity.

An increasingly number of people have jettisoned the idea that there is something objectively true out there for everyone to discover, and are instead coming to the conclusion that we all can, and should, maintain an inner truth that is ours alone, sealed off from the rest of the world.
That trend was confirmed by a survey conducted by the Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life, the results of which were published last month. It portrays America as a nation of believers. But the notion that my trust in God or Jesus or Moses is “the only way” to the fullness of life in this world, and to heaven in the next, is well on its way to becoming a minority opinion. Even evangelical Christians – those who are most often accused of Terminal Certainty when it comes to faith – are surrendering the concept of the “onlyness” of Jesus. Some 57% of the evangelical respondents believe that heaven can be accessed through other religions.

It’s hard to overstate what a dramatic shift this represents from past belief and practice. Forty years ago, Lutheran and Methodist parents might typically wring their hands if their children were dating Presbyterians or Baptists. Today it is more likely not only that church members will be ignorant about what “those other guys” believe, but to be fundamentally clueless about their own convictions. Interpreters of the Pew survey suggest that Americans are becoming not only more tolerant of other religious pathways, but more ignorant of their own.

Consider the watershed question of whether trusting Jesus is the only way to heaven. More than once I have been part of earnest conversations in which choosing a religious option has been likened to the kind of soul-searching that happens in Baskin & Robbins: Some people believe that Rocky Road is the One True Flavor, while others are prepared to give their lives in defense of Pralines and Cream. Wouldn’t it be wiser and better to acknowledge that spiritual choices are, in the end, just a matter of taste, and that different religions are essentially little more than different pathways up the same mountain of truth?

The implication is that all options are equal. Sheliaism is no better than Glennism which is no better than Jesusism.

The New Testament is a good deal edgier than that. Imagine a different illustration. A cardiologist has assured you that you are afflicted with a serious heart disease. You face numerous options. Some are foolish; you can choose to do nothing, for instance, and hope that your coronary arteries clear up by themselves. Some are dangerous; you can take a good deal of arsenic, which will guarantee that you won’t feel those chest pains (or anything else) within a matter of hours.

Gradually it becomes clear that there is one best way forward: Submit to heart surgery if you want to go on living. This illustration has limitations, naturally. Our technology of healing hearts continues to evolve over the years, while the Bible would say that you can’t improve on the remedy that Jesus of Nazareth proposed in the Sermon on the Mount.

When Jesus said, “I am the way, the truth, and the life; no one comes to the Father except through me” (John 14:6), I don’t believe he was closing the door on the possibility that he can save those who don’t know his name in this world. The God of the Bible seems to delight in introducing himself to those outside the boundaries of what his chosen people have expected at any given moment. Nor is tolerance something to be rejected. If by that we mean appreciation, kindness, respect, and open eyes and ears in our dialogue with those of different spiritual convictions, then tolerance is long overdue.

But if we are willing to examine with openness and honesty what Jesus said about himself, we will discover that he did not see spiritual truth as a matter of personal taste or as a preference of one path up the mountain over that one (because the view is so much better). We cannot deny that he saw himself as the uniquely competent surgeon for the human heart. The only question is whether we think that claim stands up, and are willing to act on it.

At the present moment in America, a majority of our neighbors seem to be saying, “He was sincerely mistaken.” Christians are those who are betting their lives that he wasn’t.

Daily Reminders to Forgive

What’s the most crucial of all relational issues? That’s easy. It’s forgiveness.

A woman once approached the late author Lewis Smedes, a man who came as close as anyone to being a contemporary expert on the challenge of forgiving, shortly after he spoke at a seminar. She said, “I appreciate what you have to say about forgiveness. But I think my forgiver is broken.” Smedes wisely answered, “I think all of our forgivers are broken.” He went on to note that, at best, most of our forgivers are in need of constant repair.

Despite our sincere hopes to the contrary, forgiveness is usually not a one-and-done exercise. I’ve heard people who have been deeply wounded by others announce bravely, sometimes only a few weeks after suffering great trauma, “I’ve forgiven that drunk driver,” or, “I’ve gotten past the fact that my ex betrayed me.”

I do believe that genuine forgiveness is possible. God makes it possible. God can put into our hearts a power to forgive and to release the stranglehold of you-owe-me or I’ll-get-even-with-you that typically comes with searing wounds. But forgiveness is a process. It may take years. Smedes believed that some hurts are like heavy bags of pebbles that we feel compelled to lug around; but pebble by pebble, day by day, we can let go of the hurt. Through prayer and dependence on God’s grace we can gradually stand upright again, unburdened by the weight of resentment.

When I think of those whom I have needed to forgive over the years, three people usually come to mind. Interestingly I still experience almost daily reminders of my need to claim a fresh “letting go” in my relationships with them.

The first is my father. The occasional turbulence that we experienced during my high school years was epitomized by an event that happened one Sunday afternoon. My dad insisted that I learn to drive the stick shift on our family’s Volkswagen Beetle. My slow learning curve, after all, was forcing the rest of the family to adjust the availability of our automatic transmission car to meet my needs. My older brother and mom had been giving me stick shift lessons, and I was entirely happy with their mentoring. But dad wanted results now.

My blood pressure was already high when I got into the driver’s seat of the Beetle, and I’m sure my dad’s was, too, when he entered the passenger side. There isn’t much room inside a Beetle, and the air was thick with emotion. I turned the ignition, engaged the clutch, and shifted into reverse. Except it wasn’t reverse. It was drive. I hit the gas pedal and the Beetle lurched into a tree alongside our driveway.

I can still remember the hurtful words we spoke to each other. I got out of the car and never got back into the driver’s side again. To this day, I still cannot drive a standard transmission car. All that happened almost 40 years ago. I do believe I have forgiven my father, and I think he has forgiven me. But virtually every time I see someone drive a stick, I think of my dad and that painfully awkward day…and I need to go back again and receive the grace of God that alone can heal such long-term hurts.

I also am reminded of a college friend, whom we’ll call Dave. Dave was a bit reckless. He liked to show me up. Dave and I were both sufficiently insecure that we competed for the attention of the group of students we hung around.

One winter break we journeyed to southern Michigan, where we took part in an exceedingly cold retreat at a camp. One of the highlights of our time was the opportunity to bounce down the local snowy slopes atop giant inner tubes. Just as I shoved off on a tube overloaded with screaming collegiate humanity, Dave came charging toward us at full speed. He piled on. My right leg was thrust outward at a strange angle. “Dave, get off!” I shouted. “Come on, McDonald, you won’t get hurt.”

But I did get hurt. When our tube hit a huge mogul, my right big toe was crunched. I limped around and felt sorry for myself the rest of the retreat…and resented Dave. But that was only the beginning. The long-term effect has been an ever-protruding bunion on my right toe and accompanying nerve damage. It’s especially painful when I have to stand for long stretches of time. And when might that be? When I preach on Sunday mornings…presenting sermons about oh, I don’t know, forgiveness, maybe.

I haven’t seen Dave for years. I know I have forgiven him for that silly moment on the slopes. But when I put my socks on in the morning, and I am tempted to go back to feeling sorry for myself, God calls me yet again to release any lingering emotional claims I have on Dave.
Finally, there’s a fellow with whom I’ve had an ongoing theological debate. He’s a great guy, really. But we’ve never been able to see eye to eye on about 50 Bible verses, all of which swirl around the same subject. Hardy a time goes by when I pick up my Bible that I don’t find myself in close proximity to one of those verses, and I am reminded of our pointed discussions more than a decade and a half ago. Isn’t Bible reading supposed to be a refuge from painful thoughts? Ironically, sometimes our encounters with God’s Word can prompt those uncomfortable memories.

When it comes to forgiveness, feelings can be decidedly unreliable seismometers. We may sense emotional earthquakes that aren’t really happening. I’ve come to the conclusion, however, that God allows such tremors in my life for a reason. They are ongoing opportunities to revisit the very nature of forgiveness.

By God’s grace, he forgives me. By God’s grace, I can forgive others. And by God’s grace, I pray that others will choose to forgive me for the myriad hurtful and foolish things I have inflicted on them – matters that may be unknown to me but have become a 40-year journey of letting go for someone else.

Meanwhile, I’m making progress. But I still have a ways to go. Just watch my reaction when you drive by in your VW Beetle.

Osama bin Laden is the world’s most wanted man. He may in fact be the most wanted fugitive in world history. He is the prime suspect in the September 11, 2001, terror attacks (which he has called “blessed”), and there is currently a $50 million bounty on his head.

What Western authorities know about bin Laden is that he is tall and lanky; at six-foot-four-inches, he may suffer from a genetic disorder called Marfan syndrome. He is one of 54 known children of Mohammed bin Laden – the only son of his father’s tenth wife. He himself has been married four times, and has fathered as many as two dozen children. He has been publicly disowned by his family, and his Saudi Arabian citizenship has been revoked. For more than a decade he has managed to stay under the radar of the world’s most sophisticated intelligence agencies. He is a man without a country or a safe bed.

Bin Laden is known to be exceedingly wealthy. He is also exceedingly committed to a radical interpretation of the Islamic principle of jihad, or holy war. Whereas mainstream Muslims have traditionally understood jihad to be a command to defend their faith (with force, if necessary), bin Laden declared in a 1998 fatwa (or binding edict) that it is a “duty” for Muslims to kill Americans and their allies, including civilians, women, and children, “in any country in which it is possible to do it.”

Through his formation of the radical Islamic group Al-Qaeda, bin Laden has endeavored to do just that. In addition to 9/11, he allegedly masterminded the 1993 attack on the World Trade Center; the slaughter of German tourists in EgyptU.S. embassies in Tanzania and Kenya in 1998; and the attack on the U.S.S. Cole that same year. in 1997; the bombing of the

Why is Osama so angry? Why does he picture the United States as the epicenter of evil?

Like many fundamentalist Muslims, he is outraged at the decadence of Western culture. He decries our continuing support of the nation of Israel. He is a committed opponent of Christian attempts to evangelize Muslim nations, and uses the language of war to describe what he calls Western imperialist incursions into the Middle East in order to secure oil.

It’s safe to say that the most frequently asked question concerning Osama bin Laden is the one that keeps the lights on at CIA Headquarters at night: Where is he right now? Let’s briefly consider, however, another question – one that ought to compel us to think long and hard: What would Jesus say to Osama bin Laden?

We must obviously approach such a question with great humility. Unlike God, we cannot claim to know the breadth or depth of anyone’s true circumstances or motives. Nor should we respond in a flip or cynical manner, as if Jesus would say the kinds of words we tolerate on irreverent T-shirts. But our response need not be sheer guesswork. In the New Testament’s four biographies of Jesus, which are known as gospels, we gain a wealth of insight into the mind of the one who claimed to be God’s Son.

If we imagine Jesus speaking four words to Osama bin Laden, they might be these:

Stop! Jesus made it clear that “all who draw the sword will die by the sword.” Violence is not the pathway to justice or peace, even though it has been a reflexive response of generals and presidents and gang leaders and terrorists for thousands of years. When given the chance to fight for his kingdom, Jesus chose sacrificial death instead – and thus released a power that continues to change human lives not by compulsion, but from the inside out.

Think! Is there a shred of evidence that revenge actually works? Bin Laden has said, “We treat others like they treat us… Those who kill our women and our innocent, we kill their women and their innocent, until they stop doing so.” But only in countries like South Africa, where the cycles of payback have been broken by miraculous gifts of forgiveness, has the killing ever stopped. Jesus provided this counter-intuitive counsel: “Do to others what you would have them do to you, for this sums up the law and the prophets.”

Learn! Love is more powerful than hatred. Jesus did more than merely speak such words. He demonstrated that laying down one’s own life is more transforming than taking another’s, or sending suicide bombers into crowded markets or embassies or jetliners. We cannot embrace evil and serve God at the same time.

Surrender! We may find it impossible or even repugnant to imagine, but God loves Osama bin Laden. It’s never too late…even for hardened murderers. The world’s first global emissary for the Christian message, the apostle Paul, was originally a zealous exterminator of Jesus’ followers. Paul never got over the fact that God overwhelmed him with mercy and grace, putting him on an entirely different path.

In truth, we don’t know precisely what Jesus might say to Osama bin Laden. But we do know what Jesus is saying to us about the world’s most wanted man: We must pray for him. We must ask God to open the eyes of one of history’s darkest and most twisted individuals…even as we thank God for graciously opening ours.

My Bucket List

One night last winter, at a dinner party at a friend’s home, one of the guests came up with this interesting conversation starter: What would you say is on your personal bucket list?

He was referring to the recent movie, The Bucket List, in which Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman, two men who are simultaneously diagnosed with terminal cancer, jet off to do all the things they’ve always wanted to do before they “kick the bucket.” They visit the pyramids; drink champagne in France; gamble in Hong Kong; jump out of an airplane; and generally risk their necks and blow a great deal of Nicholson’s money in an attempt to feel alive before life ends.

“So what is on your personal bucket list?” I was the first to answer the question. I should have been more patient. The first thing that came to mind, for some reason, was travel. I did a quick inventory of the places that I have been privileged to visit, and thought about the places I’d still like to see for myself. I mentioned a few countries and a few islands – China, New Zealand, the Galapagos, and the like.

Other guests were stumped. “I’ve guess I’ve never thought about this before,” said one of them. Still another guest answered thoughtfully, “I don’t believe I need to visit more places, or pursue more adventures. Before I die, I would like to help enrich the lives of other people.”

Rats. That’s what I meant to say. Is it too late for me to take back my answer?

I was thinking about The Bucket List a few weeks ago when I visited Petra, a spectacular series of ancient tombs cut into red sandstone in the Middle Eastern nation of Jordan. Petra was voted last year to the “new” list of the Seven Wonders of the World. It is perhaps best known as the dramatic backdrop where Harrison Ford and Sean Connery ride horses in the closing scenes of The Last Crusade. You can even get a coffee mug or a bullwhip at the Indiana Jones Snack Bar. I only wish I were making that up.

Nevertheless, you can visit all the wonders and swim on all the beaches and climb all the mountains in the world. But if your final goal is self-fulfillment, you will never come to the end of your bucket list. There will always be something else that another somebody thinks is worth seeing. Human selves cannot ultimately be fulfilled through travel, or adventure, or risk-taking.

Nor is self-preservation a worthy goal. Don’t get me wrong. I suppose I maintain a sort of negative bucket list – things that I definitely hope don’t happen before I die. I hope I never have to say the words, “my urologist.” Nor do I cherish being audited by the IRS. I hope I never receive the medical diagnosis that Ted Kennedy received a few days back.

But I am not the primary scriptwriter for my life. And one day my heart is going to stop beating, regardless of my most strenuous efforts to the contrary. As George Bernard Shaw memorably put it, “The statistics on death are very impressive. One out of one people die.”

If self-fulfillment is a dead end, and if self-preservation is rendered meaningless by our own appointment with the grave, what is worth doing with the remaining days of our lives? The apostle Paul boldly opted for self-abandonment. Consider these words from Philippians 3:12-14: “I’m not saying that I have this all together, that I have it made. But I am well on my way, reaching out for Christ, who has so wondrously reached out for me. Friends, don’t get me wrong: By no means do I count myself an expert in all of this, but I’ve got my eye on the goal, where God is beckoning us onward – to Jesus. I’m off and running, and I’m not turning back” (The Message).

The astonishing thing is that Paul wasn’t on a whirlwind global tour, collecting experiences and souvenirs, when he penned those sentences. He was stuck in a windowless prison. Yet he was vastly more content that the majority of us affluent moderns who are wondering how many more adventures it will take to bring us happiness.

I hope I get another chance to answer the question, “What is on your personal bucket list?” My answer won’t be a string of things I hope to do. Before I kick the bucket I very much hope to become the kind of person who loves God and loves others with such abandon that Jesus’ prayer – “may your kingdom come and your will be done” – can be at least partially answered through my life.