Exploring the Well

Wandering the savage garden...

Comparing sins among people

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I had an argument with someone recently over the severity of sin. This person took great offense to the suggestion that she was no better than someone upon whom she looked down, and my assertion was that no, sin was sin – and a whole lot of little things fell out of the rather heated discussion.

For one thing, it took me a while to remove my emotions from the argument – and it was an argument, not just a heated discussion. That was probably wrong of me; I normally try to keep my emotions out of it, but just like the assertion offended the other party, her assertion that she was better than someone else offended me.

The thing is: I understand her point. It’s easy for us to say “I’ve never murdered; I’ve not stolen; I’ve not coveted another’s wife; I’ve not done this, I’ve not done that.”

Compared to someone who has done those things, whatever they are, it’s easy to say to yourself that God approves of your actions more than he approves of theirs – if He approves of theirs at all.

From a human standpoint, from the standpoint of the individual, this is probably true. If there’s a scale, and for us there is a scale, then yes, one who’s murdered another is “worse” than one who has not, all other things being equivalent.

But my point was that our scale does not matter. Here on Earth it does, I suppose; I’d not suggest the same sentence in jail for one who’s shoplifted and another who’s killed in cold blood.

Yet to God, there is no scale. I’m one of those people who hates litmus tests for people, but God uses one as the criteria for salvation, and praise be to His Holy Name that it’s the lightest burden to carry Man has ever known.

The test God uses is not: “Have you sinned?”

The test God uses is: “Have you accepted redemption through Christ’s death on the cross for your sins, and His resurrection?”

If you can say “yes” to that question, then everything you have ever done apart from that decision is irrelevant. God removes your sin from you, as far as the east is from the west. (See Psalm 103:12.)

Further, God tells us that there’s no gradation of sin – James says that if you’ve broken any of the law, you’ve broken all of it (James 2:10).

So we can see here two points of view: one is human, and says (correctly) that some sins are worse than other sins. This isn’t a new consideration; the rabbis held that anything short of murder was reparable.

The other point of view is God’s, and it says that all sin separates Man from God, and that all sin is reparable through Jesus Christ.

What, then, should we use as our perspective?

Well, it depends.

It’s understandable that we’re repelled by certain sins. Child abuse, for example, is horrible; once someone has shown that they’re an abuser of children, skepticism towards their rehabilitation is understandable (even if they are rehabilitated.)

That said, if one is a brother or sister in Christ, then… they are a brother or sister in Christ.

The parable of the prodigal son (Luke 15:11-32) hits this head on.

In this parable, a son wanders away from his father, entering into a wasteful life; he returns, penitent and regretful. (He asks to be treated as if he were a hired servant, not a son, in verse 19.) The father instead treats him as a treasure, once lost but now found, celebrating his return.

The story concludes with the older son, who resents the acceptance and celebration of the return of his brother.

28 But he was angry and refused to go in. His father came out and entreated him, 29 but he answered his father, ‘Look, these many years I have served you, and I never disobeyed your command, yet you never gave me a young goat, that I might celebrate with my friends. 30 But when this son of yours came, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fattened calf for him!’ 31 And he said to him, ‘Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. 32 It was fitting to celebrate and be glad, for this your brother was dead, and is alive; he was lost, and is found.'” (Luke 15:28-32, ESV)

The older brother’s perspective is understandable, in my opinion; he’s wondering why nobody celebrated his continual obedience while this wayward brother’s return is seen as a wonderful thing.

He’s focused on the wrong thing; he’s still looking at the sin, the leaving of the son from his father’s household, where the father is focused instead on the son’s return.

What a wonderful picture of the forgiveness of Christ, and how we should see those who turn to Him, no matter what their past has been! The brother is using the human perspective; the father is using the perspective of our Father in Heaven.

Clearly, we should strive with all of our being to see others as God sees them, and not as we in our human frailty and pride see them.

Shalom.

We Should Be Cities on a Hill

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Christians don’t act like cities on a hill very often. We should change that if we can. To me, as a modern person, the analogy is difficult – maybe we can find a different one that works as well.

The thing is, the expression in Matthew 5:14 is archaic; to a people who live in easy chairs, with secure roofs and cable television, being a “city on a hill” doesn’t really mean much.

A city on a hill, in those days, was a beacon, a symbol of safety from the horrors of the road.

The Good Samaritan is a story in which a man is casually attacked by robbers on the side of a road – and the point wasn’t the attack, but the response to it. People didn’t gasp at the attack – it was the casual attitude of those who passed by after the attack.

Roads were dangerous places. If you were on a road at night, you wanted to find a safe place – and a city on a hill was easily visible, even from the low places. If the city was lit by torches, all the better.

It meant safety.

I was watching #scripture on Undernet this morning, and a person apologized to another – and then proudly proclaimed his apology to the entire channel, and castigated the person to whom he’d apologized for not publicly accepting the apology. It came off as if he expected praise for having done the “adult thing,” which converts the “adult thing” to not even half an actual apology, and makes it a childish thing indeed.

He ended up calling the person to whom he’d apologized a wimp, and another person on the channel a “bimbo.”

This is not being a city on a hill; this is poisonous.

I was thinking that perhaps a lighthouse was a good analogy that might illustrate the same concept.

A lighthouse broadcasts safety, too; it says “there is something here that you should avoid.” You don’t go toward a lighthouse, because the presence of the beacon is a warning; you pay attention to a lighthouse unless you want to destroy or ground your boat, so you’re happy to see one.

The analogy breaks down, though, and badly. A city on a hill broadcasts safety, but definitely wants to draw you nearer to receive the protection; a lighthouse says “stay away,” and we as Christians should welcome people, rather than drive them away.

A city on a hill is honey; a lighthouse is vinegar.

As usual, I’m thrilled by how well Jesus puts things. I pray that we all can put them into action and become as He wants us to be.

Shalom.

Who should we be?

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This Sunday, our pastor spoke on womanhood, as per Proverbs 31. That makes perfect sense, as it was Mother’s Day, of course, and he had a lot of very positive (and instructive) things to say. Next week will be a sermon on manhood, which makes sense as a followup and because next Sunday’s the last day of our church’s men’s retreat.

He said out that Proverbs 31 wasn’t necessarily calling out every woman to be like this one woman, in all characteristics; such women would be dead by 30 from exhaustion. But instead, he pointed out the characteristics and their results, such as trustworthiness, honesty, industry, her relationship with God and her husband.

After the sermon, I told him I was looking forward to the men’s retreat next weekend, and he said that the next sermon was a tie-in with the women’s sermon – because part of what made being a proper woman difficult was the lack of proper men.

That got me thinking: what is the proper role of man?

I know I could always wait until next weekend to find out his thoughts, but I don’t like being that passive; I’d rather think it through for myself, and compare and contrast once I have further information.

I’ve always had to fight the tension between being an alpha male and a follower, a beta male; the alpha in me is the traditional “I am man, fear me” personality, and the more gentle side of me is (hopefully) kinder and gentler, more accepting, more of a peacemaker.

Yet many situations call for the warrior, the less gentle side; I’m supposed to defend my family and its desires. Yet how do I balance that with the desire to be gentle and loving to all around me?

More importantly, how do I gauge which aspect to emphasize in order to witness to others most effectively?

If I coerce others into doing right, whether by force or by dint of personality, that sends a negative message about God – it says that not only are His followers forceful, but they’re unbending.

If I yield to others, accepting their error and offering grace to them, then I run the risk of seeming weak and compromising.

For me, it goes back to the schools of Pharisaism, Hillel (הלל) and Shammai (שמאי). They were two rabbis in Jerusalem, a few decades before Jesus’ ministry, and they typically took opposing views of how to live.

Shammai was demanding; he expected full and strict compliance with the Law.

Hillel was milder; he advocated a liberal understanding of the Law.

Let me be clear: neither one discounted Torah. Neither one was “less of a rabbi” than the other; they just had different interpretations of how the Law was to be applied.

The way I see it, one should look at others through the eyes of Hillel: understanding of human flaws, kind, gentle in remonstrations.

At the same time, one should see himself through the eyes of Shammai: expect and demand the best from yourself, and brook no personal compromise.

It’s very difficult for me to find the correct balance between being accepting of others and yet offering a firm stance on what is good and right. I try, but I have not succeeded to my own satisfaction.

I don’t know how to compromise with others’ behavior without compromising my own. The tension between Hillel and Shammai is not easily resolved.

Eastern and Western Thought

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A friend this morning told me about a friend of his who recently lost faith, because of the contradictions in the Bible, and the various perceived cruelties of God.

I totally sympathize, but honestly, the “there are contradictions” meme is tired and inaccurate. Understandable, but inaccurate.

The problem is mindset. I live in America, where a western mindset is very much the norm.

In fact, I’d dare say that in most of the world, the western mindset is the norm.

It’s a Greek mindset. It wants to see the world as geometry, mechanics. The world looks like this and acts like that. Est ipsum – a thing is itself.

In this world, if Napoleon died while on his horse, then he died while on his horse and there’s no debate; no discussion is required, because the story is complete and fixed.

The Eastern mindset – a Hebrew mindset, although I don’t think it’s limited to Hebrews – is different. It wants to see the world as a story, or a flower, a growing thing.

In this mindset, a cloud is a rabbit, or a unicorn, or a bicycle – or a cloud.

In the Hebrew mindset, there’s no contradiction, because it all serves the larger story, or the larger picture – this is the top of a leaf, that is the bottom of the leaf, and they’re different, yet they’re the same leaf.

The story is the thing, to paraphrase Stephen King. What serves the story – meaning the larger narrative, not a fable – is what is truth for that story. It may not be literal truth from the Greek mindset, but it is truth – and to the Hebrew there’s little that’s “literal” in the purest sense.

This means the contradictions are localized – and irrelevant to the larger narrative. This also frees us from the absolute edicts handed out at random (“Judge not!” “Judge!”) because those edicts are part of their narrative, and part of the underlying narrative, but they are not the narrative themselves.

Shalom.