Culture Watch

I grew up in a conservative community, on a grape vineyard in Central California. In life and sports, making jokes at the expense of girls and women was as natural as breathing. We did it on the golf course, the baseball diamond, or when a classmate didn’t do well on a quiz.

When we made the same comments around girls, it was even worse. Some even just played along with a laugh. But I’m sure they weren’t laughing on the inside. It was all innocent fun, or so we told ourselves. It didn’t help that I grew up in religious institutions in which women were not allowed to teach or serve in leadership roles, except with other women or children.

In my journey of living loved, I’ve become more joyfully aware of how inappropriate that kind of humor is. It was rude and cruel even when women were not present. I’ve apologized and offered to make amends to many of the women who were the focus of that humor, but there’s no way I’ve gotten to them all.

Then, last week, in a phone call, a good friend read a quote to me by Dorothy Sayers, one of the first women to graduate from Oxford University:

“Perhaps it is no wonder that the women were first at the Cradle and last at the Cross. They had never known a man like this. A prophet and teacher who never nagged at them who never made arch jokes about them; who praised without condescension; who took their questions and arguments seriously. There is no act, no sermon, no parable in the whole Gospel that borrows its pungency from female perversity; nobody could possibly guess from the words and deeds of Jesus that there was anything funny about woman’s nature.

Ouch!

When I heard this quote, I knew I wanted to be like that guy, and all the more because his example has not borne much fruit in the world.  This quote made me aware once again of the stupid things I’ve said, but even more so, that I have not been as proactive as Jesus in guarding each woman’s dignity, wisdom, and value. That’s going to change too.

So, I want to apologize to every woman hurt by a joke I told or some misplaced attempt at humor. I’m sorry. And if you need that apology more personally, please let me know.  I’d be happy to do it in person and make amends if I can.

As Sara and I were walking our dogs through the neighborhood a couple of weeks ago, we noticed the license plate above on the front of an oversized pick-up truck.

We’ve lived in this neighborhood less than a year and it’s pretty clear where the angst-driven people live by their bumper stickers and yard signs. They glory in power, bluster in their anger at the world and seek to force change on their neighbors. I pray for them as we go by, knowing how tough it is to live with so much consternation and so little trust in the ways God works.

I don’t like a lot that’s going on in our world these days either. The overreach of government spending and power, imposing itself on every area of our lives is ghastly. But my hope for change does not lie in frustration or the political power it hopes to gain. I haven’t talked to the owner of this vehicle, so I don’t know what this sign meant to him, but I know there’s a meme out there among conservatives that we can’t be sheep anymore and just lay down and let the government, or the left, drive over us. We have to be lions, ready to avenge our grievances and force society to its knees. Sounds good, perhaps even Godly, but not if you’ve read the Book of Revelation.

Jesus does appear in the first chapter as the Lion of Judah, with fire in his eyes and a sword in his mouth. He’s worthy of that image. But every other time he appears in that book he comes as the Lamb of God. It’s the Lamb who was slain, who is worthy to take the scroll and open its seals. It’s the Lamb in the Center of the throne, the one the faithful follow at the end of days, and the Lamb is the groom for the Bride at the final marriage supper.

What do I take from that? God’s way to redeem the world is counterintuitive to human convention. We are seduced by power and seek to amass it to accomplish what we think God wants. But Jesus is not redeeming the world with has overarching power but by the tenderness of his affection. He doesn’t come as the roaring Lion, but the slain Lamb. The power of love is the opposite of the love of power. We plug into his reality not by seeking protecting our lives, but in laying down our lives and letting love win the day.

That’s why Jesus told his followers, “Behold, I send you out as sheep in the midst of wolves; therefore be shrewd as serpents, and innocent as doves.” He didn’t send us out to be lions at war, but incredibly wise sheep who see everything differently than the world does. I know how ridiculous that can seem to people who’ve never tasted the awesome power of laying down your life instead of forcing your way. But there is no better time than to learn how he works we will need it in days to come. This is where words like gentleness, generosity, kindness, humility, and tenderness define our path, which those who seek power mock and belittle.

Yes, it can be a painful road at times but it is also the only road to the victory God seeks. It is what he has asked of us—to follow the Lamb instead of pretending to be lions. 

I was asked last week how I was praying about the current strife in the Middle East. That would have been far easier for me to answer a few decades ago when my world was conveniently divided into a home team and an away team.

God loves the home team and those who acknowledge him. I could pray with passion for God to alleviate their suffering. God hates the away team, and we can pray down his vengeance on them, which gave me false comfort in our anger and helplessness. At least, that’s what I was taught.

Of course, I was on the home team as a passionate, evangelical Christian. Those who believed in the God, I thought, shared that team with me. Those that didn’t were on the away team, and my, oh, my, was God angry at them. (Or was it only me?)

Directing the hateful passages in the Psalms against those I perceived to be God’s enemies was easy. You know, the ones—praying for the devastation of his enemy and their kin, even that their grandkids would be plagued with boils. As I grew up, the away team grew larger over time. Originally, heathens were on the list—atheists and the like. But with time, the team expanded to include communists, socialists, Catholics (for some reason), Muslims, Democrats, dictators, cultists, liberals, people who refused to work, even complacent Christians who didn’t work as hard as I did or those who didn’t believe the same things I did.

Dividing the world into a home team and an away team gave me an easy way to route my grief and fear in times of tragedy. Suffering was not indiscriminate but God’s punishment for not living their lives the way he wanted. It’s not so far a step from there to believe that the pain itself proves you’re God’s enemy. Then, what do you do when you thought you were on the home team and disaster still strikes? Your faith gets rocked!  

I no longer believe any of that. Love has been teaching me how misguided I was. God’s heart breaks for the whole of humanity, for those who know him and those who don’t. Today, he holds the same grief for the Palestinian mom mourning her child as he does for the Jewish mom grieving hers. 

I don’t write this to discount the horrible evil people bring into the world. The attack in Israel was particularly horrific and depraved. The nature of evil that incites people to torture or terrorize innocents is a scourge on our humanity, and the weapon dark forces wield to wreak havoc on the planet. 

As horrific as that is, I’ve been invited to a different kingdom where love defines our responses, not vengeance or righteous indignation. Just how did we think Jesus would tell us to love our enemies and think God gets to hate his?

No, I write this to answer how I’m praying into this crisis. Honestly, I’m still holding space with God, tasting his broken heart for the human-on-human violence that consumes our planet. I see his pain when Jesus wept at Lazarus’ tomb and when he offered “loud cries and tears” to his Father. He feels the suffering of this world at a depth we can’t begin to imagine. He doesn’t delight in it. He’s not its cause; he is its remedy.

And here, I’m not talking just about the attack on Israel but all the conflicts and disasters in the world. The world is hemorrhaging blood everywhere—in Ukraine and Syria, cartel battles in Mexico, tribal violence in Africa, and despicable dictatorships in South and Central America. Who knows what happens in Russian, Chinese, and North Korean prisons or even our own? There are murders, famines, earthquakes, floods, and fires around the globe destroying people, along with the torment of disease, abuse, sexual assault, and slavery.

How does God hold all this pain?

I’m just beginning to learn as I sit with him and gaze at the news through the eyes of God and wonder what agony he endures as the Father of this Creation. Nothing wounds a father more than to see his children seek to destroy each other. I’ll let my prayers rise from there, and right now, I’m still holding that space with him.

What does it mean to God for us to hold a small measure of his pain? Perhaps it gives him voices on earth who can reflect his heart as well as his truth. Maybe the “fellowship of suffering” comforts him in the same way it comforts us. I’m not sure, but I do know one thing: Jesus wanted some of his friends to hold his pain with him in Gethsemane on the night of his trial and the eve of his crucifixion. They couldn’t offer it that night, but we can today.

What does it do for him? I’m not quite sure, but it is cleansing to my soul. Over the past two years, it has changed my life, my viewpoint of others, and how to find the redemption story in the unfolding realities of our ever-darkening world. It saves me from giving into anger and vengeance and finding a place for love to thrive in my prayers and my heart.

As the earth moves relentlessly towards its inevitable conclusion in Christ, we can partner with him by holding his pain and praying to advance his purpose in current events. If I don’t see reality through his eyes, I’m only left to offer up fruitless requests for my own comfort or my agenda in the gathering darkness. I’m convinced God wants an army of praying people fixed on his purpose instead of their gain.

How do I hold pain with God? I sit (or walk) with him. I gaze at the circumstance that concerns me,  contemplating what he must feel. I wait until I have a sense of that. Sometimes, it takes days or weeks, and I repeatedly ask him to show me his heart in that space.

As I get a glimpse of his heart, I reflect on the emotion or insight growing in my heart. I reflect on his power and wisdom and that everything is in his hands. I remind myself that the God I’m holding space with is not alarmed or disturbed. And I also look beyond the pain to the refrain of his glory seeping through. He’s the Redeemer in this story and will have the last say on everything.

I don’t try to fix his pain or offer my ideas for a way out. I just hold my heart with his and see what comes.

How did I learn this? Two places. First, in letting him hold my pain without the angst of having him fix it the way I want. I gain wisdom and courage when I find his comfort and wisdom more significant than my desire to stop the pain. Second, in holding the pain of others by sitting with them in their agony, grief, or disappointed expectations as we look for God’s revelation of himself. I don’t try to fix them either with my wisdom or for my own comfort.

I’m not naive enough to think I hold the fullness of God’s agony. No doubt it would kill me. But to have just the slightest taste of what he might feel changes everything—my feelings, perspectives, and hopes.

Most of all, I have come to learn that God’s love doesn’t discriminate between the home team and the away team. He loves us all at the core of his being and will do whatever we allow him to do to heal our hearts and win us into his freedom. Many will reject that, of course, but he never stops knocking at their heart, holding them in with deep passion and sometimes agony.

And when I know my Father hurts, I want to be with him, seeing what he sees and feeling what he feels.

I would not have wanted to miss this part of the journey. All my other attempts at prayer seem so meaningless now.

____________

For more on holding God’s pain, see our recent podcast on The Fellowship of Suffering.

As I hold the Ukrainian people in my heart these days, I find myself wondering what God must feel as he watches over his children in that part of the world. Last month, I received an email from a friend in Ukraine, and I have held its contents in my heart ever since. It has allowed me to see and feel what they are going through and to hold their pain differently than I would have a year ago.

Here’s the letter I received:

Today is the 290th day of the full-scale bloody unjust war of Russia against Ukraine. I am afraid to even write this because I believed that the Lord would not allow this horror to continue for so long. Unfortunately, it continues (How long, Oh Lord?)

Russia launched three massive missile attacks on our country. This is in addition to the daily shelling of certain regions of Ukraine. People died, and houses and electrical substations were destroyed. Millions of people in Ukraine suffer from the lack of light, heat, water, Internet, and telephone communication. Every day we are without light, heat, water, and communication for 12-17 hours. In other cities, people do not have light and heat for 15-20 hours a day. Authorities say the situation could worsen. Every day in Ukraine is a struggle for life, but this cannot be compared with the terrible conditions our military is in. Every day, the best sons of Ukraine die at the front. It is impossible to accept this. It is impossible to get used to it. We are constantly looking for words of comfort and support for the families of the victims. But in most cases, words cannot console. We just HUG THEM AND CRY WITH THEM.

We recently attended the funeral of two young soldiers. They were both only 21. They died in March, but their bodies could not be delivered until November. All this time, parents were waiting for an opportunity to bury their dead sons. It is hard to even imagine a funeral lasting 8 months. The day before yesterday, not far from the Belarusian border, a married couple died. The car skidded in the snow and blew up on a mine that was hidden on the side of the road. Now 8 children are left without dad and mom. After the children were told about the death of their parents, the boy asked if it was possible to call heaven.

Do we see God’s hand in these terrible days? Yes!!! He is with us in the dark and cold. He is with us when there is no water or telephone connection. He is our warmth and light. He is our water and connection. He is with our hero warriors. He is with Ukraine. Every day, every hour, every moment!!! Thank you for not leaving us alone with the beleaguered enemy. Thank you for your prayers, words of support, and financial help. You are God’s Angels for us, for Ukraine.”

Can you imagine living in all that heartache and pain day after day for almost a year? And all because one bully, Vladimir Putin, decided he was entitled to take a free country for himself, and the West refused to stand up to him because Ukraine was not part of NATO and they feared nuclear reprisal. Fear is always the currency of evil. And, please, my Russian friends, do not take these words as an attack on the Russian people. I’ve no doubt many of them decry this horrible war as well, as they, too, watch their children die for a cause they detest.

But what is God thinking when he surveys a world gone mad, where a few people given to evil can ruin the lives of so many others, whether it’s conquest as in Ukraine, sexual assault in a family, corrupt governments in Central and South America displacing their people, or a bully at school intimidating other students? What of the pain you hold even as you beg God to make it stop?

Many think God can and should stop all their suffering, and the fact that he does not either argues against his existence or his loving concern for humanity. I see it differently, like my brother who wrote the letter above. God is always in our suffering. I’m sure if he could stop all the suffering in the world immediately, he would. The joys of some people who experience abundance and bliss are certainly not, even in God’s eyes, worth the pain that others suffer in so many horrific ways.

Why doesn’t he, then? I wish I could answer that. I am convinced it is not his lack of will or power. I suspect it has something to do with the nature of God’s redemption for the whole of Creation and how that has to play out for reasons I cannot see. I do know this Father loves to his core as much for the people of Ukraine as for Sara and me. So, when I see Jesus weeping at Lazarus’s tomb, or “offering himself to God with loud cries and tears,” I know that God is not indifferent to young men and women dying in Ukraine, a hungry stomach in Kenya’s drought, or a sexually victimized young boy our girl weeping on their bed.

God grieves over the brokenness of humanity and the pain and suffering that results. I’ve no doubt he is doing all he can do to bring the Creation to full redemption and restore what he intended in the beginning. Yes, there is a strain of God’s presence that vibrates with joy and beauty, but there is also a refrain that holds the pain of his beloved children in sorrow and grief. Even though he can see what we cannot—a greater glory yet to come—he is able to hold the pain of everyone whose lives are impacted by the injustice and suffering of a world woefully out of sync with the Creator’s ways.

So, today I can sing and rejoice in all my Father’s goodness. And today, I can also hold the sorrow of those I love who bear the brunt of the world’s fallenness. And I suspect the latter will be more helpful than the former in teaching me how to live with a heart for his redemption and a compassion for my hurting brothers and sisters. As a friend of mine said recently, “Maybe he wants us to be one with the sufferings of the world and, in the same moment, be one with the victory of the Cross.” I have no idea what that means yet, but I’m learning.

Indeed, Jesus carries the heartache of the whole world, and we are invited to share in the “fellowship of his suffering” as well . . .

. . .  until his Glory comes in all its fullness.

Profound words from a man of great wisdom who lived that reality through greater hostility than I can imagine:

Through violence you may murder a murderer, but you can’t murder murder. Through violence you may murder a liar, but you can’t establish truth. Through violence you may murder a hater, but you can’t murder hate through violence.

Darkness cannot put out darkness; only light can do that.

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

“I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.” John 8:12

Come, let us live in the light as he is in the light and put darkness to flight.

Sean Kennedy, an author, and friend from the UK, wrote me about my most recent podcast with Mary, a new believer finding her legs on a relational journey against the religious voices that want to draw her into the captivity of guilt and obligation. He wrote about living on the edges in a way I hadn’t heard before, and it made a lot of sense to me. With his permission, let me share it with you:

A couple of things Mary said reminded me that the only place we can truly walk in freedom is on the edge. Jesus was hugely relational and yet at the same time an edge person. He was always working relationally, but he did so outside the institutions or at least on the edge of them. He taught in the synagogue occasionally and ate with the teachers of the law. But mostly he taught outside the synagogue in the homes and villages and fields where the ordinary people lived and worked. He was critical of power, yet when invited he met and ate and talked with the powerful. He also hung out on the edge with the sick, the foreigner, the sinner and those society disapproved of. His position on the edge helped him see things as they really were. Wayne and Kyle you have become edge guys. You’ve done your time on the inside of the institution, to see that it is usually an unhealthy dysfunctional place to be.  What I think is incredible is that Mary is managing so early to stay on the edge and not get sucked in.

When we are sucked into the center of an institution there we are in many ways at our most blind. Only when we live and work on the edge can we see more clearly. By all means go to a congregation if Jesus leads you, but stay on the edge with one foot inside it and one on the outside. On the inside we risk getting infected by groupthink and all sorts of religious oughts, shoulds and musts and becoming slaves of the institution. Only on the edge can we have a wider perspective.

We can see more clearly what is going on both the inside (good and bad) and on the outside. Only on the edge can we also see God’s invitations coming from surprising and interesting new directions. Amazingly I think Mary is somehow realizing this and resisting the temptations of being an insider. It is so tempting when we are invited in to become a member of the institution – and especially when we have a particular talent the institution recognizes in us. It’s not necessarily wrong, and may be an important part of our journey so long as we realize it is only for a season. It can become dangerous when we settle down and make the institution our home. And when we do spend a season on the inside it is especially important we make friends both with those on the edge of it and those on the outside of it so they can help us see what is wrong about the inside. Only then can we become a positive force for change whether it be on the inside or outside.)

I love his thoughts here. The people I see thriving in their relationship with God in these tumultuous times are those who aren’t committed to a specific kind of groupthink but are learning to follow the voice of the Shepherd. No one or no group has it all right. That’s as true of spiritual truth as it is cultural engagement. If you can’t see the strengths and weaknesses of whatever group you consider yourself a part of, you probably don’t spend enough time with people who think differently. That’s also true if you never see validity in the concerns of those outside your group. None of us knows all we need to know; thus, seeing others who disagree with us as evil will only lead us astray. That’s how the world seeks to manipulate us, even that worldly spirit among followers of Christ.

The truth is we’re all a bit flawed, and Jesus is still taking shape in us. Humility will go a long way to help us discern truth from lies. If you are not seeing Jesus point out the illusions in your journey from time to time, it might be because you’re not listening. You seek comfort in people telling you what you want to hear, not what you need to know. Only by hearing the voice of our Shepherd can we know what’s real and what isn’t.

The people living most redemptively in the world live on the edges, as Sean described. Isn’t that why Jesus challenged his disciples to be in the world and not of it? One thing that will help you do that is to live on the edges of groups with whom you identify. Don’t get in the center where it’s easy to be blinded; keep others outside of it in your eye line. When you have compassion for them, too, you are in a better position to discern what is true. God’s way may not be the one that I think serves me best. We are citizens of a kingdom that transcends politics, ethnicity, theology, and personal preference.

This reminds me of a story about Joshua on his way to Jericho in Joshua 5. He came upon a mighty man with a drawn sword standing in his path. Startled, Joshua challenges him most likely with all the hubris of a man on a mission for God, “Are you for us or our enemies?” 

“Neither,” the man replied, “but as commander of the army of the Lord I have now come.”  

It’s a silly question to ask God or his hosts if they are on our side in whatever battle we’ve engaged. It’s far more important for us to be on his. Even if we think our struggle is as clear-cut as the battle Joshua was about to engage in, we dare not think our side is always right, or we’ll end up mired in human thinking.

Jesus told his followers to be as wise as serpents and as harmless as doves. That warning has never been more timely. There’s no way we can do that without an attentive ear to our Shepherd and a more expansive view of the world than what any media can feed us.