Learning from the Reptiles

A few years ago I bought my wife a tortoise as a gift. Why? A fit of madness, I guess. Predictably, I wound up being the caretaker of this reptile, which will now be a burden to my family for the next 100 years or so. Anyway, I began to absorb some lessons about how God relates to us from this phlegmatic little creature, which my wife named Lulu.

Lulu is inherently vulnerable, being small, docile, and extremely slow. Her only defense from predators is to retreat into her shell at the first hint of a threat. Sudden movement, noise, even a change in light will provoke this reflex. This makes her hard to approach. So instead of trying to come close to her, I’ve learned to pick her up from the back and bring her close to me. Somehow, this doesn’t provoke the defensive response: Suddenly I’m in her face, but she’s not freaking out.

God has often done a similar thing with me; I wasn’t seeking Him and didn’t see Him coming, but He moved me around without my knowledge till suddenly there I was, facing him. And it was OK.

I try to be gentle and slow when I pick her up, to give her time to process. But sometimes, for reasons I can’t explain to her—she is a reptile, after all—I have to be abrupt and quick. It's for her own good: The dogs are getting too close, or I’m late to work and need move her in a hurry. And she just has to live with it. As we do, when life changes underneath us for no apparent reason.

Feeding the tortoise is another lesson. I have to set the food down where she can survey it awhile from a safe distance. When she moves forward, I move the food toward her. ("Draw near to God and He will draw near to you.") When she stops, I stop. After she sees that the food is no longer moving and not likely to attack, she’ll approach cautiously, sniff it, rub her cheek on it, check it out some more—and then, slowly, venture forward and take a bite. She follows this ritual, even if it’s the same red-leaf lettuce I’ve been feeding her for years.

I think animals were created to illustrate certain traits to us. With dogs, it’s loyalty. Raccoons? Craftiness. Beavers, industriousness. You get the idea.

And tortoises? Caution. Extreme, stubborn, incurable caution. And anyone seeking a relationship with a tortoise will need almost infinite patience. These creatures don’t do anything in a hurry—especially, change.

But, a relationship is possible. Nowadays, when Lulu sees me she’ll turn toward me and slowly extend her old-man neck. I can pet her gently, and she’ll eat readily from my hand. And in a strange way, it’s worth the hassle. I guess God feels the same way about us.

Flying Dreams

Once I went on Google Earth and tried to find the place where I used to live in the woods of northern California. My old digs weren’t near any major cities or landmarks, so I found myself scrolling over endless miles of nondescript wilderness on the computer screen. I couldn’t find it, and finally gave up.

It was a lot like the dreams I have, where I’m flying over miles of terrain at night, searching for something or someone, though it’s never quite clear. Usually my dreams are little dramas that involve me trying to accomplish something, and feeling frustration and angst over not being able to get it done. In other words, they’re a commentary on my life.

I think dreams are always about something. Don’t you?

Are you a good listener?

Most of us think we are. But when someone is sharing from the heart, it's hard to resist a few things that can make us bad listeners:

1. Talking over the other person
   
2. Offering solutions
   
3. Replying with our own experiences
   

That last one is especially tempting. I indulged in it just yesterday. Probably will again.

But nothing can make a person shut down more quickly than sharing about their upcoming cancer surgery and hearing, "Oh, I know! Last year I had surgery on my elbow. I couldn't write for two weeks ..." etc.

Meanwhile, you're so involved in your own story that you didn't notice the other person quietly walking away.

The classic complaint from women (usually towards their men) is, "I just want to be heard."

What does that look like? I was talking (and listening) with my wife last night, and she put it this way: "We just want someone to be watching for the ball—and to catch it. Then, at some other time, they can throw—and we'll catch. And that's how relationships grow."

And, about that wisdom that most of us feel compelled to share? She continued, "The last thing we want is answers from men (i.e., humans). We flee from the wisdom of men! After all, most of our problems come from men."

Good point.

Bottom line: "We want another person to say, 'Yes, I'm present.' Most of all, we don't want to be alone."

Are you listening?

Two Visions of the Church

By coincidence (or maybe not), I'm reading two books right now about the church: one by a Presbyterian minister who converted to Catholicism, and one by an apostle of the current house church movement. They present two diametrically opposed views of what the church ought to look like.

From the Kirk to the Catholic Church was written by Henry Graham in 1911. It describes in agonizing detail his journey from the Presbyterian kirk (church) of his youth in Scotland to his calling as a Catholic priest. That's quite a jump, and it was violent in many ways; he had to disavow the stern Protestant biases he had grown up with, and interrupt a proud family tradition of producing Presbyterian ministers generation after generation.

He found himself enchanted by the beautiful aspects of Catholicism: its stately rituals, inspirational art and architecture, and the simple devotion of its adherents. But he was most attracted to the idea of the Catholic Church: One authority extending through all communities and all time, explaining the truth of the Bible and its applications for all believers. After all, hadn't Jesus prayed that His followers would be one? And hadn't he promised the Holy Spirit to lead us into all truth? How would He do that, except through the teaching authority (the Magisterium) which He had ordained in the church?

By contrast, The House Church Book (previously printed as Houses That Changed the World) depicts an utterly decentralized church structure. Wolfgang Simson goes beyond deconstructing even the standard Protestant church model, and targets the modern cell church, because its leadership structure is typically hierarchical and encourages ladder-climbing. Instead, house churches should be small and autonomous, led by elders (not professional ordained ministers), under the loose oversight of apostles along with the other five-fold ministries.

This is radical stuff, and bound to make virtually everyone uncomfortable on some level.

Which way do I lean? You can guess. But I would point out that nothing I read in the book of Acts or the epistles suggests anything like a centralized church structure.

Hmmm...

On the Other Hand ...

A couple of weeks ago I wrote a piece for our church website on Disappointed Christians--believers who had lost their faith.

I thought I was writing for those other poor souls who had strayed from the path. Turns out, it was for me.

In just a few days, I was contemplating driving my car into a tree, just to ease the desperation I felt. That thought passed, but I found myself considering other, less violent options. Pills? Carbon monoxide?

My cowardice ultimately won the day. Besides, what if the Catholics were right, and committing the sin of self-murder left no possibility for penance or forgiveness? I was going to throw away everything God had done for me and in me, just because things were tough?

I also know what it's like to pick up the pieces after a family member commits suicide. No way I could inflict that on my loved ones.

Alright, but I'm definitely quitting Christianity. No more church, no prayer, no Bible reading. It's all pointless! I'm just going to be a quiet cynic.

No, that wouldn't work either.

I'd be faking it. Too much water under the bridge.

God let me squeal and wail for a night, then gently led me back to the path.

Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me.

For me, that's never been so real.

A true David and Goliath story

Two years ago this month, I called our mortgage company to check on the status of our loan modification. I had been told I'd receive a package within a few weeks, and should just wait. When it didn't arrive, I called the bank and spoke to a kind service representative.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," she said, "but your home was sold at a Trustee's sale—three days ago."

Before I had a chance to recover from that news, I heard the doorbell ring. It was a real estate agent who worked for the bank—what we call an REO agent. "I'm sorry about what has happened to you," he said, "but your home is now owned by Fannie Mae. I'd like to discuss the terms under which you will leave ..."

It was just the beginning of a long ordeal. We immediately began efforts to get the sale rescinded. But all the smart people I talked to—attorneys, bankers, real estate professionals—said we were wasting our time; Trustee's sales were virtually never rescinded.

They were right. Our efforts failed.

And then God who raises the dead opened a door. Miraculously, with the help of an angel within Bank of America named Dee Gilbert, our sale was rescinded, and we were put on track for a modification (again). But in the meantime, our home was again scheduled for a foreclosure sale. Deja vu!

Finally we were granted a permanent modification, and yesterday I checked the upcoming foreclosure sales online. For the first time in a long time, ours was not there.

Glory to God, who takes care of his children in the face of insurmountable odds!

The Church is like a weed

Does it bother you that there are so many churches? It does me. As I drive from my home to my own church meeting I pass probably a dozen churches—some traditional buildings, some tiny storefronts, others hidden in industrial parks or rented schoolrooms. I don’t know the people who attend any of these congregations, and don’t have a particular desire to. That's odd, if you take seriously the prayer of Jesus that we believers should be one, as He and the Father are one.

But there’s another way to look at it. In my cursory studies of church history, I’ve noticed a pattern: Spontaneous movements have always sprung up within Christendom, particularly since the reformation, but before as well. They defy all efforts by civil or church authorities to stop them; in fact they flourish most in hostile environments. In this sense, the church resembles a weed.

Does this sound insulting, even blasphemous? Don’t be offended. I have great admiration for weeds, after decades of observing and fighting them. You should too. Like everything else in God’s creation, weeds have something to teach us.

Here are four ways the church is like a weed:

1. It is irrepressible. The church’s most explosive growth took place under the oppressive thumb of the Roman Empire. In our day, the church in China and North Korea has expanded to untold millions—under the most horrific conditions imaginable. Like a weed, the church has proven to be amazingly sturdy and resilient.
   
2. It multiplies. The church not only thrives in adversity, it spreads—like the weeds in my backyard planter.  No sooner do I dig up the obvious ones than I notice three more in their place. Getting rid of them is literally an impossible task. We should be happy to see churches springing up in every corner of our world. Clearly, that’s the way God wanted it.
   
3. It is unwanted. What’s the difference between a weed and a domesticated plant? Basically, the weed did not have my permission to grow. I wanted my rose bush in that spot—nothing else. Instead, this unsightly intruder has the impudence to assert itself, without shame, in my very own planter! It bothers me, but I can’t get rid of it. Now, look at the way the world responds to any visible presence of the church beyond its own walls. We are indeed unwanted. We are rude, repugnant, and irritating to those who view themselves as the natural stewards of the world system. If the presence of so many churches makes you feel unsettled—imagine what it does to the god of this world! We are an endless source of vexation to him, but he just can’t stamp us out. 
   
4. It has hidden value. Isn’t it just like God to disguise his most valuable secrets in unappealing packages? Nettles, dandelions, chickweed, comfrey, chamomile and buckwheat are among hundreds of common herbs that may be growing in your yard right now. They’re obnoxious because they grow where we don’t want them. But it turns out, they’re all useful as food, medicine, or both. The church has an unappreciated function of nourishing and healing human beings, whenever they happen to stumble through its doors.
   

As you pass by the hundreds of churches in your neighborhood, you might say a quiet prayer of thanks for the profusion of God’s life, in places it’s not expected or wanted.