The Blog of Bethany Christian Church (DOC) of Richmond, VA

“I am the pack of lies, baby that keep you sane… The gates of heaven are opened wide, God help me baby I’m trapped inside, feel like I’m buried alive.”  ~David Gray “Nemesis”

The first time I listened to this song I thought the line was, “I am the pack of lies, baby that keeps you safe” instead of sane.  I am not certain that it changes the meaning too much, though.  Whether the lies we are told and tell ourselves are used to keep us sane or safe, there is no doubt that they exist.  Our lives are built around the idea that we can secure ourselves, guaranteeing our safety and our sanity.  That is what the pack of lies is all about.  The pack of lies is full of suggestions that we can be safe and sane in a world that is far too unpredictable for true safety or sanity.

So the lies become our masters.  We become nothing more than slaves to those lies that promise safety and sanity.  Lies are particularly cruel masters, though, as the return that they promise is no more real than a mirage of water in a desert, an illusion created to make us believe something that is not real.  And so, we live life chained to these illusions, unable to shake ourselves free of the shackles because we would rather have our illusions than the fear and insanity that comes with seeing life as it is – unpredictable, unsafe, and insane.  The lies darken our vision and keep us from seeing things as they truly are.  We are thankful that they don’t let us see fully.  We believe the lies and we tell the lies to others.

But Jesus offers us the same thing that Nicodemus was offered in John chapter 3, which is new life, the opportunity to be born again.  This is not simply a born again that offers us assurance of salvation, which in many ways is part of the illusion of security, but born again to a life free from the idea that we can be safe and secure.  Jesus throws open to us the very gates of heaven, both in eternal life and in the here and now.  Jesus offers us freedom from the illusions of safety, from chains that make us think that life is all about creating safety.  We are freed to live out love unconditionally and without fear because our lives are no longer controlled by the illusion of safety and sanity.  This kind of living is to have already entered the gates of heaven.  But this is a choice, between the darkness of the lies, which keeps us from truly seeing, and the light of freedom, which reveals that it is those very lies which keep us from entering the gates, from living out love unconditionally.

The shadow of darkness is powerful, the shackles that bind us to the illusion of the lies are strong. Even after we choose the light the lies will remain with us, and we will be tempted to return to the darkness.  We will be told the lies again and again for as long as we live.  We cannot simply make the choice one time, we must make it over and over, until we enter into the gates for the final time and the Kingdom of Heaven is established.

The choice is there, the opportunity awaits, freedom and light are calling to us in the midst of the lies and the darkness.

It’s amazing how quickly after any kind of disaster people begin to claim to know why or how something happened or who is to blame, even in the cases of natural disasters.  Whether it is Christian leaders, pop stars, politicians or athletes, people seem to trip over each other trying to be the first to offer up an explanation, often times not even stopping to think before they pronounce judgment.  A quick sampling can remind us that people have said that terrorists attacked America because of homosexuality, the earthquake in Haiti was caused by a deal with the devil, Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans because it is a city full of sin, and, now, among other things Japan has been hit by an earthquake, that then caused a tsunami, that then caused nuclear plants to move towards meltdowns, because of Pearl Harbor.

Whether seen through the lens of a vengeful God or karmic retribution these statements are reprehensible and show a greater concern to feel comforted and safe than they do for the lives that have been lost and those who teeter on the brink of disaster.  We have such a great desire to feel like we understand something so tragic so that we can feel like we can avoid it.  It gives us a sense of control over our lives when we have been confronted by something so far beyond our control or our understanding.  We build our lives around the idea that we can control them, that we can understand them, and we cannot let go of this, even if it means laying blame implicitly or explicitly at the feet of the victims of such a tragedy.

This does not simply lay the blame at the feet of the victims, though, it also lays the blame at the feet of the God who is proclaimed to be a God of love.  This problem shows itself in our language about tragedy, as we call what happened in New Orleans, Haiti and Japan “Acts of God”.  It also shows itself when honest atheistic and agnostic people ask Christians to explain how God can allow something like this to happen, or possibly even cause it.  I have sought an answer to this question many times, and while I think I can touch on the subject, I certainly cannot explain it beyond a reasonable doubt.  Many of my answers, such as free will or God is there with those who suffer, fall short of what I wish I knew and could report to those asking the questions.

All I can say is this, God is big enough to take the blame from those seeking to discredit God but Christians don’t do any good suggesting God acts heinously; the victims deserve our prayers and help not our blame; I do not believe this or other tragedies to be “Acts of God”; and God is there with the victims seeking to comfort, heal and restore and we should be doing the same.

“Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens.”  ~Gimli, “The Lord of the Rings”

Today is the beginning of the Lenten Season, which has become a time to give up one of your favorite things for forty days.  (It’s okay, you can cheat on Sundays.)  Whether you are giving up chocolate, soda, television, facebook or anything else, it has primarily become a time to change on the surface, and only as a symbol of what you are willing to give up for God.  As soon as Lent is over we oftentimes gorge ourselves on whatever it is we have given up.  So, then, what is the purpose of Lent, what good does it do, and is it a worthwhile endeavor at all?

If this is all Lent is, then no, it is not really worthwhile because we are not doing anything that could change us.  There are many things that Lent is supposed to be about as a season, and I don’t intend to cover them all here, just one.  Lent is, or at least can be, about journeying with the Messiah from the relative safety and comfort of a normal life towards a life of sacrifice, from the chasing after ease at all costs towards seeking the Kingdom of God in an oftentimes hostile world.

This journey is certainly not for the faint of heart, nor is it for those who want their faith to do something for them instead of asking something of them.  This road will darken the further we travel down it, and it will test us to the depths of our faith.  This is indeed the road that led to the Messiah’s suffering and crucifixion, and to the death of many of His followers in the early church.  This is a road that leads many to say farewell to following Christ.

But it is the fact that the road darkens that calls us to follow the Messiah down it.  If we are truly people of the light then the road which darkens is where we are called to shine our light.  It does not do us any good to shine our light where there is already light, but where there is darkness our light is needed.  This is the journey which Lent beckons us on, the journey that shapes our faith, that strengthen our character and provides us the opportunity to do something tangible.  I hope that we are not found to be faithless during this journey.

This Sunday is celebrated as Transfiguration Sunday on the Liturgical Calendar.  This is the Sunday we remember Jesus’ journey to a mountaintop with a few disciples and, there, He is transfigured in the presence of Moses and Elijah, and then God’s voice rings out declaring, “This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased.  Listen to Him!”  This Wednesday is Ash Wednesday, and the beginning of Lent, but for this Sunday, just before Lent, we are called to stand in awe of Jesus, to be reminded of who He is.

There is a great temptation here, at least for me, to take this story and start picking it apart in order to better understand it, or, more honestly, to see what we can learn from it.  What does this story tell us that we can translate into our lives or how can this story inspire us to action?  When I started writing this morning I was looking for those exact things, those exact ideas, but that really isn’t always the point of a story, there doesn’t have to be a moral, we don’t always have to look deeper and deeper into a text to find meaning, and sometimes we just won’t be inspired to do something.

That isn’t to say that there is nothing more to the story of the Transfiguration, that there aren’t deeper layers or things we can learn.  We could talk about the desire of the disciples to do something for Jesus and Moses and Elijah and what that says about them and in turn what it says about us.  Or we could talk about what God says about Jesus, how we should respond to that proclamation.  We could even talk about the importance of Moses and Elijah’s presence at the transfiguration.  But not today.

Sometimes we just need to stand in awe.