I Would Never Do That

There is one thing for sure that God tells us to do that He would never do Himself.

That just sounds wrong, but it's true. We criticize parents, for example, who do the very things they tell their kids not to do, like swear or lose one's temper. "Do as I say, not as I do" is widely criticized as a terrible way to lead. Instead, many leadership books today remind leaders that they must lead by example or they won't lead effectively. And yet, there's at least one thing God tell us to do that He absolutely will never do.

Any guesses? Maybe it's something like, "worship God." However, Jesus demonstrated worshipfulness by example many times while on earth. Related things like "glorify God" are certainly things the incarnate Jesus did. Maybe it's something that God would never, ever do, like "sin." But God would never command us to do that. How about something very human, like "get married"? That's a possible answer, but I'm not sure that's something the incarnate Jesus could not have done. Contrary to all these, the whole idea of following Jesus means to do what He did and be as He is. That's generally how discipleship works. How can He tell us to do something He'd never do?

God has two kinds of attributes. The first kind is called His communicable attributes, which are those attributes that we can and should have, such as mercy, compassion, love, boldness, truthtelling, generosity, etc. The second kind is called His incommunicable attributes - those attributes that we cannot have and should not strive for, such as sovereignty, autonomous glory, eternality, and so on. It was precisely the sin of Adam and Eve to seek the attributes of God that they were not supposed to have.

One thing for certain that God commands us to do, but He Himself will never do (indeed cannot ever do) is to change. God is the same yesterday, today, and forever. He will not change. He cannot change. He is perfectly perfect, so He cannot become smarter, faster, stronger, more merciful, or more experienced. He cannot become less in any way, either. He is outside of time, and therefore cannot change (since change requires time). Changelessness is one of his incommunicable attributes - He is as much God as God will ever be.

Change. He can't; we must. We are less than, we are imperfect, we are unlike Christ in many ways. But our destiny in Christ is to become like Him. We are commanded to change, and in fact, the whole idea of discipleship is change - changes in our beliefs, actions, attitudes, hopes, and worldview - all toward more and more Christlikeness.

Therefore, we should never settle for where we are in our faith, our habits, our relationships, our knowledge, or our character. We should persistently pursue change, rather than rest on "good enough, better than most." Change stands out as one thing we're absolutely commanded and expected to do, but something that our God will never do.

In this one way, technically speaking, we can't follow Jesus' example - but it's what we must do in order to follow Him more.

D) Not as many of the above as it used to be

The last several weeks have been primarily dedicated to getting my folks moved. They were renting a home in Lawrence and now are enjoying "independent living with services" in Olathe. In nearly every respect, it has been a fantastic transition.

In helping them with this, I have had to face new questions - questions about our own future, but also questions about the aging process in general. Downsizing (which is a nice term for "letting go of things we really have enjoyed") is more than a process of deciding what to keep or even what memories to hold onto. There's a larger question, and it is about more than downsizing - it's about getting older.

The bigger question is about options.

The aging process is a slow reduction in options - options of activities, travel, diet, endurance, hobbies, and even expressing one's giftedness. Our years growing up are all about adding options, and the sunset years include the dismissal of options. Some options are dismissed involuntarily. Some are dismissed voluntarily, but not joyfully. And there are a few that are just pure relief to be rid of.

I think about the things my folks knew they needed to part with, but really didn't want to. I think about the things I will one day have to make the same decision for. It's not just the thing itself. And it's not always the memories and stories that are attached to the thing. It's that the thing represents another option, something I could do, and if I give up the thing, I am giving up an option. Chances are, giving up an option in later years means never getting it back.

To their credit, my folks did a great job letting go of things, memories, and even options. And to our pleasure, new options have opened up for them, because they now have a situation far better suited for their lives. (Dad, for example, didn't used to have free ice cream available every day at 3pm!)

Some of their items are now in our basement - too precious to let leave the family, but too bulky to move into their new space. As I was stacking those items this week, I mentally ticked through all the stuff in our house that belongs to us. How many of those things represent true, meaningful options? More importantly, how many of those things are merely burdensome, stealing away better options because of the maintenance and attention they require? How many of my things that I don't want to part with are actually thieves of my options?

What new options would I have if I shed myself of these thieves? What future options do I hinder because I demand these things now?

I want to sort through the entire house, now, and make a decision to keep or not keep items based on just one question - not based on value, not based on memories, not based on anything else other than options. True, meaningful options (lest I fall into the "just in case" trap!).

On an unrelated note, watch this space for a garage sale notice sometime soon. You'll need those options ... just in case.

So Much Death

Last week, one of my students died.

He was a husband and father, and he was one month away from graduation. He fell ill, and within just a few days, passed away. He was gone before I even knew he was sick. Unfortunately, his story is not all that unusual in Kenya.

Edwin was a student at a seminary in Kenya where I have taught several times. I was by no means one of his most imporant teachers, and to say "my student" only means that I had the privilege of having him in a few of the short classes I taught. There are other, very gifted teachers who spoke much more into his life.

Under normal circumstances, we talk about students in terms of their academic prowess, as if that's the most important attribute of being a student. Edwin did good work, and I appreciated his contributions in class and in group assignments. But his greatest attribute was not whether he was an A or a C student, but that he was committed to use whatever he learned. His identity as a student more about applying everything he could learn and less about grade cards or the idle accumulation of knowledge. He wanted to learn so that he could apply it right away.

Sometimes as students we say, "I don't even know why we're studying this." Someone chose it to teach to us, but somewhere along the way, we can end up without knowing what we're learning it for. On the other hand, when we know from the beginning how we're going to apply what we're about to learn, we are far more motivated to learn. Along the way, we ask far more pertinent questions, we solidify it as knowledge by actually using it, and then we have truly "learned."

This is where death comes in. Death is not more common in Kenya than in the US. The death rate in both countries is 100%. Life expectancy may differ, but there is no less death per capita. There is so much death ... in both countries!

Death is why we learn. "Why am I studying this?" Because one day, you will die.

That doesn't render your education meaningless. Quite the opposite! It makes what you learn precious. You will die one day ... but until that day, with a limited number of days between now and then, the things that we can do that will matter will require learning. In almost every case, what we-who-will-die can do that will have any real meaning requires us to learn. And so, because death is entirely common, we learn in order to do meaningful things.

Put another way, since we each only have a finite number of days left, it's hard to redeem those days with activities that require little learning. If we want to spend those days well, we remain students.

For example, it doesn't take much learning to spend time with your kids at the park. But we must be students of both our children and the world around us in order to connect our children to their habitat in a meaningful way. Where did the trees come from? Why does it matter to recreate as a family? Why is that guy on the bench homeless? And what should we do about it? How do you throw a curveball? Why should we pick up our trash (even from a theological perspective!)? Why is fair play important, since the workaday world is dog-eat-dog? Do I have enough money for ice cream? Why is that old woman alone - what is death? What happens after we die?

That which will be valuable in the dwindling days of our time here will be far more substantive if we're students. Death is why we learn this stuff.

Discipleship ala IBM vs. Google

When I worked at IBM as a software developer in the late 80s and early 90s, we created rock solid software by following a rigorous process. We had to step through every line of code (down at the assembly level) in a debugger to demonstrate that every possible code path was successfully executed. We had a punishing series of data boundary tests, power interruption tests, error recovery tests, speed tests, and so on. Only after passing all of those tests perfectly did we hand the code over to the professional testers, who we had to personally reward if they found any bugs. We would have been ashamed to ship any software that was shown to be immature in any way.

The result was bulletproof, fully mature software. We had extremely few customer calls and spent very little on support. We didn't go out the door without what we thought to be perfect and full-featured. But it was also true that we were slow to market. The industry was fleet afoot, but we were plodding and slow. The perfect tortoise had trouble competing with the imperfect hares (our competitors). Being perfect didn't matter if you weren't available in the marketplace.

The Google model is different. They don't skimp on quality - they produce good code, but code that doesn't yet have all the features. They are famous for some programs being in the "Beta" stage for years. They have "labs" for a lot of their programs - experimental features without guarantees of quality for the users to play with (and report any bugs) long before they include those features in the official product. For example, I've used Google Docs for years, from the earliest days when it had only the most basic features. Over time, that software has matured into a product with a rich set of features. They are unashamed to show their software before it is fully mature. The result is (usually) good quality software but much quicker to market - software that is already in the game as it matures.

With respect for both companies, this comparison illustrates two approaches to discipleship. The first approach is the one many of us are familiar with. Don't "get in the game" of ministry and disciplemaking until after you feel fully mature, developed, and even tested. The expectation is to enter the "marketplace" nearly bulletproof, but the result is that we are very slow getting to market. Some never get to market at all, because they don't feel sufficiently mature.

The second approach to discipleship is to get to market quickly, not by skimping on quality, but getting in the game with just the basics and then maturing along the way over the years. Don't expect to have a full set of features early on, and even experiment with some ideas to see if they are fruitful. If not, stick with what you know works. Get into the game as soon as possible and grow there.

The twin dangers of the first approach are never getting in the game and the temptation to put on a false front of being a better, more complete disciple than you really are. We're supposed to reach bulletproof level, so we pretend to be more bulletproof than is true - we're ashamed to be seen as less than sufficiently mature.

Rather, we are works in progress, and can be in the game long before we have matured in the faith. We should not be ashamed for others to see that we don't have it all together, but are still being transformed by Christ. I suspect people are more impressed with Christ by watching followers mature right before their eyes rather than never really getting to know them until they are already far down the path.