Resume to Presume to Assume

If I assume that everyone is out to get me, and you innocently ask, “What are you up to?”, I will conclude you’re trying to find a way to accuse me of something wrong.

If I assume that today is going to be rotten and I hit a normal red light, I’ll mutter under my breath, “See? I told you so!”

If I assume that you have the best intentions, then when you make a mistake, I’m very likely to shrug it off.

What we assume has a strong influence on how we interpret what we see and the decisions we make. That’s not a groundbreaking conclusion. Consider, though, that what we assume about God will have huge implications on how we interpret what He does, what happens throughout the day, what opportunities are ahead of us, and so on. Assumptions matter theologically to our daily, mundane, “secular” lives.

Not just what we believe about God, but what we assume about God. What we believe may be a theological truth we accept or a deeply held belief that rumbles in our soul. What we assume is what we take for granted before the evidence is in, what we expect to happen and what we expect it to mean. Without a strong argument to the contrary, what we assume will be what we eventually conclude.

It’s like the instant replay rule in football. The initial call is our assumption, the replay is the evidence, and unless there is irrefutable evidence to overturn, the initial call will stand even if it’s wrong. Assumptions change outcomes.

Take God’s sovereignty. If we assume that His sovereignty doesn’t extend to the work that we do, the place where we live, the people that we know, and the strengths that we have, then we’ll make several conclusions. We’ll conclude that where we live is effectively random, and therefore our neighbors are random (not sovereignly placed in our lives). Our jobs are our jobs to do with whatever we please, as long as we give God some attention and work ethically. Our abilities are either a roll of the dice or just what we happened to develop.

But if we assume that God’s sovereignty is very extensive (but not necessarily deterministic), then we will conclude very differently about the very same aspects of life. Our lives aren’t random and our neighbors are people God intends for us to be near and even interact with, specifically. Our gifts are sovereignly appointed and therefore our lives have a particular place in a larger scheme. Our calls are to something more than being decent people. Yes, our lives could easily be different, but they’re not.

My assumption will influence my conclusion without irrefutable evidence, even if I’m wrong. So, I need to think carefully about my assumptions, especially my assumptions about God.

Experiment a little. Take a week to hold a different assumption about the sovereignty of God and see how that flavors your own interpretation of your week, your work, the people you meet, and the abilities you’ve been given. How will you end up reading your week differently?

What’s your assumption on the sovereignty of God? Not just your belief, but your assumption?

Are you right where you're called to be?

God didn't call you to be right.

It pains me to say it, because being right is something that I value highly. Some of my ugliest moments are when I'm fighting to be the one who is right, and one of the worst feelings for me is realizing when I'm not right. I want to be right, and I want all of you to be right. When I see something that is wrong or hear something that is untrue, I am incurably compelled to correct it.

And yet, I still conclude that God didn't call you to be right (or me, either).

In our drive to be right, we can get into arguments, either friendly or otherwise. The debate can be about anything at all, such as theology, politics, sports, or history. I'm not against debates, even impassioned ones. Perhaps we can eventually let go of many of these arguments before we enter ugly mode, but theology is one that we rarely let go of.

Theology deals with universal truth, the nature of God, and the eternal fate of people. These are the most important issues we can imagine, and we certainly don't want to be at all casual about them. Untruth can lead someone astray about God and their eternal life. There's a lot a stake!

But you were not called to be right, not even about theology. Does that sound wrong? God wants us to know truth and cling to it, and He wants the church to be the "pillar and support of the truth" (1 Timothy 3:15). Yet, I challenge you to find the command that says, "Above all, be right."

God did call you, on more than one occasion, to bring people more under the influence of Christ. Not you, not your argument, not the church, not a pastor, but Christ.

If you're still balking at what I said about being right, compare the two: Would Christ prefer that you were seen by others to be right or that because of you, someone becomes more under His influence? Is it better for people to know you are right and be no closer to Christ or for them to think you're wrong but end up more open to Him? It's no contest. Being right is not the your greatest purpose. Even Paul said he'd rather be accursed than to see one of his countrymen perish without Christ (Romans 9:3).

God wants you to be right, of course, but it's not your calling. It's not the thing we cling to and defend. He never calls us to be that self-focused. Your call has to do with how others are influenced by Christ.

Therefore, we need to give up our demandingness to be right, our persistance to go to the wall when we believe someone else is wrong.  What we do need to go to the wall for is to see others more influenced by Jesus. Our hearts should beat for one another and for those far outside the influence of Christ, so that they may take one step closer to being swayed by Christ in their daily lives.

I think I'm right about this. But I don't care if you think so, especially if the result is you more moved by Him daily.

Idi nade? Bene!

The Lord has opened up for me a well-packed mission trip this Spring, and I'd love your help to make this trip as fruitful as possible.

I have 4 opportunities on 2 continents to teach and foster discovery:

1. Teaching Leviticus to students at Moffatt Bible College in Kijabe, Kenya.
2. Teaching pastoral ministry to students at the Ahero Evangelical School of Theology in Ahero, Kenya.
3. Leading a pastors’ conference in Homa Bay, Kenya.
4. Speaking and serving on a panel for the Global Marketplace Impact seminar by  CrossWorld in Sesto Calende, Italy. This is a conference for English-speaking ex-pats working in Italy.

We're packing all this into a 20-day trip, from March 18 through April 6.

Homa Bay, Kenya

You can help me in four key ways:

1. Prayer. I'm asking for people to pray daily, starting now and all through the trip. I have lots of prep to do, I always struggle with insomnia and basic health in Kenya, security is now a bigger challenge than normal, and Lynne has 3 weeks to manage everything on her own. Please pray for these things. Pray also that God will impact people, including me, with His Word and His Spirit each day.
2. Care. I do better there when I know people are caring for Lynne here, especially since communications are often limited. Notes, calls, emails, lunches or dinners, and offers to help are tremendous. The grass will be starting to grow, for example.
3. 

   Scripture. Send us a passage you want me to read and pray through while I'm on my trip, and Lynne will pray through the same passages on the same days at home. You will be ministering to us both during our Quiet Times through the Word.
4. Finances. I'm amazed I can do all of this for $3000-3500. Simpler trips have cost more. The less we spend out of pocket per trip, the more times I can return to Kenya. (This will be my 6th trip there!)

“Idi nade? Bene!” That's “how are you?” in Luo and “well!” in Italian. These are two beautiful, lyrical languages spoken by people we've come to know and love. Any way that you can make it easier for me to love them in person will help them and me be more fruitful.

Sesto Calende, Italy

To help financially with a tax-deductible gift, please mark “Kenya 2016” on the memo line (very important!) and donate to:

Grace Fellowship Church

10201 W 127th St

Overland Park, KS 66213

Thank you. I look forward to updating you about the trip in April!

Colby

Ought You Read This?

Man, I really oughta exercise more. I oughta drive more carefully. You oughta be nicer to children. You oughta - ought to!

What stirs in you with this phrase "ought to"? What effect does it really have within us (as opposed to the effect it oughta have)?

• Do you experience guilt, because you're not doing something you oughta? Chances are you already knew you oughta, and the word just exposes your failure.
• Perhaps it's about something you didn't already know you oughta to - so, maybe the phrase just alerts you to a new behavior that you will eagerly start doing now that you know you oughta.
• Does the phrase bring dread - yet one more thing I oughta do, but I'm busy enough as it is! 
• Does it evoke a rebellious spirit, predisposed to do the opposite of oughta ("noughta"???). 
• Does it suggest something that would be a really good option to have, but isn't really necessary? "I know I oughta take a shower, but I'm not expecting anyone to come over today."

And then Scripture uses the word. Well, that just makes it worse. Now my guilt is biblical guilt, my dread is unholy dread, and my rebellion is against God. Thanks a bunch. (And I ought not say stuff like that about the Bible. Thanks again!)

However, I wonder if the Bible uses the word in a way somewhat different than how we typically take it. If so, would that help us react to the word with a more positive attitude, or more sobriety, or more internal motivation?

There are a few different Greek words used in the New Testament that often get translated "ought" in English. Two frequent ones are:

ὀφείλει - to owe something, to owe a debt in particular, to have something due from you, to be obligated, to be bound; something that is necessary or indispensable

 δεῖ - to be necessary, to be in need of; something that is right and proper

Is that at least slightly different than how you respond to the word? If anything, this word suggests something that is less optional than we may have thought. Even though the implications of the words are pretty firm, perhaps there is less guilt, because the word doesn't talk about what makes you good or bad, but rather describes your relationship to someone or something. In other words, ought is not about defining me, but the connection I have with someone else. Perhaps the idea of "owing" something gives ought a more specific nature, something less vague.

See Romans 15:1, for example.

Now we who are strong ought to bear the weaknesses of those without strength and not just please ourselves. 

This uses the first of the two Greek words above. Rather than looking at this as "well, if you were a good Christian, you would bear the weaknesses of those without strength, but if you don't, you're a bad Christian," I suggest there is a different way to look at this word.

Consider it this way:

You who are strong, you owe a debt to the weak. Yup, that's right. I know it sounds backwards - usually the weak owe debts to the strong, but God's Kingdom doesn't work like the world works. In God's Kingdom, the strong owe a debt to the weak. That's why God made them strong for a time. With the strength came a debt attached - the obligation of being strong. And it's a debt payable to the weak. You who are strong, you ought to bear their weaknesses - that's your debt. In fact, bearing their weaknesses is indispensable for you. 

Furthermore, you ought not merely please yourselves with your strength. You don't owe yourself that debt. That's why you "noughta."

Apply the same idea to other passages and see how they pan out:

• Beloved, if God so loved us, we also ought to love one another (1 John 4:11).
• Therefore, we ought to support such men, so that we may be fellow workers with the truth (3 John 8).
• ... for which I am an ambassador in chains; that in proclaiming it I may speak boldly, as I ought to speak (Ephesians 6:20).

And so on. Give some thought to how we react to the word ought and how that might change a bit if we looked at it more positionally than morally.

You oughta see this word ought differently. Really. You owe yourself that much.

How to Make a Good Argument

Jesus made some wild, outlandish, hard-to-believe claims about himself. Whether or not you believe him, you can at least admit (assuming, of course, the Gospel accounts are accurate enough) that Jesus' claims about himself were things we typically hear only from egomaniacs, delusional people off their meds, or presidential candidates.

But how he went about making his case was also off the wall, too. He set himself up to be easily proven wrong. Don't we usually try to avoid that?

He didn't try to win his argument - and there were arguments (chapters 6 and 10 of John, for example) - by means of raising his voice, by dominating the conversation with extra rhetoric, by ad hominem attacks, or by posting myopic memes. In fact, he didn't even keep engaged in the argument until he had "won." He didn't expect to be believed just because he said something, even though of all people, he uniquely has that right. He didn't get mad at people just because they disagreed with him.

What he did do was say, in effect, "Don't believe what I'm saying just because I'm saying it. Watch me. Just do that - watch me. See how I live. See the things that I do and how I do them. Believe me if you see my actions making my argument for me."

Jesus made himself falsifiable. That doesn't mean he was false. Rather, it means that if he was false, it would have been easy to show. This is a term used in scientific research - scientific claims are supposed to be falsifiable, meaning that another scientist is given the means by which to validate or invalidate the claims. If a scientific claim is not falsifiable, it is automatically suspect in the eyes of the scientific community.

In essence, Jesus set himself up. He made wild claims and then put the entire weight of his claims on the end of the tree branch of his works, and dared people to cut off the branch.

And because Jesus made such outlandish claims, he had to do some outlandish acts to match them. It would not have been adequate to back up a claim of being God's only Son by giving a sandwich to a homeless person. Or by being a better debater. No, it had to be big stuff ... which means they would be even easier to falsify if they weren't genuine.

Dear Christian, don't have a greater expectation of what your words can do than Jesus did of his words. For any claim you make about matters of faith, make it falsifiable by your own life.

Don't claim God is full of mercy without making that claim falsifiable by your own life - can the outlandish claim be validated by a life that's been affected by mercy? Don't claim God is forgiving, powerful, good, holy, interested in the affairs of people, or better than money, sex, drugs, and fame without making those claims falsifiable with your life. Put all the weight of your claims on the branch of what you do. Yikes!

You'll never be all those things perfectly. No one expects you to, and it's not necessary. How does a merciful God manifest himself in the life of an imperfect person? How does a forgiving, powerful, good, holy, interested-in-the-affairs-of-people, better-than-money-sex-drugs-and-fame God manifest himself in the life of an imperfect person? Does your life make it hard to deny that God is merciful and better than money? I won't believe your claim unless you make it hard to deny with your life.

Do the works in order to set yourself up like Jesus did. Don't expect people to believe what you say, but make the claims, and then bank the validity of your claims on how you live your life. Say, "look at me and decide whether or not to believe me based on my very imperfect, but impacted-by-Jesus life." Jesus expected no more than this of his own contemporaries.

If you make the claim of who God is, it's already falsifiable by your life. Give the other scientists the means by which to validate or invalidate your claim.

(And lest you be tempted to make no claims at all to get yourself off the hook, the absence of a claim is a claim itself.)

Listen up, it's important

This week, I quoted A.W. Tozer with a statement that may be familiar to many of you:

What comes into our minds when we think about God is the most important thing about us.

Tozer's idea is that our conception of God defines who we are as individuals, establishes our values and priorities, and locates our meaning. Therefore, Tozer posits, we'd better have very clear and accurate ideas about who God is - it's essential for us to enjoy the human experience to the fullest.

Whether someone believes that God exists or not, one could agree with Tozer on this point. An atheist who is quite convinced there is no god could concur - that what comes into my mind when I think about God is that he doesn't exist is the most important thing about me. An agnostic, a Muslim, a Catholic, a Protestant, a polytheist, a social gospel adherent, a liberation theologian, or an evangelical - all could conceivably concur.

If Tozer has a point, then it becomes imperative for me to listen to you (the "I and thou" of Buber's existentialism). Reflexively, it is imperative for you to listen to me. If the most important thing about you is what comes into your mind when you think about God, then in order for me to know what's most important about you, I need to listen to what you say about God. I need to hear what comes into your mind on this topic. I cannot learn what is most important about you if I don't listen to what's in your mind about the divine.

Even if you don't believe any god exists, I must listen. Even if you think he's vastly different than I do, I need to listen. Even if you think he's horrible, mean, unfair, uncaring, uninvolved, I need to listen in order to know what's most important about you. But not merely listening in order to effectively shoot down your points - really listening.

If I jump right in and disagree (to "set you straight"), I don't listen. And then I don't learn the most important part of you. If I argue, get defensive, get offensive, or otherwise shut down what you have to say on this, I won't know you. No, I must listen, whether I think you're right or wrong or somewhere in between. It's the only way to value the You that you are. I would hope that you would listen, too, in order to know the Me that is me.

I want to know you. Specificallly, I want to know what's most important about you. Shutting up and listening is not my natural bent, but it is imperative for me to do so, if Tozer's got it right.

I also want you to know the God I know. I do think He's awesome. But I know that if I don't value you and learn what's most important about you, I'd be conveying to you something about God that isn't true - that He's not a listener.

You Can Tell Me You're "Fine"

We all know the routine. It has become instinctive. We meet, then I say, "How are you?" and then you say "Fine." No matter what, even if your house just exploded and your cat ate your smartphone, things are "fine." Sometimes when we're feeling extra-cordial, we flip the script to the same effect.

This routine has birthed a secondary routine - now we knowingly fuss about the fact that we say "fine" when we don't mean it. We "solve" the problem by acknowledging it, talking about it, fussing about it to one another, but then the very next morning, "How are you?" ... "Fine." Then later, we knowingly fuss again, but then the very next day after that, we recite our routine again perfectly. (By now, we are assuming that everyone who says "fine" is lying, oddly enough.)

However, you can tell me you're "fine." Go right ahead. I won't bat an eye, I won't wink and assume you're not fine, and I won't fuss. If you want to tell me you're fine, please do.

You are in control of what you tell me about yourself. No amount of fussing about faux "fines" gives me the right to demand from you how you're really doing. My wink and nod that "fine" might be "awful" does not obligate you to tell me anything other than what you want me to know. Unless we are tight friends who owe each other unfiltered truth by mutual permission, you owe me nothing other than what you want me to know.

If you want me to think you're fine, no matter if you are or aren't, then tell me you're fine. I'll take it at face value because that's what you're telling me to do. You may not want me meddling into the sore spots of your life. You may not be ready yet to talk about something unpleasant. I may not be the right person to listen to you. This might not be the right time or place. You might not even be able to say, "I'm not fine, but let's talk about it later." (But, if you want to say that, then say that.)

I don't have to be the one who knows, who listens, who talks about it, or who's on the inside. I'm willing to be, but I don't have to be. How you're doing is not about me - it's about you. So, unless you're one of my very few tight friends who owe me bare honesty, you can tell me "fine" no matter what, and I will treat you as if everything is fine ... because that's what you're telling me to do. It might even be therapeutic if I treat you as if things are fine - I don't know, and I'm not expert enough to tell you otherwise.

If you say "fine" but you secretly want me to doubt you and dig, I probably won't. It's not fair to everyone else to assume that you're not telling me how you want me to treat you. Unless we're tight or unless I have sufficient probable cause, I won't dig. I'm simple that way - if you tell me not to dig, I usually put down my shovel.

For your sake, however, have at least two people in your life (other than your spouse) who never put down their shovels, and who you will tell the truth to, regardless. Have two or more tight friends that when they ask, "How are you?", you tell them the truth no matter what. It doesn't have to be me, and honestly, I can't be that person for the lot of you. For your health and so that you never swim the ocean alone, have those people in your life, and never, ever tell them "fine" unless it's true.