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Repent


I haven’t written for a while. Excuse me while I ramble for a bit.

Each morning (well, most mornings… sometimes afternoons… sometimes I skip it because I’m busy or lazy or in a mood or whatever), I dig into JD Walt’s Seedbed Daily Text. I highly recommend it as a Biblically rich devotional written by a servant of God with a broad intellectual skillset and the heart of a poet.

We’re in the Gospel of Matthew right now, as John the Baptist cries out, “Repent, for the kingdom of Heaven is near!” As I process some of my thoughts on his thoughts on God’s thoughts, I’m going to piggyback on some of what he said this morning. I’m just saying that this is mostly me, but he deserves credit (or blame, if you disagree) for the direction and it’s only fair that he get it. If you want to catch up, this particular devo is permalinked here.

Way back in the day (colloquially speaking – it was actually an evening), my youth pastor taught one of many lessons on repentance. This one stuck with me for a number of reasons. First, because it was a time in my life that I was in a weird tension that a lot of Christian teens go through… I had “given my life to Christ,” but had developed excellent compartmentalization skills. I’d given the part of my life that went to church and youth group to Christ, but the part of my life that smoked pot and was committed enough to take the time to download porn on a 28.8k modem and other bad stuff remained firmly separate. The tug of war that ebbs and flows and never seems to quite stop completely was at a high point, and I knew that I needed to “repent.”

I mean, I’d pented at least a few times before, and it obviously hadn’t stuck, so I apparently had to do it again.

repentance

Repent is a powerful word. It’s explosive, just in terms of its sound. It gains momentum coming off the lips, pulsing out in a way that leaves an impact. It hangs in the air waiting for a response. Even if you’ve heard it a million times, it sits there, slapping at your conscience, demanding acknowledgement, even it it’s just to turn it away again.

It’s also foreign to our modern language. It’s become the exclusive domain of religiousity, and so, while demanding, its also somewhat amorphous and confusing.

The second reason that his lesson sticks in my memory is that he gave a pithy, one sentence definition of repentance that was easy to grasp. He said that, “Repentance is a 180 degree turn from where you’ve been going,” and had kids demonstrate in an object lesson by walking in a straight line across the room and when he yelled, “Repent!” they’d have to turn around and go back in the other direction. It was a good lesson. It was simple and to the point and something a teenager could understand. And so I repented.

Again.

And again.

And no matter how many times I did that about-face and turned 180 degrees from where I was going, my course would slowly wander and I’d find myself heading back exactly the way I had been.

Because he was wrong.

And I was wrong when I taught the same thing.

The problem with viewing repentance as a 180 degree turn from the way you were going is that it still focuses on you and the way you were going. It’s like trying to drive by looking in the rearview mirror. It’s appealing to a self-absorbed, self-addicted people because it maintains our self direction – even if we’re directing ourselves by not going somewhere. It’s our direction – anchored by our former direction – dependent on our vision and our conscience and our experience. Our new direction is entirely dependent on our old direction. That doesn’t work well.

The whole idea of trying to navigate by going away from something is just profoundly stupid. And that’s kind of what John is saying.

The good news is that the true point of navigation is near. It’s not ephemeral. It’s not abstract. It’s among us now.

Yes, repentance is a firm re-orientation, but it’s not reorienting away from something, it’s changing direction to move towards something. As long as we’re moving towards it, it doesn’t matter what we’re moving away from. It doesn’t matter what we’ve done. It doesn’t matter what we’re inclined to drift towards. It doesn’t matter what we… what we… what we… what I.

It matters what God.

Repentance isn’t about us. It’s about him. It’s about Emmanuel. It’s about God With Us. JD says it better than I can:

To be clear, behaviors will change but that change will come from a far deeper place than mere compliance with the rules. It will come from the deep wells of our transformed dispositions, affections, desires and from the Holy Spirit inspired dreams of the beautiful, good and powerfully loving lives we were created to live. To repent means to realign our entire lives to become the remarkable kind of people Jesus would be if he were you and me. Repentance does not start with a stinging self examination of our shame-filled selves. No, it begins by beholding the face of God in Jesus Christ, inhaling the Holy Spirit breathed Word of our own beloved-ness and exhaling the breathtaking beauty of the now-appearing-all-things-are-possible Kingdom of Heaven.

That’s probably enough for today. I’m not done thinking about it. It feels important.

Because there’s something in me that needs to be pent. It needs to be contained and constrained and confined because it has its way with me in a way I don’t like and I don’t like myself when it does. I’ve pent it. I’ve repented it. I’ve repented it again. The only way it’s going to stay pent-up is if God does it. To stop moving away and move towards. To stop being defined by it and get a new definition.

So that’s my prayer for me this morning. It’s my prayer for you. That we be defined not by our failing, but by our calling – by the one who succeeded on our behalf. That we be defined not by what we don’t want to be, but by what we were made to be, and the one who made us. That we be moving towards the Kingdom of Heaven on earth.

Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.

(Philippians 3:13-14)

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Anatomy of a Calvinist Argument


Sometimes I like to think of myself as “mechanically inclined”.  I love to take things apart.  When I was a kid, if it had screws and I had a screwdriver, it had a good chance of being disassembled as far as I could make it go.  Sometimes if it didn’t have screws, but looked like it should come apart, I’d make a yeoman’s effort at it anyway.  I always wanted to get down to the nuts and bolts of things.  Knowing that something worked, what it was for, how to make it work, those things weren’t enough.  I wanted to know why it worked.

Of course, most of the time when I opened things up, the workings were more electronic than mechanical.  I’d get as far as “the buttons push this lever, which presses on a doohicky, and that awakens the magical microscopic leprechauns.” The same leprechauns that keep airplanes aloft [You may think that you know why airplanes can fly, but look it up… the truth is that the physics don’t actually add up.  Weird, eh?].  Unfortunately, I found that once it was apart, getting things back together in working condition proved much more challenging.  I called it “learning”.  Other people called it “breaking”.  Whatever.  In case you were wondering, that’s why I didn’t become a doctor.

AAAAnnnnyyyyway… let’s add that little tidbit in with the well established fact that I have a strong penchant for healthy debate [virulent rhetorical argument], and a basic theological education.  The end result is that I wind up having pleasant online chats with other armchair theologians who hold different points of view, that occasionally only stop short of blows because they can’t feel it when I hit my monitor.

A lot of you won’t care about most of this post.  It’s not an issue that a lot of people think or care about.  Some people will love it.  Some people will hate it.  Such is life.  Just so we’re on the same page, here’s a little Theology (study of God) 101: Outside of the Catholic/Protestant debates, the biggest split in Christian theology is between Calvinists and Arminians.  If you’re a Christian, and don’t know which you are, I’ll tell you how to figure it out at the end of this post.

I’m an Arminian.  My arguments with Calvinists often end with me repeatedly placing my head against my keyboard violently.  I’ve actually (for the most part) stopped engaging in them.  Why?  I took the argument apart.  From an Arminian point of view, an argument looks like a frank exchange of ideas; open and reasoned.  I love that.  From a Calvinist point of view, an argument looks like this:

And that’s stupid.

Some of you are laughing.  Some of you are confused.  This may help:  The Calvinist world-view revolves around God’s sovereignty (ruling authority) and active, wilful control of everything.  When I debate, after we burn through the stock arguments that each side comes equipped with, I try to sit back and process based on the premise their holding – give it a test drive, if you will.  This is what I got from putting myself in the place of a Calvinist arguing with me:

God, in his sovereignty, has decided that we will meet this day.  Leading up to this day, he has arranged our lives and controlled our beliefs that we might have a different view of him.  He has brought us together at this point, so that he might force you to speak words that are untrue about him, and have me speak words that are true about him.  He will make me very emphatic about this, and cause me to insinuate that he created you to be less than intelligent, although since the ability to process information is irrelevant when he decides everything we think or say, it has no bearing on the discussion.  He will have me point out to you how wrong you are to believe the untrue things that he caused you to believe.  Then he’s going to make you disbelieve the things that he’s made me say, and cause you to say things that might make me doubt my position, except that he ordained that I hold to these beliefs, and so I have no choice but to continue to do so.  He will keep us arguing for a while, dictating the debate, and compelling us to hold our original positions because it serves his greater glory to be seen making two people contend over the issue before other people that he has willed either to agree, disagree, or not care at all, and as a witness to the people he has caused not to believe in him.

And then my head exploded.

I honestly can’t wrap my head around holding this position.  It doesn’t make any sense to me [but that’s okay, because God willed it not to],  and seems internally inconsistent [but it’s not.  It only seems that way because God decided to make me not understand its consistency].  What gets me is how worked up Calvinists get about it.  They’re pulling out scripture, they’re trying to make logical arguments, they’re giving experiential anecdotes.  Some of them seem very proud of their ability to work through this all and present it to people.  It’s as if they think that their ability is their own, or their effort their own, or even their words their own.  Then they get angry if someone continues to disagree with them as if it’s not God causing the people they’re arguing with to say the things they’re saying and their emotions are controlled by something other than the direct will of God.  It’s like they believe that either party has a choice in the matter.  It’s like they’re Arminian.

So you can argue with me about this, but don’t get mad.  God wills everything, ipso facto, It’s God’s will that I post this.   In fact, he dictated it, so get mad at him – they’re his words.

I promised at the beginning of this post that I’d help the Christians reading this to figure out if they’re Calvinist Christians or Arminian Christians.  Here’s the test:  If God brought you to this page and caused you to get angry at the crap he just caused me to write, you’re a Calvinist.  If you came to this page and got mad because I wrote stuff that was clearly both wrong and offensive to God and right-thinking Christians, you’re an Arminian that thinks you’re a Calvinist.  If you either found this amusing and agreed with it, or thought it was boring and pointless, you’re an Arminian.  Hope that helps.

From now on, instead of getting into the debate, I’ll just link them here.