When the Wrecking Ball Hits Your Faith

"Hello, my name is Kevin Max, and I'm an #exvangelical."  That was the tweet from the DC Talk and now independent musician whose Christian music I've listened to since I was a teenager.  In Max's debut as an #exvangelical, he announced that he is deconstructing his faith.  (Read more in this article from the Christian Post.)  In essence, the singer is demolishing what he's always been taught so he can rebuild his faith in a way that makes sense to him.  (Cue the gasps from all the Sunday school teachers.)
  
You might think that deconstructing is the absolute opposite of what a Christian ought to do.  I mean, Jesus talked about the wise man building his house on the rock, not tearing it down.  But sometimes you've got to deconstruct something that's falling down, in order to build something stronger.  In the Christian Post article, Kevin Max discusses what no longer works for him--and the new faith he's found by tearing down what's broken.  It seems these days, a lot of people are doing the same thing.

According to a Gallup finding published in March of this year, membership in houses of worship in the United States has now dipped below 50%.  The article says, "U.S. church membership was 73% when Gallup first measured it in 1937 and remained near 70% for the next six decades, before beginning a steady decline around the turn of the 21st century."  For regular church attenders, this isn't shocking news.  We have seen radical decline in our own churches, and blamed everything from Rock and Roll music to baseball.  But maybe the change isn't from outside influences.  Many are beginning to deconstruct what they've been taught, because they've discovered the foundations are built on sand instead of stone.

"House on the Sand (Matthew :7:24-27) (EXPLORED)" by Redeemed & Forgiven is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

As one body, Sunday school teachers clasp their hands to their mouths, aghast that their students may be questioning their catechism and Lifeway lessons.  We've been taught not to question, not to challenge what we've been taught--but what if that advice is more for control than anything else?  What if they are really just trying to keep you from deconstructing Potemkin's village?

Russian Empress Catherine the Great toured poverty-stricken Crimea in 1787.  According to legend, the governor of that region, Grigory Potemkin, erected phony villages along her route, populated with happy, well-fed people who were actually brought in from central Russia.  Though this story is dubious, today the term Potemkin village refers to any real or metaphorical facade, meant to deceive people into believing that things are better than they are.  When my Sunday school teacher taught me not to question my faith, she was hoping that like Catherine the Great, I would ccontinue to see the shiny facade instead of the crumbling building underneath.

Many Christians never get beyond the "Sunday school answers" that they've been taught.  I'm grateful to my seminary professors for encouraging me to think, question, pray, and investigate, rather than blindly accepting everything I learned at church.  Because not everything my pastors told me was true.  Today, it seems a lot of good folks are questioning religious assumptions they've held for years.  They're realizing that they've built their house on sand instead of stone.  But instead of waiting for the next storm to blow it down, people like Kevin Max are intentionally deconstructing their faith in order to build something stronger, and on a better foundation.

In Matthew 7:24-27 (NIV), Jesus says:

 “...Everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock. But everyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell with a great crash.”

Mostly, I've heard it preached that the sandy ground represents the either doubt, or the unstable things of this world, while the solid foundation is a rock-solid belief system.  But Jesus is clear that stability comes from putting into practice his teachings.  It's not about adherence to doctrines--it's trying to live and love like Jesus that prevents the crash.  Too many church leaders would have you believe that the solid rock is theology, but it's not.  It's Jesus himself.  Unfortunately, there are a lot of righteous-looking, religious things that feel like bedrock, but are really sand.  Sometimes you've got to deconstruct the things that appear solid, in order to find the rot underneath.

"Wrecking Ball" by Editor B is licensed under CC BY 2.0

People like Kevin Max are deconstructing things like:

• Original sin;
• The virgin birth;
• Christian exclusivism;
• Miracles (biblical as well as modern);
• The inspiration, inerrancy, or infallibility of Scripture;
• The closed canon of the Protestant or Catholic Bible;
• The existence of a literal hell, and the judgment of God that puts people there;
• Penal substitutionary atonement;
• Conservative teachings on "Biblical understandings on marriage, sexuality, and gender";
• Popular apocalyptic teachings from eschatological writings of the Bible;
• The Church's participation in promoting racism, sexism, patriarchy, capitalism, slavery, genocide, and empire-building;
• The Church's historical role as an exploiter of the environment, rather than a keeper of the earth.

I'm sure I've left out some important ones--but these will just get the wrecking ball swinging.  Maybe you've been struggling with some of these yourself.  And, like Jacob, you've left the wrestling match with a permanent limp.  You've walked out of church and sworn never to come back.  Or, you've remained in the church because of obligations or community, even though you're convinced you're not going to find what you need there.  If that's so, let me encourage you.  

First, God loves you.  Maybe you still follow Jesus but no longer use the word "Christian."  Or, you've been so hurt or confused that you don't know what you believe anymore.  You might have found a different religion altogether.  Perhaps you're "spiritual, but not religious."  Regardless, I want you to know that God still loves you.  No matter whether you talk about your Higher Power, or the Universe, or Ultimate Reality, or Buddha Nature, or Allah-- the God who is Love continues to surround you, embrace you, and enjoy your company.  

Second, it's okay that you're deconstructing.  Better to do it now, than wait til the storm blows your house down.  One of the best things I ever did was to go point by point through my denomination's statement of faith, and rewrite it accordintg to what I actually believe, rather than accepting what was handed to me.  Once I tore out the rotten roof, floor boards, sheet rock, and even some of the studs, I found the strong foundation that remained, so I could build again.  And so can you.  It doesn't mean that you're lost--it means you're thinking.  And God likes it when we use our brains.

Third, you're not alone.  Whether your faith is changing or whether you've given up on religion altogether, there are others who are either in the same spot, or who have been there before.  There are people of faith to welcome and affirm you, who refuse to abuse, who are safe, who encourage.  Seek out those churches, those safe people.  Below, I want to give a few resources for you, if you're looking for some guidance or community.

• I'd love to talk with you!  Leave a comment, fill in the contact form to the right of this post, or email me at revgregsmith@gmail.com.
• Read authors who represent the Emerging Church, a movement of openness and inclusion that values good questions over having all the right answers.  I suggest books by Brian McLaren, Greg Boyd, N.T. Wright, Marcus Borg, Carlton Pearson, Henri Nouwen, Nadia Bolz-Weber, Dan Kimball, Matthew Vines, Andrew Farley, Bruxy Cavey, John Pavlovitz, Doug Hammack, and Richard Rohr.  
• Talk with openminded people who will listen nonjudgmentally and encourage your questions.  Listen to those who have also deconstructed their faith, and built something stronger when they were done.
• Leave spiritually abusive churches.  Spiritually abusive churches and leaders tell you what you MUST believe.  They discourage free thought, asking questions, and exploration.  For them, it's either their way or the highway.  The best thing to do in this case is to choose the highway.  Only by hitting the road can you take the journey to find the good foundation where you can build again.
• Be prepared to experience grief.  David Hayward offers a course in dealing with the sense of loss associated with changing beliefs, recognizing that while deconstruction is a healthy thing, it is also a painful thing.  I hope you'll explore his entire website, as he makes deconstruction his full-time focus..  

Recently, I drove past a familiar restaurant where the management had posted a sign that read, "Closed for renovation."  But behind the sign there was no restaurant--only a pile of rubble.  Maybe your foundation is so bad that you don't need a reno project--you need a spiritual demolition.  It's safer to tear it apart yourself than to wait til it's full of people and the storm knocks it down.  When the wrecking ball hits your faith, when you can strip it down to the ground and rebuild on a solid foundation.

"Silent Night, Lonely Night: Christmas in Pandemic"

Silver starlight descends with the snow as 

aged hands light Christmas candles, 

alone at home though her family is near.  

Tears trickle with liquid love, reliving holidays past, 

with children and grandchildren gathered 

in a cacophony of grownup laughter, 

baby's cries, childhood play, and teenage angst.  

But not this year.  

Now, she is alone in her silent night,

lonely night, lonely night.

Two doors down the dawn will come 

to babies she will not see.

Little feet will race down stairs,  

delighted squeals above the sound of tearing paper.

But not for her.

This year has taken many things from her:

ability to travel, 

pure breath free from the filter of a mask,

financial security,

social stability.

But the greatest toll is being alone 

on this silent night, lonely night, lonely night.

Her mind reaches back to a couple, young, 

frantic in their need in that quiet Judean town,

turned away from human dwelling,

alone beneath the light of a single star.

Amid the agony of labor, 

a young woman pleads for her mother who isn't there.

Filled with desperation, 

a young man yearns for the steady hand of his father,

nowhere to be seen.

They, too, feel socially distant, isolated.

Silver starlight descends on angel wings as

Joseph kindles his lamp in the stable 

alone among beasts, though people are near. 

Even shepherds keep their distance when they visit,

faces hidden beneath their scarves,

because they are called unclean.

Tears trickle with liquid love, celebrating this present moment, 

grateful for what he does have:

the warmth of a stable, the love of his wife,

a newborn child,

in a cacophony of stable sound, 

and it is enough

on this silent night, lonely night, lonely night.

Grandma's heart reaches to the tent city

surrounded by bustling town, 

figures huddling beneath discarded layers 

of thin tarpaulin, wet cardboard, and sodden clothes.

Turned away from human dwelling,

alone beneath the light of a neon sign.

A cacaphony of souls scream in the night,

a bit of raucous laughter,

others cursing ghosts of the mind,

still more finding solace in strangers' arms

or the warmth and oblivion of a pipe.

Silver starlight descends with visiting angels

who bear no gold, frankincense, or myrrh, 

but whose treasures smell like coffee,

protect like masks and wipes,

and feel like love.

So Grandma puts on angel's wings, which look like PPE.

Leaving her warmth to join the Seraphim,

she shares her manna of  blankets and smiles.

Keen ears listen to well-traveled stories from a safe distance

as hot tears warm her cheeks with liquid love.

It's Christmas in pandemic, 

but change is in the air.

The Star shines as it hasn't done in centuries,

and hope for the nations wispers peace

to a weary and war-torn world.

"No room at your inn," say the mandates from above.

So Grandma takes her love outside

and gives,

behind mask, at a distance,

but gives,

on this silent night, lovely night, holy night.

"Are You Religious?"

"Are you religious?" he asked me.  

"Damn, I hope not," I said--and I meant it.  Because religious people are more concerned with the fact that I used that word than the fact that I instantly diffused any tension there might be in the conversation, in order to have a deep conversation about Jesus.  But we didn't begin there--we started out talking about tattoos and whiskey, and how I, as a follower of Jesus can enjoy both of those things.  He talked about how he'd been hurt by religion, and I assured him that God doesn't want us to be religious, anyway.  God just wants our hearts.  The problem was, it was an uphill conversation, because the church had convinced him that religion was all about putting on a righteous appearance, and looking down on people who didn't fit the standards of the Christian culture.  So I told him a story...

Jesus said, “But what do you think about this? A man with two sons told the older boy, ‘Son, go out and work in the vineyard today.’ The son answered, ‘No, I won’t go,’ but later he changed his mind and went anyway. Then the father told the other son, ‘You go,’ and he said, ‘Yes, sir, I will.’ But he didn’t go. “Which of the two obeyed his father?”

They replied, “The first.”

Then Jesus explained his meaning: “I tell you the truth, corrupt tax collectors and prostitutes will get into the Kingdom of God before you do. For John the Baptist came and showed you the right way to live, but you didn’t believe him, while tax collectors and prostitutes did. And even when you saw this happening, you refused to believe him and repent of your sins (Matthew 21.28-32 NLT).

The man shook his head.  "Yep, I've known a lot of Christians who said they followed Jesus, but you'd never know it."

"So have I," I said, "And I worked with them for years.  I've also known a lot of people who were closer to following Jesus than some church folks were, even though they'd never call themselves Christians."

"That makes sense," he told me.  "I've always thought life was about knowing that God is love, and trying to live like God.  I never thought it was about going to church and trying to impress people by how good I am.  Is that right?" he asked.

Giving him a fist bump, I said, "Damn straight."

Bloom Where You Are Planted

This is the dumbest picture of me, ever!  Not because I'm making a goofy face, but because of the stupid situation.  When this picture was taken, I was on the U.S. side of the border, and my wife, Christina, was on the Canadian side.  When she took the picture, we were separated by nothing more than an imaginary line, and COVID-19 restrictions that kept us apart.  So we met at the border for a no-contact visit.  

Being separated has been tough--and it looks like, for as long as Coronavirus is a thing, we're going to have extended periods of time apart.  Pre-COVID, I used to live and work in Washington on weekdays and go to Canada on the weekends.  Because of the mandatory fourteen-day quarantine in Canada, the new telework plan is to spend a month in Bellingham, followed by two weeks in isolation with Christina in Chilliwack--and to repeat that pattern until the border reopens for post-COVID travel.

Trailer in September, just after move-in

While I feel most at home with Christina, these are my temporary digs in Washington.  When I moved to the Pacific Northwest from Virginia almost two years ago, I rented a place from a little old lady, who passed away a few months ago.  Since I could no longer live there, I took up residence in my 31-foot travel trailer, which is a comfortable size for one person (or two, who are very good friends).  I've made these temporary acommodations as permanent as possible by ordering high speed internet at my RV site, getting a massive propane tank, and buying a generator in case I lose power in a winter storm.  I also added insulation around the slide-out, and as a skirt around the bottom to keep out the chill.  I'm learning how to live, and not just vacation, in an RV.  All this back and forth, and temporary living, has taught me a thing or two about what "permanent" really means.

Trailer in November, settling in for the winter

One thing that strikes me is that nothing is as permanent as it seems.  Everything is temporary.  I could go to a couple different places with this.  This could be depressing, if I focus on the very real fact that when we said "I do" last December, it means that we can only be together for fifty years or so before we die, if we're lucky.  But instead of living that downer, I'd prefer to spin that on its head and say that in all the back and forth, in all the temporary living, we've learned not to take anything for granted.  Sure, we'd rather be together full-time.  And of course, we look forward to the time when my "permanent" residency is granted and we can be together for good.  But for now, we take each day as a gift, and make the most of it.  Not to diminish what other couples feel for each other, but I think that people who can live together full-time often take it for granted.  It's just what's normal for them.  But married couples who can't be together because of military service, incarceration, long-distance employment, border separations, or other reasons--these couples learn never to take their togetherness for granted.  Which means that when they are together, they make the most of it, and appreciate every moment.

Because I realize that everything is temporary, I also know that I am a stranger and an alien, wherever I go.  The Bible reminds us that believers are sojourners while we're on earth (1 Peter 2.11-12), and that we're to be in the world but not of it (John 17.16).  But unfortunately, many Christians have spent so much time looking forward to heaven that they have taken the license to mistreat the earth that is their current home.  Instead, we need to say, "Because I'm only here a short time, I'm going to make the best impression I can while I'm in my temporary home."  Living temporarily in Washington, I have realized that since I'm only in one place for a short time, I should keep my footprint small, and tread lightly so as not to disturb the balance of nature.  But I've also learned to make the best positive impact on this community while I'm here.  Just as a hiker "takes nothing but photos and leaves nothing but footprints," I'm reminded to enjoy the beauty of my temporary home while I'm here, and leave it for other wayfarers to enjoy.

I have also gained an understanding and an affinity for all immigrants, refugees, vagrants, vagabonds, and those who are living moment-to-moment, uncertain as they wait for their future to unfold.  If you've always lived in the same place, generally had the same job, and never felt like there was a great big question mark attached to your status, you might not know what I'm talking about.  While I'm far from the same condition as the homeless population that I work with 5 days a week, I've spent the past two years living temporarily, living in-between two countries.  It's hard for people, far from their birth-home, to feel like they belong.  But you learn to invest yourself in the place where you are, looking around instead of looking behind.  

Years ago, a cross-stitch similar to this one hung in a church where I served as youth minister.  The grandma who made it probably had no idea the influence she would make on my life.  For the past 27 years (give or take), it has reminded me that no matter how temporary a situation may seem, I need to invest myself in the community, in the people, in the world where I'm planted.  Whether the present situation lasts a month, a year, or longer, I will thrive in this blessed moment--because it is a gift to treasure. 

"Bloom where you are planted" is perhaps the best advice I could receive as a stranger, an alien, a traveler on this earth.  If you feel out of place yourself, I'd encourage you to put down roots, even if the soil is temporary.  Settle in, and bloom.  Because a seed that doesn't grow and bloom remains just a bundle of potential.  But when you grow and flower where you're planted, you give life--and you help others smile along the way. 

After the Election - "Now What" for Christians?

Today, after the election, many Christians are asking themselves, "Now what?"  Prior to the vote, believers on both sides of the aisle declared that you can't call yourself a Christian if you vote for the opposite party.  Many Evangelicals voted Republican, believing Trump to be God's anointed man for the presidency, and the defender of conservative family values.  Yet many Jesus-followers supported the election of Joe Biden, believing their candidate to represent dignity and wisdom, as well as the love of Jesus for the outcast and the poor.  Much as Confederate and American brothers prayed to the same God as they battled against each other in the Civil War, believers on both sides of this election claimed to be right.  No matter whether your candidate won or lost the election, Christians across America are asking themselves, "Now what?"

The answer: Act like Jesus.  But what does this mean? What would (or wouldn't) Jesus do, in the aftermath of a contentious election?  If you, as a Christian, want to act like Jesus (which shold be the ultimate goal of every believer), what should (or shouldn't) you do?

1.  Don't gloat.  If your candidate won, it's fine to party, to celebrate, to cry tears of joy, to dance in the streets.  After all, when the disciples told Jesus about their defeat of the devil's forces in His name, Jesus said:

I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven. Behold, I have given you authority to tread on snakes and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy. Nothing will harm you. Nevertheless, do not rejoice that the spirits submit to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven (Luke 10:18-20).

Jesus recognized, and even enjoyed the victory that his followers celebrated--but he encouraged them to focus on the good things to come in the future, rather than the demonic nature of their spiritual enemy.  I believe Jesus would tell Christians who voted for Biden not to gloat, but to celebrate and look to a brighter future.

2.  Don't complain.  Many Evangelicals who claimed Donald Trump was God's choice for the presidency actually believed him to represent the character of Christ.  Others saw Trump's racism, sexism, homophobia, xenophobia, lies, and deceptions, but likened him to wicked biblical kings like Saul and Cyrus.  Even though those biblical kings had their flaws, those Evangelicals claimed that God put them in office to accomplish particular things.  Similarly, they believed Trump to be God's anointed, as evidenced by the fact that he won the election over Hilary Clinton.  If you believed that Trump's election was evidence that God put him in office, then don't complain now--since, according to your logic, Trump's defeat ought to indicate that he lost God's mandate.  So if your candidate lost, don't complain--just trust that if God chose Trump four years ago, God chose Biden in 2020.

3.  Love your enemies.  If you refuse to gloat or complain, that will go a long way toward acting in a loving way towards those people who you may have considered your political enemies.  Besides loving them, Jesus told His followers to pray for those who persecute them.  Do you feel like the other side has been absolutely horrible?  Do you feel like they deserve to feel that way?  Maybe you're right--but Jesus expects His followers to treat other people with the same grace that they have received from God.  As in grace, God treats us better than we deserve, so believers ought to treat their enemies better than they deserve, as well.

4.  Make peace.  These times have been so divisive, and have been filled with such hate and violence on both sides.  Now is our opportunity to make peace.  Jesus said, "Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God (Matthew 5:9)."  It's time to reach across the lines and take the hands (metaphorically, because--pandemic) of the people who see things radically differently from you.  In Matthew 12:25, Jesus said, "Every kingdom divided against itself will be ruined, and every city or household divided against itself will not stand."  These are tough enough times for the church, without the body of Christ being divided.  We need the whole body, undivided, to do the work of God.

5.  Continue to Confront Evil.  Yes, God is love, but "Gentle Jesus, Meek and Mild" is just a song title.  Jesus wasn't afraid to cast out demons, confront religious and civil authorities, or overturn the tables of economic corruption.  The apostle Paul said, "If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all (Romans 12:18)."  But sometimes it doesn't depend on us.  Sometimes others bring the conflict, and other times the evil is so aggregious that Christians can't ignore it in good conscience.  So, if you call yourself a follower of Jesus, continue to confront evil by opposing injustice.  Stand in solidarity with people of color who are rising up, insisting that their lives matter.  Become an ally for LGBTQIA+ folks, who have to fight for their most basic human rights.  Defend the families of the poor, the alien, the stranger.  As the prophet said, "Let justice roll on like a river, righteousness like a never-failing stream (Amos 5:24)!"

For followers of Jesus, it's really important that we ask ourselves, "Now what?"  Because the church has been so divided and divisive that the rest of the world looks at us and says, "So what?"  So what, if you call yourself Christians, if you say you love your enemy, but don't even love your neighbor?  So what, if you say you believe you've received God's grace, but won't even give it to others?  So what, if you claim to have the answers that the world needs to hear, if you can't even get along with each other long enough to ask the right questions together?  So, after the election, "Now what?"  Don't gloat.  Don't complain.  Love your enemies.  Make peace.  Continue to confront evil.  Because in the words of Galatians 5:6, "the only thing that matters is faith working through love."

Photo Credits:

"Fallen NJ Marine returns home" by NYCMarines is licensed under CC BY 2.0

"Athens, Alabama KKK (Ku Klux Klan) Rally and Counter-Protests September 2007" by Gregory.Skibinski is licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

A Different Path to the Voting Booth

"Something told me go a different way," he told me, "and I started to--but then I turned around and went the same way I usually go.  That's when I had the accident."

I could identify with my friend who told this story, because I've had similar things happen to me.  Maybe it sounds familiar to you, too.

Another friend told me that she was walking home from college night classes, going throught an inner city campus.  Something in her spirit prompted her that she should walk a different route than she usually followed through the dark streets.  She didn't think anything of it, until she arrived home to watch the 11:00 news.  That night, along the street that she would normally have walked, and about the same time, somebody had been assaulted and mugged.  I'm not saying that God saved her and didn't save the other person--that gets into some weird theological problems.  But I am saying was that her own spirit was sensitive to the things the Holy Spirit already knew--and she chose to listen to this intiuitive voice.

I could give hundreds more examples, but I think you get the picture.  You normally follow one path, and something tells you to turn aside and go a different way.  Either you listen and things turn out well, or you don't listen, and disaster results.

In the Hebrew Scriptures, Moses was going along his merry way, tending his father-in-law's flocks, having no notion of being a national savior.  He was just walking down a mountain road, minding his own business, when he saw a burning bush.  The shepherd had to make a decision--to step out of his usual behavior and get spiritually curious, or to continue as usual.  He said, "I must turn aside and see this strange sight (Exodus 3.3)."  The rest is history.

In the New Testament, Saul of Tarsus was on a different road, to Damascus.  As a religious zealot, he'd found it his duty to persecute this new sect of Christians--and he was on his way to do just that.  Then God spoke to him out of a blinding light, and changed his life.  Saul realized that he'd misunderstood Jesus all along, and that the good he thought he'd been doing was not only harming God's people, but caused God pain as well.  So he changed.  Yes--he changed.  Right there in the road, he decided to take a different path.

Today, as you're on your way to the voting booth, I invite you to listen to the voice of God.  Ask God what you should do when you cast your ballot.  This is such an important election--it's too important to just vote the way you have always voted, or to select a candidate because your family and friends are all doing the same thing.  Ask Jesus what He thinks about the candidates--and which candidate most embodies the love of Christ.  Then, vote the way the Spirit leads.

This may mean taking a different path from the way you've always gone.  You may end up voting for a party you've never voted for.  You could end up voting against a candidate you supported in the past.  But remember--this isn't about staying stubbornly in the rut you've worn for such a long time.  It's about taking a different path, if that's what God sets before you.  You may never know the disaster that you avoid, by deciding to go a different way.  Like Saul, you may lose friends because of the change you make.  But deciding to follow Jesus, rather than following what the religious leaders tell you to do, will make all the difference.  It will set you, and this nation, on a path of greatest adventure--one in which not only America, but the world can be blessed.

Today, as you vote, I pray that you'll be willing to change the direction in which we've been headed.  Listen, religious people, to the voice of Jesus, who says, "It's me that you've been persecuting."

"If I Were a Rich Man"

One of my favourite movies of all time is Fiddler on the Roof.  I always wanted to play Tevye in a stage production, throwing my hands in the air and singing, "If I were a rich man."  Most of us can identify with the dreams of the poor milkman, who yearns to be be wealthy--because he doesn't believe he has enough.  "One day, I'll have more," we say, "and things will be better then."

But how would it be, if we were simply graeful for what we had?

As God's people wandered in the desert, they dined on manna every day--food that they didn't have to work for, that miraculously appeared each morning.  Much like Bubba Gump's shrimp, they could have it any way they wanted it.  Mana burgers, boiled manna, stewed manna, manna creole, fried manna, steamed manna--the list goes on.  But they weren't content with the menu that God provided.  They began to sing, "If I were a rich man."  "If I only had more, I'd be able to do so much more!"  But, because they didn't have what they wanted, they grumbled until God gave them what they asked for.  Meat on the menu.  Quail came down from the heavens, blanketing the earth and providing so much meat that the people never wanted to see another squab kebab.  God taught them to be grateful by giving them too much of a good thing.

In the New Testament, Jesus tells the parable of a wealthy landowner who hired workers for his fields, some in the morning, some at midday, and some in the evening.  At the end of the day he paid them, and they were surprised that they each received a full day's wage.  Instead of being happy for those who received what seemed like charity, those who worked a full day grumbled at the unfairness of their pay.  What they probably failed to realize was that they were chosen in the morning due to their physical fitness to work a full day in the hot sun.  Those who were were hired in the evening were most likely disabled people waiting on the roadside for charity.  He hired them to spare their feelings by giving them the opportunity to do light work for a short time, for the same.  The employer decided to expect "from each, according to their ability," and pay "to each, according to their need."  But this seemed unfair to the more capable workers.  When they complained, their employer simply reminded them that it was his money, to give as he pleases.  Jesus told this story to illustrate that we don't always appreciate God's fairness, because our mindset has to do with merit, but God's big idea is grace.

Both of these stories focus on the ability to receive from God whatever blessings the Lord wants to provide, without grumbling that we don't have more.  Instead of singing Tevye's song, we might do better to live the apostle Paul's words to his young friend Timothy.  "Godliness with contentment is great gain (1 Tim 6.6)."  If you're curious what you'd do if you were rich, it's probably the same as you're doing now.  If you're stingy now, you'd probably hoard your wealth if you were rich.  If you're generous now with what you have, then if you were wealthy, you'd most likely be like the landowner who shared with those in need.  With contentment comes generosity, and the idea that people don't receive God's blessings because they deserve them, but because a gracious God wants to provide for people.

Today, I pray that you'll practice gratitude for the belessings you have received--not because you deserve them, but because God is good.  I pray, too, that you'll desire good things for others--not because they deserve them, but because a good God wants to provide for all.  And maybe ask yourself how you, who have been blessed, may share your manna, quail, and pay with those who are still waiting by the road.