An Open Letter to the Church from a Lesbian

  An Open Letter to the Church from a Lesbian

"You are willing to compromise the word of God to be politically correct. We are not deceived. If we accept your willingness to compromise, then we must also compromise...We do not ask for your acceptance of our sins any more than we accept yours. We simply ask for the same support, love, guidance, and most of all hope that is given to the rest of your congregation. We are your brothers and sisters in Christ. We are not what we shall be, but thank God, we are not what we were. Let us work together to see that we all arrive safely home."

McDonald's Fries and Idolatry

When I see movies or commercials, read books, listen to the radio, etc., I like to ask the following:  What is this telling me about God and myself?  I have my mom to thank for this.  For as long as I can remember, she would always ask me and my sibling what a particular movie or book was communicating to us about God and man.  At the time it drove me crazy!  I wanted to watch my movies and enjoy my books without having to examine the underlying message.  Now, however, I am grateful that my mom established this habit, for the older I get, the more I realize that no words are neutral.  Words have meaning and therefore possess the power to influence by conveying attitudes, opinions, convictions and worldview.  Simply put, everything has a message.     

That being said, I’m not a huge fan of comedian Jim Gaffigan.  He can be crude and I don’t believe he’s as witty as say, Tim Hawkins or Brian Regan.  I was recently shocked, however, by a portion of Gaffigan’s act, whereby his rave on McDonalds turned into quite the lesson on our human condition.  Indeed, this particular act was deeply theological in nature.  According to Jim Gaffigan, many of us live in “McDonald's denial”—we realize McDonald's is terrible for us, and yet we keep going back for more.  As I listened to Gaffigan mock the individuals, including himself, who return again and again to the golden arches, I was struck by the profundity of his comments, for at the core of Gaffigan’s act was this message: We all worship something.  Gaffigan spoke about McDonald’s fries in a manner that eerily resembled idolatry.  In fact, Jim Gaffigan offered amazing insight into the nature of idolatry, and all without ever once mentioning the words “sin” or “idol”:  

“I think everyone’s lying.”  Me too.  If we know that 6 billion burgers are sold and only a fraction of people are admitting to purchasing these burgers, then most people clearly aren’t telling the truth.   Either they’re reducing the number of burgers they claim to have purchased or they are denying purchasing them altogether.  So if McDonald's is comparable to sin, as I am suggesting in this example, how many of us are lying about our sins or idols?  Maybe you and I refuse to acknowledge and confess our sins in full detail, ashamed that we think or act or speak as we do. Perhaps we have tried to cut back on McDonald's and perhaps we have tried to withstand our sins.  Perhaps these attempts have been futile, and realizing our inability to say no, we feel shame.  Maybe we can’t give up our idols and thus realize that we don’t own them.  Rather, they own us, and we are enslaved to them! This bondage is a source of shame, and perhaps that is why we lie.  Perhaps we don’t want to admit we’re really that weak. 

 “Have you ever eaten too many McDonald's fries? Of course not!  There’s never enough of them!”  Isn’t it the exact same way with our sin?  Sin promises to satisfy our needs and cravings, yet it never does!  In fact, we are so hooked on our sin that we go in search of meager “fry crumbs,” scanty pleasures to fill our gnawing hunger and deep longings.

But what happens when we finally obtain our craved and sought-after fries?  Jim Gaffigan tells us: “Those fries are amaaaaazing.  For what? Like seven minutes?  And then they turn into something that’s most likely not biodegradable.”  Once again, doesn’t sin play out in a strikingly similar fashion?  We find only momentary satisfaction in our sin.  Seven minutes in this case!  What is more, we do not return to our pre-McDonald's state.  Rather, we find ourselves worse off than we were originally: Whereas we once simply craved these things—either fries or idols—now we carry the non-biodegradable effects with us.  We walk away from these encounters with something that cannot be broken down and has the potential to destroy life if allowed to accumulate. Isn’t this what our idols do?  

How about leftovers?  Jim Gaffigan asks his audience how many of them have tried to reheat their fries. These reheated fries “aren’t even good anymore,”

and yet according to Gaffigan, it “doesn’t stop you from eating them!”  Isn’t this the definition of insanity, eating something that has lost all appetitive value?  Don’t you and I do the same thing with sin?  We keep returning to our sins, knowing they won’t satisfy, and yet nevertheless hoping that this time they will.  It’s insanity, repeatedly doing the same thing and expecting different results.  It just ain’t gonna happen.         

“We know those McDonald’s commercials aren’t realistic. I’d just like to see one commercial that shows people five minutes after they ate McDonald's.”  Wouldn’t we all?  But of course those commercials aren’t realistic!  They were created to entice you and I, to draw us in.  Sin does the same: it lies. Sin adorns itself with all the false trappings of peace, joy, pleasure, and fulfillment, but all of these are only a thin masking for the ugly evil lurking beneath. And just like commercials, our idols will not show us the deep consequences and complications resulting from out sin until we have tasted and bought the lie.  So why do we believe these lies? I don’t think it’s solely because we are the victims of malicious schemes.  That is indeed one portion of the issue, for we are under attack (Ephesians 6:12) and Satan does indeed disguise himself as an angel of light (2 Corinthians 11:14).  I believe, however, that much of it stems from the fact that we see what we want to see—we want to believe those fries are really that tasty, or that those burger buns are really that light and fluffy (as opposed to the squished, soggy, lop-sided buns we actually receive in the drive-thru).  We want the lie to be true! Likewise, we want to believe our idols will come through.  Our idols ensnare us by making false promises, yet we keep returning in the hopes that some day, those promises will become reality.  They never do.  Ever.   So I think it’s safe to say that the root of all sin and all idolatries can be traced back to belief in a lie.  Just go back and read what happened with Eve in the garden!  What lie did she believe?  What lies am I believing? 

“They get us in there….some of those deals they offer are just cruel!”  Fast food sure is enticing.  It lures us in, just like sin.  We are offered satisfaction at a bargain we cannot seem to resist.  And what happens next?  We become gluttons and gorge ourselves.   And who can honestly say they feel satisfied and content after such a gorging?  No one.  We feel sick, both physically disgusting and emotionally disgusted.  And so our idols may appear beautiful and desireable, but they are only bitter in memory.  Sin’s pleasure is only for a season, for by nature sin enslaves, entraps, destroys and kills, leaving us with heartache, sorrow and suffering.

And finally, here is what I found the most profound: “I have friends that brag about not going to McDonald's...I’m tired of people acting like they’re better than McDonald's.  It’s like, you may have never set foot in McDonald’s, but you have your own McDonald's.  Maybe instead of buying a Big Mac you read Us Weekly.  Hey, that’s still McDonald's!  It’s just served up a little different.  Maybe your McDonald's is telling yourself that Starbucks Frappuccino is not a milkshake.  Or maybe you watch Glee. It’s all McDonald's, McDonald's of the soul: momentary pleasure followed by incredible guilt eventually leading to cancer...We all have our own. We all have our own McDonald's….” Wow.  Jim Gaffigan hit the nail on the head with this one.   Those words are haunting. What is the McDonald's of my soul?  What is my idol?  What is it that I turn towards for my pleasure,  satisfaction, comfort and identity?  In what or in whom do I find my joy?  Is it Christ alone, or Christ substitutes?  And then there’s cancer.  It’s a silent killer.  Too often it goes undetected, only to be discovered once it is too late.  So I must ask myself this, what seemingly harmless idol am I feeding that will soon rear its ugly head?  What cancerous idol am I allowing to rule my life?     

Human beings—you and I—were created to worship.  The only question is, who or what do we worship?  Do we worship God or God substitutes?  If I am not worshipping God, it does not necessarily mean I am bowing down to the image I carved from the old tree in my yard. An idol can be anything or anyone in whom I place ultimate concern, value, allegiance, etc. My idols, then, are anything apart from Christ in which I place my hope and trust and identity. Idolatry, therefore, can just as much be—if not more so—an affair of the heart.  We are prone to wander, prone to leave the God we love.  But as believers, you and I have been granted an incredible gift of life and hope and freedom in Christ:

Since therefore the children share in flesh and blood, he himself likewise partook of the same things, that through death he might destroy the one who has the power of death, that is, the devil, and deliver all those who through fear of death were subject to lifelong slavery.

 (Hebrews 2:14-15)

 Let not sin therefore reign in your mortal body, to make you obey its passions.  Do not present your members to sin as instruments for unrighteousness, but present yourselves to God as those who have been brought from death to life, and your members to God as instruments for righteousness.  For sin will have no dominion over you, since you are not under law but under grace. For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we shall certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his.  We know that our old self was crucified with him in order that the body of sin might be brought to nothing, so that we would no longer be enslaved to sin. For one who has died has been set free from sin.  Now if we have died with Christ, we believe that we will also live with him.  We know that Christ, being raised from the dead, will never die again; death no longer has dominion over him.  For the death he died he died to sin, once for all, but the life he lives he lives to God.  So you also must consider yourselves dead to sin and alive to God in Christ Jesus.

(Romans 6:5-14)

There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. For the law of the Spirit of life has set you free in Christ Jesus from the law of sin and death. For God has done what the law, weakened by the flesh, could not do. By sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh and for sin, he condemned sin in the flesh, in order that the righteous requirement of the law might be fulfilled in us, who walk not according to the flesh but according to the Spirit.

(Romans 8:1-4)

“What you treasure will ultimately require you die for it, but Jesus is the only treasure that died for you.” 

–Tim Keller

Click HERE to watch Tim Keller on: What is idolatry?

Personal Testimony: Trip Lee

"I never lived a wild lifestyle, but I was hopelessly dead in my sins." This is a short, concise, but very powerful testimony by Trip Lee.  I was extremely encouraged and challenged by all he had to say, and  I was especially struck by his comment, "But I don't think I was [a Christian] because my sin didn't bother me and Jesus was not precious to me." Wow.

My "Innocent" Sin of Busyness and Striving

One of my biggest struggles is the need to always be doing something—something productive, something meaningful, something worthwhile.  In this sense, checklists are my best friend.  I feel a sense of satisfaction and accomplishment when I can check something off one of my lists.  In fact, the longer the list and the more I’ve accomplished, the better. 

On the other hand, however, checklists are the thing I dread most.  An unchecked list screams of my failures and inadequacies.  And somehow, no matter how much I check off, the list never seems to get any shorter.  In fact, it’s just the opposite!  The more I check off, the longer it gets and the more frantic and frazzled I become. 

And yet, as much as I hate these lists, I can’t seem to give them up.  And this is what I’ve realized—the fact that I can’t give up my lists is a major indication that I don’t own them.  They own me!  As much as I hate this desperate need to always be on the move, I don’t know how to live any other way.  I can’t cope if I’m not doing something, not improving.  I have become enslaved to this go-go-go mentality and lifestyle, and as I strive to earn my keep, I feel a sense of worthlessness each time I find myself beginning to slow down. 

Unsurprisingly, rest is almost nonexistent in my life.  I feel so guilty when I take a break or a breather that I can’t even rest when I’m resting.  Take working out, for example.  Rarely can I just lace up my shoes and go for a nice jog outside.  That would be too selfish of me.  I don’t deserve a break.  I can’t justify working out simply for the pure enjoyment of exercise.  So what do I do instead?  I bike or I elliptical.  But I don’t just bike or elliptical. I’ve found a way to be productive even in my working out.  I’ve become the master at going through flashcards on the bike.  Textbook reading on the elliptical?  Check.  And so, you see, I’ve managed to kill two birds with one stone—by studying while I work out, I can get the benefit of a workout without the guilt of being unproductive.

While some might praise these efforts as an indication of hard work, dedication, and discipline, could it be that my strivings and inability to truly rest reflect the deeper state of my heart?  Is it possible I have fallen prey to the seemingly “innocent” sin of busyness and striving? I believe so. 

I am so guilty of resting in the gospel of self-improvement.  John Bloom put it perfectly in his blog post, “Sexy, Successful, and Smart”:  

“The world has a gospel and preaches it all the time: be sexy, successful, or smart and you will be saved. What you will be saved to are the heavens of others’ esteem, desire and envy — and the various perks that usually come with it. What you will be saved from are the hells of others’ rejection and indifference — and the various undesirable extras that usually go with them.

The more you have of sexiness, success, or smarts — and, even better, of all three — the more assurance of salvation you have. According to this gospel you are justified by others’ approval. You are sanctified by self-improvement.

But it’s no gospel. It makes big promises that prove empty. If we achieve the approval we seek, we soon realize it’s no salvation. Approval today usually turns to rejection or indifference tomorrow. Even sustained worldly success doesn’t produce sustained satisfaction. This gospel leaves almost everyone feeling condemned.”

And so, it seems, I am in reality running headlong into self-destruction at breakneck speed by striving and failing under the world’s empty gospel of self-improvement. 

My pastor from back home, R.W. Glenn, recently spoke at the Desiring God National Conference.  In his sermon on work and rest, my pastor spoke on the constant pressure we feel to always be “doing.”  As he explained, “the cry of busyness is more or less the anthem of our culture.”  And what are the implications of this?  We live in a “meritocracy”, whereby our identity is bound up in our achievements and we are addicted to merit. The problem with this, however, is that the Christian faith is not a system of achievement—it’s not a “do” faith, it’s a “done” faith.   Christ has done what we could never hope to do on our own!  Needless to say, my pastor’s sermon had my name stamped all over it.  After listening to my pastor’s sermon, I realize that my confessional theology and my functional theology are often at odds with one another. I see very much of myself in the following quote by Bryan Chappell which my pastor referenced:“After initially trusting in Christ to make them right with God, many Christians embark on an endless pursuit of trying to satisfy God with good works that will keep Him loving them.  This belief, whether articulated or buried deep in a psyche developed by the way we were treated by parents, spouses, or others, makes the Christian life a perpetual race on a performance treadmill to keep winning God’s affection.”

In my functional theology, how I actually live every day in my actions, I see now that I am guilty of acting, thinking and behaving as though Christianity is about what I do for God.  I guess I’ve never really considered the possibility that the reason behind my frantic schedule is that I may be frantic in my relationship with God and not resting in the finished work of Christ for me.  I have been driven by a perpetual quest for something.  Maybe some of you have as well. But is there somewhere we can find rest?  I don’t mean the superficial, unsatisfying rest we are all too familiar with.  I mean deep, true rest. Indeed, in Christ and the Gospel we are afforded this kind of rest, rest which frees us from our strivings—Christ has broken the chains of our enslavement! For me, I am slowly realizing that I can’t be more accepted by God than I already am at this moment, and instead of working to earn the acceptance of God and those around me through my achievements, I need to work on resting. I know this won’t be easy.  I’ve already established habits and thinking that are engrained into me and which won’t be easily uprooted.  My prayer, however, is that instead of focusing on myself and the worldly gospel of self-improvement, I will day by day come to remember more of the Gospel of Christ and all that He done for me.  I don’t need to strive towards becoming accepted by the culture because I am already accepted by the Creator.  As my pastor put it, “The only list of accomplishments the Father sees for you is the one amassed by Jesus, who said, ‘It is finished!’ ”  And I praise God for this, for I know that on my own I can add nothing to the finished work of Christ!

“Let us therefore strive to enter that rest…”

(Hebrews 4:11)

Pride, Unbelief, and the Failure to Forgive

“But if you do not forgive men, then your Father will not forgive your transgressions.” (Matthew 6:15)

“Judge not, and you will not be judged; condemn not, and you will not be condemned; forgive, and you will be forgiven; give, and it will be given to you.  […] For with the measure you use it will be measured back to you.” (Luke 6:37-38)

In response to being forgiven by God, shouldn’t our hearts overflow in love and forgiveness towards others?  Shouldn’t we be so in awe of the underserving mercy God has shown us that our lives are characterized by an outpouring of grace towards others?  Why then, when we are wronged, do we feel a driving need to call out the unjust?  Why do we hold grudges, and why do we possess the urge to defend ourselves and show others the offenders’ true colors?  Why does anger and resentment eat away at our souls, and is there a better way to respond when we feel unjustly aggrieved?

For myself, I am learning that the gnawing I feel within to have vengeance and set things right stems mainly from a heart of pride and unbelief.  One of my greatest idols is man’s approval.  I’m a people-pleaser, and as such much of my identity is wrapped up in how others view me.  While being a people-pleaser may cause me to appear humble, the reality is that my people-pleasing behavior actually stems from a twisted sense of pride—pride that demands others respect me and hold me in high esteem. Any slight against my character or person is thus a danger that threatens to destroy my world.  How do I respond to such slights?  Anger.  Bitterness.  Resentment.  Despair.  I believe also that my failure to forgive arises from a heart of unbelief which manifests itself in two ways— unbelief in who I am and unbelief in Who God is.  What do I mean by unbelief in who I am?  I mean that I fail to recognize how sinful I really am—I write my sins off as trivial compared to the sins of others, refusing to believe that I’m really that bad.  What a lie.  And then there’s my unbelief in God which doubts His sovereignty, goodness, and justice.  And what does this cause me to do?  I take matters into my own hands.               

C.S. Lewis writes on the problem of forgiveness in the following:

“. . . you must make every effort to kill every taste of resentment in your own heart—every wish to humiliate or hurt him or to pay him out. The difference between this situation and the one in such you are asking God’s forgiveness is this. In our own case we accept excuses too easily; in other people’s we do not accept them easily enough.

As regards my own sin it is a safe bet (though not a certainty) that the excuses are not really so good as I think; as regards other men’s sins against me it is a safe bet (though not a certainty) that the excuses are better than I think. One must therefore begin by attending to everything which may show that the other man was not so much to blame as we thought.

But even if he is absolutely fully to blame we still have to forgive him; and even if ninety-nine percent of his apparent guilt can be explained away by really good excuses, the problem of forgiveness begins with the one percent guilt which is left over. To excuse what can really produce good excuses is not Christian character; it is only fairness. To be a Christian means to forgive the inexcusable, because God has forgiven the inexcusable in you.

This is hard. It is perhaps not so hard to forgive a single great injury. But to forgive the incessant provocations of daily life—to keep on forgiving the bossy mother-in-law, the bullying husband, the nagging wife, the selfish daughter, the deceitful son—how can we do it? Only, I think, by remembering where we stand, by meaning our words when we say in our prayers each night ‘forgive our trespasses as we forgive those that trespass against us.’ We are offered forgiveness on no other terms. To refuse it is to refuse God’s mercy for ourselves. There is no hint of exceptions and God means what He says.”

If I cherish and nurse a grudge against a fellow man, how can I dare approach God and demand mercy? If I—a depraved and sin-soiled sinner—demand justice when I am slighted, how much more should the holy and all-powerful God of the universe demand justice when His name is scorned?  Why should God have mercy on me if I fail to render to Him that which I demand for myself from others?  He shouldn’t.  In fact, the intensity with which I hold others guilty bears testimony to the fact that God will hold me guilty for my sins against Him.  It seems then that Christ’s command to “Forgive that you might be forgiven,” is not just a suggestion—it’s a rule!  I like how John Piper states it when he writes:

“God treats us in accordance with the belief of our heart: if we believe it is good and beautiful to harbor resentments and tabulate wrongs done against us, then God will recognize that our plea for forgiveness is sheer hypocrisy—for we will be asking Him to do what we believe to be bad. It is a dreadful thing to try to make God your patsy by asking Him to act in a way that you, as your action shows, esteem very lowly.”

And so, what can I take away from this?  If, in my pride, I hold fast to an unforgiving spirit, I am proving that I do not trust Christ and His way of life, for how could I withhold forgiveness for mild offenses when my monstrous debt against the most high God has been paid in full?  I know I can’t earn Heaven by forgiving others, but my prayer is that I will cease to be like the unforgiving servant Jesus spoke of in Matthew 18.  Through the power of the Holy Spirit, may I come to resist revenge against those who have hurt me, grieve at their calamities, pray for their welfare, and seek reconciliation so far as it depends on me. 

“When he was reviled, he did not revile in return; when he suffered he did not threaten; but he trusted to him who judges justly.” (1 Peter 1:23)