Our society has pretty much embraced the American cultural icon of the cowboy. We revere those who ride alone and hard. We are rugged individualists and hardened men making our own way. Our society reflects this in subdued ways. No matter what happens, we are fiercely free and independent. We are ‘desperadoes’–we do whatever we think is best.
John Wayne, the ‘Alamo,’ and the biker with his Harley-Davidson on Route 66 have been our inspiration. Each are distinctly heroic and carry our hopes and dreams.
We must understand that the Bible is not an American book.
A cowboy did not die for our sins (which are countless). The way of discipleship does not take us through Luckenbach, Texas. We’re not desperados. We are Jesus’ disciples.
His Words to us are bold and entirely challenging in an amazingly fresh and different direction. We are told to wash feet, to repeatedly turn the other cheek, to surrender all our rights, and then take the lowest place there is in every situation.
Our lives truly begin when we come under the Lordship of Jesus Christ.
Humility is to become the way we think and how we act, we have become slaves to righteousness. Our vaunted independence has been toppled. This selfish crown has slipped. My willfulness still wants to stand instead of kneeling. We discover this has been the truth all along. We have never ever been in control.
He has been the King since before time, and will always be, for an eternity.
“Many Christians have what we might call a “cultural holiness”. They adapt to the character and behavior pattern of Christians around them. As the Christian culture around them is more or less holy, so these Christians are more or less holy. But God has not called us to be like those around us.“
“He has called us to be like Himself. Holiness is nothing less than conformity to the character of God”.
Jerry Bridges
Our churches often struggle over our personal issues of pride and stubbornness.
I pose the following questions. Are we honestly in a condition of being weak? Can you serve with a basin and towel? Is your heart that of a child? Do we see the world through the ‘lens’ of a soft and broken spirit?
I write these things surveying my own life.
Self will and my hard heart fit ‘hand-and-glove’ with being that desperado. I ride alone, making my own way, and I don’t make any disciples. I jettison my cross— my cross of discipleship. I serve no one, unless it suits me. Am I His disciple, or am I a man of my own? Is He my Lord, or have I decided to claim that right for myself?
I only hope I have spoken the truth today. Forgive me if I offended.
“Lord, I am willing to receive what You give, to lack what You withhold, to relinquish what You take, to suffer what You inflict, to be what You require.” Amen.
It’s a fact. Biologists tell us that sharks can smell blood from 2-3 miles away. They follow their noses to the place where they sense it. They have an ‘attack mechanism’ that drives them to their victim . Blood acts as a trigger inside their brains. Occasionally dozens of sharks attack in a feeding frenzy.
Over 40 years in the Church has taught me that sharks aren’t the only ones that turn on the wounded.
The Church is supposed to be a safe and a healing place.
This is what the Holy Spirit wants. That isn’t always the case. Someone fails, another falters. Sin is uncovered and the sharks move in. There is blood in the water. Now things don’t always work this way, but it does happen.
There are some who might be restored, and yet others are trampled down instead. There’re many who would rather pounce than pray. Unfortunately when the “sharks” attack it almost always ends up being a as a vicious personal attack. It only creates more blood in the water.
There are many who are bleeding.
They are those with a mental illness, or confined to a wheelchair, or with Downs Syndrome, they are the first that come to mind. They’re often the the very sick, the developmentally disabled, the drunk, the addict, the adulterer, the disabled, the homosexual, the poor, and the ex-con who are just several kinds of people that regularly get hurt in our churches.
“Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy.”
Matthew 5:7, ESV
Mercy is what God extends to people who don’t deserve any. Failure to understand God’s deep penchant for the broken puts us in a bad place. We don’t always understand. Keep in mind that the Prodigal’s older brother refused to party with the forgiven son.
How terribly sad, and religiously confusing. I have to wonder, who really has been attacked by the enemy? The Kingdom of God is specifically designed for losers; it exists for the sick, the stumbler and the sinner.
In theory, we agree with Matthew 5:7.
We find tremendous inspiration when this verse is read. But the noble feelings don’t always translate into dedicated action. I’ve come to see that I must consciously press this into action. I must actively show mercy for the healing of others– and if anything, just to protect my own heart.
The Great Physician has come for the sick, not so much who consider themselves healthy.
He loves each of us, but Jesus cares in different ways. He tailors His grace to fit our sin. He’s concerned for the very worst of us. Yes, repentance is necessary and crying out to Jesus for healing is always needed.
Jesus has always been associated with the lowly.
If there is blood in the water, let’s turn it up a notch, and let’s show special mercy for those who are struggling. Let us be kinder than we have to be. If we err— let us always err on the side of mercy and kindness.
When I first started writing this post in my head, before I had posted it on my blog, Linda Kruschke’s Blog, back in 2009, in my head the title was “Love Is an Action Verb.” But as I thought more about it I realized there is more than one kind of love, and that love AS as an action verb was just one – and in my opinion the best – form of love.
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Four Kinds of Love
In our impoverished English language, we use the word love in many different ways. I love my spouse, I love my dog, I love chocolate, I love my new shoes, I loved that movie I watched last night, and I love God.
Surely we don’t have the same feelings about all of these things, yet we use the same word. In the parts of the Bible that were originally written in Greek, there are four different Greek words that we translate as love:
Storge – refers to the love that is felt between family members and close relatives.
Philia – refers to the love that is between friends.
Eros – refers to deep emotion or passion that is felt between lovers and spouses.
Agape – refers to the kind of love that God has for us and is what I mean by love as an action verb.
Agape is a kind of love that is about giving, not about getting.
God showed us what agape is by His incarnation as Jesus Christ and by His death on the cross to pay for our sins. Agape is not just a feeling, it is what God is. He acts towards us in the way that He does not because of how He feels about us, but because of who He is; because He chooses to love us with agape love.
Agape is a type of love that we can, if we choose, combine with any one of the other three kinds of love. We can go beyond how we feel about others and truly love them in the way that God loves us. C.S. Lewis put it this way in his wonderful book Mere Christianity:
“The rule for all of us is perfectly simple. Do not waste time bothering whether you love your neighbor; act as if you did. As soon as we do this we find out one of the great secrets. When you are behaving as if you loved someone, you will presently come to love him.”
Agape and Philia
A couple of years ago, I went to the beach with some old friends and had an opportunity to practice agape with someone towards whom I feel philia. Before I left home for the weekend, I received an email from one of my friends saying it would be really great if the house we were renting was all warmed up, with the water turned on and 7-layer bars baking in the oven, when they arrived. These friends had a much longer drive than I did, and she knew I would arrive at the house several hours before they did.
I can tell you that I did not feel like driving by myself at night in the pouring rain to Cannon Beach, I did not feel like hunting around outside in the wind and rain for the water valve to turn on the water, and I really did not feel like baking cookies in the gas oven in a kitchen I am unfamiliar with. But I chose to do all of those things anyway because I love my friends and wanted to make them happy. I combined the philia I felt with agape I have learned from God and received blessings in return.
Agape and Eros
In our society today a high percentage of marriages end in divorce. Often the reason cited is that one spouse doesn’t love the other anymore; that feeling they had when they met is gone. The type of love that can disappear in a relationship is eros.
Now eros is important for couples to be attracted to each other and get married, but it cannot, by itself, sustain a lifelong commitment. To create a lasting marriage, a couple must combine eros with agape. Each spouse must act as if they love the other even when they don’t feel like it or are angry or annoyed by the other spouse. A simple text to say “I love you,” a special dinner that your spouse likes, doing housework to lighten the other’s load, a hug and a kiss at the beginning and end of each day – all of these actions are examples of agape.
Who do you need to love (agape) today?
Each day we need to make a conscious effort to incorporate agape love into our interactions with those around us. Who is God calling you to love today? Don’t feel like it? As Nike would say, “Just do it.” After all, love as an action verb can be a blessing to others that is returned to you in an even greater measure than you give.
“Love one another with brotherly affection. Outdo one another in showing honor.”
“Lord Jesus Christ, you are for me medicine when I am sick; you are my strength when I need help; you are life itself when I fear death; you are the way when I long for heaven; you are light when all is dark; you are my food when I need nourishment.”
Our theology makes all the difference in fighting depression, writes Kathryn Greene-McCreight, Author of “Darkness, Is My Only Companion” and Episcopal priest.
Here is an excerpt where she introduces the depression of Christians:
In his Problem of Pain, C. S. Lewis says that suffering is uniquely difficult for the Christian, for the one who believes in a good God. If there were no good God to factor into the equation, suffering would still be painful, and ultimately meaningless.
For the Christian, who believes in the crucified and risen Messiah, suffering is always meaningful. It is meaningful because of the one in whose suffering we participate, Jesus. This is neither to say, of course, that suffering will be pleasant, nor that it should be sought. Rather, in the personal suffering of the Christian, one finds a correlate in Christ’s suffering, which gathers up our tears and calms our sorrows and points us toward his resurrection.
In the midst of a major mental illness, we are often unable to sense the presence of God at all. Sometimes all we can feel is the complete absence of God, utter abandonment by God, the sheer ridiculousness of the very notion of a loving and merciful God. This cuts to the very heart of the Christian and challenges everything we believe about the world and ourselves.
I have a chronic mental illness, a brain disorder that used to be called manic depression, but now is less offensively called bipolar disorder. I have sought help from psychiatrists, social workers, and mental health professionals; one is a Christian, but most of my helpers are not. I have been in active therapy with a succession of therapists over many years, and have been prescribed many psychiatric medications, most of which brought quite unpleasant side effects, and only a few of which relieved my symptoms. I have been hospitalized during the worst times and given electroconvulsive therapy treatments.
All of this has helped, I must say, despite my disinclination toward medicine and hospitals. They have helped me to rebuild some of “myself,” so that I can continue to be the kind of mother, priest, and writer I believe God wants me to be.
During these bouts of illness, I would often ask myself: How could I, as a faithful Christian, be undergoing such torture of the soul? And how could I say that such torture has nothing to do with God? This is, of course, the assumption of the psychiatric guild in general, where faith in God is often viewed at best as a crutch, and at worst as a symptom of disease.
How could I, as a Christian, indeed as a theologian of the church, understand anything in my life as though it were separate from God? This is clearly impossible. And yet how could I confess my faith in that God who was “an ever-present help in trouble” (Ps. 46:1) when I felt entirely abandoned by that God? And if this torture did have something to do with God, was it punishment, wrath, or chastisement? Was I, to use a phrase of Jonathan Edwards’s, simply a “sinner in the hands of an angry God”?
I started my journey into the world of mental illness with a postpartum depression after the birth of our second child. News outlets are rife with stories of women who destroy their own children soon after giving birth. It is absolutely tragic. Usually every instinct in the mother pushes toward preserving the life of the infant. Most mothers would give their own lives to protect their babies. But in postpartum depression, reality is so bent that that instinct is blocked. Women who would otherwise be loving mothers have their confidence shaken by painful thoughts and feelings.
Depression is not just sadness or sorrow.
When I am depressed, every thought, every breath, every conscious moment hurts.
And often the opposite is the case when I am hypomanic: I am scintillating both to myself, and, in my imagination, to the whole world. But mania is more than speeding mentally, more than euphoria, more than creative genius at work. Sometimes, when it tips into full-blown psychosis, it can be terrifying. The sick individual cannot simply shrug it off or pull out of it: there is no pulling oneself “up by the bootstraps.”
And yet the Christian faith has a word of real hope, especially for those who suffer mentally. Hope is found in the risen Christ. Suffering is not eliminated by his resurrection, but transformed by it. Christ’s resurrection kills even the power of death, and promises that God will wipe away every tear on that final day.
But we still have tears in the present.
We still die. In God’s future, however, death itself will die. The tree from which Adam and Eve took the fruit of their sin and death becomes the cross that gives us life.
The hope of the Resurrection is not just optimism, but keeps the Christian facing ever toward the future, not merely dwelling in the present. But the Christian hope is not only for the individual Christian, nor for the church itself, but for all of Creation, bound in decay by that first sin: “Cursed is the ground because of you … It will produce thorns and thistles for you …” (Gen. 3:17-18).
This curse of the very ground and its increase will be turned around at the Resurrection. All Creation will be redeemed from pain and woe. In my bouts with mental illness, this understanding of Christian hope gives comfort and encouragement, even if no relief from symptoms. Sorrowing and sighing will be no more. Tears will be wiped away. Even fractious [unruly, irritable] brains will be restored.
“Darkness: My Only Companion”
Kathryn Greene-McCreightis assistant priest at St. John’s Episcopal Church in New Haven, Connecticut, and author of Darkness Is My Only Copanion: A Christian Response to Mental Illness (Brazos Press, 2006).
Broken Believers 