Steve's Letter: Make Sure You Get Loved!

Irving Kristol, an early leader of the neoconservative movement, once said that you should remember two basic facts about politics—there are other people and they disagree with you.

As you know, my debate with Shane Claiborne and my reading of Rob Bell's book on hell (and the angry response to that book) prompted me to create a series of sermons: Why Can't We All Get Along?, Why Can't We All Agree? and Why Can't We Sing the Same Songs? The addendum to all three questions is …without losing our convictions.

I'm working on the second sermon. As always, I'm inflicting on you (both this month and the next) some of my thoughts about that subject…that may or may not make it into the sermon.

In the current issue of First Things magazine, the editor, R.R. Reno, wrote a fairly negative piece on his encounter with some liberal political types. He basically believes that political liberals have lost their ability to govern. He wrote, liberals "lack the capacity for the generous appreciation of other points of view needed in a pluralistic society. That capacity is more likely to be found today among conservatives, particularly religious conservatives." He said that while the meeting he attended was one of good will, those in attendance "could not get their minds around the notion that a reasonable, morally serious person" could hold a view different from their own.

While that may be true, I don't think Reno runs in the same "religious conservative" circles I do. Just a cursory reading of the various Internet blogs on Rob Bell's book should disabuse anybody of the opinion that "conservatives" have a "generous appreciation" of other points of view. Not only that, Reno should read some of the letters I receive on a regular basis.

A while back, I told you that I was one of the contributors to the Festschrift in honor of my friend and colleague, John Frame, Speaking the Truth in Love: The Theology of John M. Frame (published by P&R).

(For those of you who are cretins and not as sophisticated as I am, a Festschrift is a book to honor someone written by friends, colleagues and students. Okay, okay…I didn't know either. When the publisher asked me to do it, I agreed without having the foggiest idea what they were asking me to do. That's a dangerous practice. And besides, it sounded kind of like a disease. I had to go back to my study and look it up. And if you say I told you that, I'll say you lied.)

They asked me to write the chapter, "John Frame: The Closet Radical." In researching that chapter, I read piles of critical material on John Frame and his theology. I was shocked at the vitriol directed at this good and gentle man. It wasn't just disagreement. It was so angry and hateful I thought it was written by pagans. They didn't want to debate; they just wanted John to "get the fever and die."

So Reno may be wrong in his assessment of conservative religious folks. While we have some good parts, we can be as mean as any liberal. And just so you know, I'm not just talking about them. I'm talking about me. I'm probably the most opinionated friend you've got and, as you know, I also have a mean streak. My initial answer to the question of why we can't all agree is simply that I'm right and those who disagree are wrong. And given enough time, "I'll show you why…unless, of course, you happen to be so obtuse that you can't see truth when it's in front of your nose."

One more quote from Reno:

"My convictions won't let me remain at a distance…It's the nature of robust religious and moral convictions to motivate us to plant our flags in order to claim territory. But to plant my flag I must come ashore. I must engage my fellow human beings face-to-face, for they are also trying to plant their flags. It's a fraught encounter, of course, and a dangerous one, as history teaches us. But it's also one that takes others with the utmost seriousness."

I move the previous question: Why can't we all agree?

I don't know. Or at least, I don't know for sure.

I do know that it isn't a new phenomenon. In Acts 15, Luke references a disagreement between Paul and Barnabas over John Mark. Luke says, "And there arose a sharp disagreement, so that they separated from each other" (v. 39).

Let's trace that issue to see if there is some biblical insight into the question of why we can't agree. This examination will take more time than I have here, so I'll have to continue with it next month.

The first thing immediately apparent is that in their disagreement, Paul and Barnabas were family. They worshiped the same God, were forgiven because of the same sacrifice of Christ, and worked for and cared deeply about the same cause. They weren't disagreeing over whether to have waffles or pancakes for breakfast, or over the appropriate dress for the Jerusalem conference they were attending. They were disagreeing over important convictions to both of them.

And therein is the first reason we can't all agree. It's because we care.

My friend, John Frost, is one of the reasons for the success of the You Think About That spots airing on contemporary Christian music stations around the country. John said to me the other day that he finally had me figured out. "You don't care," he said, grinning. "You just don't care."

He's right…or at least partially right.

As I get older, a good number of things just don't bother me as much as they used to. I don't care much what people think about me and certainly don't care if people think I'm right. I've been right and I've been wrong...and I'm not even sure how right or wrong I've been. (I sometimes say at the end of sermons, "Fifty percent of what I just taught you is wrong. The problem is that I don't know which fifty percent, so you're going to have to get out your Bible and check for yourself." That drives people nuts.)

I don't care much that people think I'm good either. Nobody has ever been saved because I managed to be good, pure and obedient. In fact, just the opposite. People have come to see that if Jesus loves me (and he does), he can love anybody. So I've quit pretending to be better than I am. Insofar as I'm able to pull that off, I've discovered that people are drawn to Christ because nobody loves and forgives them the way he does.

And I don't care much about people I don't know. I hardly ever lose sleep over Casey and Caylee, over appeals from organizations I've never heard of to help people I don't know, or over whose secrets are being shared on WikiLeaks. I don't give a rip about Lady Gaga or Britney Spears, and don't care how Amy Winehouse died.

So I don't care. Because I don't care, I'm not willing to fight and die on those hills. It just doesn't matter to me.

But along with the not caring part, I've found that there are some things about which I passionately care. That includes (and this list isn't exhaustive) my family, my friends who are lost and my friends who are saved, my church, my country and its direction, Key Life, the seminary where I teach and you. I really do care—and care deeply—about the eternal verities of the Christian faith. I would die for the truth of the Bible and the truth, Jesus Christ. Give me a sword and I'll stand for the "faith once delivered" and the precious Christian heritage that God has graciously given me.

And therein is the problem. The only places where one is willing to fight are the places where one cares. And the more one cares, the more one is willing to fight and die.

Next month, I'll share some other biblical reasons we don't agree; but for this month, let me offer a tentative solution: When you get saved, make sure you get loved too. If you get saved but leave before you get loved, you'll become a serial killer. And frankly, we already have enough serial killers in the church.

Please note that I'm not suggesting we should give up our convictions or that love will sand down those convictions. In fact, when one is loved deeply, unconditionally and fully, it makes one dangerous. Because I'm loved and know it, I'm far more willing to speak truth to whoever will listen and not shilly-shally. It's one of the reasons I get into so much trouble.

I am saying, however, that because I'm fairly secure in my convictions (people who aren't secure shout a lot and demean others who don't share those convictions) and because, in my finer moments, I know I'm loved, I can tell people that they're going to hell (or even tell them to go there) and sometimes they'll even look forward to the trip.

Sorry.

Charles Spurgeon in commenting on the "unhewn" stones for the altar in Exodus 20:25 said this: "Many professors may take warning from this morning's text as to the doctrines which they believe. There is among Christians far too much inclination to square and reconcile the truths of revelation; this is a form of irreverence and unbelief. Let us strive against it, and receive truth as we find it...rejoicing that the doctrines of the Word are unhewn stones, and so are all the more fit to build an altar for the Lord."

Good point, that!

However, the truth is that you can't do it unless you've been loved.

So, go out and offend someone…

…but be nice about it.

He told me to tell you.