IMAGES OF A PARROT

"There is God. And there are images of God. And some people don't see any difference between the two.

A capable, good-hearted, and devout servant by the name of Felicite from Gustave Flaubert's 'A Simple Heart' fell prey to this confusion between God and God's images. She was alone and unappreciated, and her parrot Loulou became 'almost like a son, a lover to her', so much so that, when he died, she had him stuffed. Soon the gospel's image of the Holy Spirit as a dove began to merge with her stuffed parrot, and she fell 'into the idolatrous habit of saying her prayers on her knees in front of the parrot.' Finally, Flaubert wrote, as she breathed her last, 'she thought she saw, as the heavens opened, a gigantic parrot hovering over her head.' Abandoned by others, she transferred her love to the parrot, transforming it into a god. An earthly image morphed into a divine reality ...

[Believers] worship idols without even knowing it. Unlike Felicite's parrot, their gods are not made of the hard matter of this world and don't sit elevated on sacred pedestals. Instead, they dwell in their worshipers' minds and are made of the soft stuff of their own cherished ideas. They simply assume that who they believe God to be and who God truly is are one and the same. God is as large (or as small) as they make the Infinite One to be, and none of the beliefs they entertain about God could possibly be wrong ... Our hearts [are] factories of idols in which we fashion and refashion God to fit our needs and desires.

Yet the most powerful and seductive images of God are not the ones we craft in the privacy of our hearts. They are the ones that seep into our minds as we watch TV, read books, go shopping at the mall, or socialize with our neighbors. Slowly and imperceptibly, the one true God begins acquiring the features of the gods of this world ... To use Flaubert's metaphor, the dove of the Spirit becomes the parrot whose plumage bears a striking resemblance to our culture's values."

MIROSLAV VOLF, FREE OF CHARGE

AN IMPOSSIBLE, ABSURD COMMAND

"But I tell you who hear me: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you. If someone strikes you on one cheek, turn to him the other also. If someone takes your cloak, do not stop him from taking your tunic. Give to everyone who asks you, and if anyone takes what belongs to you, do not demand it back. Do to others as you would have them do to you." Luke 6:27-31

"Impossible!" we say. "Absurd!" we protest. And so it is. To love those we hate is not merely something that is difficult, it is something that simply cannot be done. And yet, while we instinctively recoil at these words, there is a part of us, a deeper part, that is strangely drawn to them. It is as if something within us says "That is love ... I see it now." And we begin to wonder if we've ever loved at all ... or if we've ever been loved at all. And find ourselves feeling strangely homesick.

In that instant, in that momentary flicker of nostalgia, we are shown volumes about our human condition. We finally see the leprosy of our heart, unable to feel as we ought, thinking that hate and resentment and vengeance were the strongest of our emotions. We see the moral paralysis of our will, seeing for the first time how we ought to live, and yet utterly unable to move in that direction.

And in that same fleeting moment we see this very love, this impossible, absurd love, displayed on the stage of human history. For Christ himself would do us the greatest good even as we treated him with greatest malice. He would pronounce upon us cosmic benediction over the deafening din of our furious cursings. He would pray for us in the breaths he took between our mistreatments. He would turn to us his other cheek again and again, as he endured our repeated beatings. And it would be his coat and tunic that would be torn from him as he dangled in naked humiliation ... yet he would demand nothing in return.

He told us "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." Instead, we did unto him what ought to have been done unto us.

THE (UNEXPECTED) JOYS OF FATHERHOOD

There are certain joys in parenting that most guys pretty much expect once the paralyzing terror of fatherhood has sufficiently worn off. Things like seeing your baby smile at you (probably because the sight of you somehow made her fart), or reading a bedtime story (to a child who has yet to learn English), etc. But I've found that the greatest joys were the ones that caught me by surprise; the ones that, in any other circumstance, would have been repulsive to me. Here are just a few.

1. BEING RESPONSIBLE. Just 21 days ago, I was not. I wasn't really even trying to be. Now I am ... trying, that is. And I like it. If you would have told me I would one day enjoy being responsible I would have poked you in both of your eyes and said "Woop woop woop woop!"

2. DRIVING LIKE A DAD. Just 21 days ago, one of my pet peeves was people who drive like a dad (which is really just 5mph away from driving like an old lady). But, on the way home from the hospital, we went a cool 45 mph on 93S, never once changing lanes, actually slowing down at yellow lights and clinging white-knuckled to the steering wheel like I was 16 all over again. But I loved it. Have you ever noticed that driving really is like flying down a concrete corridor in a steel deathtrap at breakneck speeds? I didn't either ... until 1/26/06.

3. THE EXHILIRATION OF DIRTY DIAPERS. Just 21 days ago, dirty diapers would have made me gag. I have two neices ... and both of their poo grossed me out (it still does, I think, but they're both potty trained now, so I don't get to see their poo as often as I used to ...). But now, diapers loaded with that gooey mustard-colored poop-cream fill me with an unspeakable joy. Even the smell of it makes me smile to myself. I think it's because it tells me that my daughter is eating well and getting nourished ... and that all of her plumbing is in good working order.

4. NOT BEING THE CENTER OF MY OWN UNIVERSE. This was really unexpected in the sense that I had effectively convinced myself that I wasn't the center of my own life anyways ... Jesus was. But, when Lydia came around, I was surprised at how much of my life really was all about me: my needs, my wants, my desires. All of that got turned over and, for the first time, I've actually gone through portions of my day NOT serving myself. What a novel idea: to not serve myself for portions of the day. I guess it shows that I have a lot more to learn about what it means to love Jesus. Especially since Lydia has now commanded more of my allegiance than He has. Oops ...

A MISDIAGNOSIS

One of the main misconceptions that plagues the church today is the sharp distinction we make between belief and behavior. When we think of the non-Christian, we diagnose his situation as a problem of belief. As such, we are not so concerned about his ethical behavior (as long as it is not violently distructive) because his problem is a one of belief. The behavioral issues are peripheral. On the other hand, for the Christian, we diagnose his problem as one of behavior, because he's supposedly solved the problem of belief. He has, as we say, moved on from the elementary problem of belief to tackle the more advanced problem of behavior. Thus sets in the legalism and "border guarding" that marks much of evangelicalism today. As such, we find that we can be very gracious towards non-Christians, but the moment one becomes a Christian, we find that we demand certain behaviors of him. The person that receives the brunt of our judgmentalism and condemnation is not the non-Christian; it is the Christian who is not living up to our bare minimum standards of acceptable behavior.

When we diagnose the problem these two ways (and I argue that we all do it), we come up with two very distinct prescriptions for the cure. The non-Christian, because his problem is belief, needs the gospel. He needs to believe. He needs Jesus. The Christian, however, because he's solved the belief problem, doesn't need to hear the gospel anymore (that's for non-Christians, he's grown beyond that). He now needs discipleship, tips for living, practical help for spiritual disciplines, etc. Two diagnoses, two prognoses.

This may be why the seeker-sensitive model for church runs into difficulties. When we identify the main "audience" of Sunday worship as non-Christians, we naturally preach the gospel to address the problem of belief. But, that gospel is often a pre-canned, simplistic one from which most Christians come away thinking "I didn't get much out of it." They feel it was "basic" theology, something they had mastered long ago. Thus arises the need for a second believers' service that meets the needs of Christians. This usually takes the form of something like helps for living more Christianly, inspiration to fuel obedience, "meatier" advanced theology that is really more cognitive than practical (that's usually what we mean when we use the word "advanced"). And this becomes a meeting where the non-Christian is not supposed to come. He would be lost, a complete outsider. This dichotomy between belief and behavior forces us to resign to the fact that we can only address one or the other in a given service. It is either for the non-Christian or the Christian. It either addresses belief or behavior. it is either evangelism or discipleship.

But in Scripture, the problem that plagued the people of God more relentlessly than any other was the problem of unbelief. Whether we speak of the patriarchs, the nation of Israel, the twelve disciples or the early church, again and again the problem was unbelief. Hebrews 3:12-19 makes this especially clear:

Take care, brothers, lest there be in any of you an evil, unbelieving heart, leading you to fall away from the living God. But exhort one another every day, as long as it is called 'today,' that none of you may be hardened by the deceitfulness of sin. For we share in Christ, if in deed we hold our original confidence firm to the end. As it is said 'Today, if you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts as in the rebellion.' For who were those who heard and yet rebelled? Was it not all those who left Egypt led by Moses? And with whom was he provoked for forty years? Was it not with those who sinned, whose bodies fell in the wilderness? And to whom did he swear that they would not enter his rest, but to those who were disobedient? So we see that they were unable to enter because of unbelief.

At the root of disobedience is unbelief. Or, in other words, if we really understand the behavior problem, we recognize that it is a belief problem. the Christian and the non-Christian are not struggling with two different sets of problems, measured on two different scales. Rather, the problem of the christian is essentially the same as the problem of the non-christian. They are both problems of belief. There are not two diagnoses, but one. As such, there are not two cures, but one. We both need the gospel. We both need to believe. We both need jesus.

When we understand the christian's struggle not primarily as one of behavior, but as one of belief that results in behavior, we can now explore the possibility of addressing both the Christian and the non-Christian in meaningful ways at the same time, in the same place. We no longer have to choose between evangelism and discipleship, because we now realize that the gospel addresses the heart of both. It is by working with these convictions that we can develop a worship that is much like that of the early church: Christ-centered, spiritually nourishing and evangelistic all at the same time.

But this can occur only if we begin to diagnose the Christian's problem aright as a problem of unbelief. Then and only then will the gospel become central in the church again.