Francis Shaeffer and the Undead (Zombie Theology)

What? Two posts in one week? Pick yourself off of the floor!

As regular readers know, I have been keeping up with season four of "The Walking Dead" (TWD). I've been trying to figure out my fascination with it.  I hate blood and gore, of which there are plenty on the show, so I spend many minutes with my eyes closed. I like happy endings, and happy stories, and happy people. Not so far, not too many, and not too often. Yet I am hooked.

I am also reading Francis Schaeffer's book, True Spirituality.Schaeffer was a Christian theologian who lived from 1912-1984. True Spirituality tells of Schaeffer's examination of his faith and exposition of what it means to live life, real life, as a believer in Christ. I will confess: I've only read the first two chapters. However unlikely, the first chapter of Schaeffer's book gives me a clue why I am so fascinated with "The Walking Dead."

Schaeffer posits in the first chapter (as I understand it), that the breaking of the ten commandments (and, by extension, all sin) is rooted in the inward sin of covetousness. He states, on page seven:

We must see that to love God with all the heart, mind, and soul is not to covet against God; and to love man, to love our neighbor as ourselves, is not to covet against man. When I do not love the Lord as I should, I am coveting against the Lord. And when I do not love my neighbor as I should, I am coveting against him.

Schaeffer sees coveting as wanting something other than what God has given and believing that God is wrong in what He gives, and as wanting what someone else has. For most of us, once we are past the age of about ten, coveting is inward. We don't just tell our friend that we want their cute clothes or their great car or their wonderful boyfriend. But we think it. As adults, many of us struggle with wanting someone else's talents or looks or relationships. We don't much talk about it, but it's always there, under the surface.

Zombies on TWD (disclaimer: I am not an expert on the genre or mythology of zombies) have one goal: To eat. They have one preferred food: Human flesh. They want what they want, they want it now, and they don't care who gets hurt in the process. Their one and only purpose is keeping themselves alive (well, kind of, in an undead sort of way).

Zombies, to me, are the graphic image of the sin nature that is at the core of each of us. We hide it, we dress it up, we fight it, but each of us have needs or desires that we pursue with single-mindedness and without much caring whether someone else gets hurt as long as we get what we want. In our lives, the sin is usually disguised, but, in our worst moments, most of us recognize that we really do want what we want and intend to get it.

The people on TWD are not yet zombies (spoiler alert if you've never watched), but as soon as they die, that's what they become. They are "zombies walking" who have only two fates: To become a zombie or to have their brain destroyed as soon as they die to prevent this. There is no cure. I have not read the comic book series upon which the show is based, so I don't know if a cure is ever found.

All of us are "zombies walking" in the sense that we are sick with sin. There is no human cure. I can try really, really hard, but I will still internally covet something someone else has. Schaeffer puts it like this: "'Thou shalt not covet' is the internal commandment that shows the man who thinks himself to be moral that he really needs a Savior." (p. 7)

The characters on TWD need to be rescued. They need someone to save them from death. I need to be rescued. I need someone to save me from death. If I were writing TWD, there would be a rescuer. There would be a savior. In my life, God sends a rescuer. He sends a savior. The raging zombie of sin has been forgiven and redeemed by the love of Jesus. I am no longer enslaved to covetousness. I no longer have to fear death:

I tell you this, brothers: flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God, nor does the perishable inherit the imperishable. Behold! I tell you a mystery. We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we shall be changed[emphasis mine]. For this perishable body must put on the imperishable, and this mortal body must put on immortality. When the perishable puts on the imperishable, and the mortal puts on immortality, then shall come to pass the saying that is written:“Death is swallowed up in victory.” “O death, where is your victory?    O death, where is your sting?”The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. (1 Corinthians 15:50-57)

Life, Zombies, and the Pursuit of Love

A blog? Oh, yeah, I have one. This being in love thing kinda takes up a lot of brain space. Speaking of love, many people know that I am, as unlikely as it may seem, a fan of the AMC show "The Walking Dead." Two words: Zombie apocalypse.

I was watching the most recent episode, "Claimed" (season 4, episode 11), a few days ago. Once again, all hell has broken loose. The safe haven the survivors had claimed was destroyed, and the makeshift family they had formed was disbanded. No one knows who's alive and who's dead. Various group of two or three are trying to figure out what to do next and where to go. 

Part of the fascination for me with this show involves imagining what I would do if something like this really happened. There are enemies everywhere, there is no hope in sight for a cure, and life consists of fighting zombies and trying to find enough food and water to survive. Even death holds no peace (spoiler alert) because once you die, you turn into a flesh-eating zombie. A question the characters wrestle with over and over is whether to keep fighting for survival or to just give up. What is the point? There is no safe place, no solution, no rest.

As the past few episodes have played out, I noticed that almost every character carries on because of the love they have for someone else. A father for his son. A little sister for a big sister. A husband for a wife. The one goal of the these characters is to find or protect their loved one. They don't rest, they risk death, they pursue even in the face of overwhelming odds. The following clip shows one character's (Beth's) determination to find her sister and others:

The Walking Dead - Sneak Peek: Episode 410: The Walking Dead: Inmates – AMC

The world we live in remains free of zombies, but, nonetheless, it is not safe. People hurt us. They leave. They die. Worse, we hurt other people. We leave. We die. We sin against God and others every single day. I wonder how Jesus sees our world? Do we look like survivors of a zombie apocalypse, wandering around in our rags, seeking family in a war zone? Jesus came to us in our mess to rescue us. More ardently than Glenn seeks Maggie (think Romeo and Juliet. Except older, dirtier, and much better with knives), Jesus seeks us. As we run after the loves we desire, He pursues us, knowing that only His love for us will save us from futility and death. 

That desire of the survivors of the zombie apocalypse to find their family? The passion and purpose that impels them to keep going though thirsty, hungry, and wounded? It reflects, but only dimly, the passionate pursuit of our Savior.

"For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost." (Luke 19:10)

Next! (Time to Switch Rooms)

Waiting and I are old friends. All of us have, are, and will be waiting for many things. I have waited to grow up. Waited to understand about Who Jesus is. Waited a really long time to forge an emotional connection with God. But, as almost everyone who's even met me knows, the waiting room that I have inhabited the longest is the Singleness Waiting Room.

I've been in this Singleness Waiting Room for over twenty years.  I've seen most of my fellow waiting room guests get called into the next room. I've celebrated their transition joyfully (not without envy, but with genuine happiness). I've read all the magazines. I know where the bathroom is. I know where to get snacks. I've shed lots of tears there, prayed lots of prayers there, and even had some parties there. I've met God there, grown there, become comfortable with my role there.

All I have ever wanted while in this Singleness Waiting Room is to get out of it. Yet, now that there is the possibility of my name finally (finally!) getting called, well, I've discovered that while I hate waiting, change is also very scary. I know how to wait in this room (not always well, but I understand the process). I've gained a deeper knowledge of God than I could have gotten anywhere else in my life. I know this drill. I know my fellow sojourners. I know my identity and role in this place.

Hebrews 11:8 says this: "By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to go out to a place that he was to receive as an inheritance. And he went out, not knowing where he was going."

Abraham was more or less minding his own business when God told him to take his family and follow the Lord to a new place. An inheritance and a legacy were promised. But Abraham had no idea what it would look like, where it would be, or what would happen. Even after leaving and following it was years before Isaac, the son of the promise, was born. 

I don't know for sure what my future holds. From all I can discern from the exciting things happening in my life, God is calling my name to move into a new waiting room.  However, the room may be different, but the waiting hasn't ceased.  Is He calling me to marriage? I have to wait to know that for sure. When would it happen? Waiting for that too. How do I learn to live a life joined together with another person and God instead of just me and God? Waiting. Just like Abraham, I don't know where I am going.

I will have to get to know this new waiting room. To figure out where the snacks are, who the other visitors are, what the Lord wants to teach me now. I've long said and believed that we are all waiting for something. I'm just now starting to grasp that the waiting never ends. In Romans, Paul talks about how all of creation is waiting for the Lord to come back and to do His redemptive work:

 We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time.  Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption to sonship, the redemption of our bodies.  For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what they already have?  But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently. (Romans 8:22-25, NIV).

I must trust the Lord that He will be as present and as faithful in the new waiting room as He was in the old, and that the lessons I have learned will not be forgotten. Though I don't know where I am going, He does. I must be willing to move from the familiar to the unknown so that I can see, like Abraham, what new blessings the Lord may have for me.

Contentment or Persistence?

Two posts in one month?? Hold on to your hats!

Much of the Christian life is a paradox. We hear how we are supposed to lay down our life in order to keep it (Luke 17:33), how giving leads to plenty (2 Corinthians 9:6), and how the foolish things of this world are chosen to shame the wise(1 Corinthians 1:27). I have also heard a lot about the benefit of contentment, the two main verses cited being 1 Timothy 6:6: "But godliness with contentment is great gain" (In context, it is an admonishment not to love money or seek riches) and Philippians 4:11-13:

 Not that I am speaking of being in need, for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content.  I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need.  I can do all things through him who strengthens me.

My current question/struggle/wondering is this: What is the balance of being content and in seeking purposefully after what we want? The Bible contains example after example of people who came to the Lord seeking desperately for something they wanted: Hannah wanted a baby (1 Samuel 1), cried out to the Lord while weeping bitterly, and got one (actually, in the end she had six children). Could not someone have told Hannah to be content with her husband and stop longing for children?

Time after time in the New Testament, people come to Jesus to heal them or someone they love. The woman who had bled for twelve years and who fought through a crowd simply to touch Jesus' robe (Luke 8:43-48) wasn't content to stay in her house alone and accept her fate, and she was healed. Two blind beggars wait for Jesus at the side of the road and yell out for Him until He comes, even after the crowd tries to make them stop (Matthew 20:29-34). They do not seem very content with their lot, and they received their sight. The Canaanite woman nags Jesus about her demon-possessed daughter and won't accept "No" even when Jesus initially doesn't promise her help(Matthew 15:21-28). She ends up with a healthy daughter.

Luke 18: 1-8 is the account of the persistent widow. The Bible says about this that: ". . . he[Jesus] told them a parable to the effect that they ought always to pray and not lose heart." (Luke 18:1) The parable conveys the idea that we need to keep on praying for what we want. The rest of the account does say that what the Lord will give us is justice (Luke 18:7) and not just anything we want, so I have to keep that in mind when I think about that example. 

Matthew 7:7-11 tells us to ask for what we want, for "If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask him!" (Matthew 7:11) In Luke 11:5-13, Jesus expounds on that story, and tells how a man will give a friend bread because of his "impudence" in asking. 

So, which is it? Be content or seek God to change something in your life? Can we do both? Does it depend on what it is?

No surprise to anyone who knows me or who reads this irregular blog regularly, but I am specifically thinking of this question in relationship to singleness (or any desire we have that is not a promise from God). There are many people who give the well-meaning advice of "Just come to a place of contentment. This happened to me (or my friend, or my sister, or my third cousin-once-removed) and THEN God brought me a mate." Yay for you, and there is some truth to that, but Hannah wasn't content in her childlessness and then God just suddenly sent a baby. She was weeping loudly enough that the priest thought she was drunk, and praying HARD for that child.

We are not to have idols, and any unmet desire can easily become an idol, especially when it is a good thing (marriage, a baby, health, security, even someone's salvation). I believe that God's desire is that we would seek Him above what we want. Yet, would the bleeding woman or the blind men or Hannah have come to the Lord without wanting something? They weren't there just to praise God. They were there to fix the problem, to meet the desire, to get what they wanted. 

I wonder how that made Jesus feel? Happy that they did come, sad because it was only to get what they wanted? Or happy because the trial did what it was supposed to and drew them to Him? I was going to say that there are no examples of people coming to Jesus who didn't get healed/rewarded, but there are. The rich young ruler (Luke 18:18-23) walked away. Pilate refused to really find out who Truth was (John 18:33-38) and washed his hands of it all.  

Obviously, many pray persistently for healing and do not receive it on this earth. People pray for children and never conceive. Others pray for spouses and the answer is "No." How do those of us in these situations--any of us who are going to Jesus to seek healing or the fulfillment of godly desires--balance contentment with persistence? Jesus was denied relief from crucifixion. Yet He did go to God seeking it.

If I know myself at all, I know that I am probably wanting a formula when I just need to be seeking Jesus. I do think there is not an easy answer, and I promise never to tell anyone that they just need to be "content" and then God will do whatever it is that they want, because I don't see that in Scripture (and if your heart is anywhere as devious as mine, you also know that you are trying to achieve contentment to gain the goal which. . . not what God has in mind, I'm pretty sure).

My comfort, as we begin the season of advent, is this:

Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign. Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel. (Isaiah 7:14)

Immanuel means "God with us" and to have God with me, even though my greedy heart fights for more, is all I really need.

I may never figure out this balance. I come to Jesus all the time with my sinful, mixed-up desires and motives. I will never love like He does. In my own strength I can't seek Him wholeheartedly. Yet the miracle of Christmas and Easter is that God did the seeking and finding for me, and made the way for my sinful self to come before His perfect throne.  This fact is the only paradox that really matters.

It's All Fun and Games til Someone Loses an Ear. . .

One of my favorite things is when I hear a message that God uses to show me something new. Last Sunday, at The Summit, Clayton Pruett spoke about John 18. Jesus is in the garden with his disciples when Judas comes with a band of soldiers, Pharisees, and priest's officers to betray Jesus. Verse 10 tells how Peter took his sword and cut off the ear of the high priest's servant.

Peter is my favorite disciple, because I relate so much to him. He is impulsive and impatient and often doesn't understand what the Lord is doing (to give him credit, though, he is the only person besides Jesus who ever walked on water). What was Peter thinking here? There were probably over 200 men present, the majority of them highly trained Roman soldiers. Injuring one man, or even (had his aim been better) killing one would not have changed the situation. In fact, Jesus had already strongly rebuked Peter for not understanding (or agreeing with) God's plan of redemption: 

From that time Jesus began to show his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and suffer many things from the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised.  And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him, saying, “Far be it from you, Lord! This shall never happen to you.”  But he turned and said to Peter, “Get behind me, Satan! You are a hindrance to me. For you are not setting your mind on the things of God, but on the things of man. (Matthew 16:21-23)

Peter was, to use words from Sunday's message, trying to "save Jesus." Maybe Peter thought he could fix the situation. Maybe he was just afraid. The sermon point I have been thinking about since last Sunday is that we all have the tendency to use metaphorical swords to fix the things in our life that we don't like. When we are unhappy or hurting or uncomfortable or scared, we use our swords of control or gratification or manipulation to try to remedy the problem.

Sometimes we do this when we don't feel that God is giving us clear directions. However, Peter was standing right next to Jesus. Why didn't he ask Jesus what to do? "Hey, Lord, should I just use this sword and fight for you?" Peter decided he knew what to do and just did it.

As a believer, Jesus is always right next to me. I have the Bible for clear direction. I can pray any time. Yet I also often don't go to God first and ask what to do. Instead, I let my emotions and impatience control my actions and start waving my swords around trying to change the circumstances. Which leads, as with Peter, to people getting hurt and me receiving conviction: "Put your sword into its sheath; shall I not drink the cup that the Father has given me?" (John 18:11)

This week I have been challenged to put my sword away and seek the Lord's wisdom rather than start hacking away at what (or whom) ever is in front of me.

If you would like to listen to this message, you can hear it here:
God Who Reconciles, Part 13

Fueling the Fire

Been quiet here for a while. Quiet, but good. I'm starting to plug into a new church, starting to feel more a part of a faith community, starting to feel less like I'm wandering around on the periphery of things. Feeling the nudges of the Holy Spirit, and finally, FINALLY (in the chronological journey of the reading through the Bible in a year) reading in the New Testament (happy dance).

In the past few days I've been thinking about passion. I used to be very frustrated that I didn't have a passion (that I could figure out) for anything. It seemed very important to find something to be passionate about. Where did that idea come from? I'm not sure. It seems romantic to have a passion. It seems purposeful. At the time, it seemed stressful to NOT have a passion. Deficient somehow. It was one of the things that I worried about and used to judge myself. Was I passionate enough about God? Had He given me some passion for His purpose, and what was it, and would I miss it, and could I mess it up?

Then I guess I just got caught up in living my life and sort of forgot about having a passion. Recently, a friend brought up the whole idea of passion again, causing me to think, again, about whether I had anything now that inspires passion in me. In doing that, I had to think about what it means to me to have passion. For me, it means that I am very excited about something and want to share that excitement with others. It means that I think this "thing" I'm passionate about is very important and surely YOU think it's important too, or you will once I explain it all to you.

So, what are my passions? Sharing what God shows me (thus this blog), women's Bible studies (there's a special kind of magic that happens there), the truth (not what we think is true or want to be true, but what IS true), and understanding and combating poverty (my vehicle of choice is Compassion International). Those things excite me, they motivate me, I get energized when I participate in them, and I want other people to see what it is that is so exciting.

As I continued thinking about this, I realized that a huge, maybe key, part of passion is that we have to feed it. I have been involved with Compassion International for so long that I don't even remember when I started. 1994 sticks out in my mind, but. . . I honestly don't know. I have sponsored children for years. About five years ago I became a volunteer advocate, working at concerts and events and speaking at Compassion Sundays to try and get more kids sponsored. I traveled to Ethiopia in 2010 with Compassion. However, through these many years, my feelings of passion wax and wane. I pay my sponsorships each month and I faithfully (sometimes more often than others) write letters. But my excitement comes and goes. Yesterday, as I was reading two different magazines that Compassion sends out, and as I got a letter from the college student I sponsor, I started feeling excited again, and thinking about how I could spread the news about Compassion more, and participate more in the fight against poverty.

I believe that we can think we have no passion because we aren't investing or engaging with anything to stir up the feelings of passion. It parallels my Christian walk so well--when I am feeling passionless about the Lord, I need to first realize that the feeling of "passion" is nowhere in the Bible as a sign of true discipleship. It's great to feel the emotions of being loved by God, and loving Him, but the reality of my salvation remains with or without the euphoria. When I take the time to invest and engage in the Biblical disciplines of reading the Bible and praying, which are just ways to get me to slow down and spend time with God, I will often find my emotion returning.

I think I once was waiting for the passion to come in order to know what to do next, rather than just doing something and seeing if it led to passion. Sometimes we need to feed our passions (the good, productive ones) and pursue them, just as we need to feed our relationship with the Lord and pursue Him, because the engagement and involvement will grow the passion. I do think that each of us has a God-given passion about something, and that when we pursue it, we will be glorifying God in some way. It's not necessarily a "Christian" thing. It could be art, or soccer, or cooking, or. . . anything:

 And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him. (Colossians 3:17)

In The Message paraphrase:

Let every detail in your lives—words, actions, whatever—be done in the name of the Master, Jesus, thanking God the Father every step of the way.

Can You Hear Me Now?

I'm a teacher who works with small children. I would be rich if I had a nickel for all the times over the past twenty years that I have said, "Pay attention. Are you listening? What did I say? I just said that. Look at me. Turn your listening ears on. I don't want to have to say this again." And on, and on.

I've been a Christian longer than I have been a teacher. I would probably also be rich if I had a nickel for all the times that God has been speaking to me and I have missed it or ignored it or not recognized that it was Him doing the talking.

The past several months have been difficult ones for me. I left a church family of eighteen years in obedience to what I still believe was the direct leading of the Holy Spirit. In my economy, obedience in a hard thing should lead to big reward (again, like my students: "If we do a good job, do we get a Skittle?"). Instead, it has seemed to lead to silence. I have continued in the disciplines of the faith, reading my Bible and praying and attending church. I have felt disconnected and have believed that God was not speaking. The loneliness and silence have made me angry and hurt, which led to an attitude of cynicism and sarcasm concerning what God is doing.

Last Sunday was the first glimpse of God that I have noticed in a while. In the middle of the message, or the song, or. . . I don't even remember, it occurred to me that God has been quietly doing things in my life. I had been praying and praying for guidance in a particular situation, and while there was no thundering voice from heaven, circumstances aligned and I had my answer. My  moment of clarity:  God is moving even when I don't see it.

Wednesday I had another sighting. A dear friend called specifically to see how I was doing Unfortunately, in the way we perversely do when someone we love and trust starts poking around, I reacted with defensiveness and intellectual argument and a refusal to acknowledge the presence of God in anything at all right now, EVER. However, in the perverse way of the love of Jesus, she prayed over me and for me and I started to pay attention that the very act of a friend calling, caring, listening, praying, and loving was the Lord at work to draw me closer to Him.

I determined that I needed (when don't I?) more time to spend with God praying and working through some of this. I sat down on the couch this morning and picked up Charles Swindoll's book about Esther that I have been reading but not opened in weeks. The chapter was about the silence of God.

Okay. I'm starting to get it (today, anyhow). I've read the story about Elijah in 1 Kings 19:9-18, about how the Lord speaks to him not in a wind, an earthquake, or a fire; but in a whisper. I know that in my brain, but my heart still wants something loud--because then I know for sure that I'm doing what I should be. Yet often the Lord is moving through quiet circumstances and speaking in words we already know. I want to be connected to a church family again. I've found a church to try. Yet I have been dragging my heels about joining a small group. Do I need a telegram to know what to do? I want more depth with God. I found out about a women's Bible study that keeps coming back to my mind. Do I need angels singing?

Again and again, because I am as slow to listen and pay attention as my students (with less excuse, since most of them are only seven years old), God reminds me that faith is not based in burning bushes and talking donkeys, but in the ever-present knowledge of the love of Christ shown me on the cross. God's voice was not heard in the book of Esther, yet His purposes prevailed. His silence does not mean that He is idle in my life. I am praying for a heart that sees Him at work in the smallest of ways.