I have two working titles for two books I have thought about writing now for years. One book is called, Why I Stay In Churches of Christ (... but I understand why you left). The other one is called, Sermons You Might Not Like.
In the ancient tradition of hard-to-like sermons, I have not been able to get Jesus' teaching on the Sabbath out of my head since Saturday. (Fitting, isn't it?) A young lady who plays for the University of Toledo led her basketball team to win the NIT tournament this weekend, was named MVP, and then walked two miles home. She is an Orthodox Jew. The rabbi who counseled her while she was making her decision to play wove a tapestry of interpretation. It is an interpretation that sounds almost like Jesus.
It reminds me of Eric Liddell, the track phenom who won the 400 meters in the 1924 Olympic Games. The movie about his life, Chariots of Fire, goes to great lengths to portray his struggle to compete on a Sunday, which at that time was tantamount to a Jew competing/playing/working on the Sabbath.
When Jesus taught on the Sabbath in Matthew 12 using the man with the shriveled hand, well, let's just say it was a sermon they did not like. It took a command God gave to draw the people nearer to both God and each other that over time became divisive. Let's state for the record right here, right now: God never intended for commands such as this to divide fellow believers. The preaching of Jesus went to great lengths to establish non-divisive welcome among disciples. Sadly, the history of Christian interpretation is filled with examples of believers using Scripture to harm other believers. This should not be. Period.
And that brings me to a personal struggle from yesterday.
Years ago I wrote what is called a "Rule of Life" in keeping with some ancient Christian ascetic traditions. Basically, it is a way of approaching all of life with an eye toward God's presence. One line in my personal rule has to do with eating whatever is set before me as an act of gratitude to God for every meal.
Okay, brace yourself, because this is the part some of you "might not like."
Most people know that I have practiced Lent now for five years or so. Almost all of my lapsed-Catholic friends (and you are legion) ask me, "Why? You're not Catholic!" I know. But there is something about the organized practice of fasting that appeals to me, maybe because so many people around the world fast together, not out of tradition, but out of a sense of prayer.
Well, many of you faithful bloggerland brothers and sisters know from my previous writings that this year I have given up bread until Easter. It has been a wonderful, though challenging, practice to do without something I have had most every day of my life.
Then came yesterday. A crossroads. Which road to take? One road was marked "Lent" and had no bread. The other road was marked "Rule of Life" and had a small basket with two pitas sitting just far enough into the road that it required a choice.
Which was the right one? Was there a "right" one?
These are the kinds of decisions that make Christians weary, that make churches weary. These are the kinds of decisions that divide believers, most of the time couched in the perspective of, "Well, I would have..." This, too, should not be.
The "answer" to these legalistic approaches lies not in the action itself, but in the heart of the prayer. The decisions we make every day that have to do with our walk with God need to be made out of sincerity of devotion, not the guilt of words like "should" and "shouldn't." Most of my church buddies know what it is like to be should on. Can I get a witness?
The young lady who plays for Toledo probably drew more attention to her faith by playing than not playing. Eric Liddell undoubtedly gained a bigger hearing for Jesus simply through his personal decision. While my little dilemma on whether to eat bread does not compare to their actions, the crossroads is the same.
So if you shoot baskets today, thanks be to God. If you run, let the Lord renew your strength. And if you eat bread today, may it be bread of remembrance and gratitude.
Long after Eric Liddell died on the mission field in an internment camp in China, it was not hard to decide what to put on the stone: "They shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run and not be weary." (Isaiah 40:31)
