Ms. Stone quickly learned that, even if you truly believe something, it might be helpful to remember the truism from Ecclesiastes 3:7: There’s "a time to be silent and a time to speak." Or maybe she should have remembered the Apostle Paul’s statement that "‘everything is permissible’—but not everything is beneficial" (1 Corinthians 10:23).

Karma is the idea that both good and bad come to you on the basis of how you live: Do bad, reap bad; do good, reap good.

To be sure, it’s a biblical principle that we reap what we sow. But it’s also biblical that we may reap things we don’t sow (see John 9:1-3). And it’s equally biblical that we don’t always reap what we sow—at least not immediately (see Psalm 10:1-13). The sow-reap connection clearly isn’t absolute.

Rigid belief in the doctrine of karma leads to major distortions—distortions about as old as humanity itself. For example, if bad "luck" is the result of bad living, it’s likely that when the fortunes of my friend Job suddenly plummet, I’m going to assume that he must be harboring secret sin, even though outwardly he seems a paragon of virtue.

And if I’m Job, I may drive myself nearly crazy trying to figure out what I’m doing that’s so bad that the forces of fate are so arrayed against me. How do I know what needs to be improved?

Of course, the reverse is also true: If life is coasting along wonderfully for me, it’s easy to pat my own back in self-congratulations. Obviously I’m a mighty good specimen of humanity or God/fate wouldn’t be rewarding me so marvelously. So I’m in danger of saying, "I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing" (Revelation 3:17).

To Christianity’s credit, invoking karma to explain the negatives we encounter in life is on the wane—though not totally eradicated. However, I’m not so sure that we show the same restraint in invoking karma—although we’d never call it that—for the good things that come our way.

For example, I suggest that tales such as Uncle Arthur’s Bedtimes Stories, which were a mainstay in my upbringing, seek to sell the idea of positive karma. The consistent theme of the stories is: You do your part by being loyal, honest, faithful, prayerful and a long list of other positive attributes and behaviors, and God will always come through for you. There’s no hint that sometimes people reap bad results from good behavior, let alone good results from bad behavior.

The facts are: In the world of sin in which we live, the rain (blessing) falls on the righteous and on the unrighteous (Matthew 5:45), and so does the hail (life’s adversity).

One final question: What kind of God would kill or maim tens of thousands of ordinary Chinese citizens just because He might happen to be mad at a few high-level government officials?

Ironically, the pope’s form of conveyance implies that many of the Bible’s beautiful promises of protection, such as Psalm 91, aren’t to be taken too literally. In the final analysis, it would seem, protecting oneself is primarily a human responsibility.

So last week I asked: As a pastor, am I being spiritually honest if I present the seemingly ironclad promises found in passages such as Psalm 91 without providing at least some form of disclaimer?

The fact is, even the psalm writers recognize that things don’t always work out quite as wonderfully as Psalm 91 seems to imply. Psalm 10:1, for example, asks: "Why, O LORD, do you stand far off? Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble?" Why ask such a plaintive question if God always works things out positively?

And the problem doesn’t stop with the psalms. The same chapter in the book of Acts that records Peter’s miraculous escape from prison also records James’s beheading. Yet both men were among the three disciples closest to Jesus. Why such marvelous protection for one and seemingly no protection for the other?

The popemobile—and the insurance policies purchased both by church entities and individual church members—highlights the disturbing reality that, even though we Christians emphatically profess unwavering faith in God’s ability to protect us, we have substantially less faith that He actually will. Thus we sense the need for human-devised methods of protection.

Should we label such actions as mere prudence and commonsense? Or should we see them as a lack of faith? Just how much can God be depended on to intervene on our behalf and make things work out well? And much is it our own responsibility?

If my child is sick during the Sabbath hours (when an Adventist typically wouldn’t buy or sell), should I forego buying medicine and leave it with God to make the child well or relieve his or her discomfort as He sees fit? Or do such circumstances trigger exceptions to otherwise ironclad commands? If God could keep three ancient Hebrews from being burned to death in a fiery furnace, is He not capable of dealing with such issues as a medicine-requiring sickness during the Sabbath hours?

If I assume that it would be sheer folly to forego popemobiles, insurance policies, armed law-enforcement officers even in Adventist enclaves, armies and a long list of other human protective measures, then on what basis can I as a pastor urge people to quit jobs that require Sabbath work or continue to tithe despite desperate financial circumstances, assuring them that they can depend on God to look out for their interests?
These aren’t theoretical questions.

A lot of Adventists probably looked at the pope’s visit primarily in the light of our Adventist understandings of end-time events. I think there may be more subtle issues to be pondered. These may include how to best minister to those who must answer some of life’s most difficult questions and make some of life’s toughest decisions right here and now.

Jim Coffin, Senior Pastor

I recently completed an on-line course known as "Traffic School." One of the questions I missed was: "Who has the right of way when a car merges into heavy traffic on the Interstate?"

(a) the car merging from the on-ramp
(b) the car in the through-lane of the Interstate
(c) the two drivers decide upon making eye contact
(d) neither car has the right of way

The answer is (d)! The laws discuss only who must yield the right of way. In this case, the car on the Interstate must yield the right of way to the car coming in from the on-ramp.
All of us are familiar with traffic accidents in which each party claims, "I was right to go first." The traffic citation isn’t issued on the basis of who was right, but rather to the driver who didn’t yield.

In our daily lives, we’re often faced with situations in which we have every right to go first, yet we yield: We let a car merge in front of us. We allow someone to go ahead of us in line at the grocery store. We hold a door open for the person who’s coming behind us. Allowing someone else to go first isn’t a legal decision; in secular society it’s one of common courtesy. Jewish Tradition considers such acts to be more than common courtesy or a kind deed, but a mitzva: a religious responsibility.

Whereas American law generally determines who’s right, Jewish law determines that the "right" action is the responsible one. One may have a right to say something negative about another, but, unless there’s a constructive purpose, the responsible action is to remain silent, even if the negative report is true. When we accept the obligation to fulfill mitzvot, we acknowledge that when there’s a conflict between rights and responsibilities, we yield to responsibility, even when we believe we’re right.

In a small tractate of the Mishna entitled Pirkay Avot, the early Sages of Jewish Tradition advised: Be careful not to take any mitzva lightly or to determine that one mitzva is less important than another, for you may not know how deeply your actions will touch others.

According to Tradition, the Torah presents us with 613 moral mitzvot that we are to fulfill. Three hundred and sixty-five of them are negative––the actions to avoid that are harmful to ourselves and/or others. This symbolically corresponds to the number of days in the year, emphasizing that we must control our impulses each and every day.

There are 248 positive mitzvot––the responsibilities that we are to fulfill, corresponding to the imagined number of bones in our body: We must do what we can to reach out to others with all our heart, with all our soul and with all our might.
Our purpose in life is to translate such Godly attributes of kindness, sensitivity, compassion and forgiveness into our lives whenever and wherever possible. We refer to a person who accepts the responsibility of demanding Godliness in actions as a mensch.

It’s a mitzva––a moral responsibility to be a mensch.