Fine Prints: May, 2006

For Ever and Ever May 6

Not Good Odds  May 13 

The Muhammad Ali Syndrome  May 20  

The Gospel According to Santana May 27

For Ever and Ever

When Dolores and Russ Blood gave me a copy of the book The Farm on Nippersink Creek, they did so because they thought I’d enjoy "stories from a Midwestern childhood"—as the book’s cover described its contents.

They were right. But not just because the book told stories about growing up on a farm. The writer’s observations about his youthful perceptions of religion were equally easy to relate to.

Admittedly, the author, Jim May, grew up Roman Catholic. I grew up Seventh-day Adventist. While the specifics of our respective religious experience varied substantially, the impact was amazingly similar.

Young Jim began to think about the universe’s life-and-death realities when one of the farm’s calves died. It was a jolt for a mere six-year-old to see the stiff, lifeless form of an animal he had loved being rather unceremoniously carted away.

Jim learned about heaven from his church. It’s the place where "God is . . . and everyone is happy. There’s no sickness and no one will ever die again, ever." It sounded pretty good.

Heaven’s appeal ratcheted several notches higher when a year or so later he heard—at the same church—a description of hell! Heaven, great place that it was, wasn’t guaranteed. "It depended upon whether or not we could harness our sinful natures to do God’s will." If we couldn’t, the alternative was "eternal suffering in the fires of hell."

To illustrate the significance of eternity, the priest said that "if a sparrow were to fly around the world, again and again, dragging a ribbon along the ground, the time it would take the friction of the ribbon to wear the earth down to the size of a marble would be merely the beginning of eternity."

Understandably, Jim came away convinced "that hell could be a long, slow burn. . . . My every encounter with heat, fire and flame strengthened my resolve to avoid hell at all costs," he writes.

When Jim came to understand the Catholic Church’s teaching about mortal sins, his discomfort increased even further. Mortal sins—the really big, bad ones—could be forgiven only after confession to a priest. Or, in the event of extreme circumstances, through what was called a "Perfect Act of Contrition." This entailed confessing your sin directly to God—not because you wanted to avoid hell or gain heaven, but—just because you were so sorry that you had offended Him.

Granted that God would know that a person’s real reason for confessing was to avoid the eternal fires of hell, Jim tried to ensure that no sin went unconfessed—mortal or not. So it wasn’t uncommon for him to enter the confessional several times a day.

Once when he’d confessed for the third time, the priest asked, "Weren’t you just in here? Twice?" When Jim acknowledged that he had been, the priest told him in frustration, "Get out of here, now! You’ll make a mockery of the sacrament, which would be a mortal sin!" That really struck terror to his heart!

Fortunately, no Seventh-day Adventist child has ever gone through such affliction of soul. Well . . . maybe. Next week I’ll look at the fear too often invoked by the "hell substitutes" employed by Adventists.

Jim Coffin, Senior Pastor

Not Good Odds 

Last week I described the terror that the Catholic Church’s teaching about mortal sins and an eternally burning hell struck to the heart of Midwestern farm boy Jim May. I suggested—facetiously—that no Adventist youth has ever faced such affliction of soul.

I wish that were the case.

The reality is, although Adventists don’t hold traditional views regarding hell, we have a range of "hell substitutes" that have robbed many a young person—and many adults, for that matter—of spiritual peace and security.

When I was a youngster, some of Ellen G. White’s statements struck terror to my heart. It appeared as if the road to salvation was scarcely more than an overgrown footpath, while the road to damnation was a well-maintained, multi-laned superhighway.

I mean, think about it from my childish perspective: More than three fourths of the world’s population weren’t Christians—meaning they could be more or less removed from the salvation equation. Two thirds of Christians were Roman Catholics—effectively disqualifying them. Adventists viewed Sunday-worshiping Protestants as apostate—leaving only Seventh-day Adventists as serious candidates for heaven.

I was definitely glad to be an Adventist! But . . .

As I sat in family worship, my confidence slowly drained away. Ellen White said: "It is a solemn statement that I make to the church, that not one in twenty whose names are registered upon the church books are prepared to close their earthly history, and [they] would be as verily without God and without hope . . . as the common sinner."

If not one in twenty even of the chosen, the remnant, the real McCoy, was going to make it, then what were my chances? It was well-nigh hopeless.

Note that she said, "Not one in twenty." That could mean one out of fifty. Or even one out of a hundred. And keep in mind that these appalling statistics described the spiritual crème de la crème!

Add to this the oft-voiced contention of many Adventists that even one unconfessed sin would keep a person out of heaven, and you’re talking about one scared kid. In the fear department, I’d give Roman Catholic Jim May a run for his money any day!

Need I say, I didn’t look forward to the coming of Jesus.

I’d been taught that Christ would come from the east, in a cloud at first no larger than a man’s hand. So every wisp of vapor in an even remotely eastern direction sent me into my bedroom—my Adventist confessional—where I would fall on knees and lay out before God the sordidness of my six-year-old life.

I think it would have made a huge difference if someone had read to me 1 John 4:16-18: "God is love. . . . In this way, love is made complete among us so that we will have confidence on the day of judgment . . . .There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love."

Even as a six-year-old, I think hearing that verse might have given me clearer insight into what it truly means to be "ready for the coming of Jesus." Which brings up an important point: Just how does one get ready?

We’ll talk about that next week.

Jim Coffin, Senior Pastor

The Muhammad Ali Syndrome 

Outspoken world heavyweight boxing champ Muhammad Ali was once asked if he thought he was perfect. "No," he replied, "I have one flaw. And that flaw is that I don’t realize how truly great I am!"

Seventh-day Adventists suffer from the Muhammad Ali Syndrome–kind of. Let me explain.

As a people, we believe so strongly in the soon return of Jesus that we put the doctrine of the second advent into the very name of our denomination. That’s good. But, as a whole, Seventh-day Adventists—especially the young—don’t look forward with eager anticipation to Jesus’ coming. Why?

I mean, wouldn’t it seem that we should be excited beyond measure to think that the One who created us, sustains us and redeemed us is coming to take us to live with Him in paradise forever? What could be better news than that? Yet the Valuegenesis study of the attitudes of Adventist youth discovered that the overwhelming majority didn’t have good vibes about Jesus’ coming.

Again I ask, Why?

From my perspective, it primarily boils down to our use of one word: "ready." Adventists talk a lot about "being ready" and "getting ready" for the coming of Jesus. But what does readiness entail?

Does it mean being perfect? Near-perfect? Not if I read my Bible correctly.

1 John 1:8 says: "If we claim to be without sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us." The next verse says: "If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness." But note that such forgiveness, though freely granted, doesn’t mean that we aren’t still sinners. Verse 10 reiterates: "If we claim we have not sinned, we make him out to be a liar and his word has no place in our lives."

If people who’ve just confessed and have just been forgiven still have to acknowledge their sinfulness, it would seem that perfection isn’t what constitutes readiness. Nevertheless, I suggest that most Adventists believe that readiness involves achieving a certain level on the sanctification scale.

But let’s note a biblical example.

A thief, whose entire life was probably less than exemplary, asks Jesus to remember him when Jesus sets up His kingdom. It’s an extremely simple acknowledgment of need. No penance. No detailing of high crimes and misdemeanors. Yet immediately Jesus assures him that they’ll be together in paradise. It’s a done deal. Was the thief ready for the coming of Jesus? I say Yes.

Had he traveled far along the road of sanctification? No. So what constituted his readiness? Simply the fact that he was a friend of Jesus. That he recognized his own inadequacy and reached out to Jesus as his only Hope.

For too many people the expression "ready for the coming of Jesus" connotes something about performance. Yet they know–if they have a shred of honesty–that they’re not anywhere near what they should be. So how can questions about readiness evoke anything but fear?

The appropriate question to ask is this: Is Jesus your Friend? Is Jesus your Savior and Lord? If He is, you’re just as ready as the thief on the cross. And you’re just as assured of salvation.

Jim Coffin, Senior Pastor

The Gospel According to Santana 

While traveling by plane recently, I happened to listen to an interview with rock-star guitarist Carlos Santana, which was being featured on one of the airline’s in-flight entertainment channels. In addition to a rousing rendition of "Black Magic Woman," Santana described his approach to spiritual life. And what he said made a lot of sense.

For starters, he used accounting to illustrate the importance of God. He noted that in accounting, zeros are important. Zeros make the difference between tens, hundreds, thousands, millions, billions and trillions. So they’re indeed significant. However, irrespective of how many zeros there are in the right-hand columns, if there isn’t a non-zero number to the left, you have absolutely nothing.

In Santana’s analogy, God is the number to the left that gives meaning to all the zeros on the right. A lot of things in life totally lose their significance if God isn’t in the picture to give them perspective.

Santana went on to talk about his unshakeable faith in God’s grace. While he didn’t mention Jesus by name in the segment of the interview that I heard, what he did say should warm the heart of any Christian.

Santana recognizes that God doesn’t specialize in fear and punishment but in joy and fulfillment. God wants the grace He has shown us to be passed on. And Santana seemed to have no reservation about sharing his spiritual perspectives with any who would listen.

I’ll be candid, I know little about Carlos Santana—other than that he performed at Woodstock in 1969, is a fabulous guitarist and does a great job with "Black Magic Woman" and a few other famous songs. When it comes to spiritual things, he may be all talk and no walk. He may come up with good illustrations that have no direct relationship with how he lives his life. I don’t know.

But I do know that he’s been married to the same woman for 32 years—which says something about him. Or her. Or both. And I do know he gives her credit for playing a huge role in his spiritual life. That all came out in his discourse.

I didn’t start listening to the interview expecting to come away with good sermon illustrations. That was a windfall. And it was also an indictment.

While I haven’t gone on a campaign against Santana and his ilk, I’d have written them off in the spiritual department just because of their career choice. I’d have assumed that he and many others like him have nothing to say to a paragon of virtue like myself. I mean, I’m a preacher. I’m a church-goer. I shun the fast lane on which Santana travels daily. So I should be the source of any spiritual insights—not the other way around.

I’m glad I heard Santana’s interview. First, it gave me a super illustration that I plan to use often. Second, it reminded me that if God could cause the very stones to cry out, He might be able to use some other unlikely sources to convey spiritual truth.

After all, didn’t Jesus say that He had other sheep which "are not of this fold"?

Jim Coffin, Senior Pastor