| Join our mailing list |  |
       |
|
|||
|
|
|
||||
|
|
|
Fine Prints: September, 2009 Showdown of the Seminole-Wekiva Trail September 5 I Hope . . . September 12 Wiser Than the Children of Light September 19 What Freedom Is and Isn't September 26
Showdown on the
Seminole-Wekiva Trail
A few months ago I happened to have my bicycle at the
church and decided to take an after-lunch ride to clear my head of the
cobwebs that had been getting thicker all morning. It was beautiful
spring weather—too inviting to stay inside. So I donned my helmet and
headed north on the Seminole-Wekiva Trail. As I approached State Road 46-A, I
suddenly had a sense of déjà vu. Coming toward me on the trail were
four men, all dressed in high-quality business suits, wearing impeccably
ironed shirts and sporting expensive silk neckties that complemented
their respective ensembles. And their shoes looked as if they’d just
been polished. Maybe the men were lawyers who were
returning from a restaurant to their office, where they would plan their
strategy for some upcoming litigation. Or maybe they were corporate
raiders who were planning their next hostile takeover. Maybe they were
CIA agents who were closing in on a terrorist cell operating out of Lake
Mary. Maybe they were Secret Service agents about to bust a
counterfeiting ring. Whatever their business, they moved like men on a mission. Every stride was purposeful. Their manner exuded confidence and power. And they were evenly spread across the asphalt trail—so either I was going to have to abandon the trail or they were going to have to reconfigure. And that seemed unlikely, granted their level of concentration on whatever it was they were contemplating. It was during that second or two of indecision concerning what I should do that I had my sense of déjà vu. I’d seen this very scene before. In the movies. Repeatedly. Even though I couldn’t see any six-shooters or shotguns, these men were headed toward the OK Corral, where they were going to teach the Clanton Gang not to mess with the Earp brothers, Doc Holiday etal. They were going to teach a lesson about who was in charge. I mean, every movie that includes the gunfight at OK Corral—whether it carries the name Gunfight at OK Corral or Wyatt Earp or Tombstone—portrays the scene the same way. The good guys are striding purposefully and powerfully toward the inevitable confrontation. Their jaws are set. Their gaze is penetrating. They know what they have to do. And they’re willing to do it. As I catalogued my sense of déjà vu, the men had come closer, showing no intention of making way for me. Since I wasn’t about to lose this battle like the hapless Clanton Gang did, I just stopped in the middle of the trail. Newtonian physics declares that two solid objects (major exaggeration—when referring to me, at least!) can’t occupy the same space at the same time, and I hoped they’d be the ones to move. They were. But why am I telling you this? Because it struck me that I was able to project a scene from 1881 into our modern era. "This is what it would look like in today’s world," I told myself. And that’s the challenge all of us have when we read the Bible: How do we recognize the parallels in today’s world to situations that existed millennia ago about which the original advice was given? — Jim Coffin, Senior Pastor
I Hope . . .
The following, abbreviated here, was recently
published as one of Nathan Brown’s final editorials as editor of the
Record, the
Adventist Church’s weekly magazine in the South Pacific Division (which
Jim Coffin edited from 1986 to 1991). I hope . . . I hope we do justice, love mercy and
walk humbly with our God. I hope we can better seek, celebrate
and create beauty in our world. I hope we can learn to listen
better—to God, to each other and to our communities. I hope we really believe that "it is
more important to be kind than it is to be right." I hope we can admit that "we don’t
know"—that we don’t have all the answers, and that’s OK. I hope we can be less worried about
control and more interested in community. I hope we can one day recognize women
as equally human, equally Christian, equally capable and equally called. I hope we have stopped "selling" God. I hope our first response to disaster
is to help the hurting, not to pull out our prophecy charts. I hope you watch the sunset
sometimes. I hope you don’t believe everything
you read in our church publications. I hope we can find better ways to
remember and share Sabbath, and better things to do on Sabbath
afternoons. I hope you are seriously bothered by
injustice, poverty and oppression—and are moved to do something about
them. I hope you rejoice that you’re a
Christian. I hope we aren’t so busy running a
church that we are forgetting to participate in the kingdom of God. I hope you watch less TV. I hope we can learn to address hard
questions, to disagree well and to embrace those who are different. I hope your explanation of what you
believe actually sounds like "good news"—to you and to others. I hope we can find our voice as a
church and begin to speak out on things that matter in ways that our
community understands. I hope we are a church that serves
the world, not panders to the noisy few. I hope we can practice the art of
apology—and the art of forgiveness. I hope we are aware of how technology
changes us and that we resist blindly pursuing the latest gadget or fad,
instead seeking what is most real. I hope we can learn from other
religions, faiths and traditions, respecting their best and seeking
their good. I hope we can become a church that
values fresh questions more than tired answers. I hope we aren’t just another brand
of Church Inc. I hope we maintain a sense of wonder
at the hugeness, variety and miracles of life. I hope in Jesus, His life, His death
and His resurrection. I hope to see Him some day. I hope and I pray. I hope . . . Much dreaming and many words are
meaningless. Therefore stand in awe of God.
(Ecclesiastes 5:7, NIV). Nathan Brown, Book Editor, Signs
Publishing Company
Wiser Than the Children of Light Jesus said that the children of this world are at times wiser than the children of light. It’s an indictment that most of us would prefer to believe doesn’t include us. Was Jesus talking about a malady that’s rare? Or was He describing a problem that’s pervasive? I don’t know. But since He made the comment, perhaps we should do a little self-analysis concerning how His words might apply to both our individual and our denominational lives. I find it incongruous that, as Christians, our secular standards for fairness are often higher than our spiritual standards. We too often give the church a pass for less-than-equitable practices involving its members and employees. And we do so because it’s a religious organization. But wouldn’t it seem that the church—precisely because it is a religious organization—should hold itself to an even higher standard than we would expect from the world? A few months ago a church-leader friend of mine (who’s into blogging) posted an opinion blog that drew substantial criticism/disagreement. He described how much he’d learned about grace from watching how church leaders had, over the years, dealt with employee problems at the organizational level at which he works. Many readers had a different perspective of the church’s track record, however. I’m sure my friend had indeed seen examples of graciousness during his 25-plus years of denominational employment. What he didn’t say was that some high-profile firings took place during his watch. And in those firings, the employees whose behavior/performance was being called into question weren’t allowed a face-to-face meeting to answer questions posed by the decision-making body that would determine their ultimate employment fate. So those who were ostensibly making the decision never had opportunity to hear firsthand the alleged miscreants’ answers to questions and to observe their demeanor while speaking. I ask: Who would feel that justice had been served if such an approach were followed in a secular court of law? So why the different standard? Call me absurdly idealistic, but I feel that when face-to-face interaction is denied or severely limited, we do a disservice not only to the person "on trial" but to the committee/board whose stamp of approval is being sought, not to mention what we do to the image of our denomination as a whole. Though it’s less overtly democratic, I’d rather have the final decisions made by a mere handful of people who actually have questioned the alleged miscreant in detail—and who then accept full responsibility for THEIR decision—rather than to go through the sham of gaining a larger body’s stamp of approval, when that larger group is acting only on "hearsay." Yet this isn’t the prevailing modus operandi within our denomination, whether we’re talking about dropping names from a local church’s roll or firing employees at conference level, at institutional level or at the church’s world headquarters. Our church, its employees and its members deserve better. And it’s up to those of us who serve on boards and committees to ensure that fairness prevails. I think it highly possible that Jesus was referring to just such practices when he said that the children of this world are often wiser than the children of light. Jim Coffin, Senior Pastor
Who says talk is cheap? U.S. Representative Joe Wilson (South Carolina) uttered only two words—You lie!—and paid for his comments by being formally reprimanded by the U.S. House of Representatives. But isn’t freedom of speech one of our cherished rights as citizens of the United States? Shouldn’t Rep. Wilson be allowed to say what’s on his mind? Certainly. But the freedom of speech enshrined in the U.S. Constitution merely says that, legally, we’re all entitled to have our say. That we won’t be thrown into jail for speaking up. However, even that freedom isn’t absolute—because there are also laws about disturbing the peace, obscenity, inciting to riot and a long list of other prohibitions that impinge on the absolute nature of our freedom to speak out. Freedom to speak my mind doesn’t mean that my neighbors may not find my comments so obnoxious that they’ll shun me. Or call me names. Or that some individual or group won’t undertake a campaign to discredit me. Or that my employer won’t fire me. Or that some organization to which I belong won’t expel me from its ranks or reprimand me—as Rep. Wilson discovered. It merely says the government—usually—won’t interfere. Using my freedom of speech is often a trade-off. While one group may fulminate against what they consider my misuse of free speech, another group may be cheering me on. The consequences of what I say—and how, when, where, why and to whom I say it—may result in either brickbats and bouquets. Or both. I find Rep. Wilson’s interjection during President Obama’s speech before a combined session of both houses of Congress to be boorish behavior. I think he was out of line. And he didn’t even choose wisely concerning which of the President’s assertions to call into question. He could have argued more credibly against several other things the President said. But I think it was certainly his right to make such a comment. That being said, when media commentators and ordinary citizens take him to task for his "town-hall moment," as he himself described it, he needn’t come to me for sympathy. Which brings me to a bigger and more crucial picture. God, our Creator, seems to believe strongly in the concept of freedom. Instead of making us robots and automatons, He said we could be the deciders. He also said our decisions would have consequences. In Leviticus 26 and Deuteronomy 28, He outlines a list of what He calls "blessings" and "curses." But we decide which it will be. If I don’t care for my body, I’ll ultimately pay a price. If I’m mean and grouchy and cantankerous, I’ll pay a price (as may those who have to be around me!). If I break the laws of the land, there will likely be retribution. What Rep. Wilson and a lot of the rest of us may not fully understand—but which the Apostle Paul seemed to have a clear picture of—is that not everything that’s lawful is expedient (1 Corinthians 6:12). Just because we can doesn’t mean we should. That’s a lesson we’d all be well
advised to take to heart.
| ||
|
|
