Fakin' the Fruit by Chad Hess

A few weeks ago, my one-and-a-half-year-old son gave me a picture that he had drawn. To be honest, I had no idea what the picture was supposed to be. It was just a bunch of squiggly lines. So I told him that. I told him that the drawing was horrible, I couldn't even tell what it was, and not to bring me another drawing until it was much better. Okay, before you stone me, that's not actually what happened. I did what every good parent would do; I accepted the scribbles, grateful for the intention behind it. And I thanked him and told him what a good boy he was. Was that pandering? No. It was recognizing the limits of what a one-and-a-half-year-old can do.

Mark 11:12-14 offers a curious story in which Jesus condemned to death a fig tree that had leaves but no fruit. The strange part of the story is that Mark says it was not the season for figs, so there was no reason to think there would be figs on the tree. Except that the tree had leaves, which advertised that it would have fruit. So it seems that Jesus did not condemn the tree because it didn't have fruit; he condemned it because it claimed to be something that it wasn't.

I see a similar tendency among Seventh-day Adventists, although I'm sure other Christians do the same thing. When a person accepts Jesus or comes to the church, we want to immediately fit them into the mold of what we think a Seventh-day Adventist should look like and act like. We want them to have all the right “fruit and leaves,” even if it doesn’t accurately reflect who they are. I think Jesus' story gives a strong warning against this.

I know that my son's drawing abilities will improve as he gets older. Likewise, I know that a new believer in Christ will continue to grow in their relationship with God and their understanding of God's will for their lives. I want our church to be a place where each person can authentically be who he or she is, even if that is a bare fig tree, still growing.

Chad Hess

Cruel Hope? by John Monday

“In the beginning God...” Gen 1:1

Steven Hawking, the eminent theoretical physicist and cosmologist, made headlines this week when he said “Heaven is a fairytale for people afraid of the dark.” A bold remark from a man who has been facing the prospect of an early death from ALS for almost 50 years. I’ve long been an admirer of Dr. Hawking. His mind, his writing, and his personal triumph, are brilliant and inspiring, but I’m confounded by his seeming ability to face death and eternity so stoically. I wonder if his stoicism might be his way of coping with a truth that we all eventually come to understand...death is inevitable.

However certain death is, it’s rarely welcome - I mean truly welcome. There are times when - due to suffering, illness, injury or disability - we may accept the inevitability of death, maybe even come to see it as a release, but it’s rarely welcome. Given the choice, wouldn’t most choose life? And if healthy, vibrant, active life were offered, who would choose death?

However, once we’ve embraced death, it’s nearly impossible to allow hope for life; it would just be too painful. We view with pity those that cling to vain hope when we see their end coming. We generally think they would be better off to accept reality and enjoy their remaining days rather than grasp at hopeless cures. This is a sentiment echoed by the apostle Paul when he said “If only for this life we have hope in Christ, we are of all people most to be pitied.” (1 Corinthians 15:19) He understood that clinging to false hope is a worse fate than accepting cold reality.

Believing in God can be like that. Those who have taken the leap and crossed the line to disbelief don’t want to endure the pain of failed hope, so they reject hope and embrace the inevitability of death. To believe in a God that knows all, created all, loves all, and restores all is simply too inconceivable and too risky.

Would even the most hardened heart say, “I don’t want to be loved. I don’t want joy. I don’t want to engage in an exciting life with the one who loves me most?” Of course not! The truth is they’ve lost hope that life without the fear of death is possible, so to entertain notions of God is akin to believing that a magic pill is going to cure my end-stage cancer. So can we believe the first four words of the bible?

To believe them is to believe the inconceivable. Is there really a God who created everything? Who has a dynamic knowledge of the all that is? Who knows the number of galaxies in the universe, the number of stars in each galaxy the nature of every planet spinning around every star - and is totally focused on ME? wants to be with ME? loves ME?

Our minds strain to conceive such a God.

But to reject God defies logic. Everything in our human experience, everything in the universe, everything in our heart screams that we are created on purpose, for a purpose, with a purpose. Reason demands that where there is a garden there is a gardener, where there is a building there is a builder, where there is order there is one who ordered.

So we’re left with a decision: Do we reject reason, reject hope, reject the longing of our hearts and embrace a chaotic, random, pointless existence? Or do we believe in a God who is more vast, more able, more imminent, more omniscient, more personal, and more loving than we can ever imagine? The choice is ours and, from our limited perspective, there are valid reasons for either.

To believe in God requires risk and courage. It requires us to open ourselves to the eternal, to the majestic, to the most amazing life imaginable. It requires us to relinquish control. It means suffering the ultimate disappointment if God is a lie. So maybe Stephen Hawking is right and Heaven is a fairytale for those afraid of the dark, or maybe he’s wrong and a Godless universe is a place of denial for those afraid of the light.

I choose to follow the desire of my heart. I choose hope. I choose God. If you believe the first four words, the rest is easy.

In the beginning God...

John Monday

Do Jesus' Directives Apply to the Death of a Terrorist? by Andy McDonald

Our natural reaction when wronged is retaliation. Every mother observes this, even in her otherwise precious toddler. One toddler pushes another toddler, bites or hoards the desired toy, and the other toddler pushes back – usually a little harder, gives just a bit harder bite, or hoards two toys rather than just one.

In the human heart, there is a divine desire for justice that easily warps from “justice for all” to “justice for me and my cause.” Stories are told of some “injustice” done to the member of a gang. To reset the balance of life fairness, the injured gang rises up to make things right by perpetrating some greater injustice to the opposing gang. What results today is a gang war. In yesteryear it was the Hatfields and McCoys, and when replicated by nations, this behavior results in catastrophic loss of life in war.

When we have been wronged—individually, as a family, gang or nation, what is the “right” response? There is national duty to protect and defend the people of our nation, but where does that merge with a sense of payback or vengeance? I’m not sure where that line is, but I am troubled by where our latest victory has led.

Rejoicing at death on either side of the issue seems out of character, especially for people called to “Love the Lord our God with all our hearts and our neighbor (every other human on earth) as ourselves.” Paul says that “love suffers long and is kind. Love keeps no record of when it has been wronged. Love does not demand its own way. Love is not irritable. And love is for justice.” 1 Corinthians 13

What does all of this mean in light of Osama bin Laden’s death? Are the teachings of Jesus only for individuals and not for nations? And if they are for nations too, then where is that line between protecting the citizen and payback? How much justice, from our perspective, can we meet out without stepping over Jesus’ call to “Love your enemies! Pray for those who persecute you.” Matthew 5:43-48

It seems appropriate that we might rejoice that the world is a safer place minus OBL (if that is actually the case, and continued terrorist attacks make it questionable). Still, such rejoicing is ethically different from rejoicing over the death of a fellow human, regardless of how severely inhumane he was. Let’s rejoice that the cause of terrorism has been weakened, and let us rejoice that this leader will no longer be a perpetrator of evil, orchestrating the continued deaths of many.

And – as difficult, counterintuitive, and counter-terrorist mindset as it might be – let us simultaneously maintain a sense of a diminished world whenever a human life is lost.

Andy McDonald

Happy Mothers' Day by Vicki McDonald

The Bible is a rich source of examples of characters that reflect many aspects of the human life. However, when it comes to the role of a mother, these character models are difficult to find. While there are a few mothers mentioned, the tender nurturing Mom we all hold up as a template seems to be lacking. For instance, there is Sara who finally conceives at an extreme age and bears a son, only to have her son taken off and nearly offered as a sacrifice as a young man! Another is the daring Jochabed who hides her baby in a floating basket, later agreeing to become his wet nurse and having to hand him over to Pharaoh’s daughter to be raised in the palace. Hannah pleads and begs for a baby, but when her prayer is answered, she takes her young son and gives him to the priest to be raised in the temple.

What kind of mother could do such extraordinary acts? Were their acts somewhat dysfunctional or influenced by culture and time? Even though we have these stories, the Bible fails to give us any insight into their parenting skills or the foundational elements that would be the character-building framework that helped these children grow and become used in a significant way as leaders for God.

As a mother of two gifted children, I knew early on that I would need to individualize my approaches to help each child feel special. Our first-born, a girl, loved books and learning and really enjoyed doing things independently. Our second child, a boy, loved making things and anything social. At one report card period our friend asked how they had done. Our daughter proudly pronounced that she had straight A’s, and my son got a big grin and happily announced . . . “I have a variety!” What’s a mom to do?

I propose that the reason the Bible is silent and does not offer us much in the way of a “Mommy template,” or recipe for motherhood, is that God originally designed that each child would be able to experience and feel a Mother’s heart that is perfectly paired to respond in a way that is as unique and individualized as every mother/child relationship. Thus, each mother - starting with God to Eve and from each generation - perpetuates this Godly nature that comes from the Originator of a heart of love. This is an exclusive love that is shared and refreshed, embedded in a nurturing spirit to match the needs of the newest generation.

“Nurture and love your child in Gods ways; so when they mature they will have understanding…”

Proverbs 22:6

Vicki McDonald
Proud Mother
ARNP/Clinical Risk Manager
Wife of Senior Pastor

Living in the Wet House by Tami Cinquemani

I was listening to an old podcast the other day – “Know When to Fold ‘em” on This American Life. It included a story about the St. Anthony Residence in Minnesota. According to their website, “St. Anthony Residence provides permanent housing for late-stage chronic alcoholic men in Ramsey County with repeated admissions to detoxification centers and a history of failure in traditional chemical dependency treatment programs.” Most people call this type of residence a “wet house.” Though there is a rare instance of an occupant joining a detox program, the residents of St. Anthony are more likely to die in the home than get help.

This segment of the program broke my heart. It is quite clear that these men have given up hope. The individuals interviewed were not self-righteous or smug. They weren’t happy with their state, but they had come to a point where they accepted the fact that there was nothing they were capable of doing about it. Though opportunities for hope and healing were readily available, the mission of St. Anthony was simply to reduce harm – to both the residents and others.

I think Christians like to view themselves as “spiritual addicts” in a successful “sin detox” program. The fact is, if we view ourselves as people who are actively working on our recovery, then even if we slip a little bit here or there, we believe we’re still so much better off than those other sinners “out there.” Let’s face it, I’ve admitted my sin, and admitting the problem is the first step in getting better, right? And that gives me the right to point out someone else’s sin. Isn’t that “calling sin by its right name?” Isn’t that what Christians are supposed to do?

Personally, I think we’re ALL in the sinner’s wet house. We have a history of failure. There is absolutely nothing that will enable us to completely stop sinning, and we will all die in our sinful state. Wow! That sounds really depressing.

But . . .

there is something that makes all the difference . . . something that gives us hope. A Savior. Though, in our human state, we will all die in the sinner’s wet house, the Resurrection of Jesus promises a place of health, healing, and loving community without the addiction to sin. Our mission is to reduce the harm to ourselves and others – to live in such a way that our fellow residents see a clear picture of a loving, gracious, and saving God so He will become their hope as well.

Tami Cinquemani