The Student is Not Better Than the Teacher

A friend told me last Sunday, “I want to take the country back.” He meant by this, I think, that he wanted to return to a time when the United States seemed to operate within a Protestant ethos.

My own sense of Christianity and the church is that we will always be a minority in a hostile culture, even when we think we are not. I never experienced a culture that I would call "Christian" in my upbringing. This includes my Bible-belt experience at a school in Central Texas in the late 60s. I was shocked at the behavior and conversation of my new "Baptist" friends. I couldn't believe they claimed to be Christians.

My family and our faith always felt like a minority view everywhere we lived. So the desire to turn back the clock to some previous era when America was Christian and we prayed and read the Bible in public schools does not resonate with me. I experienced public education hijacked by the local Catholic establishment. They wanted nothing to do with Christianity as I understood it. The local priest opposed our Bible study and warned students not to attend even though the cafeteria served fish every Friday and everyone came to school with ash crosses on Ash Wednesday (except me).

I am still working on the idea that the church is responsible for Christianizing the culture. I don't see this approach in the ministry of Jesus or the Book of Acts. I see Jesus as almost nonpolitical. He didn't join any of the existing political groups. He did not seem to have a social agenda that I can identify. His "render unto Caesar" remark seems to represent the summation of his political activism.

Instead, he was focused on preaching the good news and gathering together a group of people who would carry the gospel to the ends of the earth. The gospel always has social implications that are to be lived out and preached. He announced his ministry in Luke 4 as focused upon the blind, the broken-hearted, the captive, and the poor. He healed the sick and cast out demons. He did not arm himself or his followers. He never took up the sword. He did not befriend the powerful elite of his day. He did not engage in social engineering.

Our Baptist heritage is bifurcated at this point. Some people tend to be more Calvinist in their approach to culture. They want to organize a Christian society, as Calvin tried to do in Geneva. That experiment most historians would judge a failure.

Other Baptists tend to follow the Anabaptist heritage of our forefathers. This is the heritage of a "free church in a free state," the notion that being the authentic church is the most powerful social strategy we can implement in any culture.

The Book of Revelation may in part be seen as a philosophy of history. You have the Beast trying to devour the people of God. The people of God are mistreated, hunted, and murdered. But their blood cries out for justice and their tears are remembered by God. God himself brings about justice when he intervenes in human history, defeats the devil, and brings a "new heaven and a new earth in which dwells righteousness."

This is not a very hopeful view, I know, in terms of this world. And it does not energize a social reform movement, so to speak. So I am trying to rethink the eschatology of the Bible and see how I might correct my perceptions.

Chuck Colson has suggested that we have a "cultural mandate" in the Bible that goes hand in hand with the Great Commission. He finds support for this, not so much in the death and resurrection of Jesus, but in the doctrine of Creation. In this view, everything belongs to God and should be under his dominion. The doctrine of creation may be where this fits, but I have always been "pre-millennial" about this matter. God made the world, and he will bring it under his authority at the end. I would be more satisfied with an understanding of the death, burial and resurrection of Jesus that calls me to engage the principalities and powers of my time, including the political structures that are unjust and ungodly. Some biblical teachers have taken this approach.

I believe I am a citizen of two kingdoms: the kingdom of God and the human society of which I am a part. My citizenship in heaven is of far greater importance to me. My citizenship on earth is a stewardship. It is a gift to live in a nation where government is "of the people, by the people, and for the people." Therefore, I should be participating in this government as a Christian responsibility. I suppose this is my major motivation for political action--the doctrine of stewardship.

When I think about using the political process to further my Christian agenda, I develop a sobering hesitation. The sword of the Spirit is an extremely sharp and fine instrument. It will discern even the intentions of the heart. The sword of the magistrate is a very blunt instrument. It will strike often where it is not intended. If I choose to use the sword of the magistrate to accomplish the will of God, I may be disappointed with the result. I may discover that my efforts to Christianize my society have only resulted in confusing people about what it means to be a Christian. People may begin to think that they are Christians if they maintain certain political viewpoints or vote for a certain party. That is part of the danger of seeking to use coercive power (the government) to impose my viewpoint on the culture. Authentic Christianity cannot be coerced. So whatever I achieve in the culture is a "middle axiom," somebody said, not a perfect manifestation of the Kingdom of God.

I guess part of me wants to say to Christians, What do you really expect? They hung Jesus naked on a cross. You think now that you're going to get the power to execute? "A servant is not better than his master. A pupil is not better than his teacher. If they did this in a green tree, what will they do in the dry?" I expect the culture to scorn me, ridicule me, persecute me, and marginalize me. I don’t want to be a doormat. But I don't live under the illusion that somehow I am going to receive accolades and the Key to the City because I stood for righteousness and truth (though I did receive the Key to the City from the Mayor one year, accidentally). More likely I will be tarred and feathered or run out of town.

These questions remain before me: What will lift the light of the gospel higher in this city? What is the most effective way to bring people to Christ? How can I do a better job of making disciples for my Lord? How to I express faith through love (Galatians 5:6)?

The Things Mothers Teach Us

King Lemuel decided to share with the world the wisdom he had garnered during his ascent to the throne. These “sayings” of King Lemuel are the things “his mother taught him” (Proverbs 31:1). Restated this means that the king learned his really important lessons from his mother.

Maybe Lemuel’s mother was unusually wise and articulate. But I suspect that the king learned these things from his mother for the same reason that many of us found our mothers to be our best teachers: mothers love their children.

One night I was privileged to handle bedtime for the three preschool daughters of my eldest daughter. As I was tucking them in they started to plead, “Back scratch! Back scratch!”

“Okay,” I said, and I scratched their backs, but I could not perform the task precisely as their mother did, and they all fell asleep feeling slightly deprived.

Mothers scratch your back out of love, not duty. They hold you close, comb your hair, clean your ears, and wash your feet just because they love you. They are often our most powerful teachers, not just because they teach us when we are very young, but also because they teach us out of this context of unselfish love.

The things of which you think you are certain climb in number while you are a child. But if you are emotionally healthy and intellectually active, sometime in young adulthood that number of supposed certainties begins to decline.

The things which remain as personal certainties after the gauntlet of adolescence, education, marriage, parenting, bereavement, conflict, and grand-parenting are mostly the lessons your mother taught you. These sureties are solid ground for decision-making, relationships, and quality of life on the planet.

The king’s mother taught him to use his power for the good of others, to abandon selfish indulgence and focus on caring for his subjects in need. She cautioned him about wine and women which she said are not the prerogatives of kings but their downfall.

The king’s mother cared for him when he himself was helpless and needy and could not speak for himself—when he was a baby. That’s what mothers do. They encourage such behavior in their sons and daughters because they know it corresponds with fundamental truth and goodness.

This Mother’s Day we should rehearse the things our mothers taught us by word and example. Maybe the principles and virtues we learned from them will aid us in our current dilemmas, conflicts, and challenges. A mother’s tenderness, gentleness, and generosity should not be lost on those who now have opportunity to speak for the powerless and destitute.

If our mothers are still among the living, we should count ourselves blessed. They deserve a heartfelt thank you and a big hug if we can give it. If they have passed from this life we are still blessed to have known them and known their love. A moment’s reflection about that remarkable woman on this special day might bring a smile and a laugh. Remembering her we might even see the way forward to a higher road, a deeper love and a better life. Her selfless love continues to teach us our most important lessons.