The Church in America—me included—has a big problem with giving. Tithing I mean. I’ve talked about it before. The church in America, percentage wise, gives less than almost any other nation.

In 2 Corinthians 8, Paul writes to the Corinthian people about the generous giving of the Macedonian church. Out of their “severe test of affliction” and “extreme poverty”, they “overflowed in a wealth of generosity” (v.2).

Paul writes to the church at Corinth (a comparatively wealthy group), stirring them up to generosity using the abundant giving of the Macedonians to shame them.

What Paul writes just a few verses later I found interesting. 2 Corinthians 8:3-6:

“They gave according to their means, as I can testify, and beyond their means, of their own accord, begging us earnestly for the favor of taking part in the relief of the saints—and this, not as we expected, but they gave themselves first to the Lord and then by the will of God to us.”

It would seem, taken the larger context, that Paul is saying that the Macedonians, although they were severely afflicted and extremely impoverished, sought to support the saints financially out of the overflow of their joy they had in the Lord. In “giving themselves first to the Lord”.

Although it may not be a direct correlation here, there’s clearly a principle worth observing. The Corinthians were true Christians, yet they needed stirring up in order to give of themselves financially. The Macedonians were also true Christians, but the Macedonians gave themselves to the Lord and as they did that were spurred on to give themselves to the Apostles—financially.

I’ve always struggled with the Church’s use of money. I’ve struggled with the church asking for money, given it usually seems squandered. But scripture makes clear that all we have belongs to the Lord and when we give, we simply give to God what is God’s—something we’re taught to do to exercise faith.

For a number of reasons, both common and uncommon, I find giving financially to be especially difficult. As I do it, It’s often not all that joyful, but more as my own disciplinarian (which is not altogether bad either).

But, It shouldn’t be this way for me, or for you.

Following the principle here, perhaps we should seek to prayerfully give ourselves to the Lord in new ways as the Macedonians did. Possibly embracing our own unique experience of affliction. Hopefully in that, the Lord will cause us to then give ourselves financially as well—which will inevitably lead to our Good and God’s glory.

There was a Nightline Faceoff over the question of whether or not the devil is real. It featured thinkers from across the spectrum—including Mark Driscoll.

Most of the debate was fine. However, when the microphone was opened for audience participation, it became difficult to listen to. I’ve included a 55 second snippet from a question coming from a young woman, a Christian, in the audience. The question is unimportant. The digression is striking.

Give the clip a listen.
 

The Indian voice is new age philosopher Deepak Chopra—an unbeliever. Yet even still, his question to her is almost shattering.

“Is [Jesus] in so much trouble that you need to rescue him?”

Well, is he?

I read this tid-bit from Tim Keller:

“The gospel creates the only kind of grief over sin which is clean and which does not crush. It says: ‘Look at Jesus dying for you! He won’t leave you or abandon you–how then can you respond as you are? He suffered so you wouldn’t do this thing! You are not living as though you are loved! As his child! It is not because he will abandon you that you should be holy, but because this is the one who at inestimable cost to himself has said he won’t ever abandon you! How can you live in the very sin that he was ripped to pieces to deliver you from?’ See the grace of God argument? It is the only argument which cannot be answered.”

“It is not because he will abandon you that you should be holy, but because this is the one who at inestimable cost to himself has said he won’t ever abandon you!” Whoa…

Talk about a pressing articulation. What do we do with that? I suppose be thankful.

C.S. Lewis’ Perelandre is (as would be expected) full of insights. As I read today, two main characters shared a dialogue about desires and their fulfillment or unfulfillment.

It would seem that in any situation in which something is to be received, whether food, or good fortune, or prosperity, or relationships, we have some concept in our minds already as to what outcome we wish to experience—at least on a subconscious level. When we receive what we had not expected, what we do receive becomes bitter. Even if the thing itself is sweet.

As adopted children of God, every gift we are given is from him and is good in its own right. And, coming from him will lead only to our pleasure in him. Yet, when we establish our desires quietly in our minds, we make the gifts we do receive (should they differ from our expectations) seem like rubbish when they’re given.

I can’t help but wonder if this is, at least partially, what Paul had in mind when he wrote to the church at Philippi. Philippians 4:11-13:

“Not that I speak from want, for I have learned to be content in whatever circumstances I am. I know how to get along with humble means, and I also know how to live in prosperity; in any and every circumstance I have learned the secret of being filled and going hungry, both of having abundance and suffering need. I can do all things through Him who strengthens me.”

Perhaps it is that Paul realized that forming his own desires only serves to spoil the gifts he is given—whether they are in abundance or modesty. And instead, saw that to look only to Christ will give him satisfaction in whatever the Lord sees fit to give.

What a challenge it is to desire nothing but the Lord—but what a reward it must be!

Last year, I read the first book in C.S. Lewis’ space trilogy titled Out of the Silent Planet. It was really good. So when I finished I was eager to begin the second, Perelandra. It wasn’t as good. In fact, it was downright boring. I only got through five chapters before I couldn’t take it anymore and I went back to my theology books.

Well yesterday, after giving too much time to television, I thought I’d give the book a second chance. As it turns out, I stopped one chapter before things picked up.

In fact, what’s unrolled since has been quite exciting.

In any case, I came across a great little C.S. Lewis nugget as I was reading and thought I’d share.

In our story, Ransom, the main character, is on a strange planet unlike anything on earth. After nearly going hungry, he gets up some nerve to eat something that seemed to be a kind of fruit. Eating it, he realized that it had a profound kind of taste. One that he longed to eat and eat and eat. But, he abstains because he holds gluttony as a great evil.

When thinking about this later on in his journey, he has some interesting insights:

“This itch to have things over again, as if life were a film that could be unrolled twice or even made to work backwards… was it possibly the root of all evil? No: of course the love of money was called that. But money itself—perhaps one valued it chiefly as a defense against chance, a security for being able to have things over again, a means of arresting the unrolling of film.” (p.43)

Hmm… Perhaps our gluttonous behavior is more dangerous than we think it is. Maybe we should take a cue from Ransom and abstain—even if we don’t have to.

I attended a funeral today. I was hired by the family to photograph the occasion. It seems that the family is scattered abroad and many members couldn’t return for the funeral. So they thought the best option would be to document the service.

The funeral held was for an elderly woman—a sister in Christ—and a mother. The occasion was bittersweet. Waves of remorse rolled right along side waves of joy.

During the service, a close family member rightly used the occasion to preach the Gospel. By that I mean he used the opportunity as a springboard to present the hearers with an invitation to Christ. He did not go into great exegetical detail, or even follow any specific biblical thought. But the intentions were obvious and the message was clear.

This reminded me that birth and death are really the only things that give us humans any real context for existence. It is a very peculiar thing to be alive—to exist at all. One day we don’t exist anywhere, nor has anyone here even thought of us. Then all of a sudden we do exist, until one day our body dies and as far as the human mind knows on its own, we go back to not existing.

Existing is taken for granted; most rarely even think of how weird it really is. It becomes only natural to see here and now as the end all be all of everything. It’s not hard to see how the spiritual can be pushed hard to the back of a persons mind.

It’s only when faced with birth and death that people’s eyes really forced open to the context of our existence. It’s in those moments especially that people’s hearts seem to be the softest and we would be fools to neglect such an opportunity.

In Colossians 4:5 we’re taught to “make the most of every opportunity.” How much more life’s most crucial opportunities?

I hope that at my own funeral the discussion will be less about me and more about what Jesus has done for me. And, that the opportunity in other’s lives will be seized to preach His Gospel of grace and love and forgiveness to them as well.

I think these are pretty annoying. I’m guilty of them too, even though I try hard to avoid them. I fail.

I’m talking about our tendencies to be half-genuine in our corporate prayers and prayer requests, but also half-gossips. Most people who are familiar with corporate prayer know what I’m talking about. Folks involved in older congregations where they pass a microphone around for prayer requests can probably relate also.

Almost everyone has some kind of urge to pass on irrelevant information about other people or situations or struggles. The trouble is, in the church, prayer can create the perfect opportunity for justified gossip. Sharing unnecessary information intended to ‘fuel’ prayers.

I think that we would do well to watch ourselves carefully in our corporate prayer meetings. Pay attention to our own words. Are the words we’re speaking necessary to help others pray? Or are we (at least partially) saying them because we’ve got an itch to bring it up? I think we’ll find the latter is more regular than we’d like.

I think we would also see mark improvements in our own prayer lives and community prayer if we expelled the habit altogether. After all, sin begets sin and allowing this is only inviting others.

I’ll be trying to check myself extra hard.