Beware the Counterfeit Jesus

Being the vain middle-aged woman that I am, I hate to tell my age, but it's germane to the discussion we're about to have, so here it is: I am forty-four. 

I came to know Jesus, "prayed the prayer", as it were, at the ripe old age of four. For forty years I have walked this walk of faith, sometimes so well it has surprised even me, but more often, humiliatingly badly. I have learned much over the years and questioned more. 

And I have watched the American evangelical church ride waves and stretch and shrink and grow and fight amongst ourselves over the years, as well. 

Recently, the front man for the Christian band Jars of Clay made headlines for a series of tweets he made in support of gay marriage. I wasn't too surprised or disturbed by what he had to say until I read this one: 

Dan Haseltine        ✔ @scribblepotemus

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Because most people read and interpret scripture wrong. I don't think scripture "clearly" states much of anything regarding morality.

12:03 PM - 22 Apr 2014

He is not alone.

That Scripture is unclear or easily misinterpreted or that it is simply allegorical and poetic and not really meant to be a basis for our lives is a theme that I've seen over and over recently. Sadly, it seems to be Christians that are leading this charge. 

Some friends and I were discussing it and I struggled to find the words to convey why I think this is and finally responded.

I think it is the backlash of years of morality-based Christianity from American evangelicalism. We put morality on the throne instead of Jesus. We insisted that being good could save us. We not only insisted it could save us, we became convinced it could save America, as well. We picked through Scriptures and highlighted only those that supported our legalistic doctrines. 

We ignored grace and made God's passionate and unfathomable love for us conditional. Because we couldn't receive love, we didn't give it away and thus ignored the two-thousand-plus verses regarding the poor and oppressed. We made ourselves safe, comfortable, little lives in which we cry persecution when someone says, "Happy Holidays" instead of "Merry Christmas." 

People aren't buying what we're selling anymore. Morality-based gospel is finally crumbling and Jesus has been let out of the box. 

Morality-based, legalistic gospel was no gospel at all. I'm thrilled to see it fall. I've been telling broken people, myself included, "God is more interested in your heart than He is your behavior," for years. My heart wells up to see my fellow believers ministering to the poor, standing up against injustice (some of which have been caused by the church), and fighting for the least of these. 

These are good, exciting, and biblically based things. 

The backlash of morality-based gospel, however, is that people swing wide of center.

Instead of searching Scripture to see how it was misapplied, they throw out Scripture altogether and denounce its truth and relevance. 

Counterfeit Jesus, who was only interested in your behavior, was replaced with another counterfeit, as no one took the time to know the real one and put up a watered-down version, instead. 

Nothing was allowed, so now nothing is denied. 

No one was really loved, so now everyone's behavior, ideals, and opinions are embraced as truth in the name of love.   

We did this. 

And it's a hot mess.

We can't replace one counterfeit gospel for another. We can't replace the Word of Truth with passionate feelings. We can't replace the King with a cause. We can't replace real love with mere tolerance. 

When we swing wide of center, we are left holding a lie. 

And people get hurt. 

We need Jesus and we need His Word. We are imperfect people and we are going to get it wrong sometimes. But that doesn't mean we don't try. In my forty years on this faith walk I have learned this:

I am more apt to get it right with His Word than I am without it. 

I humbly admit to resting on my laurels without rightly dividing the Word of Truth in recent months. Years of baptist primary school insured that I have lots of Scripture memorized; living with my pastor father and a year of Bible college added to that. I sat back and relied on memory but I forgot that Scripture is a living Word meant to be a daily diet. 

But no more. I hereby declare that I will not allow social media to tell me what my Jesus stood for or what my Bible says. I'll be getting to know Him more and studying the red words closely. I don't want to get swept up in a shiny counterfeit. 

Will you join me?

Barbie Needs a Hairbrush

MOM!

(Bam! Bam! Bam!)

MOM!

(Bam! Bam! Bam!)

MOOOOOMMMM!!!

(Bam! Bam! Bam!)

My three-year-old was clearly having a crisis as she was beating on my bedroom door while I was changing clothes. My adrenaline and cortisol surged as my mind raced through the awful possibilities.  

Did she spill a gallon of milk? Did the dog barf on her favorite blanket? Was she hurt? Was one of her siblings hit by a car? 

My worst case scenarios came to a screeching halt with her next statement, even though the pitch and fervor of her cries did not.

I NEED A HAIRBRUSH!

(Bam! Bam! Bam!)

I NEED A HAIRBRUSH!

(Bam! Bam! Bam!)

My heart starting to slow down even as my ire is rising, "Just a minute, KJ."

MOOOMMM...

BARBIE NEEDS A HAIRBRUSH!!!

And that's when it hits me. 

All my recent anxiety and emotional lability can be explained by this one common, insignificant event. 

When you encounter a perceived threat, your body floods itself with hormones that allow you to deal with the threat more efficiently. But when you are constantly in a state of stress, when mini-"threats" bark at you all day long, those hormones stay in your system all the time and can reek havoc on your body...and your mind. 

Every parent knows that everything is an emergency to a child. An empty juice cup, dead batteries in the tv remote, losing Barbie's hairbrush - all can send a child running to you in a panic. 

Multiply that times eight. 

Doctors say that constant amounts of coritsol in your blood is not good for you. Apparently, it's the root of all kinds of health issues. 

So when I jokingly tell my kids, "You're killing me," I'm not that far off. 

I'm only in my early forties. Sometimes, I learn of the death of someone my age. Usually, they died doing something cool. Sky diving or motorcycling through British Colombia.

Not me. 

My obituary will read:

Tara Lakes, 44, mother of eight. Cause of Death: Barbie needed a hairbrush. 

Or maybe I should cultivate better coping skills than carb loading. 

Hmmmmm. 

Something to think about. 

A Man of Action

My husband is a missionary. He'll read this with disbelief, but the words are true. 

I've recently awakened to the fact that our transient, lower class, cross-cultural neighborhood is exactly the kind of place we want to be living. The needs are great here and opportunities to love abound. The kids here need to see a marriage that works, a family that loves, and people that care about them; the adults, too. So I think, I plan, I strategize. How can we build relationships with our neighbors? (Can you tell I am a evangelical pastor's child of the eighties? We need a committee to learn to love.) 

Then I look at my husband and realize that he's already built relationships with our neighbors, and he did so naturally, effortlessly, some of them over years. A point driven home the other day when he was describing the scene of everyone out shoveling snow at the same time. As he was telling me the story I kept interrupting to ask who all these people were to whom he kept referring. He patiently told me where they lived and a little of each of their stories. It was clear that he not only knows their names, he knows them, people I could not even pick out of a line-up. 

When we first married, he was quiet, so quiet. I had enough words for both of us, I suppose. Like a typical extrovert, I played it safe and married an introvert - less competition for attention that way. Over the years, we've both mellowed and matured, he more than me. I still tend to talk at people, rather than with them. I watch in awe as my husband now easily develops friendships with folks, all kinds of folks, but usually, the down-on-their-luck variety...the kind who need Jesus. 

The thing that someone like me, who wants so desperately to love people but can't quite seem to pull it off, can't begin to grasp is how he does it unintentionally. He's not following some sermon or 5-step study of discipleship. He has no vision of how the friendship should progress or when to introduce his faith. Those concepts are foreign to him and probably offensive, as well they should be. 

Recently, while planning a movie/wings night for a group of guys, he announced to me, "Rob's coming." Predictably, I asked who Rob was. "Tattoo Rob?" he reminded me. Surprised, I asked, "You invited your tattoo artist to a movie and wings with the church guys?" Looking at me like I was the idiot that I am, he responded confidently, "Of course."

See, he doesn't see people as projects as I am so tempted to do. Loving them is not a chore to him or a box to be checked. It is simply who he is. The fact that I look at my neighbors as people to be loved instead of just engaging with them shows my bias and my immaturity. I have so far to go in this whole becoming like Christ thing. Thankfully, I'm living with a real life example. Eating wings, shoveling driveways, working on cars, sharing life, building community - these are all just a natural projection of the man my husband has grown to be over the years. 

As is the case with just about everything of importance in our married life, while I'm in here thinking about it, writing about it, praying about it, he's out there actually doing it. Someday, I'm going to grow up and be just like him. In the meantime, you'll find me shoveling alongside him after the next snowfall. 

He Isn't Safe

Like a dog kicked by his master, I curled into a protective ball licking my wounds and keeping myself safe. There was a subtle fear, a lack of trust, that turned into a defensive barrier that separated me from God. 

This post-adoption year was hard. 

Adding a child is never easy, but this has little to do with Bo or his transition to our family. We had our moments and crazy stress, but he has been worth every second of the adventure. For the most part, I am amazed by how easy it was to assimilate him into our family.

I'm talking about the spiritual assault that followed his adoption and knocked me flat. 

I've heard of post-adoption depression which is similar to postpartum depression, something in which I am well versed. I don't know if that's what I had, or not. With my illness in country and subsequent hospitalization upon our return home, I suppose I was ripe for it. I've mentioned before feeling like I may have had some PTSD from the experience.

I just never felt like I regained my spiritual or emotional footing. 

God felt very, very far away. 

I felt isolated. Having two kids with special needs, one with some pretty bizarre behavior, further separated us from other families. I didn't know what to do with him at church. He didn't really fit into any classroom situation and I didn't really know him well enough to know what supports he needed. It seemed like a lot of effort to get everyone ready for church only to have to step out of the service with him. 

So, I just stopped going. 

As the lack of trust intensified, confusion set in. My attention span waned and reading Scripture became a chore for which I couldn't muster energy. My prayers continued, but I felt unheard. 

Everything was hard. I felt raw initially, reacting to everything, and later numb, responding to nothing. While I had visits to clarity, deep fog was my address and I had no idea how to move. 

Bitterness danced at my heart's door. My softness toward my savior disappeared beneath a crusty layer. I was suspicious of those who were plunging ahead in the faith, convinced they didn't fully know what they were doing. 

Several posted on Facebook the lyrics to "Oceans" by Hillsong United:

And I remember thinking in my arrogance, "You have no idea what you're singing. Do you really want to go deeper than your feet could ever wander?!? Are you willing to go without a full night's sleep two hundred thirty-seven nights in a row? What if, instead of stronger faith, you're left without a faith, at all?" 

Toward the end of the year, I recognized some pretty significant lies I'd been believing, which set me on the path to healing. I uncurled from my ball and reviewed the year through fresh eyes. I was able to really see His faithfulness in all of it, even though He felt hidden from me at the time. 

The fog lifted and clarity is returning. I can trust Him. I know this. I'm reminded of my favorite quote about Aslan in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe:

Who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good.

It turns out that the song with the haunting tune and the lyrics that bugged me so much, was right, after all. My faith has been made stronger and I can sing that song with open arms, willing again to go deeper than my feet would ever wander. 

Who I'm Meant To Be

Picture a dark, vacuous room with me sitting in a single chair in the middle and a lone light bulb hanging over my head. Before me, out of my vision, is a deep, accusing voice listing every wrong thing I've ever done. As the voice drones on, I am filled with the memory of every moment of every sin. This used to be what I saw when I thought of the judgment seat of Christ, but not anymore. 

Now I envision being presented with a picture of the person I was meant to be. Not a two-dimensional photo, but more of a real-time introduction to the actual woman, herself, with a complete and instantaneous knowledge of who she really is. In an instant, I will know how woefully I fall short. 

In the playback of my life, I believe there will be moments, glorious moments, where I got it right, if only for an instant. But I can tell you there will be so much waste and multiple degrees of ugliness overall. 

I look at people like that, sometimes. There is a nurse at work who, quite frankly, is just nasty and almost scary to approach. She even looks hateful. I admit to being completely intimidated by her, and yet, I feel unbelievable compassion for her, as well. What kind of pain has she experienced to treat people with such contempt? I find myself whispering under my breath when she's around, "This is not who you were meant to be." 

So much easier to see it in other people; so much harder to turn and examine myself. 

But I hear it, too. As I ignore a child in favor of a Facebook comment, or indulge in gossip on the job, or stuff my stress with my favorite dessert, deep in my soul I hear a whisper.

This is not who you were meant to be.

I want to be her, the woman I was meant to be.  I want to surrender and be saved, to die to myself, to take up my cross and follow Him. I want to walk on water, to soar to new heights, to put aside the trappings of this life. I want to set aside my selfishness and to let Him live through me. I want to love as He loves. 

This is not a life to be squandered. And it is short. When I come to the end of it, I want to hear, "Well done, thou good and faithful servant." I want there to be more glorious moments than waste on the replay, more good than evil, more right than erroneous wrong. 

I don't want to just end up, God help me.

I want to arrive.

Filthy Rags Meets Humble Pie

Ah, I see what you did there, God. I'm pretty sure you knew when I wrote that last post about embracing sinners that I meant those whose sins do not really offend me. 

You know, like sexual sins or financial sins...sins that don't directly affect me or step on my toes. 

I kind of forgot about sins like pride and selfishness that wave themselves right under my nose and take something from me or worse, from those I care about. I forgot about sinners that commit those types of sins. 

Am I so gracious with those sinners? 

Apparently not. 

And you knew that, didn't you?

In fact, you decided to grab ahold of the plank sticking out of my eye and yank it around a bit just to remind me that I have one, eh?

Did you enjoy watching me play the fool? Stomping around, waving my filthy rags of righteousness? Sharing my list of accomplishments in indignation that someone less worthy was receiving glory?

Ouch, Lord. 

It hurts to be humbled. No less so, by my own hand. That fall caused by pride is a doozy.

It's hard to offer grace when the sinner has caused injustice. It was easier for me when I could see them as victim, not perpetrator. But you don't see them as either, do you? Labels are stripped away with you and you see only their heart. 

Will you teach me to do that? To love like you? 

I'm sorry, God. Thank you for loving me enough to show me that big ol' plank still sticking out of this eye of mine, even though it hurts to know it's there.

Filthy Rags

Go and sin no more. (John 8:11)

It's fascinating to me how the religious like to gloss over the rest of the story in their haste to get to this, in their minds, the most critical part of the telling. 

Recently, people that I'm close to, people that I respect, have let me down in their response to sinners. I have been embarrassed by these people, angered by their audacity, frustrated by their callousness. Frankly, I want to walk over and grab them by the huge planks that are sticking out of their eyes and yank them around a bit, just to remind them that, indeed, they have huge planks in their eyes. (Matthew 7:3-5)

You may have noticed that the name of this blog is Remnant of Grace. As a reformed legalist, that name is packed with meaning for me as is the Scripture written under the title. I am that remnant, a rag, a leftover. Isaiah 64:6 resonates with me:

We are all infected and impure with sin. When we proudly display our righteous deeds, we find they are but filthy rags. Like autumn leaves, we wither and fall. And our sins, like the wind, sweep us away.

My righteousness is like filthy rags. But I was chosen by grace. My works, my righteousness is not held against me. It is not the standard by which my worth is measured. It is no longer by works. That, my friends, is the gospel. 

So when I see Christians holding up others to another standard, I get a little angry. When I see them looking at someone's lifestyle, their works, to determine their worth, I get frustrated and I cry foul. Why in the world are we comparing rags?  

I love the story in John 8 that I referenced earlier. Trying to trap Him, the Pharisees bring a woman before Jesus and tell Him that she was caught in the act of adultery. The law says to stone her. What should they do? Jesus, of course, ignores them and scratches in the dirt for a bit until they just will not be ignored anymore. Then, He tells them to go ahead and stone her with this caveat: "But let those who have never sinned throw the first stones!" Then he returns to scratching in the dirt as, one by one, they slip away.

He became a shelter for this woman, a blatant sinner, caught in the very act. He shielded her from what she had coming to her, legally and morally. He saved her life. He was a sanctuary to her, not in spite of, but because of her sin. She would not have encountered Jesus had it not been for her sinfulness and she did not come to him voluntarily. 

Religion dragged her there. Religion put her sin on display. Religion made sure everyone knew she did not measure up. 

But Jesus responded to her by being a refuge, not a judge. When her accusers were gone, Jesus looked up and asked, "Didn't even one of them condemn you?" She told Him they hadn't. 

"Neither do I. Go and sin no more." 

He refused to condemn her. He didn't give her a lesson on why she shouldn't sin or on sexual immorality. Legalists like to look at the second part of that verse as an admonishment, a scolding. If you dwell too much on the first part of the story, they are quick to point out the last line, "Go and sin no more." Look at the mess you made. Stop doing that. See where it got you? Now beat it!

But I think we're missing the message if we look at it through that lens. How can we possibly believe that the Jesus who just protected her, and said himself that He would not condemn her, would now respond to her so harshly? "Go and sin no more" is not an admonishment; it's an invitation. There is a better way. You don't have to keep living like you're living. You don't have to wear those filthy rags anymore. Walk in freedom. Live in grace.

It is a statement of hope.

There are those who will unwillingly come to our attention because of sin. They may not be repentant. They may be content to remain in their sin. They may even be defiant. What will our response to those people be? 

Will we lead the charge, waving the list of wrongs, with Scriptures to back us up? Will we attack their character and stone them with our words? Will we abandon them and reject their presence in our lives? 

Or will we respond like Jesus, providing shelter and refuge, refusing to condemn, offering grace and hope?

The condition of my rags proves what my response should be. How about yours?