Simple Living Isn’t Always

Over on Challies.com you can find a great post about revelation, inspiration, and illumination. I like Tim’s emphasis there, as I said in my comment there.

Too often, I jump right into “application” without allowing the Spirit to breathe life into me through the Scriptures, to light my sin-darkened heart. I guess I want Scripture to jump my heart to my hands, which cannot be grace-giving in the long run. This is all assuming more diligence than I usually give to Scripture anyway, which is a constant source of frustration and shame to me.

For a while I followed Robert Murray M’Cheyne’s calendar (get a great pdf version of M’Cheyne’s calendar here) with fervor, but I end up feeling overwhelmed not refreshed. I think my schedule is the problem, and my own lack of priorities where spiritual things are concerned. I was continually surprised at how the calendar demonstrated the unity of the Scripture. I still read, but more occasionally than regularly. None of this changes the fact that I’m starving my spirit.

How do you approach Scripture reading? Does a calendar help?

It’s not a terribly well-written article, but Christine Scheller’s profile of Dallas Willard makes for provocative reading. It’s provocative as much for what it does not say as for what it says. Willard is an enigmatic character, a humble hero to many, someone who really seems to believe what Jesus said is true. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but something about him and his approach makes me hope.

For me, Willard’s The Divine Conspiracy was one of the hardest books of my life to read. First of all, Dallas’s writing is dense; not really a surprising characteristic when one considers that Willard’s “day job” is professor of philosophy at SoCal. Second, the Sermon on the Mount is a masterpiece, whatever genre you stick it in. Lyrically, literarily, oratorically, whatever. It is Cliff’s Notes for the gospel of the kingdom, but it is utterly devastating to virtually every systematized approach to belief in God and following him. Jesus dealt a fatal blow to the Pharisees’ legalism (though Christians at various times have revived it, and it still lurches through the church like a zombie, dumber with every resurrection). Third, TDC is a deeply disturbing book since it’s a one-note symphony: Jesus was no dummy, and he meant what he said, so for Christians to disregard or marginalize him or his teaching is idiotic at best and perilous at worst.

Lest you think you can handle a bit of peril, remember that this is the same Jesus who says not everyone who can mumble “Lord, Lord” will find his way into the kingdom.

Anyway, the Willard article is worth your time.

I hate getting behind on my posts. But it happens.

Watching Charlie and the Chocolate Factory last night (the new Tim Burton-ized version), I realized that the whole movie is about overcoming (or not overcoming) temptation. Burton introduces a more playfully malevolent Willy Wonka to the world. (Gene Wilder's, after all, doesn't approach the quirkiness of either Burton's Wonka or that of Roald Dahl in the novel; except in the tunnel scene–brrrr.) The children pick up on the oddness of the Oompa Loompas' having a song ready for each child, and Burton and Depp give us the impression that Wonka planned the seduction of the children.

On another level, though, you might say he was testing them, which in fact he was. Each child has the chance to get something they desperately want.

• Augustus falls prey to the Chocolate Room, where his entire world is edible.
• Violet finds the gum to end all gums.
• Veruca sees an animal unlike any she's ever seen. (Burton foreshadows her animal covetousness when she gets the Golden Ticket and tells her father, "I want another pony.")
• Mike has a chance to enter the TV world in which he's participated from afar.

Charlie's temptation is quite different, and not a Wonka test at all. Charlie faces the temptation we all face: getting everything we ever wanted at the expense of real relationships. He idolizes Wonka, idealizes the factory itself (as we see in the early scene where he's built the factory out of toothpaste tube caps), and he has the chance to inherit the factory and become Wonka. But only if he will sacrifice his family and become Wonka's heir.

Withstanding this temptation ultimately brings Wonka back to him, curious about this deep love.

That's exactly what we all face. Almost anyone can get everything he wants. But the price is the same for all of us–deep, meaningful relationships with those we love and who love us most. From the tempter's perspective, disconnecting us from ourselves, our families, and God Himself is his goal. Even the temptations of Jesus in the wilderness, which John later calls "the lust of the flesh, the eyes, and the pride of life", mirror the deal offered to all of us.

But Charlie says no. And so must we. Because when we do, we can receive the abundant life Jesus promised–which ultimately gives us more than we ever wanted.

Jesus’ compassion is characterized by a downward pull. That is what disturbs us. We cannot even think about ourselves in terms other than those of an upward pull, an upward mobility in which we strive for better lives, higher salaries, and more prestigious positions. Thus, we are deeply disturbed by a God who embodies a downward movement. Instead of striving for a higher position, more power, and more influence, Jesus moves, as Karl Barth says, from “the heights to the depth, from victory to defeat, from riches to poverty, from triumph to suffering, from life to death.” Jesus’ whole life and mission involve accepting powerlessness and revealing in this powerlessness the limitlessness of God’s love.

(From Compassion by Henri Nouwen, et. al.)