God Fills the Earth

There is nowhere you can go on this earth that is empty. 

Think about that for a second. Sometimes, we get it in our minds that we need to just get away from it all, go out to some secluded place where there's nothing but us and the wide open spaces. We talk about hitting the road or hitting the trail or taking some time or making some space, but no matter where we go or how we get there, we are always surrounded by fullness. 

Even the air that we breathe is not empty; it is filled with elements and movement and remnants, all the stuff of being in this world. 

If you went anywhere that was truly empty, you'd be in a black hole and be sucked into oblivion and probably, I don't know, explode. Or implode. Either way, it would be messy. 

Most of the time, we don't realize how full the world around us is. It's easy to look past the things that are obvious and think that what is left is nothing. We turn off the television and think we're living in silence, the absence of noise, but it doesn't take long before we start to hear the sounds of the refrigerator running or the lights buzzing. We turn off the lights, and we think we're in darkness, the absence of light, but our eyes adjust and we realize that even the smallest bit of light remains, and it's enough to give us at least the outlines of the things around us. 

We are never surrounded by nothing; we are always surrounded by everything. And even if we were to remove every bit of sensory stimulation from the world around us, it would not in the least diminish the fullness of the world. 

In the beginning, everything was formless and void. The kind of big, big suck that is emptiness and oblivion. The kind of place where you'd probably explode. Or implode. 

Then, God. Then, God spoke. Then, God created. Then, God formed. Then, God filled. Then, God looked at what we might one day consider the empty spaces, and He filled those, too. He filled them, Psalms tells us, with His love (Psalm 33:5). 

And it's that love, I think, that catches us the way that other things do when we turn down the noise and the busyness and the stimulation. It's that love that, when everything else is quiet, we can still hear buzzing in the background. It's that love that, when everything else seems dark, is the little bit of light that lets us keep seeing. It's that love that, when our experience is muffled by living in a fallen world, still seems like something. 

It's that love that, even far away from it all, in some secluded place, in the wide open spaces, on the open roads or trails, when we're making some space, no matter where we go, reminds us that we are not really alone nor are we ever truly empty. 

His love fills the whole earth. 

And thank God it does. Or else we might, I don't know, explode. Or implode. 

Either way, it would be messy. 

God Leads in Love

There are two ways to lead a wild animal - by building trust or by taking the reins. 

I watch a fair amount of the old show Pit Bulls and Parolees. Very frequently, the staff of the rescue center are called upon to catch a stray dog or a dog that has been dumped. The dog is usually scared, possibly aggressive, and confident in its own smartness (which often leads it more astray than anything, but you can't tell that to a wild dog). The staff comes in, sets up a large enclosure, then starts teaching the dog where the food is. A scrap here, a scrap there, ever closer, ever more trusting, until there are a few scraps in the enclosure, then more, then a whole meal - enough to occupy the stray long enough for the staff to sneak over and close the door. 

The other way to catch a stray, of course, is to tie some sort of lasso, slip it over the head, and take the animal by force. 

For much of human civilization, as long as we have been domesticating animals, we've taken largely the second approach. We have designed yokes and bits and reins that we first wrestled onto the animals, then trained them to accept. These tiny little control devices give us absolute dominion over the animal. We can tell it where to go and when and how fast and with what in tow. The animal has no choice but to obey us when we control it by bits and reins. 

But we can never know if it loves us or not. We can never know if it trusts us or not. Maybe it doesn't even really matter. 

But it matters to God. 

We are but wild animals, but God doesn't want to tame us by bits and reins and yokes. He doesn't want to lead us by controlling our movements. God is more like the staff of Pit Bulls and Parolees - He wants to teach us to trust Him. He wants to be our provider and our refuge and our friend until we are so trusting that we go where He's trying to lead us, that we live the way He wants us to live, that we come under His protection and live secure in Him. 

Psalm 32 tells us this plainly - I will teach you and tell you the way to go and how to get there; I will give you good counsel, and I will watch over you. But don't be stubborn and stupid like horses and mules who, if not reined by leather and metal, will run wild, ignoring their masters.

In other words, don't make Me get the reins out. That's not the relationship I want with you. 

Don't get me wrong: He will if He has to. If we insist on being stubborn and stupid, God will get out the bits and reins, the leather and metal. He doesn't want to. He'd rather lead us in trust and good counsel and love. But sometimes...we're mules. We just are. 

Where is God's love leading you today? What is He trying to teach you about His goodness? What are you struggling to learn? 

Are you trusting...or are you a stubborn sort of mule?  

God of the Right Way

When someone is struggling, there are two general responses that we have as helpers: we can do it for them or we can teach them to do it themselves. 

I confess that I am more often the former - I am capable of doing many things, and a lot of the time, it's just simpler to me to do it myself so that someone else doesn't have to worry about it or try to figure it out. But this approach doesn't always feel good. More often than not, it feels exhausting. First, obviously, because I am taking on more than my fair share, but second, because it puts me in a pattern of taking on more than my fair share. Every time I jump up and do something for others, rather than teach them how to do it for themselves, I am setting myself to jump up more quickly the next time. 

And there will be a next time. 

Our God is a God of the other way. Our God is a Teacher. 

God teaches us how to do things for ourselves. He teaches us how to avoid temptation...or escape it. He teaches us how to treat others. He teaches us how to worship. At every turn, God is trying to teach us something. Psalm 25 says, "Immensely good and honorable is the Lord; that's why He teaches sinners the way." 

He teaches sinners the way because it's part of His goodness that we should be learning and not only leaning. That we should be growing and not always nourishing at the breast. That we should be standing taller, even while we're falling down. 

Part of God's good and glorious plan is that we would learn the ways of the Lord. 

We know, of course, that our understanding will always be limited. That there are things we just aren't going to get. That there are things that, even if we get them, we will continue to keep messing up. We know that we will always be dependent upon the grace of God and the sacrifice of His Son; without it, we are nothing. 

But thank God that He doesn't leave us miserable and broken and wallowing and wandering (and wondering); thank God that He is a Good Teacher and that, in His immense goodness, He is always trying to teach us sinners the way. 

The right way. 

The good way. 

The honorable way. 

The Lord's way. 

If only we are willing to learn.... 

God Wide Open

Have you ever done this: you text a friend for an answer you need right away or for help that you need right now, and....nothing. No answer. No reply. Yet somehow, as soon as you text a simple "nm" (never mind), your friend is like, "Cool. Sorry. I just saw this." 

How about this one? Your friend texts you for an answer or for help, and you wrestle with yourself for a long time, trying to figure out how to answer. Probably because you love your friend, but you also love whatever you're doing at the moment (including "just chilling") and you're not sure you really want to commit to getting involved, so you just wait. You wait until a little bit later, your friend texts you back "nm" and with a sigh of relief, you reply, "Cool. Sorry. I just saw this." 

Don't pretend this isn't happening. Don't pretend your friends aren't doing it. Don't pretend you aren't doing it to your friends. 

Or coworkers. (But I digress.) (Or do I?)

We live in a world where we're waiting on someone else to step up and do it. Someone else to step in and take care of it. Someone else to respond and to help. Not because we don't love our friends, but because it can be very inconvenient to actually help someone else; it costs us something - in time, in resources, in money, in whatever. So most of the time, we wait. And hope someone else goes. 

Thank the Lord that He is not like us. 

Psalm 22 says, "He's not put off by the suffering of the suffering one; He doesn't pretend He hasn't seen him; when he pleaded for help, He listened." 

God is right there. All the time. Listening. Not put off. Ready to help. 

Text God in the middle of the day, He's there. Text Him in the middle of the night, He's coming. Cry out for help, He's not waiting. He's on His way. It might feel like He's taking the long route through Timbuktu, but He's on His way. 

He's not troubled by how needy you are. He doesn't groan at your asking. He doesn't sit around looking at your request and hoping someone else steps up for you. He doesn't wait until we've got it handled, then say, "Phew. Great. Cool." 

God is never going to say, "Sorry. I just saw this." He saw it the moment you sent it; He heard you the moment you prayed; He listened the second you cried out. 

And He's coming. 

Isn't it great to have a Friend like that? 

Leaning In

How do you come to the Table?

The tables of our lives have changed so much even in my lifetime, in the past 30-40 years. It used to be that we'd come to the table to share some space with those we loved. To linger for awhile. To take a break from the rest of the world. There was no television anywhere near the table, nothing to do but to be with one another. 

Now, we have laptops and tablets and smartphones that bring the world to our table. That bring the distractions to our table. We don't come together any more; the table has become a utilitarian space - convenient for setting a plate on so we can use our hands for something else between bites, but no longer really a gathering place. It's rare that we spend much time around it at all, unless we're working, and even rarer that we spend time around it together. 

The same is true of the way the Table has changed. 

We have seen the portraits of "The Last Supper," this weird sort of rendition where there's one very long table and Jesus and the twelve disciples are all standing on the same side of it, with food laid out in front of them like a smorgasbord. And from this image, we've gotten sort of a buffet mentality about Communion. 

The table is all laid out; we just walk down the side of it, pick up our portion, and keep moving. We take the tray, pull our cracker, and pass it on to the next person. It's all very automated. Very efficient. Very modern (in terms of technological/philosophical eras). It is a well-oiled machine, this Communion we participate in as part of our congregations. 

But have you read the Gospels?

The Gospels say that John was reclining against Jesus's chest. There's not another single place in all the Gospels where we see something so intimate like this. 

That's the way they did tables back then. 

Tables were meant for reclining. For resting. For connecting with one another. For being in a shared space. For coming together. There was no buffet in the Upper Room. A smorgasbord, maybe, but no buffet. There was no line, no procession through the plates for grabbing food. 

The table was for sharing space, for having a common pot, not for resting your plate while you freed your hands to do something else. It was not for looking down; it was for looking across, looking around. It was not for utility; it was for community. 

Where else can you lay your head against Jesus's chest? 

Come to the Table. 

And not just to eat. 

God's Anger

I don't live in California; I can't imagine living in California. I can't imagine trying to build a life in a place where the earth shakes so often, where there are little earthquakes all the time and the threat of "the big one" is always looming. I can't imagine trying to lay a foundation in a place like that. 

(My friends in California think I'm crazy and can't figure out how I can be so bothered by earthquakes, but be comfortable living in Tornado Alley. To each their own.)

I actually do live in a region that lies on the biggest, most dangerous (though not most active) fault line in our country, so I have felt the earth shake a few times in my life. 

Not a fan.

The earth is not supposed to shake. 

Except...God says He shakes it sometimes. 

We read in the Bible that the earth shakes and trembles. We read in the Bible that the earth shakes when God is angry. And then, we cower under the fear of a powerful God who can shake the earth. It seems scary. 

But I love Psalm 18 because even though it says the earth shakes from God's anger, it tells us exactly what God is angry about. And it's not what most of us would expect. 

In my time of need, I called to the Lord; I begged my True God for help. He heard my voice echo up to His temple, and my cry came to His ears. Because of His great anger, the earth shook and staggered.... 

The earth shakes because God shakes it. God shakes it because He's angry. God is angry because this broken, fallen world is hurting His child. 

God is angry because of His love for you. God is angry because the one He loves is hurting. God is angry because you're in a place where you have to cry out for help. He looks down and sees how poor and wounded and aching you are, and it makes Him angry. 

It's the same way you become angry as a parent when your child is being treated unfairly. When your child gets punished for something they didn't do. When someone else's child is picking on yours. When your child's teacher is nitpicking their work more than anyone else's. It's the same way you get angry when you look at your child, know how hard they are fighting, and see that they can't win. You're angry because they're so helpless and it's so unfair. 

God is angry for the same reasons. 

And when He's angry, the earth shakes. 

This shouldn't make us feel fearful; it should make us feel loved. 

God Rises Up

Have you ever had to scream for help? Like, honestly scream in the middle of public for someone, anyone to help you?

I have. A couple of times. And guess how many times it has resulted in someone, anyone coming to actually help me. 

Zero. 

The most recent couple of times I have had to do this have involved less-than-friendly "stray" dogs aggressively approaching and pursuing me and my dog while we were out on walks. We've made friends all around the neighborhood, and I have seen friendly houses with lights on, teenagers who pet my dogs who are standing at bus stops, runners that I wave to every day...and no help to be found. Nobody wants to get involved.

When the world that we can see and that is so familiar to us won't come to our cries for help, it's easy to think that the God we can't see won't, either. It's hard to believe that He would come running when the human being that we talk to on a regular basis leaves us hanging. 

But Psalm 12 says differently. 

These are David's words, but it isn't David speaking. It isn't the experience of the "man after God's own heart," as though we have some kind of radical righteousness to attain before God would help us. This isn't one man's experience of some kind of one-off experience, a miraculous intervention by a God who happened to hear and have some time and inclination to respond. 

These are God's words. 

And what God says is, "I will rise up." "I will rise up because the poor are being trampled and the needy groan for my saving help. I will lift them up to the safety they long for." 

When you scream for help in the middle of a broken, worn-out, backward universe, wrapped in darkness that seems impossible to break free from, God Himself will rise up to help you. He promises.

When the stray things of this world are coming aggressively at you and you look around for help, you're not alone. God is already listening; He's already rising up. 

When it looks like you're all on your own, you aren't. God will rise up. 

And if you find yourself in that living nightmare where you're trying to scream for help but no sound will come out, when you desperately need someone, anyone, and there's no strength in your voice, God will rise up. 

When you're being trampled and your spirit is groaning for saving help, God is already rising up to help you. 

You've got this. 

Because He's got you. 

God Listens

Do you ever wonder if God is really listening? 

I do. 

Maybe it's because we live in a world that doesn't really listen much any more. Either someone is listening just to respond, just to tell their own story in response to yours, or they aren't really listening at all. How often have you been talking only to have the person you thought you were talking to suddenly look up and say, "Whuh?" What did you say? I missed that. 

I dozed off. My mind drifted. I was thinking about something else. I was busy doing this other thing. 

It's hard for us to believe that anybody is really listening. Let alone God. 

God has so much to do. He has so much to take care of. How could He be listening to me when so many others are probably also praying right now? When so many others have bigger things to be praying about? When I'm not really anything at all and it doesn't really matter anyway?

We imagine that God's world must be so full of noise, so constantly bombarded by the sound of voices. Like being in a shopping mall or at a concert or in the subway station. So much noise. All the time. How could He ever hear our voice? 

My friend, I tell you - when you speak, yours is the only voice God hears. He doesn't hear it over the din of everyone else. He doesn't hear it with a hum in the background. He hears it as though you were standing face-to-face in a quiet room, just the two of you, and as though there is nothing else in all the world but the sound of your voice. 

His sensory perception is not like our sensory perception. 

Not only does He hear your voice, and your voice alone, but He's listening. He is not like the world - listening to respond or barely listening at all. He is not like the humans who have let you down, letting their mind wander or their thoughts drift. 

There is never going to be a moment in your life when God suddenly looks at you and says, "Whuh?" He knows every word you've said. Because He is listening. Truly listening. 

The psalmist knew this. He wrote about it in Psalm 4. 

Know that the Lord...hears when I call to Him. 

He hears. He's listening. When my voice speaks, it goes straight to Him. It cuts through everything else, through all the noise that I think I hear in the world, and He hears me. Like a mother who knows her child's cry through a crowded market, so the Lord recognizes your voice from far away and hearkens to it. 

He hears you. He's listening. 

Speak, child. 

God of the Creatures

In the beginning, everything was formless and void. And then, God spoke. He created the night and the day, the moon and the sun, the light and the dark. He created the mountains and the valleys, the land and the sea, the skies above. Then, He filled everything with creatures - things that swim in the waters, things that fly in the skies, things that move along the land. 

All of it. 

All of them.

So often, when we talk about an artist or a creator, we talk about the things that they create as an "it." Something static. Something that now just exists. Perhaps they are fond of it or think of it with a certain sense of pride, but there's no continuing relationship between the potter and the clay. The pot simply is now. It simply sits wherever it sits, and it is a "thing." 

Not so with God and His creatures. 

We know, of course, that He shares a special relationship with us as human beings created in His image. We know that He sent His Son to die for us and to walk out of that grave for us. We know that He loves us with a special fondness that knows every hair on our heads and knit us together in our mother's womb. We know that God is more than our Creator; He is our God. Our ongoing Lord. In constant relationship with us. 

Did you know that He is with the so-called creatures, too? 

He knows every inch of the giraffe's neck. Every scale on the fish. Every quill on the porcupine. Every hair on the orangutan. He knows every slither of the snake's tongue, every waddle of the penguin's feet, every quack of the duck's bill. 

But He doesn't just know these things in some kind of objective sense; He knows them because He is still in conversation with His creatures. Every day. 

When Job sits in his pile of dust and ashes and wonders what God is up to, when he speaks to his friends, when he calls out God and God answers, they have this exchange in which God brings up the creation of the animals, the creatures, as evidence of His mightiness, His wisdom, His goodness. Can Job know any of these things? Can Job know that the ostrich has wings to flap them joyfully before the Lord? 

Buried quietly in God's eloquence about the creation of the creatures is a small little verse that indicates for us that He didn't just create them; He still loves them, the way He loves us. He's still in relationship with them, the way He is with us. 

It's in Job 41. God says, when speaking of Leviathan, "Do you imagine it will beg you endlessly for mercy or lower its voice to a whisper when speaking to you? Will it strike a deal with you and enter into your service as a lifelong slave? Will you play with it?" The implication is that these are things God can do - does do - with Leviathan. 

He has a relationship with it. 

I love this. I love this so much. We talk about God frequently as a master artist, and it can lead us to believe that this whole creation is in some ways nothing more than a museum - a holding place for masterpieces. A storeroom for things God created and then set aside to look at forever, to just let exist. Even if we believe that God loves His people, we can still convince ourselves that He loves His other people, but not us. We? We're just museum pieces. 

But if God has conversations with the creatures, if He barters with them, if they speak and He listens and He speaks and they listen, if God plays with them...even them...even Leviathan, then there's no way to ever believe that a single one of His masterpieces was ever made just to be a museum piece. 

Every single one was created to be loved. 

Including you. 

Including me. 

Yeast

Beware the yeast of the Pharisees...

Jesus spoke these words to the disciples as they were in the midst of their travels, talking about how hungry they were and where they might get some bread. When He said these words, they thought He was talking about actual bread, but He was talking about something else entirely. 

Yeast has exactly one function in bread: it causes it to rise. It gives it its volume, its dimension, its airiness. It gives it the texture that we expect bread to have. (And if you love bread like I do, you know what I'm talking about.) 

Without yeast, you don't really have bread; you have crackers. 

Communion has always been crackers or wafers or flatbreads; never bread like we think of it. The reason is that the Passover was always celebrated with unleavened - unyeasted - bread. Back when Israel was leaving Egypt, they were told to take what they have and to not put yeast in the bread because they would be on the move, and it wouldn't have time to sit and rise. Whatever yeast they would put in it would be wasted, and the bread would be flat anyway. No reason to worry about your yeast when you're running into freedom. 

That was the problem with the yeast of the Pharisees: it wasn't doing what it was supposed to do. 

Yeast is supposed to make the bread rise, but the yeast of the Pharisees was only puffing them up. It was supposed to make the bread light and airy, but it was only giving them airs. It was supposed to give it volume, but it was only making them loud. There was more yeast in the Pharisees than bread, and it was making them so full of themselves that they didn't have room for anything else. 

And that became all they were worried about - their size, their volume, their puffiness, their airs. It was all they could think about. Something better was standing right in front of them - His name was Jesus - and they were so busy making sure their own bread was rising that they couldn't pursue the freedom He was offering. 

Let it not be so with us. 

We still celebrate this Table with crackers, not bread. We still memorialize this moment the way Jesus did - with unleavened bread. Without yeast.

Because He wants us to not be worried about the yeast, but about the freedom that lies ahead. He wants us to not be so full of ourselves that we can't pursue His freedom. He wants us to not be puffed up, but to be brought near. He wants us to not be waiting on bread to rise, but accepting the bread that's already broken. For us.

Beware the yeast of the Pharisees.... 

Take this and eat. 

Speak

The whole synagogue is silent. Everyone's holding their breath. The Pharisees, who just seconds ago were salivating over their impending victory are now choking on the dryness of their own mouths, and Jesus has this weird little smile on His face. 

Into the heavy silence, He speaks. "Hold out your hand." 

In an instant, the crippled man holds out his deformed hand, and as he stretches it forward, it becomes whole. You can hear the whole synagogue gasp.

He's done it. He's healed the man. 

But then, in a moment of sudden remembrance, all eyes turn the Pharisees, the men who set this whole thing up. What will they do next?

What can they do?

See, at first, we must answer the question: what just happened? Jesus didn't do anything. He never touched the man. He never did anything that looks like work. He simply...spoke a word. 

Is speaking on the Sabbath a violation of the holy order? Is speaking work? 

There's a conundrum here for the Pharisees. There's nothing in their law that prohibits speaking on the Sabbath. If there were, these men who love their power would be in trouble. But there is nothing. Speaking is not work. On the other hand, something happened to the man on the basis of that word. Does the result make that word work?

And who is it that can speak a word that becomes a work? 

In the beginning was the Word.... In the beginning, everything was formless and void, and then, God spoke.... 

To say that the word became work is to confess that this man, this Jesus, is one who can speak such a word. And the only one who has spoken such a word to this point in all the history of the world...is God. 

They thought they had Jesus, but Jesus had them. They either had to deny what everyone has plainly seen, that a miraculous healing has taken place among them, or they had to admit that this Jesus is one like God, who can speak a word that becomes a work. 

Which will it be, gentlemen?

A Heavy Silence

The Pharisees thought they had it. They brought a crippled man into the synagogue on the holy day, making themselves unclean, but no matter what happened next, they were going to preserve their power. Either this Jesus would choose not to act, in deference to the Sabbath, and the Pharisees would be proved right in all their purity laws...or this Jesus would act, do something, and the Pharisees would show everyone what a sinner He really was - working on the Sabbath; He can't possibly be such a "good" teacher after all. Thus, they remain the best teachers. 

So they shoved the crippled man toward Jesus, and they held their breath, tasting their victory as the saliva built up in their mouths. One way or the other, they were coming out on top. 

And then...

Jesus spoke. 

He asked them about the things that they owned, the things they built their lives on. If one of their animals, which made possible their agricultural work, fell into the ditch on a holy day, wouldn't they go and pull it out? 

*An interesting aside: why would one's working animal fall into a ditch on the Sabbath in the first place? One of two things must be happening - either the animal is working, which means a man set it to working and thus broke the Sabbath already, or the animal is grazing, which implies the presence of a shepherd or guardian who would be tending the animal and thus also already breaking the Sabbath. But no one responds to Jesus's musing by saying that the animal should not fall into a ditch on the Sabbath, for that would mean someone was working. But, you know...details. 

At this point, the Pharisees are the ones who are caught. If they say that they would not pull their animal out, they are guilty of its death, which makes them unclean in God's eyes. If they say that they would pull their animal out, they are guilty of work on the Sabbath, which makes them hypocrites (at the very least) and shows that even they are willing to break the Sabbath for some things. 

You can feel the tension in the air as that saliva that tasted so sweet like victory dries completely up and the Pharisees are left speechless. Jesus has so far done nothing with the crippled man that they planted in the synagogue to preserve their power, and they've already lost it. 

There is no way to respond to His question. 

I imagine Jesus let the tension just hang there for longer than anyone thought was comfortable. I imagine the silence lingering for just enough time to become awkward. I imagine Jesus sneaking a small smile out the side of His mouth toward the crippled man, a smile that says, "Just wait," as He continues to watch the Pharisees, waiting for their reaction. They start to squirm. They start to point fingers. 

But...but...the crippled man, they insist. Enough about us. What are You going to do about the crippled man? 

Jesus smiles. You could hear a pin drop, were it not for the shuffling of the Pharisees' feet under their long, ornate robes. 

Then, Jesus turns to the crippled man, starts to reach out His hand for the man's, but stops. With a quick, knowing glance toward the Pharisees, then back to the man, He speaks again.... 

Unclean

So there's a crippled man in the synagogue on the Sabbath, and the Pharisees basically shove the guy toward Jesus and wait to see what the "Rabbi" will do. Will He honor the Sabbath...or heal the man?

But as we saw yesterday, there's more to this story. Because under normal circumstances, no Pharisee is going to let a crippled man into the synagogue on any day, let alone on a holy day. The crippled were supposed to be cut off. 

So the Pharisees are already breaking their own laws. 

Isn't that interesting? The Pharisees got together, and they thought about things, and they decided that they would rather be unclean and pollute the entire holy place...than be wrong. (Interestingly enough, if they bring an unclean/unpresentable man into the holy place on the Sabbath and nothing terrible happens to the holy place or the people, aren't they already wrong?) 

This was the real threat that the Pharisees faced from Jesus. It wasn't just that He was claiming to be the Messiah, although that would raise questions for anyone. It wasn't that He was talking about destroying the Temple and raising it up in 3 days; crazy men do crazy talk sometimes - it's nothing to get in a big tizzy about. 

The trouble with Jesus was that His holy presence - His love, His grace, His mercy, His redemption, His talk about the Kingdom, the promises whispered with His every breath - threatened their power. 

They had built their entire power structure on being the arbiters of holy truth. They were the ones that knew the laws. They were the ones that knew the rules. They were the ones who understood God and what He wanted and what pleases Him and how the people were supposed to act. If this Jesus comes in and not only tells the people there's another way, but shows them, the entire power structure crumbles. 

If the power structure crumbles, those at the top come crashing down. Hard. 

No one will ever listen to them again. 

So what they've actually set up here is a power play with Jesus. They think they can't lose. If He doesn't heal the man because it's the Sabbath, then they were right - the Sabbath requires no work, even healing work. If He does heal the man, they get to call Him out and maybe something terrible will happen, and wouldn't that be even better? At the very least, though, they get to point out that He doesn't know the most basic rules of the faith, so how could He be the "Messiah"? He's got God all wrong. 

They expect that no matter what happens with this crippled man in the synagogue on the Sabbath (and quite honestly, they don't care what happens to him; he's just a tool they are using for their own purposes), they are going to be able to prove their own right-ness and re-secure their place atop the power structure.

It's a win for them either way, so they're willing to put up with a little bit of uncleanness, even in the holy place, if it gets them what the most want - their power back. 

Amazing how quick some folks are to break their own rules for their own reputation. 

Of course, what they hadn't counted on was, well, Jesus actually being Jesus....  

The Crippled Plant

The Gospels tell us the story of a man with a crippled hand who was in the synagogue on the day of worship, when Jesus comes in and the Pharisees hold their breath to see what He will do. Will He heal the man? On the day of rest? 

By God, if He does so, then they've got Him. 

Blasphemer. 

How many times have you heard this story? How many times have you read it? How many times have you pictured in your head a big ol' church gathering with a crippled man right in the middle of it, the way we might gather around someone in prayer? How many times have you thought in your head that this crippled man was much like the infirm among us - surrounded by friends, by those who wanted nothing more than for him to be healed, by those who were looking for a miracle for him...faithfully? Daily. Weekly. 

I confess that I have had similar visions in my head as I have tried to picture this moment. 

I confess that it was only very recently that I realized I was wrong. 

Think back to the time, the place, and the people we are talking about. There is no Christ yet. There's a Jesus, but there is no Christ. No redemption. No restoration. 

There are Jews. And there are hundreds of laws about purity and procedure and ritual cleansing and what is clean and what is unclean. There are hundreds of laws about who is allowed where and when and under what circumstances. There are hundreds of laws about who is allowed to worship God with the community and who must be cut off. 

And I'm telling you - in those hundreds of laws, there were plenty of them that said that crippled man is not allowed in the synagogue. That crippled man is not invited to worship. He's defective. He's not whole. So he's not clean. 

Certainly, even if you have a place for such a man in the life of the synagogue - if, by some mercy, you let him draw near, he's left on the outskirts of everything. Furthest away. Removed from the crowds. At the very least, removed from the Pharisees, who want nothing to do with a man like this. They wouldn't be caught dead with a cripple. 

...until he serves their purpose. 

So when we read this story, we have to understand - this crippled man was a plant. The Pharisees brought him in special, just to trap Jesus. They invited him there just to make a spectacle of him. Knowing that if their attempts to trap Jesus failed for some reason, at least they'd have their purity laws to fall back on and still create a scene. This crippled man was there because they invited him there. Maybe even dragged him there. At least one of the Gospels suggests that the Pharisees are the ones who made sure that Jesus saw this man, put him right dead center right in front of this "Rabbi"'s face for the sole purpose of seeing what He would do. 

On any other Sabbath, that crippled man would be wholly excluded from the Pharisees' worship. Make no mistake about that. 

Does that change the way you read the story?  

The More You Know

After more than a decade of offering devotionals for Communion, I've frequently been asked - how do you know so much about Communion? Those in my fellowship have known that I always seem to have at least one or two thoughts in my pocket about the Table. 

The truth is, I don't know very much about Communion. I don't. I know exactly as much about it as I guess anyone else does, as an intellectual exercise, which isn't very much. The Gospels tell us about the Upper Room, but briefly, and Acts mentions the breaking of bread, but beyond that, there's not much to know.

But there is so much to dream.

And that's what it is for me - I'm a dreamer. 

I sit around on my wounded days and dream about what it might be like to be healed. I sit around on my failed days and dream about what it might be like to be forgiven. I sit around on my rejected days and dream about what it might be like to be welcomed. I sit around on my lonely days and dream about what it might be like to have friends. 

I muse often on my human life, on a life that is filled with blessings and brokenness, light and dark, beauty and ashes, wounded and mended, amazed by grace, surprised by mercy, captivated by love, and I dream about sharing a table with Jesus. 

And I realize...He already has one. 

And He's already invited me to join Him. 

Everything I have ever said about Communion is a word that I have planted in the tender places in my own heart and let grow until it has become love. That's it. That's all it is. I let it grow in my hard things until I've fallen in love with Jesus all over again, and I come to this Table and take this cup and take this bread, and it satisfies my soul. 

Just like He wanted it to. 

And I know - it's the Table. It's not the Cross; it didn't die for me. It's not the grave; it wasn't resurrected for me. It's not the manger; it wasn't incarnated for me. It's not the formless and void; it wasn't spoken for me. It's not the womb; it wasn't knit for me. 

But there is something unlike anything else in the intimate fellowship of being with me. Just being. In the normal, run-of-the-mill, everyday kind of human thing we're doing here - eating and drinking and hoping, talking about the Promise, wrapped in love. 

I don't know a lot about the Table, not any more than really anyone else knows. But I love it. From the depths of my heart, I love it. 

That's what makes the difference.  

Nothing Artificial

We are living in an age of artificial intelligence, which is nothing more than automated intelligence, the product of its human creator. And that human creator's intelligence is really God's intelligence, as the product of its Creator. What separates us, first, from the machines that we create is our heart, which is God's heart, which allows us to use the intelligence that we have in ways that impact the world, not just in ways that shortcut information. Our automated intelligence has yet to do this. 

But if our intelligence is God's intelligence and our heart is God's heart, how do we end up with so much bad in the world? 

The answer is the other thing that sets us apart from the automated intelligences that we create: choice. 

When we create an intelligence, even if we try to give it heart, we tell it exactly what to do. AI is programmed so that it does certain things in certain ways, producing certain outcomes. It operates according to its master code and nothing more. Even when we have attempted to introduce "choice" into a code, the only thing we have truly succeeded at introducing is a randomizer (Google's famed "Feelin' lucky?" search engine, anyone?). It may be a randomizer within certain limitations, but it's still nothing more than a randomizer. 

And that's because we have not gotten the "heart" code right. We have not been able to program the automation to evaluate the information and make a wise decision regarding it - we can only get closer or further away, and only then to a degree. What we can convince automation to do with the code is essentially random, as we simply cannot account for all of the micro-realities of human knowledge. That is, heart. 

God, on the other hand, has created us with choice. He can do that because we have a heart to guide us. The heart sometimes gets messed up - sometimes gets a bug in it - but it's still there to guide us. But because God has the heart piece right, He can give us choice, as well, and we can be truly free to choose - not randomly, but on the basis of our intelligence.

We choose based on heart. We choose based on the considerations we make about how information can be applied and what the impact of those applications might be. Who they might affect. What they might affect. To what degree. What other choices they will either open or close.

And sometimes, we choose terribly. 

We don't know we're choosing terribly. Most of us would not willingly choose something that we thought was bad or negative or evil. Yet, we do. We consider it with our heart, with God's heart, and we choose what we think is best based on our limited knowledge and perspective, and we go with it. And sometimes, it's just plain wrong. Sometimes, it turns out poorly. Sometimes, it doesn't look like the intelligence and heart of our Creator are in us, and if they are, it doesn't look like they are good. 

But even in our bad choices, there's nothing artificial about us. There's something authentic - we're just doing our best with what we know. 

Or maybe we're more like Google's "Feelin' Lucky?" than we'd like to think sometimes. 

But at least when we are, we can apologize for it. 

THAT'S heart. 

Heart of Man

We are living in a world of artificial intelligence, but as we've seen - no such thing actually exists. At best, what we have is automated intelligence, which will always be no greater than the intelligence of its designer and the quality of its input. So it is, indeed, very limited. 

But then, we saw that there's not even really such a thing as human intelligence, for we, too, are simply creations of an intelligent designer. And much like we cannot put anything other than our own intelligence into the artificials that we are designing, neither can God bestow on us anything but His intelligence. So we are beings created in the intelligence of God, and that makes our intelligence HIS intelligence. At its core, anyway. (Of course, we do not have His intelligence to the extent that He has it; we are in His image, but we are not the fullness of His glory.)

What makes man, as a creature, fundamentally different than machines, as creations, is...heart. 

It's heart that gives us the ability to discern information, to decide between what is important and what is not, to consider the impact of one piece of data over another. It is heart that lets us know what is truly right because it is the only thing that is consistent with everything else that we know is right. Heart is the application of facts.

Facts are one thing, and they're important. To a degree. It's important to know, for example, that heat is dangerous to the skin.  It is another thing entirely to know that this fact should lead us to prevent our child from touching the hot stove. It's important to know, for another example, that the Bible is the inspired Word of God. It is another thing entirely to let this knowledge lead us to worship Him. (And plenty of Christians have problems crossing this chasm.) 

In other words, heart is the thing that puts knowledge into action and turns truth into love. 

We have not figured out how to automate that yet. And we probably never will. 

And even if we do, we'll run into the very same issue - whatever kind of "heart" we give to our automated intelligence will be limited by the kind of heart that its creators have. If the creator of the automated intelligence has a heart toward a liberal philosophy, for example, then so will the automation; if the creator has a heart toward a conservative philosophy, then so will the automation. There will never be an unbiased automated intelligence. Just as there is no unbiased human being. (Which is why, again, we have to be careful about pretending that AI is neutral; it is never neutral.)

But, and you may have figured this out by now already, we have the same truth with our own hearts. Our hearts are the product of our Creator, and the only heart that there is to give us is the heart that flows out of the nature of His own heart. There is nothing else. There is no other option. And so, we have in us the heart of God. 

Which is how our knowledge leads to things like love. And mercy. And grace. And goodness. And steadfastness. And neighborliness. And...you get the point. 

What's neat about the heart of God is that it does these things in diversity - uniquely through each and every one of us, exactly as He designed us. Automated intelligence, as we're creating it, has one way to do this; it's very narrow. 

So wait...if heart is what sets us apart from the machines and we have the heart of God, which leads to all kinds of good things, then why is there so much bad in the world? 

And...we're back to the question of theodicy again (which is where almost all of our questions about nearly anything lead us)..... 

Human Intelligence

We are living in a time of artificial intelligence (AI), but as we saw yesterday, AI isn't really artificial; it's automated. It's human intelligence formed into an algorithm, with all of a human perspective and bias programmed right into it. 

But...

What if I told you there's no such thing as human intelligence?

See, human intelligence is not fundamentally different from what we are calling 'artificial intelligence' these days - that is, it is dependent upon the Creator of humanity. 

There are, of course, humanists who will tell you that's all bunk. That there is no such thing as a "Creator." That one day, billions upon billions of years ago, nothing exploded into something, something developed into a breathing something, that single-celled amoeba spouted fins and started swimming, then legs and started walking, then hair and stood upright, and then somehow became a thinking being (a pastor friend likes to say the fish stood upright and became a paleontologist, which always makes me laugh) and so humans simply have an "evolved" intelligence, which came from fundamentally nowhere and nothing and became the apex of all creation but is not, at its core, really any different than the fins by which the fish swims or the instinct by which the skunk raises its tail. 

The problem here is that if human intelligence "evolved" this way, then it is, fundamentally, still nothing. Nothing does not create everything; it creates nothing. Just as notes do not create music - notes create noise; structure creates music. So the simple existence of neurons firing in such a way that it resembles intelligence does not intelligence create; it creates only noise. It is the structure of intelligence that makes it something. Otherwise, our so-called intelligence is really nothing but chaos. 

So we're left with a Creator (which, by the way, more and more science is circling back around to, when it gets out of its anti-"religious" biases; the structure of the universe strongly suggests intentionality, which suggests a creator of some kind). And if we are, like artificial intelligence, merely products of our Creator, then we have His perspective and wisdom and bias in it.  

Some will say, wait a minute - God doesn't have any biases. But of course, He does. He is biased toward grace, toward mercy, toward hope, toward faithfulness. God is biased toward love. This is how there remains something fundamentally good about human nature. 

But the point of the conversation is this: we are products of our Creator, so whatever intelligence we think we have is actually only the intelligence that He has given us. And if He has given us intelligence, it is formed on His understanding of what intelligence is. Thus, we think the way that God thinks. 

Which shouldn't be surprising. The Bible tells us plainly we are created in His image. That includes the way we think and process information. 

How, then, does it end up that there is so much broken and evil and dark in this world? If we, in our human intelligence, have merely the mind of God, why does the world look the way that it does? 

Because we do not merely have the mind of God.... 

Artificial Intelligence

We are living in an age of AI - artificial intelligence. 

Kind of. 

It seems to be everywhere we turn. Try searching something on the internet, and you'll be given AI's best summary of all of the results. Turn on the television, and there are commercials advertising the tech company's latest version of AI, usually doing things like summarizing an email you didn't read or preparing a project you ran out of time on. Ask AI, and it will generate a new image for you or craft a paragraph or draft an email. 

But...

There's no such thing as artificial intelligence. 

This thing that we are calling AI isn't really intelligence. At least, it's not artificial; it's human intelligence. AI is nothing more than an algorithm created by a programmer somewhere that has "taught" the computer to pick up on certain things or to identify certain trigger ideas or to summarize content based on frequency of appearance - i.e. the more times you find a particular keyword mentioned, the more likely it is to be important and therefore, the more likely it is to make it into AI's management of the requested information. 

But at the core of it, it's still human intelligence. The algorithm is created with the designer's intelligence. With the designer's biases. With the designer's interests in mind. So if the designer of AI is inclined toward this or that idea or way of thinking, the AI product will also trend in that direction. Even if the designer has the best of intentions and seeks to the best of their ability a "neutral" programming, the designer is still a human being and therefore fundamentally has a bias and a perspective and all kinds of things he or she cannot possibly know about him/herself (and of course, we all tend to believe we are more neutral and more "right" than everyone else, so he may believe himself to be truly neutral....even though he cannot possibly be). 

That's one reason AI doesn't really exist - it is always a reflection of the intelligence of its designer; it cannot truly "learn" its way out of its inherent biases. 

The other reason AI doesn't really exist is because it is dependent upon its input. That is, ask AI to summarize the content on a certain topic, and the only information that it has to draw from is the content that already exists...which was created by humans...with certain perspectives and biases. So if there is an overwhelming bias in a certain direction, the AI will simply summarize this bias as fact and present it as truth. 

There are a lot of folks who simply believe AI because "the computer can't lie." It's just bytes and bits and digital information. It isn't human, with a thinking kind of mind.

But there is a thinking kind of mind behind it, and that thinking mind is human. And thus, there is no such thing as artificial intelligence. 

At best, what we have is "automated intelligence" - the digital shortcut to doing the human work, but it's the human mind that is behind it all. And always will be. There is not a way for a human to create anything that does not have a human intelligence at its core. 

Even if we were to someday successfully train computers to learn, they would only learn the very specific way that we program them to learn. So even their learning, which would appear to be independent, would be a model of human intelligence. We just can't get away from it. 

We should be mindful of these truths as we enter deeper into this digital reality that we are now living, and it should temper us to be cautious about what seems so easy to take for granted. 

But this is also an important reflection for our faith and our understanding of God and humanity. 

(Stay tuned.) 

Spiritual Welcome

We've been talking this week about spiritual abuse, and it only makes sense for our Communion reflection to touch on this topic, as well. Because more often than not, when you're being spiritually abused, you don't feel welcome at this Table. 

How could you? 

Someone in the church (usually in the church, but at a minimum someone who has connected themself strongly with the faith) has told you that you aren't welcome in certain places. That you're a handful. That you're a pain in the hind end. That you're more trouble than you're worth. That you're a disaster, a train wreck, and nobody can deal with you on any meaningful basis. 

So why would Jesus?

Not only that, but you've probably also been told that you just like to draw attention to yourself, that you're dramatic. So you assume your presence really ruins a party. If you show up to this Table, people are going to start talking about how you think you're worth something and how you're just trying to be part of something that you don't have any business being part of and how you just want people to notice you, so you crashed this party. 

So...why would you come?

Your spiritual abuser may step in here, again, and say that of course, he's happy to break bread with you, no matter what everyone else thinks (while also subtly hinting to you what "everyone else" thinks). But...this is a Table with Jesus. 

And having someone convince you that you are not welcome here is the worst form of spiritual abuse there is. 

You are welcome. 

Jesus loves you. 

And listen, when I say that, I'm not saying, "Jesus even broke bread with Judas, so of course you're welcome here, you piece of garbage betrayer." No. That's just more spiritual abuse. 

You are welcome here because you are beautifully and wonderfully made. Because you are the work of the Master's hands. Because He knit you together in your mother's womb and knew you before you even took your first breath. Because He knows the number of hairs on your head at any given moment, even when you're pulling them out from the frustration of feeling unlovable. Even then, you are loved for exactly who you are. 

Which, by the way, is probably not who your spiritual abuser tells you that you are. 

So listen, at least here, at least at this Table, to the voice of Jesus, who says, "Come." Come as you are. Come to Me. Come have this bread that I have prayed a blessing over just for you. 

You. Are. Welcome. Here. 

Don't let anyone convince you otherwise.  

Crushed

We could talk for a long time about spiritual abuse. It takes many forms, and the stories that exist are countless and heartbreaking. But we're hitting some of the highlights. So far, we have seen how the spiritual abuser sets himself up to be your savior and then, forces you to ask for every little thing that you want or need while he is secretly keeping score or using those opportunities to remind you why he's the only one who will help you - pitiful as you are. 

There's one more major red flag of spiritual abuse that's important to talk about here, and it's this: 

To the spiritual abuser, it's always your fault. Everything. All of it. It's your fault.  

If you ever happen to figure out what he's doing, what's happening in your relationship, and you happen to get the strength to call it out, he'll spin things around to tell you that's not really the case and that it's just another example of how horrible you are.

And you likely will go to him when you figure things out. By this point, he's convinced you that you're supposed to come to him with everything, that he's the only one willing to listen to you or to help you. He's been there for you through other interpersonal conflicts you've tried to navigate (which you realize in hindsight that he also helped to create through his own god complex and toxic/abusive dynamics). You've probably even had conversations in these other times about how, if you ever have a problem with someone, especially him, you should take Matthew's advice and go to your brother in private and try to talk about things. 

So you'll figure out that something is off in the relationship and naturally, you'll go to him and try to talk about it. He told you that you could do that, right? 

When you do, though, two things are going to happen: 

First, he's going to deflect. He's going to tell you how horrible the things are that you're saying and how much they hurt him to hear. After all, he's never been anything but nice to you - how can you accuse him of such things? He'll bring up his list again, that score he's keeping about everything he thinks he's ever done for you, and he'll tell you that you really ruined his day/week/month/whatever by saying these things to him. 

This is to make you apologize to him and feel like you owe him something for your thoughtfulness and rudeness; it keeps you in his debt. 

Second, he's going to tell you that this is primarily a you issue. You just want to be offended. You're just so high maintenance. You're so naive. You don't understand how things really work. You're such a burden, and here you are again, being more of a burden because of your own insecurities and failures. In other words, it's your fault you feel this way; it's part of the broken dirtiness of your own heart. You know, the very same thing that keeps others from wanting to have anything to do with you. The same thing that makes God Himself weary of you. The same thing that leaves you with only one savior left - your spiritual abuser. 

You are just hopeless. Toxic. Dramatic. Traumatic. Whatever pain you might be feeling from the relationship, it's your own fault because your heart is just that wrong, that backward, that poisonous. 

So you try to address it, having recognized it for what it is, and the interaction you have with him - with the same him who told you to always bring it up - only proves what you've already suspected. 

The only possible thing you can do now is to walk away. 

It feels impossible. By this point, so much of your faith is wrapped up in him. So much of your understanding of God. So much of your relationship with the fellowship. All of your relationships and spiritual disciplines and everything have run through him for so long that if you walk away from him, it feels like you're walking away from everything...and there are so many of those things you aren't willing to give up - or to give up on. But it feels like you're losing them anyway. 

Which is exactly how he wants it. So that once he has you, you feel like you can never leave without losing God, too. 

This...is spiritual abuse. 

Ask

"If you need something, all you have to do is ask." 

The spiritual abuser will tell you this. He will tell you this repeatedly. And on one hand, he's right. But on the other hand, things aren't so easy. 

Because you will ask. And you will be told that those resources aren't available to you. They're available to others, but they aren't available to you. 

For example, you might hear that a certain person within the congregation has a certain set of skills and really enjoys helping folks according to her gifting. But you may not know this person well, so you'll ask your abuser - because he's already convinced you he's the only one who cares about you - about whether this is true, and you'll be told it's true, but that person is very busy and you shouldn't bother them. Then, you see that person helping others in exactly the same way you need, but you asked...and you were told not to ask. 

Or maybe you'll ask and you'll receive, but what you don't know is that the spiritual abuser is always keeping score. You won't know this until it's too late, until this score comes back to bite you. But one day, something will happen and this person will come right back to you and say, "After everything I've done for you!" with a huff, then list off everything he perceives he's ever done for you, big and small. Asked for and not asked for. 

He'll name everything. "Remember that time you asked me to hand you the pen from across the counter? I did that, didn't I?" "Remember when you asked me to help you carry that heavy thing? I helped you carry that heavy thing." He remembers every small thing he's ever done for you, even the things you would not have considered personal favors, but just acts of human decency that ought to be expected between any two mature human beings. But to him, they're part of the score. 

He'll even usually throw in here all the spiritual things he thinks he's done for you - the phone calls he's answered when you were reaching out, the prayers he's prayed with you and for you, the Bible reference he helped you find that one time. Anything and everything so that you remember all of the things you've ever received from him. 

This is his way to justify not giving you more. He's already given you so much, and you're ungrateful. And it hasn't been effective in growing you, so you're a hopeless case. Whatever he can say to beat you down just a little bit and convince you of your unworth so that, again, he becomes your savior. He's just so kind to you!

What's really devious about telling you to ask, though, is this: 

Your spiritual abuser sees your need. He sees it plainly. There are probably many others who have seen your need and, because spiritual abusers are usually persons in power, have probably even come to him to ask about how they can help. But he's told them - she hasn't asked for help yet. 

You know that scene in Aladdin when he's bound and gagged and thrown into the water with a stone tied around his feet and the genie is like, gosh, I'd really like to help you, but I need you to ask.... It's that, but in real life. There are persons who have seen your need and want to help, but they are not allowed to help because you haven't asked; your abuser refuses to help because you haven't asked. 

Because if you don't ask, it doesn't become part of the score. If you don't ask, he can't use it against you later. If you don't ask, he can't make a judgment on whether you're worthy or not and give you a speech about what you deserve and what you don't. 

The spiritual abuser will sit back and watch you drown and then tell you it's your own fault because you never asked anyone to save you. All you had to do was ask for help, but you're just too prideful to humble yourself. Your heart is wrong and is full of yourself. 

"Ask and you shall receive." The Bible says that, he'll remind you. The fact that you don't ask is a testimony to the weakness and failure of your own faith. You just don't believe enough...because you don't ask. 

Never mind that you were drowning and couldn't even take a breath to speak.  

A God Complex

One of the easiest ways to spot a spiritual abuser is to recognize in him or her a certain "God complex." That is, like any toxic individual, they will want to have a measure of power and control over you and your life (and your faith and your fellowship), and they will exercise this power in subtle and sometimes not-so-subtle ways. 

They may start by suggesting to you that certain things going on in the church really aren't your kind of things - you shouldn't try to get involved. You shouldn't try to volunteer. You shouldn't really be interested in those things because hey, they know you, and it's just "not a good fit." 

This can be anything from a certain small group, a community service project, a ministry within the church, a volunteer role, even something as simple as a friendship with someone you've identified as a possible point of contact within the church - someone who you know would make you feel less lonely there. 

In doing this, the spiritual abuser sets himself up as someone you're supposed to trust, someone who knows you and knows your life better than anyone and is using his discernment to keep you from making big mistakes that might blow everything up. Because hey, you've blown some things up in the past all by yourself, haven't you? 

Bam. He's now your confidant. He's your best friend. He's the one you turn to to help you make your decisions so that you don't make those mistakes. And once he's got you coming to him first, then it's not a big step before he has you coming to him exclusively. And now, you're his. 

He can guide you however he wants. 

He'll usually start with this: by telling you what kinds of things you can bring to either him or the church and which kinds of things you can't. 

Maybe you're a person who believes in the power of prayer. Maybe you're someone who reads the bulletin every week and faithfully prays for the things listed there, even the things you think are the small things. Or sometimes, the silly things. Then, something big happens in your life, and you think - I want us to pray over this. I believe in prayer, and I believe God is the one who can answer this. 

So you ask for prayer. 

But the spiritual abuser won't let you have prayer. It's misguided, he tells you, to ask for prayer for this. You don't need to ask for prayer for this. You, he says, are just trying to draw attention to yourself. But hey, he'll pray with you. Yes, that's a good idea. The two of you can pray together and not have to put your life on public blast. 

So you pray. And the next time you ask for prayer, it's the same story. But a time or two after that, he stops praying with you, too. Your life, he says, is such a wreck. It makes his head spin. It's clear that you don't have the kind of faith you need to have to turn your life around or truly give it to God, and if you aren't praying powerful prayers for your own self, then it's foolish to think that anyone else could pray powerful prayers for you. 

All of a sudden, your confidant, your savior, your friend has shattered your faith. Your life is a mess. It's too big of a mess for God. It's only by the goodness of the spiritual abuser's heart that he even puts up with you. And it's a good thing he does because if it wasn't for him, you'd really be making an embarrassment of yourself. He's doing you a favor. 

Except...he's built a wall between you and God and told you that there's no way you can cross it. There's no way you can get back to God. You're going to need another savior. 

And...surprise...it's him. 

Just like that, with all the plaster of "good intentions" smeared all over it, you belong to your spiritual abuser. (So he thinks.)