Relative to What?

If you attended last Sunday night you heard Pastor Glenn attempt to disprove the idea of moral relativity. Some agreed, some disagreed, and I imagine some didn’t care. I mean, what does a bunch of philosophical proofs have to do with today, and my life with Christ? Nothing, but understanding the dilemma we’re placed in as Christians: EVERYTHING

Here’s the deal, if you’re a Christian it means you’re a follower of Christ because He is the only means to eternal life, which begins the moment you know Him. So, each morning you wake up ready to face what life has for you, and your only goal for this life is to serve Christ each day, whatever that looks like. He’s given you a simple mission to make disciples of all nations: to help the poor and destitute, and to share your faith with others. That’s it. That’s the life of a Christian.

Here’s the problem, you wake up each day and you know you’ve got the winning ticket. You know Jesus is the only way to eternal life with God. Plain and simple. The problem is other religions believe their belief system is the only right one. So, it used to be a Christian needed to know the right stats, archeological evidence, and theological jargon to prove Jesus is right and others are wrong. But it’s no longer that simple…today, Christians need to address more than just a person’s religious belief system, we have to understand and address an entire worldview. You see we say Jesus is the only way to heaven and people no longer have as much trouble with the Jesus part as they do the only part.

We claim an absolute truth in a world that believes in relative truth, and it’s not just on the issue of salvation; the same is true with moral views on sex, drinking, marriage, divorce, etc…I mean isn’t this the same problem with gay marriage, we claim marriage is meant to be between a man and a woman and people don’t have a problem with it. It’s when we add the word only people throw a fit.

So what’s the answer? I would disagree with some of what Glenn said, I don’t think philosophical proofs are the answer, being aware of them is helpful, but they’re not the end in and of themselves. Although, I did love Glenn’s idea of using the information in conversation. The problem is I fully believe in the equality of others and I also believe truth is often relative to one’s context in the world, but I also believe in certain theological and moral absolutes. So how do you communicate these absolutes to a relativistic society? And how do you do it with Christ’s love? These are the questions of our day.

I’d love to hear your thoughts. There may be no question more pressing to the lives of Christians today.

I know you’ve got an opinion…let’s hear it!


Because He lives!

Josh

Even the Stones Will Cry Out

“I tell you, if they keep quiet, the stones will cry out.”—Luke 19: 40

When my dad was a boy, he was afraid of God. Being a missionary kid, he saw quite a bit of Him, saw what He could do, or what people thought was the right thing to do for Him. Dad saw the people that worshipped God, the way they held their hands and of all things cried with their mouths wide open to the ceiling; he saw the raw pull of whatever It was that was pulling, invisible, that seemed a magnet for tears and flailing limbs. He saw this and was afraid. And so, little Dad, from elementary school till young adulthood, kept God at arm’s length and shut his eyes to Him like doors.

It is a symbol, this sight of worship that my dad saw. It is, like all actions, a physical emblem to show what is going on deep inside the person, the worshiper. (At least, it should be, I think.) Like the way the people, at first placid in their chairs, suddenly stand up and spread themselves, as if someone took a knife to their being and slit it wide open to let their bowels slip out; as if with their open mouths they can empty out whatever black things they have that they need to be rid of, and as if with their hands they can grab out of thin air the Thing that they need to fill them, or wave hard enough to get that Thing to notice them. It is a symbol, this worship, and it is what is unseen becoming seen, inner becoming outer. An incarnation.

There are many symbols besides worship, and our minds, through our eyes, are smothered with them. Just Friday I saw a nearly naked woman on a billboard, her eyes narrowed at me and other drivers like a cat’s. I don’t remember the words on the billboard—I didn’t notice them. I also saw a handful of advertisements for beer, and the pictures showed a brown, bottled liquid smoother and more refreshing than water. If I watch TV for more than five minutes, my eyes are flashed with symbols of what I should want for myself and, if nothing else, more nearly naked women with cat’s eyes.

Late last night, I sat on the couch in front of the TV and saw a commercial for hamburgers, and I was hungry.

And just a month ago, I saw an old man in a park. He was stepping slowly towards a statue with his arms outstretched. His hands were grasping the face of the statue, his fingers running over the lines in the stone face. He was blind, and he was trying to see this lifeless thing the only way he knew how. And when I saw the old blind man, I saw what we all are: old, blind, stumbling forwards on uncertain feet to reach out and feel for life, for flesh and blood, only to find lifelessness, cold stone. The symbols that we see, they are cold, and reaching for them, we have become cold.

We have, in a way, become stones. Stone-faced from the things done to us, a smile not having touched our lips for weeks, months, because there is seemingly little or nothing to smile about. Stone-deaf to the same song that others around us are hearing, that for some reason stirs them to break from their chairs and spill open with their entire bodies. Stone-cold, because life itself has left us, or perhaps never even entered us.

My father, when he was young, ran from Life. But, one way or another, somewhere along the road before I was born, his eyes and his ears, like doors, were opened, and he saw It, heard It. Of all the people I’ve known in this life, I’ve seen him cry the most.

“It was just a matter of time,” he once said to me, and he put his hands to his face to catch his tears.

And that is what I say, even on the days when I can’t hear the same song that others are hearing—especially on those days.

It is just a matter of time. Because, stones though we are, He is always waiting to open us up, until we cry out.

- Nate Smith