Stoned Sinners

How she was caught is never revealed. But now that their illicit relationship served to advance the agenda of the religious elite, they were stalked and she was caught. Her accomplice? Mysteriously absent.

Snatched from the arms of her lover, she stands terrified before a leering crowd. Her accusers grab stones. Tension drips like a muggy midwestern summer.

How will the carpenter-turned-rabbi respond to this woman? Will he show compassion and break the religious law? Or will he enforce it and let the her die?

At first he ignores them. When they persist he says, “Let the one who is without sin throw the first stone.” He returns to scratching the dirt with a stick.

The crowd holds its breath. One by one the religionists drop their weapons and walk away. When he looks up again, he and the woman are alone.

“Where are your accusers?” he asks. “Does no one condemn you?”

“No one, sir,” she answers.

“I don’t condemn you either. Go, and leave your life of sin.”

....

Religion says, “Change your ways and God will forgive you.”
Jesus says, “I forgive you; go and change your ways.”

Religion says, “You’d better measure up or God will condemn you.”
Jesus says, “You can't measure up. Admit it and I’ll forgive you.”

Religion tells us what we must do to get right with God.
Jesus tells us what God has already done to make us right with him. (“When I am lifted up on the cross, I will draw everyone to myself,” he said.)

The woman thought her sin had become her death sentence.

Instead, face to face with both Jesus and her sin, she received forgiveness and a new life. She came to him trembling and ashamed; she left him forgiven and free.

The religionists thought their beliefs gave them the right to condemn others.

Instead, face to face with both Jesus and their self-righteousness, they learned a powerful lesson in humility. They came to him accusing and confident; they backed away ashamed and humiliated.

The crowd thought they would see a public lynching.

Instead, they witnessed a new life born right before their eyes. They discovered that the safest place for sinners is right in the presence of Jesus.

Crusty Christians

I call them "crusty christians." They drive me crazy.

Just today I was talking with two of them after they visited our brand new church. They wondered if we were Calvinistic or Armenian. They wondered what we taught about alcohol. They wanted to know if we were "seeker-sensitive." They wondered why we didn't sing more songs "everybody knows."

I did my best to be nice. I know all the stock answers. I have so much tact it makes me puke.

They're among the "beautiful people." Highly educated, affluent, evangelical WASPs. They complimented me for my "erudition." They raved about our website. They asked about our "target audience."

I told them that the best way to describe our church is this: for most of our group, the Bible they own is the one we gave them. They think Moses looked like Charlton Heston. They're clueless about the "right way" to do church. They're just trying to make spiritual sense of their lives, and ours is a safe place to do that in the context of historic Christianity.

Last week, I told them, one of our new church people said to me, "You know the part in 'O Brother, Where art Thou?' where the guitar player says, 'I sold my soul to the devil because I figured I wasn't using it?' I've been kind of like that in my life. But now I want it back."

We have a home group just for rookies. This woman completed my assignment: read the gospel of John, chapters 1-3, and write one comment/application from each chapter. Among other things, she said, "I noticed that verse in John 3:16. I'd heard of it before, but never knew that it was spoken by Jesus himself. Is that where the idea of being 'born again' comes from?"

I said, "Yes, you're right," and proceeded from that text and more to show her and the others the story of a God who, like Nemo's dad in the Disney movie, would stop at nothing to try to rescue his children. It was a great night, the kind that charges me up to keep at it another day.

When I told our crusty friends that story, their comment was, "What are you doing to 'disciple' those people?" And they said, "Sounds like your church might do better on the south side of town, where more people like you describe live. Here, there are so many professional people...."

I just about puked again.

Give me a church filled with people who sold their souls to the devil any day over a dozen bill-paying, Bible-toting, Crusty Christians.

Word stress

The message was terse:

My name,
"Remove me from your email list,"
His name

I guess something I wrote offended him. I haven't called or written back yet to find out for sure. I don't want either of us to say something we'll regret.

So I'm stewing about it, and you, lucky reader, get to hear about it.

What bugs me is this: I always stress over what I write. I craft words, worry about connotation, consider how it appears to others. If anything, I take too much responsibility for the response of my readers/hearers.

I know it's obsessive and perfectionistic. I know I make mountains out of molehills. I know I need to relax and just say/write what's on my mind without worrying so much what others will say or do or feel in response.

But whenever I do that, it seems like it bites me in the backside. Like today. I'm quite sure that the person apparently offended by my email is really out of line. That he's taking offense to two words in my letter which were entirely appropriate. That his angry response is his problem, not mine.

Offending my friend was the last thing on my mind, however. Had I known (if my guess is accurate) that those words would offend I would gladly have avoided them. My message was perfectly strong without it. It never even occurred to me that my note would be offensive. I was just casually (more or less) jotting down my thoughts about something important to both of us.

I didn't stress about it. But I wish I would have. And that's kind of sick.

So now I'm a "blogger." I want a safe place to say what's on my mind knowing that, if others don't like it, they don't even know me. So there.