The Average Pearl

In the Closet: Keeping Secrets with God in a not-so-secret world

Essay 10: Friend, Move Up to a Better Place

 

Christendom adjusts itself far too easily to the worship of power. Christians should give more offense, shock the world far more than they are doing now.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer

 

I deleted my personal Instagram account several months ago. I could be ashamed to say it, I guess, but I’m not: It was a pretty big deal.
I’d gotten too wrapped up in it, had too many fresh leads, potential opportunities. It was second nature to me, like opening my refrigerator when I’m hungry.

I’d been eagle-eyeing the networking–that modern, holy grail of finding my people. After all, I was just a mom waking up from the sleepy toddler-raising years, a bit hungry for a creative writing outlet and any sign that my identity as a grownup was still intact. It was entry-level stuff, wading in ankle-deep, and I was pleasantly surprised to find what anyone might describe as community–the gathering of like-minded folk who shared my love of written words. The lovely connections and support, the simple, attractive photos with insightful, 200-word count musings, witty comments, banter with and encouragement from successful writers. In other words, I was beginning to belong somewhere. And bonus points: it was only a matter of time until I realized some mediocre fame.

It was about then I came across a post of a popular Christian influencer whose words jarred and bumped around inside my heart. My reckoning had arrived by way of too-late nights thumbing my phone, a bright screen illuminating my tightly-held, unspoken hope that I, too, had a dream to fulfill. I suddenly, finally got an uneasy feeling I was getting too comfortable with living in this old Babylon. 

The influencer said something to the effect of,

In the comments below, brag about yourself! If you don’t believe in your dreams enough to let the whole world know, why would anyone else believe in you?

Hundreds of comments were posted, links leading to websites, books, podcasts, portfolios. You name it, every dream was drawn up and justified. Cheap, easy self-advertisement–pull up a chair to the table and grab a bite before the cake is gone.
I think I shook my head in disbelief, finally becoming aware of all the elbows, the relentless, grabby, manifest destiny greed on the interwebs. We weren’t all here to “encourage one another”–and if we thought we were, it became crystal clear in that moment for me–no one naturally gave a hoot about anyone’s dream but their own.

At the time I was reading a best seller book where another popular self-help guru wrote, 

I’m here to tell you it doesn’t matter what society thinks about you or your dreams…All that really matters is how badly you want those dreams and what you’re willing to do to make them happen.
(Girl, Stop Apologizing, Rachel Hollis) 

Effectively, dang right it is up to you! There’s one path, one destiny. Go claim it!

This thought is outrageous in its opposition to the Gospel, but the push to self-promote is fundamental in the realm of internet influencers. It isn’t given a second thought. The world says if you don’t promote yourself, who will? 

Somehow–thankfully–the scales fell off my eyes, and I was able to see–and understand–the damage caused by, as Bonhoeffer said, adjusting [myself] far too easily to the worship of power, or the Instagram ball and chain. 

Our humble savior, Jesus, gave a parable of a feast to which many people were invited. First, take note: Jesus wasn’t against parties. He wasn’t a joy-killer, pious and pristine. He said when you are invited to a wedding party–clearly not condemning celebrations. It was an expected part of life, even as it is today, and the Lord assumed it, as He spoke, as a common fact.

But He quickly condemned the common approach of partygoers and the arrogant, thoughtless practice of assuming one’s seat at the table. I wonder if it doesn’t venture into social media territory today, this being our favorite method of interaction and “partying”, if you will.

Jesus said,
When you are invited to a wedding banquet, do not take the place of honor, for a person more distinguished than you may have been invited. If so, the host who invited both of you will come and say to you, ‘Give this person your seat.’ Then, humiliated, you will have to take the least important place. But when you are invited, take the lowest place, so that when your host comes, he will say to you, ‘Friend, move up to a better place.’ Then you will be honored in the presence of all the other guests. For all those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.” 

Luke 14:8-11 

Jesus made the point that a person should take the lowest place at the table and wait for the host to promote him to a higher position. After all, who is to say someone more important might not come sit down and bump you out of your seat? How embarrassing would that be?

Francis Shaeffer wrote,

Jesus commands Christians to seek consciously the lowest room. All of us…are tempted to say, “I will take the larger place because it will give me more influence for Jesus Christ.” Both individual Christians and Christian organizations fall prey to the temptation of rationalizing this way as we build bigger and bigger empires. But according to the Scripture this is backwards: we should consciously take the lowest place unless the Lord Himself extrudes us into a greater one.

The word extrude is important here. To be extruded is to be forced out under pressure into a desired shape. Picture a huge press jamming soft metal at high pressure through a die, so that the metal comes out in a certain shape. This is the way of the Christian: he should choose the lesser place until God extrudes him into a position of more responsibility and authority.

No Little People, Francis Shaeffer

 

This is fascinating to me, though shouldn’t my heart already know it by now? Why should I ever walk bold-faced into any arena, internet or otherwise, and force my presence there?
What gives me the right?
Without exception, we are to begin in the lowest place and simply wait for Jesus to elevate our position. Doesn’t that sound like some kind advice? Wait. Just wait. Hang out here at the end of the table.
As Jesus put it– “so that you will not be humiliated when someone more distinguished than you arrives”.

The good Shepherd inserted a clause to protect us fools who might otherwise think we were just the main guest at the party. The Potter doesn’t let the clay decide what He is making; the clay only has the right to warm up in the Potter’s hands. And so, while we are given the option to play loud or quiet, the wisdom of Jesus promises that when we wait, honor will always follow.

Schaeffer says,

...We should seek the lowest place because there it is easier to be quiet before the face of the Lord. I did not say easy; in no place, no matter how small or humble, is it easy to be quiet before God. But it is certainly easier in some places than in others. And the little places, where I can more easily be close to God, should be my preference. I am not saying that it is impossible to be quiet before God in a greater place, but God must be allowed to choose when a Christian is ready to be extruded into such a place, for only He knows when a person will be able to have some quietness before Him in the midst of increased pressure and responsibility.

Quietness and peace before God are more important than any influence a position may seem to give, for we must stay in step with God to have the power of the Holy Spirit. If by taking a bigger place our quietness with God is lost, then to that extent our fellowship with Him is broken and we are living in the flesh, and the final result will not be as great, no matter how important the larger place may look in the eyes of other men or in our own eyes.

…So we must not go out beyond our depth. Take the smaller place so you have quietness before God.

(No Little People, Francis Shaeffer, pg.12, c.1974)

 

Listen, friends: It is God’s place to promote. And why? To shut up us pesky little humans? Of course not.
It is for the Shepherd to prepare the better pasture for us, for the Potter to mold us into the perfect pot. It is to ensure the power of His Holy Spirit isn’t quenched inside us by our own impatient dousing. The fire burns brightest where the Living God breathes–may we never promote ourselves away from His presence! May we resist the idolatry of the world that encourages self-centeredness and prominence. May we refute the lie that success only comes if we name it and claim it.
Quietness is simply an attitude–a hands-open posture–of trusting Him, instead of oneself, to make things happen, because He makes things happen better.

Think of it this way: We are training our ears to listen for His command. One day, whether by wind, will, word, or whisper, He will say it to each of us who has been patient enough to hear:
Friend, move up to a better place.

When He says it, it will come with a measure of honor, not with grappling and elbow-throwing chaos. We might be surprised it looks different than we expected, or maybe even that we had been wrong all along about what it was we were seeking. We might know ourselves better, might find that the disciplined life is rather a refreshing one.

He will say to us, Friend, move up to a better place.
And all our waiting will have been worth it.

In the Closet: Keeping Secrets with God in a not-so-secret world

Essay 8: Babylon

 

“The fact that our humanity was routed by these tools over the past decade should come as no surprise…We’ve been engaging in a lopsided arms race in which the technologies encroaching on our autonomy were preying with increasing precision on deep-seated vulnerabilities in our brains, while we still naively believed that we were just fiddling with fun gifts handed down from the nerd gods.”

Cal Newport, Digital Minimalism: Choosing a Focused Life in a Noisy World

 

Digital Babylon is the term coined by David Kinnaman in his book, Faith for Exiles. Referring back to the Old Testament story of Daniel, Babylon was the city to which the youngest, brightest, most handsome exiles of the Jewish nation were brought. The famous king, Nebuchadnezzar, turned these young men into eunuchs and subjected them to severe training and academics. As the story goes, Daniel and his friends knew well to refuse the treatment, as much as it was up to them to decide. They came to the point of outright refusing to eat the rich fare of the palace, and proved to the king that their way of living was actually superior to the other exiles.

Daniel, in his bold purity, represents the man who stands for God and refutes godless living even in a godless land. He stands, throughout his life, as an example of what a person can prove by not falling into the habits and ways of the majority. A man of character in a culture of personality. A light in a dark world.

Kinnaman says, 

“Digital Babylon is not a place. It is the pagan, but spiritual, hyperstimulated, multicultural, imperial crossroads that is the virtual home of every person with wi-fi, a data plan, or for most of us, both.”

 

We Christians, believers in a God who didn’t spare His Son but put Him to death for our sins, are not to ride the waves of a personality cultural revolution. We aren’t made for the palace fare and fellowship with our phones. We are to remember we are the captives in this story, brought to Babylon against our will and well aware of the dangers of assimilating. Yet we walk right into Digital Babylon and belly up to the bar, thrilled to dine on the food and chat up the crowd. We push in all our chips, like it is some sort of game: we are here to play, and we are here to win.

It doesn’t help that in Digital Babylon, the radio is always turned on.

 

I remember watching a documentary on North Korea. Each room in every house had a radio speaker which broadcasted, every minute of every day, governmental propaganda. There was no volume button to shut the darn thing off, and so people listened day and night to the words pipe into their kitchens and living rooms.

It sounds awful to be deprived of any sort of solitude, but such is the manner of folks who push propaganda. A constant stream of ideas and words that are not your own, steadily put in your ears until you see no way around it, no way to fight it or disagree.

 

We subject ourselves to this same droning, never an arm’s length away from our phones or computers. It is the prerogative of the companies that buy and sell our information, cell phones, media platforms–to make us feel important and engaged by asking what’s on your mind? And popping up little red circles and hearts on our screens. 

 

The world will always encourage us to capitalize on our burgeoning popularity–to take our waxed, shiny personalities out for a spin and see who will buy it.

We are welcomed into this culture on constant engagement and begin to perceive it as the realist possibility, the most possible reality. We stoically deny we are strangers in this land. The very pleasure sensors in our brains wait anxiously to light up. We are being noticed, we are being liked. We are addicted. Perhaps we were not captives. Perhaps we have always belonged.

We forget it is a form of slavery to enter these rhythms, to bow before other gods.  

We assume we will be fine, dipping our toes in and out of the water, splashing here and there, not quite getting totally wet.

It isn’t that we refuse to acknowledge we live in Babylon–we do. But the believer refuses to align herself with the notion of becoming comfortable there. We refuse to make it our home, because our passport says it is elsewhere.

 

Paul frequently had to remind his beloved friends of this very notion–we don’t belong here. It is so, so easy to forget:
I have often told you before and now say again even with tears, many live as enemies of the cross of Christ. Their destiny is destruction, their god is their stomach, and their glory is in their shame. Their mind is on earthly things. But our citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ…

Philippians 3:18-20

 

John echoes Paul’s urgency:
Do not love the world, nor the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him. For all that is in the world, the lust of the flesh and the lust of the eyes and the boastful pride of life, is not from the Father, but is from the world…the world is passing away, and also its lusts, but the one who does the will of God abides forever.

1 John 2:15-17

 

You and I–we must wash ourselves again and again in this truth, because the world is so persuasive. Even our daily coffee habit seems to testify to our citizenship down here–our stomach, a god in and of itself. No one dares to deny me my morning java, my scrolling text messages at the traffic light, my anxiety over remote learning with kids during Covid. I have every right to express my disgust over politics–

I belong here.

It is the spirit of the world that pulls us into these cycles of lust, materialism, self-indulgence, shameless pride and flattery. The spin we put on Paul’s “becoming all things to all people” might just be a tricky way of justifying our leisure pursuits as Christians into Digital Babylon, if we care to be honest.

Don’t be fooled: if you love anything in this world, the love of the Father is not in you.

 

Maybe this is why Daniel found himself scooting to his room in Babylon three times a day to pray–it was a lifelong habit–from the time he was a teenager–of removing himself and reminding himself of his true home. He was pleading with God to help him remain devoted, unentangled by propaganda and culture. 

 

Do not love the world. Do not love it, John pleads.

 

Leave it to the commoners in Babylon. Let them bow down to their idols from the “nerd gods”. Let them think they belong, let them be fools.

Our citizenship is in heaven.

In the Closet: Keeping Secrets with God in a not-so-secret World

Essay 7: Imperceptible Grind

 

To the wicked, God says:
“What right have you to recite my laws or take my covenant on your lips? You hate my instruction and cast my words behind you. When you see a thief, you join with him; you throw in your lot with adulterers.
You use your mouth for evil and harness your tongue to deceit. You speak continually against your brother and slander your own mother’s son. These things you have done and I kept silent; you thought I was altogether like you.
But I will rebuke you and accuse you to your face.”

Psalm 50:16-21

 

I had a brown spot on my tooth, newly discovered while sitting on the couch one evening, a book in hand. My tongue ran over uneven enamel, a rough bump on the pearly whites. That night when I brushed my teeth, I examined it closely in the mirror. It could be a cavity, I supposed, but I brush and floss my teeth often, and I was sure I’d have seen it sooner if it looked decayed. It didn’t ache at all, but the next morning I scheduled a dentist appointment. It wouldn’t hurt to have it checked out.

The doctor poked around and asked me if I grind my teeth at night.

“Well,” I said thoughtfully, “my jaw does seem tense when I wake up in the mornings.”

“That’s it then, you’re a teeth grinder. See here, you chipped off a hunk of your tooth. The tooth behind it is also chipped, but you can’t see it. Here, let’s take some photos so you can see it better.”

He took pictures and quickly pulled them up on the computer.

“Look at the wear,” he pointed, showing an up close view of a mouthful of slightly damaged teeth. 

Indeed, I had been clenching my teeth in my sleep. An imperceptible grinding was slowly wearing them away. The dentist prepared to fit my newest mistake with a partial crown. He talked about future dental care; he recommended an aligning treatment and, at the very least, a retainer to wear at night.

I left unsure of where to begin. It seemed an awful lot to take in for a person like me: one who took pride in her responsible dental care. It was like I’d been accused of drowning baby kittens when I thought I was a saint. Me, a flosser even! Now I was going to have to change my ways or face the music, a future void of pita chips and caramel corn.

Stick with me while I try to make an analogy.

For a long time I have been a podcast listener, eagerly awaiting weekly episodes to accompany my endless laundry basket hustle and evening dog walks. Podcasts are a cool way to fill in mindless work with a good mental chew, and I’m never without a list of options. One constant companion has been a well-known Christian group that puts out an hourly show regaling all things pop culture and current trends. The two hosts are delightful, funny, and quick-witted. Their references to music, television, movies, celebrities, and current events is amplified by their Christian worldview. I appreciate it, because I feel like they are speaking to me as a friend, someone familiar with my own upbringing.  To put it plainly, I get what is funny because they explain it to me in words I can understand. On the side, they happen to have another podcast that focuses on stories from the Bible. Again, they drew me in with their humor and candor.

But I’ve been folding laundry with them for a long time now, and I’m detecting some things that are not the greatest signifiers to being “Christian” podcast celebrities. It is an inconsistency that wasn’t, in the beginning, a glaring red light warning, so I ignored it for a good while. But over time, the language got worse, the length the hosts were willing to go to get a laugh. I was unable to listen to the program with small children around. Finally, at the end of one of their shows, they put in a quick advertisement for a brand new project they were working on for paid subscribers. For a small monthly fee, folks would be able to access this new production where the hosts would break down every episode of Tiger King, just like they had done for Game of Thrones.

I guess the shock wore off quickly. Maybe it didn’t seem like a big deal. I hadn’t watched these shows because they weren’t accessible, and besides, they didn’t seem like my type. Without much consideration, I’d inoculated myself to this idea that other Christians willingly expose themselves to shows where vulgarity, sex, incest, abuse, coercement, indecency, and filth fill up their living rooms and minds on any given weekday night. Entertainment, we call it–nothing wrong with a little entertainment. 

 

The more I considered it, though, the more I realized my beloved podcast hosts were falling into a common trap of the enemy: the lie that says this behavior will not destroy me. 

It’s one of those nasties we sugarcoat with our boundless “freedom in Christ”, then end up completely off course, looking back and wondering where we took the fork in the road.

 

Psalm 19:12 says

But who can discern their own errors?

Forgive me of my hidden faults.

 

We are, on our own, pathetically unaware of our weaknesses. We give our flesh way too much credit for being good, when our very DNA denies it is possible.

I thought about my two beloved podcast hosts as my dentist filled the hole in my tooth and patiently explained to me the situation of grinding my teeth. 

Their overall spiritual health was at risk because they didn’t recognize the disease, the grinding, the effect of their poor habits. It was negating their whole lives as Christ-followers.

Instead of coming off as funny and charming, the inconsistencies in their dialogue carried the scent of deceit. Sweet and cunning on the outside and foul and rotten once exposed. For a small price, followers could buy into this cattiness, this insincerity, and feel as if they were part of a community–Jesus-branded, but ultimately, pagan, godless Babylon. 

To the wicked God says, “What right have you to tell of My statutes, and to take my covenant in your mouth? For you hate discipline, and you cast My words behind you…

You let your mouth loose in evil, and your tongue frames deceit…

You thought I was altogether like you. But I will rebuke you and accuse you to your face.

Psalm 50:16,17,19,21

 

The unknowing sin still causes damage, yet we are without excuse. 

 

Just as in the case of my teeth, most of the irreparable damage is done unintentionally. It is simply a matter of falling unchecked into patterns that came as natural as sleep.  Unaware, we keep up the grind. We retrace habits that chip away at our character. It is obvious upon closer look, like when my dentist showed me the pictures of the damage, but for the most part we go on our way, no wiser. 

It doesn’t mean it isn’t happening. It is still my fault, when it comes down to it: I was the one responsible for the grinding. But if no one had brought attention to it, I would’ve never known any better.

No one is forcing any of us to consume terrible television every night before bedtime. No one is pressuring us to open the same windows, scroll the same feeds, ingest the same junk. Many people who are professed Christians find nothing wrong with a little worldliness. But unless someone points out the damage, or we feel some Spirit nudge, how exactly will we confront our sin?
We are woefully unaware of our lack of reverence. When we tear down the mirror of God’s word and replace it with a big screen TV, our attention is not only divided, it is completely skewed. We’ve moved our souls into a fun house, where the floor is pitched at a forty-five degree angle, the chairs are nailed to the ceiling, and gravity is an illusion.

 

But we are not clowns. This, then, is why we ultimately must leave the amusement park. We commit ourselves to living with the Potter, eating at His table, making our home in His house. His shelter is better, his foundation, unmoving. Our God is a master at uncovering our weakness, gently revealing it to us, and developing a treatment plan. His is discernment, to Him belongs discipline and order.

And maybe most surprisingly–in His house is delight.