This weekend I became the owner of a minivan.
One might think this was long overdue–we’ve got four growing kids we’ve been toting around in a Honda Pilot for six years. The five-foot ten year old had to fold his legs under his chin in the third row seating, where fresh air cannot penetrate, void of headrests, foot space, and possibly airbags. The second row situation wasn’t much better–a crowded, two carseat affair with another child squeezed in the middle, his elbows resting on his belly button.
But we had put a hundred thousand miles on the rig, and even if she was faithful and uncomplaining, the seating arrangements were not in our favor. It no longer seemed kind to make a growing boy risk a migraine with every trip.
Still, I have a hard time pulling the trigger in these instances.
When I was a kid, people were often puzzled upon seeing our family’s living arrangement. My parents were not asceticists in the traditional sense; we were sort of pleasantly used to doing things the hard way. It was impossible to explain our shabby dwelling to the curious, taking “pride” in our low position. Good people would up and ask–outloud!–why my dad didn’t finish a house project. Wouldn’t a responsible, loving father finish the remodel? Why was it one tiny step at a time? Where was the urgency? Why couldn’t he care enough to make his family comfortable?
The mere suggestion of neglect made my dad bristle. I do think he certainly intended to finish whatever house project was on his list, but it incensed him. It was an arrow aimed and shot at his character. Inevitably, the energy for the project would wane, or more likely, the funds would shift to a needier place.
I never understood. I hated it for so long. I didn’t see the harm in having flooring or walls with electric wires neatly tucked inside. Why did we have to suffer the cold in winter and the heat in summer? There was a reason I never experienced camping as a child–my own home offered its own survival challenge. It was not super enjoyable to live so rustic and basic–why would we up the ante and willingly sleep on the ground?
Like most kids, I didn’t value their perspective until I walked in their shoes, a grownup with my own children, realizing that comfort is its own beast. Spoiled children (spoiled adults!) are impossible to please, and the root of a bad tree is nearly impossible to dig up. Seating ourselves at the head at the table and demanding more service, more food, is a recipe for petulant whiners. Life is not physically comfortable for many people in this world, and it is okay. It is more than okay–it is actually an honorable way to live. A Christian can, and ought, to choose to buck cultural expectations in favor of outrageous counter-lifestyle. It is what Jesus did, even when his daddy owned a cattle on a thousand hills (Psalm 50:10)–he had no place to lay his head (Matt. 8:20). Extreme obedience and self-denial. This is what my parents have taught me.
This attitude has followed me into adulthood, though I can’t say I’ve always been grateful. From childhood, I’ve been trained to ask why? while the world says why not? Obviously, why not is so much more pleasant. Why not is an indulgent lover who asks how can it be wrong if it feels so right? It’s a second piece of pie, unlimited, sky’s-the-limit, I’ll-call-it-a-blessing, I-probably-deserve-it green light to my desires. Watch that show, drink that wine, relax! Why not pats me on the back and says to take it easy. If it is applauded, accepted, a result of hard work paying off–don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Why not helps me justify the extra bedrooms and bathrooms in my house. Why not puts vacations on my credit card and signs the check to buy new things, like a minivan.
Why feels like an enemy to a Why not sort of person. And vice-versa.
But see here–the Word condemns self-indulgence and pride. Jesus warned it would be a tough row to plow for the believer. It would take some gumption and sitting down to count the cost of following Him. One of our most threatening personal enemies is our very own Flesh, the skin we’re in. We are supposed to live in fear of sinning.
Those who continue in sin, rebuke in the presence of all, so that the rest will also be fearful of sinning.
1 Tim. 5:20
In Greek it is more aptly put: we are to have a sin phobia.
This is a bit tricky for me to explain. We aren’t supposed to be afraid, right? We’re supposed to lean in, fully confident, saved-by-grace…yes? Isn’t the power of Christ enough to conquer the sin problem? But ay yay! the flesh. We’re stuck in these persnickety, selfish bodies, the same ones we love and hate. We are torn, over and over.
I see in my members another law waging war against the law of my mind and making me captive to the law of sin that dwells in my members. Wretched man that I am! Who will save me from this body of death?
Romans 7:23-24
Obviously, even pious Paul is wrecked by this sin in the flesh dilemma. And he wants us to be wrecked, too.
Rewinding to Old Testament times, after Moses died and Joshua was left to lead the Israelites across the Jordan River into the Promised Land, he was ordered to be strong and very courageous. We know this verse–it’s a fave of the Bible-thumpers. We embroider it onto hoops, we hang it on our walls. But it is prefaced with a strong admonition to obey and meditate, day and night, on the Book of the Law. Keep it front and center, God was warning Joshua–you have no idea what enemies you’re up against. Their success was dependent upon it–taking every caution to obey. Their success was not dependent upon being strong and courageous.
Dr. J.V. McGee draws correlation between the first three enemies faced in the new land and spiritual enemies we face as believers today: The great city of Jericho corresponds to the world, which can only be conquered by faith, patience, and following day-in, day-out marching orders. The Gibeonites represent Satan–a sneaky trickster that’ll stop at nothing to deceive us and gain access to our treasure. And Ai–that little town who seemed so innocuous–is our flesh.
A blip on the screen–a story often forgotten by the Sunday school crowd in favor of Jericho–Ai is the story of the second city conquered by Israel in the Promised Land. Hot off their victory over Jericho, Joshua sent out a small committee to spy on Ai. When they returned, they told Joshua it didn’t seem like any big deal. Don’t get everybody worked up. Just send a few good fighters up and the city will be ours. Unfortunately, they were wrong. Ai was ready to crush them. The Israelites were suddenly scared out of their pants. So much for being strong and courageous! Joshua and the other leaders spend a day with their heads bent to the ground, moaning and groaning about how they should’ve never crossed the Jordan.
And God says this:
“Stand up! What are you doing down on your face? Israel has sinned; they have violated my covenant, which I commanded them to keep. They have taken some of the devoted things; they have stolen, they have lied, they have put them with their own possessions. This is why the Israelites cannot stand against their enemies; they turn their backs and run because they have been made liable to destruction.”
Joshua 7:11-12
A greedy fellow named Achan had taken some goodies from Jericho for himself, and God was not having it. He was not taking the blame for the trouble they were having with this particular enemy, Ai. Because there was sin in the camp, God said they made themselves liable to destruction.
Oh, friends. Why-Not people don’t stand a chance against the flesh. And God will not lead you to victory in your life, no matter how “strong and courageous” you are, if you’ve departed from His Word and made yourselves liable to destruction. It’s as simple as hiding your greed inside your tent, padding that bank account for your why not pleasures, and pretending life is just ducky.
The Ai story does have a happy ending, once the sin problem is dealt with (spoiler: stoning and burning is involved, but this is exactly why we ought to have a sin phobia). The Israelites divided themselves and ambushed the place–they fooled the Ai people into attacking and then retreating, so they were caught in the middle and defeated. When it was finally over, Joshua stood in front of all of the Israelites and read to them the Law they had been given.
It was the only way to remember that victory comes from obedience. From maintaining a sin phobia, a why approach to the flesh. And from continual meditation and eating on His Word.
Over the phone, I still confess to my dad and mom, my truest, longest confidants: My whole life has been me telling me ‘no’.
They understand perfectly. They have been at it longer than me, giving a hard ‘no’ to worthless endeavors, trash TV, a nice home, vacations, expensive clothes. They have eschewed the spotlight, glory and glitter, because they refuse to let the flesh win. We all agree–it is, by far, the hardest thing to do. We’re in these bodies that crave comfort, rest, ease, a controlled environment, coffee. It takes more energy in life to say no to myself. It takes some spying, some tactical study. Physical and mental toughness and counting of the cost. It isn’t pleasant. It’s still war. But when I’m not saying no to myself, I’m never moving forward. I’m stagnant, withering, blaming and critical. There’s no victory without a battle.
Thank God He hasn’t asked us to do it alone. The victory rests upon our obedience, and He’s already spelled out the strategy for our success.
We bought that Honda minivan, maybe six years after we should have bought it–mostly because I thought I was asking a why not question. We were uncomfortable, yes, but discomfort serves its purpose. You know I’ll forever be reminding the long-legged back-seaters to not complain. I’ll remind them how it was before, in the Pilot. At least now they’ve got functioning windows and headrests. We made our move out of necessity, and there’s some promise in conquering flesh when we realize we can outlast our desires.
The funniest thing is this: we bought the Odyssey from a BMW/Mercedes-Benz dealership. It was a smoking online deal–turns out no one shops for minivans from a luxury car brand. I laugh every time I pass by the temporary tags on the back, stuck in a license plate frame boasting BMW. I’m not a BMW girl, but I guess now I’m a minivan with BMW plates girl. It doesn’t make sense. It is absurd. But we aren’t trying to make sense, are we?
We’re trying to trick that flesh into retreating. We’re slaughtering those lies–that what other people say matters, that why nots are a better place to live. That beauty cannot be found in submission, that wonder and worship are flashy and fleeting.
We dig in our heels and never underestimate the enemy.
