Pick up your yardstick: more half-truths and lies.

A couple months ago, I shut down my personal Instagram account.

This is not earth-shattering news, nor do I mean to overemphasize it as if I’ve really done something amazing and selfless. My husband doesn’t participate in any form of social media, and to him quitting social media is no bigger deal than turning the TV off when it’s time to go to bed.

I realized, when it wasn’t that simple, that I had given too much time, wrapped myself in the false security of feeling known. I had commented on thoughtful posts, entered some pseudo-community where no one really cares, but opinions and clever quips are appreciated for a nanosecond. You know, before we scroll down to the next picture on the list.

I think we all know this deep down, but it sure feels good to be counted among the folks we admire. We want applause and assurance, and this is what social media offers. We can laugh and joke about it, but it’s more complicated when we try to untangle ourselves from its grip.

When I’ve brought this up to friends, when I’ve come right out and admitted it was my idol, possibly an addiction–something I thought about and looked forward to and plotted how clever I could be, they looked away. When I confessed I had dreams about various people I followed, as if I knew them in real life, they laughed.

They kindly patted me on the back and said I take things too seriously. It’s an outlet, they said, not a problem. You stay at home, no wonder you want a little interaction. We all feel better when we pretend it’s superficial nonsense. It makes us uneasy to admit we have fallen for such a painted-up version of life, that quite possibly we are wasting our lives away, consuming pixels.

Cal Newport raises the red flag on this rarely regarded phenomenon:

…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.
Digital Minimalism, 2019

I think the obsessiveness is actually what alerted me to the dangers. It occurred to me, after I’d deleted Instagram off my phone, that I’d been even more wrapped up in the app than I’d initially thought. I only followed 60 people or so, but I’d cultivated a nice group of writers, speakers, literary agents; all which spoke deeply into my life, my hopes and dreams. I invested in my heroes and beamed when they noticed me. I thought I had a handle (little instagram pun for ya) on what was going on. I thought I was simply keeping my toes in the water, my poker in the fire, so to speak. These actions would build my platform, these little duties of commenting, liking, subscribing, sharing would help me someday with my own voice. I would hashtag my way into a book deal, and my insta-idols would have seen it coming all along. Because of my loyalty to them, they would, in the future, promote my books and tag me in emotional, spine-tingling insta-stories.

Anyone with half an eyeball could see this slippery slope, right? Resign yourself to the ways of the world if you want success. No one has ever told me otherwise. No one, that is, except for my dad, the most backwards person of all time. He’s always examined and challenged every tiny bit of the world, down to its cogs and hinges. I’ll admit, this sort of questioning and mild suspicion doesn’t make one an easy person to get along with–but since I am my father’s daughter, it has never left me.

Throughout my day, I am measuring things against a yardstick, Truth. Everything versus Truth. My mind picks it apart into miniscule pieces; I weigh what I hear with what I know, and then I do research for fun. I nail down the proof, then I move on to my next curiosity. I know I’m a nerd, but I’m comfortable with it. It is a bizarre, underrated gift…maybe. Discernment–that’s what I prefer to call it.

There was one little insta-story that bumped its way into my feed at the same moment I happened to be studying the minor prophets. If you know me, you’ll know I’ve been wading through these not-so-popular guys for a couple years now. For some reason, I can’t shake the remarkable similarities between the people of then and our culture today. The ache of sorrow by a God whose people have run into the arms of other lovers. The just and holy God, wooing them back, warning them they are only destroying themselves.

On Instagram, one of my favorite present-day authors posted a stunning photo of a peace monument made of melted firearms and Isaiah 2:4 printed below: They will beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks.

This verse is echoed in Micah 4–a beautiful image that follows repentant worship: “Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord, to the temple of the God of Jacob. He will teach us his ways, so that we may walk in his paths…” He will judge between many peoples and will settle disputes for strong nations far and wide. They will beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks. Micah 4:2-3

But my dear author friend was using it as a call to social justice, a jab at the second amendment, a denunciation of school shootings. It was misplaced, a verse taken out of context. Rewind to Joel, and the call is reversed:

Proclaim this among the nations: Prepare for war! Rouse the warriors! Let all the fighting men draw near and attack. Beat your plowshares into swords and your pruning hooks into spears. Let the weakling say, “I am strong!” (Joel 3:9-10)

There is a time for war; there is a time for peace. But there always seems to be a time for misplacing verses on Instagram. It was very clear to me–less screen time would silence the confusion.

Still, I am aware not everyone is consumed by minor prophet study. Most, however, have a cell phone and routinely scroll for entertainment. It feels like my duty to push the red warning button. This is where I love to write, in the median, with my yardstick handy.
So I will begin.

Jen Hatmaker is one of my former faves. She is a master of semantics. Make no mistake, she is a pro when it comes to persuading others and proving her point. I have admired her for years. Clever, funny, smart, she gained a following–a tribe, she calls it–women who eat her words like truth straight to their gut.
I am fascinated by her. Years ago, she was a writer mom like myself, mastering her domain, poking fun at the chores of life, enjoying small moments rich with meaning, and answering the deeper questions that plagued her. From what I can tell, her first book was a lucky break, but each successive book propelled her into a bigger spotlight. I was introduced to her book, 7, and so enjoyed the model of a year-long, month-by-month challenge that I laid out my own book in the same fashion.
Hatmaker’s career evolved from writing into speaking and eventually what she called “bridge building”, riding the waves of a public paid-ministry in the era of social media boom. I watched as her convictions changed and as she shifted her feet, looking for her people. I’m not sure if it was fame, fortune, or plain old people-pleasing that instigated it, but subtle things skewed her perspective. She tentatively lowered a flag that stood for Jesus and replaced it with a swinging door of modern philosophy, raising questions on what exactly dictates a spiritual compromise.

She gave interviews that snuck in concessions. Her journey had led her to doubt, and she labeled it a refinement of faith. Meanwhile, her popularity was growing and her cool factor was through the roof. She apologized to people she viewed as marginalized and poorly treated, particularly the LGBTQ community. Everyone is safe and welcome, she assured them. She tucked them under their wing and promised there was a place at God’s table for them. They were her tribe, she declared, and she wouldn’t ever again settle for such a stingy view on God.

My jaw dropped. A flashing red warning signal began spinning in my head.
I had to sit for a while with my yardstick before I understood for myself where it all went off the tracks. It wasn’t the issue of welcoming the unwelcome. I’m all for it; I’ve always felt like an outsider myself. There is a big table set, and I think someday our minds will be blown by the people we meet in Heaven. The deeper, graver matter was how Jen Hatmaker no longer stood as a conduit for Jesus, but rather a new philosophy on grace. And Jesus was no longer a part of it.

Evidently some people are throwing you into confusion and are trying to pervert the gospel of Christ. But even if we or an angel from heaven should preach a gospel other than the one we preached to you, let him be under God’s curse!
Galatians 1:7-8

Jen Hatmaker hasn’t been the only one. A whole list of beautiful people I’ve had my eye on have disappointed me with their words and choices. Hatmaker seems to have the thickest skin among them all–and I don’t mean to tear anyone apart–but I’ve seen these leaders, once solid and grounded, change their tune. Their initial, unique voice grew louder and morphed into political activism or social justice, or hints of a pseudo-freedom apart from Christ. It baffles me, but it isn’t unheard of.

It is well-documented: people are easily swayed. We move to the beat of our convictions, feelings, upbringing, circumstances, and better judgment. If you desire something, you’ll look for ways to enable your lust. If you hate someone or something, you will find ways to justify your hate. It is what sin is all about; it is the fruit of human nature. Think of Hitler, think of Stalin, Mussolini, North Korea, Communist China. Think of Republicans and Democrats, CNN and Fox News. Think on how they all reached or reach just far enough to scratch the ears of the people around them, how they stoke a fire that was already burning in the hearts of those who agree with them. Think on how they eschewed a sound mind and truth in favor of power and propaganda. Think how they established their own tribes, people who rise and fall at their whim. History is full of leaders leading and followers, following. We trace it back even to the time of Jesus–important-looking people swaying weak-minded individuals and convincing them to follow along. Blind men leading blind men, Jesus called the Pharisees, “both headed for the pit.” (Matthew 15) In one breath, Jesus dismissed these phonies and didn’t make any apologies about it. He was never afraid of offending the greater religious community, even though they actively sought to catch him in lies, to destroy him. He called a spade a spade.

In our culture today, we wonder how to approach hurting people with the love of Jesus, but there is confusion on who to approach and how to do it. We often err on the side of being sensitive, and we come off as wimps or half-hearted, already defeated door-knockers. But there are two clear sides. Ephesians 5 is an astounding, word by word recipe for saints. Unmarked by impurity, immorality, idolatry, idiocy–we are to light the world up and “expose the unfruitful deeds of darkness.” The chapter says, “do not let anyone deceive you with empty words–have nothing to do with them!” (Ephesians 5:6-7). These empty-worded ones are the folks on the other side of the tracks, people who “did not think it worthwhile to retain the knowledge of God, so God gave them over to a depraved mind so they do what ought not to be done (Romans 1).
I’ve realized that this is the offense in following Jesus today. It is intolerance to sneaky, empty words and a depraved mind. It is exposing darkness. It’s the forsaking of the white-washed tomb people. The ones who look admirable and dress up Christianity as model living, using power, prestige, and beauty–to influence babies in the faith.

See to it that no one takes you captive through hollow and deceptive philosophy, which depends on human tradition and the elemental spiritual forces of this world rather than on Christ. Colossians 2:8

We are thumping on watermelons, trying to spot the bad ones. Pointing them out is going to cost us big time.

Our same Jesus peeled back the exterior of our heart. He exposed our real intentions when it comes to relationships. It was disarming for Jesus to say, “if you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them…But love your enemies, and do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return…” (Luke 6:32,35)

It is natural to love those we love, gain the admiration of folks like us, and think we must have a good thing going. It is upside down, however (not to mention unprofitable), to seek the good of our enemies, to invest in things that do not profit us. If we bend so naturally to our own inclinations, how then can we do the unnatural? How can we inhabit the perfect spirit of Christ and love our enemies? How do we abide in truth so we won’t be swayed by what isn’t true? How can we become genuine leaders and faithful disciples rather than puppet celebrities and gawking audience members?

This is what I so long to ask my brothers and sisters who fall for the quick wit and false humility typical of our modern teachers. What credit is it to us to love what is easy to love, that which costs us nothing more than mindlessly scrolling social media? We let our “influencers” lead us astray, one tiny step at a time, and meanwhile we have no idea how we lost our way. We don’t know why it is we believe a certain flavor or half-truth. We don’t know how to defend our faith that has been watered down by rote human arguments.

How quickly our faith falls apart when we rely on our own wisdom and the Jen Hatmakers of today! If we do not know what is true, if we don’t ask God to reveal to us what is Truth, how in the world can we refute what is false? How can Jen Hatmaker or news media outlet or any voice in your earbuds not sway you to whatever version of truth they prefer? You have, by default, willingly made yourself vulnerable to the arrows of the enemy. And if you don’t believe there is an enemy, you likewise deny there is purpose in some higher Truth, say, that life itself has meaning. You deny there is any holy work yet to be done in your life. Believe me, this lie is uglier and more dangerous than we give credit. I can’t even wrap my mind around how this works. In 2 Thessalonians there is a perplexing description of God sending people who don’t love the Truth “a deluding influence so they will believe what is false.”
Simply put, we have got to cling to Truth. We’ve got to crave the pure milk of the Word.

Has Jen Hatmaker forgotten who we are as men and women, professed believers in Jesus and “co-laborers in Christ”? Has she forgotten we are to be leading people to this real Life, the one true shepherd of their souls, not stamping unrighteousness with a good housekeeping seal of approval? We are to kneel, broken over our sin, filled with love and hope for our fellow broken humans.
We are to live transparent before God: “Seek me, know my anxious heart, try my thoughts and lead me in the path of everlasting”–a cry that rallies all of us unworthy sinners longing for redemption.

When a doctrine is created only to uphold a man’s logic, a springboard for launching one’s own self-promoting opinions, we should see this as a red flag. Such a platform ultimately (and publicly) denying there is a God in Heaven whose ways are “higher than ours” and “too wonderful for me to understand”. You see, there is only one Creed worth holding to, and it didn’t bubble up and out of the heart of man. It is Love that led Jesus, a perfect man, God-in-flesh, to the cross to die, a perfect sacrifice on our behalf. It is what will lead us to our own deaths as well, a death that will finally lead to real, victorious life.

An oracle is within my heart concerning the sinfulness of the wicked:
There is no fear of God before his eyes.
For in his own eyes he flatters himself too much to detect or hate his sin.
The words of his mouth are wicked and deceitful;
He has ceased to be wise and to do good.
Even on his bed he plots evil;

He commits himself to a sinful course
And does not reject what is wrong.
Psalm 36:1-4

Proud. Not God-fearing. Flatters himself and doesn’t even think there’s a thing wrong with it. Lying. No longer wise, no longer does good. Committed to his own cause because he can no longer decipher between good and evil.

What rattles me is our response to such false teachers. We are supposed to recognize these tomb people for who they truly are, but it is complicated. They look awfully clean on the outside. They easily convince us–they toss out ideas like unity, acceptance, peace, generosity– and it is a simple matter to fall in line. It hardly requires anything of us, only that we agree. Anybody can quote a Bible verse here and there. Taylor Swift could spin a proverb into a catchy ditty that everyone will sing along to, but to know God, to wrap yourself around the entire story, to plunge the depths of wisdom in the Word, to be absolutely wrecked, changed, and be conformed to the likeness of Jesus Christ–this is a whole other story. This is what God intends to do with us when we are drawn to Him.

It serves us well to poke holes in the wisdom of the world, to flat out refuse to fall in line with the modern prophets, to dissect their words under a high-powered microscope lens. It isn’t, as influencers would like to sway us, unkind. No. Pull out your measuring stick and see if what they are saying sizes up.
The most difficult next move is calling them out. It’s the matter of dragging the dark things into the light. People with power hate to be exposed. For the whistleblower, the consequences of exposing lies for what they are leads to persecution. Nothing is more hurtful than being ostracized, the physical distancing of your old friends from you.

“Blessed are you when people persecute you and say all sorts of false things against you,” Jesus said. He told us this was coming, and he said our reward was waiting for us in Heaven. Imagine that! Our persecution is our very assurance that He will make it all right one day.

Can I say, fellow laborers, listen closely. Pray for wisdom and clarity in this day, because confusion reigns and there are many who want you to follow them. Don’t be a person who blindly follows when the truth is displayed clearly in your Bible. Pick it up, read for yourself. Hide His Word in your heart, tattoo it to your soul.  Ask God to help you understand, to be able to distinguish what He says as opposed to what popular leaders say. The true believer is broken by his sin, not emboldened by his own voice.

And then, my friends, when you realize this is your battle: speak up. Clear your throats and speak louder, be a sign spinner and neon-light your way to leading people to Jesus. You don’t have to have a snazzy podcast of your own or charisma that slaps people over the head. Elevate the lowly. Shake the dust off your feet. Position yourself in such a way that is efficient and productive. Live as honest and humble as you can. Use your gifts, even the nerdy, Bible-studying ones, to bring the Kingdom right here, right now. It won’t hurt to get the heck off Instagram.
You were made for this.

 

Knowledge is proud it knows so much; wisdom is humble that it knows no more.

William Kowper

 

At Home Ed #43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48

cartoon43————————————————————————————————————————————-cartoon44cartoon45cartoon46—————————————————————————————————————————————-cartoon47—————————————————————————————————————————————–cartoon48

When God pops your bubble.

I’ve had my head in the cartoons for awhile now and I’m not sure I can switch lanes easily. It has come to head, the seriousness of the matter of having lots of physical energy (not mine) in the house most of the day. I have one kid who is impossibly busy throughout the day; six years old, decides on a whim to make lemonade or kill ants with all the remaining soap in my bathroom. The others are only slightly less occupied. The part of my brain that is supposed to light up when you are doing nothing hasn’t flickered much, so it is easier to jot down funny kid quips and sketch out silly pictures in five minute bits while I sit on the patio and watch kids fly down the road on scooters.

This is the reality, I told a friend on the phone–different people deal oddly under certain circumstances. I’m writing silly stuff and brainstorming how to make elbows bend on paper because there isn’t time to really be my thinker self, and I refuse to make lists, arrange the file cabinet, sort through winter clothes. I, being introverted and disorganized by nature, have an incredibly difficult time wrapping my mind around what the next several months offers. I’d rather not wonder long-term, because I’m of the opinion nothing good comes from fear-based propaganda. Face masks while I’m out jogging, minding my own business, breathing in and exhaling fresh air? It doesn’t strike me as sensical. I could be one of the many in a hospital bed being denied a ventilator (this week is supposed to be just terrible, they say)–or I just as soon (maybe sooner?) might die in a car accident. It isn’t up to me, and I know it. I’m ready to go.  I live moment to moment, low-maintenance, creeping about like a mouse, looking for random crumbs to eat in our refrigerator, scolding children to not climb the cabinets. It doesn’t do a lick of good for me to make plans on how we are going to address this crisis of staying at home. I’m already a stay-at-homer.
Finding quiet–that’s my inner crisis.

When I can, I take walks with the dog. Or do yard work. It’s just mental space I’m craving. I never walk fast enough for the dog, but as I try to keep the leash at a slack, I pass homes and wonder about the stories inside them. Why are there two newspapers on the sidewalk? Two black cats stare at me from a stump; a faded VFW banner is tacked over the door. What are those folks eating, if they can’t even bother to pick up yesterday’s newspaper? What will I make for supper tonight? Something to share with the neighbors–maybe potato soup. Why is it my mother always sliced the potatoes so thin in her soup? Maybe it was simply because it cooked faster than if she had diced them up. Or maybe it was quicker because she could hold a potato in one hand and a knife in the other. She never did use a cutting board for anything, just sliced things straight into the pot or skillet. Efficient–that’s my mom. The apple fell far from that tree…and rolled off a cliff.
It’s comforting to think simple, interrupted thoughts and not feel ruffled by sloppy lemonade makers that sit on the counter, their dirty socks inches from knocking over the too-full pitcher.

Today we walked–the whole family–through the park to a different walking route, hoping we might catch some neighbors out and about and wave to them from afar. In the middle of the park open space, we saw bees buzzing around the lower branches of a pine tree.
“Look, guys, it’s a swarm,” Joe said, pointing. “There must be a queen bee inside of the mess of them. They won’t sting because they’re on a mission, looking for another place to build a hive. It happens when there are more than one female bee and so they fight and one leaves. Stay back,” he warned the boys. “They won’t sting you, but just watch. You may never see another one of these in your lifetime.”

Thousands of bees clung to and covered the branch. It was alive and bouncing. Every bee was sold on his purpose, not distracted by our excitement at noticing them. We crept closer and marveled–creation doing exactly what the Creator created them to do.

Earlier in the week, I made a Costco trip (side note: I feel like Trader Joe’s who hides the moose in their stores…if a kid spots it, they get a prize. From now on, I’ll try and drop Costco into every blog post for fun. Ha). I was excited to leave my house, the recently shattered light fixture (a yo-yo was the culprit, therefore I was not as mad as if it had been a ball-in-the-house sort of rule breaker), sticky table and splattered floors could wait. My zeal for shopping was quickly spoiled by the sight of the poor cart-retrievers with hazmat-esque suits and Ghostbuster backpacks, spraying down the line of buggies.

I retrieved my own sanitized cart and pushed it to the entrance, nodding at the card-checker. I walked each and every aisle, frequently bumping into a pesky kid and his daddy. The child dallied behind his father, kicking at the backs of his shoes and boredly slapping every box and can within reach. I saw masks and gloves. I saw fear on people’s faces. I could count the steps between me and other customers. Six. I hurried up and bought my milk, bread, and eggs.

At home, I told my family about the irony of it all.
“I was glad to be out and about,” I said, “until I saw how terrified everyone looked.”

“What do you mean?” one of the boys asked.

“Well,” I said, thinking slowly, “no one seemed to think they might die until just lately.”

It bothered me. I wonder if, when God pops your bubble, you begin to understand your handy Costco card plays actually very little in the way of offensive strategy. When one is confronted with the real need to protect and guard what is precious, it feels scary and insurmountable. All the toilet paper and paper towels in the world might extend my time here; but surely I’m risking my neck to touch the filthy, germ-ridden carts to tote them to the car. Life, till now, has never offered so many apprehensions.
What exactly does this say about us? When you realize your responsibilities, erased of the superfluous and exciting– when it boils down to working, feeding, cleaning, parenting, teaching, bill paying–are all there is? When no one cares about your hair and nails and body and diet except for you and your self-control to manage it? When you cannot avoid the spouse and their irritating habits or the child with their thousand needs. When you realize charisma doesn’t travel far without an audience, nobody else’s sun ever rose or set because of you. Your online persona has never represented you well. It is textureless, flat, out of sight, out of mind. When it is you, alone, and you find you are actually terribly impatient and unkind at your very core.
Your “screentime is up from last week”–how often do you need to dash away for a “bathroom break” and take a long drag on your cellphone–the healther, more qualified cousin of smoking a cig outside…It’s all very telling.

This experiment of social distancing is proving to us how socially distant we’ve been for a very long time. What length we go to avoid pain, hurt, and interacting with real, live people, and even God himself. We’ve never wanted to enter hurt before, poverty, helplessness–as if it were a disease (“Why do you eat with sinners?” Jesus was asked by the ultra-religious)–one that catches, one that can be held off with an invisible face mask. And now we are alone, it’s become obvious who we are and who we’ve been catering to all along–people just like us. Ourselves, the self-justified. Pharisees who have their junk together and tassles (HOA fees and pretty pictures) to prove it. We actually can take care of our kids and job and life when push comes to shove. Stress doesn’t break us, even if it might drive us to more wine and more TV. Our facade is laid bare because now it’s been made obvious–the people we care about can take care of themselves. They’ve got their own Costco cards and bank account. They have their own entertainment systems, favorite podcasts and celebrities.
The people who can’t take care–well, they’re on their own, just as before. We don’t know them, but hopefully they’re staying home and not spreading their germs. Let’s hope for their sake they can get a job in a couple of months. And as for God, well, we can ignore Him like we always have. There are enough shiny things to keep our mind off the inevitable, death, and otherwise–how much do we really need Him?

When an invisible virus reveals our human nature, why don’t we draw the similarities between our physical and spiritual destitution? Spiritually, many of us have been wearing masks our whole lives, terrified of germs. Or we have flat out ignored we were the sick ones to begin with, in dire need of a ventilator, intubation by the Holy Spirit.

Friends, obviously I am no different. I busy myself with silly little antics, hoping this whole thing will blow over without damaging me or my family too much. I hope my dear, elderly neighbors up and down my street are no worse for the wear in two months. The heaviness I feel for my fellow school moms and dads and teachers is weighty, but I’ll confess–I’m not sure what I can do for them, because we are now distant.
Keeping busy with small, insignificant activities distracts me from the monumental realization that this is our signal to scrape out the infection. I want to hope for the best because I want to finish on top, but we ought to be on our knees, broken by our arrogance, our insistence on doing things our way, all of the time.

Moses repeatedly spoke of a covenant between a loving God and the people of Israel, and didn’t mince words on the application bit:
“Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one. Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength. These commandments that I give you today are to be upon your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home (I’m doing that right now) and when you walk along the road (I’m doing this every day to burn their energy), and when you lie down and when you get up. Tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads (not unlike a homemade, cloth face mask). Write them on the doorframes of your houses and on your gates (another great stay at home activity).
When the Lord your God brings you into the land he swore to your fathers, to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, to give you–a land with large, flourishing cities you did not build, houses filled with all kinds of good things you did not provide (toilet paper, fresh fruit, take-out food), wells you did not dig, and vineyards and olive groves you did not plant–then when you eat and are satisfied, be careful that you do not forget the Lord
Fear the Lord your God, serve him only and take your oaths in his name. Do not follow other gods, the gods of the people around you (TikTok, Instagram, Jimmy Fallon–am I being irreverent?); for the Lord your God, who is among you, is a jealous God…

Deuteronomy 6:4-15 (emphasis and parentheticals mine)

God made it pretty simple, pretty lovely. Love Him, talk about Him, enjoy your families, mind your own business, stay humble, don’t forget it came from him. Y’all, we are the same as the Israelites. This is what He asks of us even now, to pour our energy into loving Him will our whole heart, soul, mind, and strength.
Fast forward a few generations, and the people had forgotten. Prophets were raising red flag warnings to His people who had given themselves over to every indulgence, every little whim and fancy. Idols filled their homes, prostitution and murder were their offerings to beloved man-made gods. The land that flowed with milk and honey began to dry up. Those chosen people were jetting to Costco, masks strapped to their faces, completely oblivious that their own sin was creating sickness and separation from the God who loved them.

Hyperbole and metaphor weren’t born from the mind of a witty writer. God himself uses it to grab the attention of his people–even professed Christians!–who are clueless pretenders, overly confident in their humanism:

Hear this word, you cows of Bashan on Mount Samarica, you women who oppress the poor and needy (sit on your couches and do nothing) and say to your husbands, “Bring us some drinks!” (guilty as charged!)

The Sovereign Lord has sworn by his holiness:
“The time will surely come when you will be taken away with hooks, the last of you with fish hooks. You will each go straight out through breaches in the wall, and you will be cast out toward Harmon,” declares the Lord.
“Go to Bethel and sin; Go to Gilgal and sin yet more. Bring your sacrifices every morning, your tithes every three years. (Play church, be a responsible Christian! Don’t pass up the offering plate!)
Burn leavened bread as a thank offering and brag about your freewill offerings–boast about them, you Israelites, for this is what you love to do,” declares the Sovereign Lord. (Let everyone know how generous you are, make sure to tag your Facebook photos at the food bank, create sharp logos for your church’s new outreach program!)
I gave you empty stomachs in every city and lack of bread in every town, yet you have not returned to me,” declares the Lord. 

“I also withheld rain from you when the harvest was still three months away. I sent rain on one town, but withheld it from another. One field had rain; another had none and dried up. People staggered from town to town for water, but did not get enough to drink, yet you have not returned to me,” declareds the Lord.
“Many times I struck your gardens and vineyards, destroying them with blight and mildew. Locusts devoured your fig and olive trees, yet you have not returned to me,” declares the Lord.
“I sent plagues among you as I did to Egypt. I killed your young men with the sword, along with your captured horses. I filled your nostrils with the stench of your camps, yet you have not returned to me,” declares the Lord.

“I overthrew some of you as I overthrew Sodom and Gomorrah. You were like a burning stick snatched from the fire, yet you have not returned to me,” declares the Lord.

“Therefore this is what I will do to you, Israel, and because I will do this to you, Israel, prepare to meet your God.”

He who forms the mountains,
Who creates the wind,
And who reveals his thoughts to mankind,
Who turns dawn to darkness,
And treads on the heights of the earth–
The Lord God Almighty is his name.
(Amos 4, emphasis and parentheticals mine)

Friends, let this be the way God gets our attention, not the way we die in our ignorance, masks pressed to our faces.

You do not delight in sacrifice, or I would bring it;
You do not take pleasure in burnt offerings. My sacrifice, O God, is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart you, God, will not despise.

Psalm 51:16-17

It is the bees that bring me back–their laser focus on the queen, their adherence to the job. Their buzzing around, clinging to a branch at the park, unbothered by our gawking family. They have a job to do. Their loyalty is one rooted in instinct; their tiny bee mind knows nothing more than its singular, repetitive duty. It is submitted to its Creator.
I wonder if I might be satisfied with my own responsibility to such a degree as the bee. Lord, remove the masks from our faces; open our eyes to what is true and what is temporary. Lord, restore us to life.

 

The Englishness of English is audible only to those who know some other language as well. In the same way and for the same reason, only Supernaturalists really see Nature. You must go a little away from her, and then turn round, and look back. Then at last the true landscape will become visible. You must have tasted, however briefly, the pure water from beyond the world before you can be distinctly conscious of the hot, salty tang of Nature’s current. To treat her as God, or as Everything, is to lose the whole pith and pleasure of her. Come out, look back, and then you will see… this astonishing cataract of bears, babies, and bananas; this immoderate deluge of atoms, orchids, oranges, cancers, canaries, fleas, gases, tornadoes and toads. How could you have ever thought this was the ultimate reality? How could you ever have thought that it was merely a stage-set for the moral drama of men and women? She is herself. Offer her neither worship nor contempt. Meet her and know her. If we are immortal, and if she is doomed (as the scientists tell us) to run down and die, we shall miss this half-shy and half-flamboyant creature, this ogress, this hoyden, this incorrigible fairy, this dumb witch. But the theologians tell us that she, like ourselves, is to be redeemed. The “vanity” to which she was subjected was her disease, not her essence. She will be cured, but cured in character: not tamed (Heaven forbid) nor sterilised. We shall still be able to recognise our old enemy, friend, play-fellow and foster-mother, so perfected as to be not less, but more, herself. And that will be a merry meeting.

C.S. Lewis, Miracles, 1947