Passive Spiritual Warfare?

"Stand up, stand up for Jesus, ye soldiers of the cross;
Lift high His royal banner, it must not suffer loss.
From victory unto victory His army shall He lead,
Till every foe is vanquished, and Christ is Lord indeed."

The words come from the hymn "Stand Up, Stand Up for Jesus," written by George Duffield, Jr. in 1858. It portrays an aggressive Christianity, a militant Christianity, that marches out to war with the "banner" of Christ and Christ Himself as the commanding general. The goal is to vanquish foes and make Christ (or help Him to be) Lord.

But is this a biblical view of spiritual warfare? Some of my brothers and sisters in Christ believe it is. They see the Christian life as being a battle of good and evil, with demons around every corner and prayer warriors in every church. Are we at war with Satan? If so, should we be, somehow, spiritually fighting?

The words disturb me because I can find no New Testament command to fight. None. Not spiritually, anyway. There is no "attack" or use of "force." Even the armor of God illustration Paul uses in Galatians 6 is not for the offensive. Nowhere in the Bible are Christians called to fight. Can you find a passage? We are to either be on the defense or absorbing the blows. One passage often used in spiritual warfare sermons is 1 Peter 5:8-9, in which the apostle says, "Your adversary, the devil, prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. But resist him, firm in [your] faith." James commands us to, "resist the devil and he will flee." Resist. Resisting is not offensive. It is a defense. The dictionary defines resistance as "withstanding the actions or effects of something." To withstand is to endure. Not to attack.

The armor of God is to defend truth and extinguish the enemy's flaming arrows. The sword of truth is not to be used to slice demons to pieces. We are not soldiers. We are citizens of heaven, children of the Father and brothers of the King. And true spiritual warfare is to be done on our knees and not at the end of a sword. Resist. Persevere. Turn the other check. Bless those who curse. We stand up for Jesus not by attacking but by living holy lives in public and loving the lost. We stand up for Jesus by standing up for truth in a graceful way. We stand up for Jesus by persevering in every trial and placing our hope in the One who has promised to never let us down.

Hymns like the one I used paint the wrong picture.

The Path to Exaltation

Just a few words about what I learned from my church's men's conference, going on right now in North Texas.

The Difficulty of Faith

Songwriter Andrew Peterson once wrote of faith as being "a burden, a weight to bear. It's brave and bittersweet," and I must agree. It's just plain tough to have faith in what you cannot see.

To those who aren't Christians, the actions and attitudes of the religious faithful are nonsense. They just can't understand how someone could believe in what they could not see, taste, touch or subjectively experience. They live with the worldview that what you see is what there is and what someone believes doesn't mean it exists.

But for the believer -- one who has taken a step of irrational faith -- their belief doesn't suddenly become an easy thing to exercise. No, they have to constantly remind themselves of what they believe and why. They have to constantly remind themselves that there is more than what they see around them. And they have to constantly remind themselves that God is a spirit and He lives in a realm that science cannot enter.

It's hard to have faith in God. Especially when you know that He has your best interest in mind but you cannot see a way out of a difficult situation. You're hurting and you wonder why God hasn't helped you. But it takes faith to believe that He wants to help you. Faith in what He has said in the Bible. Faith that He is a God of love and grace who takes no pleasure in seeing His children suffer. Even when you are currently suffering.

Faith is bittersweet. It's great because the faith of a believer generally gets stronger the more it is exercised. And it's great because it's what God has asked of you. But it's hard because it involves trusting in what you cannot see. It involves hoping in someone else. It involves waiting for answers
and looking for directions.

Now I know why St. Francis prayed, "Lord help my unbelief, lest I fall away." Faith is tough. But it is necessary.

Awake in the Dark

Thunderstorms can be mighty scary things. They warn you of their approach from miles away, thundering like cannonfire, the noise increasing in volume until you're shaking as violently as your windows. The biggest thing I fear in thunderstorms is lightning. I hate lightning. If I even suspect lightning is near, I act like a thief walking near a police officer -- conceal and cover. Hail is not much fun, either, nor is straight-line winds. Flood waters aren't worth anticipation, nor are tornadoes. In fact, while thunderstorms can look pretty from afar, there ain't much that's pretty up close.

Especially when the lights go out.

Losing electricity in this electronic age is like a soldier losing his weapon on the field of battle. Suddenly, you feel very, very vulnerable and afraid. Things get mighty quiet during a power outage. Every time it happens, I am reminded of how used I am to the electronic noises and hums that fill my house. There's the fridge, the ceiling fans, the DVD player and cable box, and a few other noises I hear but cannot identify. But during a power outage those noises go away and suddenly you are left with nothing but silence. And if you live alone like I do, there's nothing like a power outage to remind me of how alone I truly am. I mean, as long as there is noise around me, I tend not to dwell on loneliness. But silence...

Last Tuesday night, at about 2 a.m., I was thrust into one of those moments when the power went out in the midst of a thunderstorm. It was dark. Very dark. And quiet. So I lit a few candles and was once again amazed at how a little bit of light can not only light up the room but also my heart. I had four candles going in my living room. When I lit my first candle, several Bible verses came to mind immediately. In John 8:12, Jesus said, "I am the Light of the world; he who follows Me will not walk in the darkness, but will have the Light of life." Jesus is that light which chases the darkness away. He's like my candles. Gloom turns into hope. Loneliness into fullness. Fear into peace. All because the light has come into the darkness.

It's a shame that it took a thunderstorm to remind me of that.

My Beloved Garden

It may not look like much right now, but one day soon my garden will be populated with many delectable culinary delights. One day soon there will be okra to fry or put in a nice gumbo. One day soon there will be bell peppers that liven up a batch of chicken fajitas and mild jalepenos that add just the right jest to my salsa. One day soon there will be strawberries to delicately place on whipped cream. One day soon there will be fresh parsley to garnish every dish and other spices. One day soon.

But not today.

Still there is hope. Hope that one day will become today, that what is barren and boring will become clothed and cheerful. Hope that what you see is not what you will get. This is my garden. My beloved garden.

Song of the Suffering

We all love our fronts, especially here in the suburbs. Box houses line up row after row with shiny cars in the garage and crystal clean pools in the backyards. It looks idyllic. But is it? Amidst the fronts, there are people suffering with a variety of ailments, whether it is spiritual darkness, financial burden, or maybe a bodily disease. All is not well, despite the green lawns. No, those tall wooden fences are there for a reason -- so you cannot see inside, cannot see the hurts, cannot see the pain.

I don't live in one of those box houses. Maybe you do. My house is actually a 20-foot by 31-foot cabin hidden from the road amidst the trees. It's old and worn down but it's home. However, I can tell you from personal experience that my house also contains a person who has suffered. It's common to all. Fronts and all.

The lament psalms were written from the hearts of people who were suffering, whether physical illness like David in Psalm 34 or spiritual illness like Psalm 51 or emotional sickness like Asaph in Psalm 73 or Korah in Psalm 42. But churches tend away from teaching about laments, about suffering, about the reality of life as we await the final coming of the King. Here's my first offering in the category of lament songs.

O Lord, why do I have to suffer?
To be subject to so much pain
Like Job my woes keep on mounting
What is there to gain?

My strength like wax it is melting
My bones they ache from the strain
O Lord, please forgive my doubting
But what is there to gain?

Come and rescue me
From my misery
Maker of heaven and earth
Creator of every soul
Rise up and look on your servant
Mend my wounds and make me whole

My prayers have become such a burden
I don’t know how to explain
I know you know of my troubles
I know you know of my pain

Come and rescue me
From my misery
Maker of heaven and earth
Creator of every soul
Rise up and look on your servant
Mend my wounds and make me whole

The Peace of Silence

Two weeks ago I decided to do something rather different for a Monday evening. I went for a walk. Well, not just a walk but also an adventurous photographic exploration of the great unknown. I snuck under the gate of an abandoned farm at the end of the road, camera and tripod in hand, and decided to captured whatever images of art and beauty my eyes could see. You see, there were some pretty purple flowers in the pasture that drew my interest at first, then some white blossoms that seemed to be randomly planted between the purple ones. Then there was this old tree stump and an old wooden fence that at one time were a majestic oak tree and its gleaming white friend. Along the fence ran a rutty winding dirt road, which also bordered a old stock pond and its companion, a rusty grain silo. Indeed, there was a lot of neat things to photograph at Green Acres Farm. But what made an impact on me perhaps more than anything else was the most noticeable thing out there: the silence. There was relative silence and peace. No televisions, no computers, no phones ringing with telemarketers, no noisy neighbors... none of that. Just the birds and the turtles, the flowers and the trees, the little things of God's creation that we often pass by on our way to our noisy jobs in our noisy cars with our noisy cell phones just waiting to disrupt our new day. Perhaps there is great peace in silence because we don't have enough silence in our lives. Maybe our prayer lives struggle because we don't plan any silence into our days. Maybe all we need is a little walk down the street every now and then to find out what we truly are missing. Peace and quiet.