God and I seem to like wrestling. A lot lately. More than normal.
Sometimes we engage in a light tussle, like my 5 year old son and I on the family room floor. More playful than forceful. But other times it’s like a UFC smackdown. “Seriously God, was that neck-crank submission hold really all that necessary? You are the supernatural Creator of the universe and all.”
Here’s a taste of our latest match-up:
“They honored and worshiped God, but not exclusively…They honored and worshiped God, but they also kept up their devotions to the old gods of the places they had come from.” (2 Kings 17:32, 33 MSG)
Idolatry seems like a funny word in 21st Century America. I don’t have little golden “Oscar” statues I sing songs to (one fast and two slow) between 11 and 11:23 every Sunday morning. But I do have idols.
Just naming a few that (sometimes not so) subtly worm their way onto the throne of my life.
And if I’m honest with myself (and if some of you need to join me on the truth wagon), all I’ve ever known is a safe, suburban, American Christianity that calls you to “know God,” but still lets you keep your idols.
Not the super ugly, culturally offensive ones, of course. Just the ones that are socially acceptable. The God and idols.
“They honored and worshiped God, but not exclusively…” (2 Kings 17:32 MSG)
That, my friends, is the ultimate G.O.D. – U.F.C takedown. Not a TKO. Not a scorecard decision. Out cold. Call the ambulance. I need a medic.
Or perhaps just an exclusive with this Savior named Jesus.