My four-year old son loves to create random rules.

We can’t just throw a ball.  Every catch has to have a point value (usually starting at gazillion).

We can’t just shoot baskets.  All missed shots must be swallowed in a bubbling pool of hot lava.

There’s no such thing as enjoying a leisurely bike ride.  The first to the park gets top dibs at the ice cream truck.

You never just eat the cereal.  Ingesting three Lucky Charms marshmallows of the same color in a row makes you the big fat loser.

Rules. Random rules.

These rules give him structure.  A way to wrap his mind around a mindless activity, or to add the thrill of competition to a mundane task.

It’s cute and imaginative.

And…

It’s manipulative and controlling (a subtle way for an ambitious four-year-old to begin his hostile takeover of the free world).

Rules aren’t necessarily bad.  They bring order to chaos (ask any 2nd grade teacher or mother of three).  Clarity from ambiguity.  Solid form to the otherwise incomprehensible .  But when that Incomprehensible happens to be the Creator of the Universe, our desperate need for clarity, form, and order can lead us to create some things we may regret later.

In the Old Testament, the people of Israel just couldn’t seem to get a comfort level with God’s revelation.  So over the centuries, they added hundreds of their own rules and interpretations to the commands God had already personally revealed.  Rules that, perhaps initially, were just an innocent attempt to paint a clearer picture.

But over time, these rules became a means of control. Manipulation.  Comparison.  Condescension.  Arrogance.  Instead of clarifying, they actually expanded the cavernous divide between God and man.

And we do the exact same thing today. Sometimes without even realizing it.

As we grapple with understanding a God so far beyond our comprehension, we turn the “Who” that God is into a “what” that we can quantify.  The Creator who longs to know us intimately becomes a religious game to be won or lost.  And slowly but surely, the God of the Universe transforms into a list of obligations, rituals, and expectations that manipulate our lives from the outside in.  When all along Jesus is waiting to transform us from the inside out.

Don’t eat those three green marshmallows!

And we sort of like it that way. It gives us a strange sense of comfort.  Control.  A way to make sense of life’s chaos.

All it’s missing is…

Life.

What crap do you make up to try and make sense of God? Maybe it’s time to drop the rules and find some Real Life.

“This new plan I’m making with Israel isn’t going to be written on paper, isn’t going to be chiseled in stone; This time I’m writing out the plan in them, carving it on the lining of their hearts.  I’ll be their God, they’ll be my people.  They won’t go to school to learn about me, or buy a book called God in Five Easy Lessons.  They’ll all get to know me firsthand, the little and the big, the small and the great.”

Like most of humanity, I watched the globally anticipated Tiger Woods apology press conference a few short weeks ago.  Never in history had a sports icon demanded such non-athletic attention (Wall Street trading actually slowed notably during his 14-minute statement!).  Unbelievable.

Many of you may have been surprised to hear Tiger’s Buddhist profession and his admission that he’d lost his way as it pertained to his faith.  But through a little research and a few conversations with people much smarter than me (those aren’t usually too hard to find), I’ve uncovered something:

I am a Christian that sometimes lives like a Buddhist.

Yep.  You can unsubscribe now, or you can hang with me (I’m hoping to eradicate some potential heresy, not promote it).  You just may find some of yourself in this, too.

By it’s own admission, Buddhism seeks to eradicate want, to achieve nirvana through freedom from all appetites. According to Buddhism, the only way to live well is to kill desire (and Tiger Woods has some misguided impulses he undoubtedly would like to bury).

As a Believer in Christ, I completely understand that perspective.  At my core, I’m broken and sinful. My motivations are self-oriented, and my life prone to inexplicable evil (I hope I never lose sight of that reality). But Jesus didn’t come just to kill my sin, He came to resurrect in me a new life.

“My old self has been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me. So I live in this earthly body by trusting in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.” -Galatians 2:20 NLT

Some Christians are half-dead. Like Buddhists, they become focused solely on the eradication of their desires, and they never truly embrace the gift of resurrected life that Christ offers.  Efforts center on control and quickly spiral into a cesspool of religious death.  These people become like walking zombies, spiritual corpses with only a grotesque illusion of life.

Jesus didn’t come to suppress your desires, He came to redeem them. Yes, He calls us to die (“My old self has been crucified with Christ”).  But through that death He offers us life (“It is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me”).

Real life.  His life.

Does your life reflect a focus on death or life?  Jesus didn’t stay in the tomb. I don’t want to live there either.

I have an uncanny ability to over-correct. Like a car that’s lazily drifted onto the beveled sing-song concrete of a highway median, I can jerk the vehicle across three lanes of traffic in an emotional panic (somebody must have been texting while driving).

I grew up in a charismatic church movement (yes, there is therapy available). My particular church didn’t fit the stereotype to a tee, but I was definitely absorbed in a culture that embraced a pentecostal perspective. The good and the…uh…interesting aspects as well (I’ll leave the details to your imagination).

Over time, I began to resent some of what I felt were cheap and shallow explanations of the Gospel. Burying the unexplainable realities of life in cheap, spiritual catch-phrases (that usually rhymed). Defining an encounter with God solely as an event-driven, emotional experience. I became a bit disillusioned.

So I swung the pendulum.

I began to pursue God intellectually. To ask and wrestle with hard questions. To become more cerebral with my faith. And some of that was very healthy and healing.

Until it wasn’t. Until I over-corrected and jerked the car hard to the right.

I turned God solely into a logical pursuit, a concept or philosophy to be figured out. I eliminated the supernatural and the unexplainable aspects of my Creator.

I missed the median and headed straight for the ditch.

“While Jews clamor for miraculous demonstration and Greeks go in for philosophical wisdom, we go right on proclaiming Christ, the crucified…Christ is God’s ultimate miracle and wisdom all wrapped up in one.” (1 Cor. 1:22-25 MSG)

I hate to admit it, but I want a God that makes sense to me. So I form him in my image. I teeter back and forth between aspects of His character that appeal to my current circumstances or explain my past hurts. I swing the pendulum in an attempt to find peace, and in the process miss the Prince of Peace standing right there in front of me.

Jesus is not a philosophy to be embraced (Pentecostal, Lutheran, Presbyterian, Catholic, Baptist, Anglican, non-denominational…pick your poison) He’s a person to be encountered. Daily. In the reality of my every moment.

I’m off the teeter totter. How about you? Do you ever swing the pendulum?

Comment at http://www.beyondtherisk.com

4:32AM: I was startled from my blissful slumber to the tiny little voice of our four-year-old son standing next to our bed.  He was soaking wet, the victim of a failed attempt to get him sleeping through the night diaper-free.  Some nights he crosses that finish line.  This night, not so much.

I sent him to our bathroom, instructed him to remove the wet pajamas, and then headed off through the dark to his bedroom to retrieve some dry ones.  Just a few groggy moments later, I returned to find a skinny, soaked, and completely naked little boy shivering miserably on the freezing tile of the bathroom floor. It was pitiful.

I quickly dressed him, gathered him in my arms, and returned us both to the down-comforted warmth of my bed. Snuggled firmly between my wife, me, and our 4 pound Yorkie named Buzz, we all slowly drifted back to sleep.  All was right with the world again.

But I can’t forget the heartbreaking image I returned to find in our cold, dark bathroom that night.  It reminded me of…me.

“You say, ‘I am rich. I have everything I want. I don’t need a thing!’ And you don’t realize that you are wretched and miserable and poor and blind and naked. So I advise you to buy gold from me—gold that has been purified by fire. Then you will be rich. Also buy white garments from me so you will not be shamed by your nakedness, and ointment for your eyes so you will be able to see.” (Rev. 3:17-18 NLT)

We’re good at trying to clothe ourselves. We’re tough.  Rich.  Smart.  Religious.  Self-confident.  Educated.  Put together.  Relationally savvy.  Pick your preferred brand of “clothing.”

But all too often these are  just facades we manufacture to mask our need for Someone bigger than us to enter the garment-making business.  Underneath it all, we’re just as pitiful as my shivering, naked, four year old son standing on a cold tile floor in the middle of the night, waiting for Daddy to return with dry pajamas.

I wonder what God is waiting to do if we just admit it?

http://www.beyondtherisk.com

Responding to my desires is easy. What’s inside of me just naturally comes out.  It doesn’t take much thought, energy, or discipline to do what I want to do.  My essence just responds. It’s natural.  My desires are formed by my DNA, my culture, my socio-economic upbringing, my life experiences.  Lots of things.  Unfortunately, those “lots of things” also includes my fallen, broken, sinful nature.  In that way, living from what I want is incredibly dangerous.

I have other options, too.  I can live under the weight of obligation. Completely opposite of my desires, living by someone else’s expectations is outside-in, guilt-driven behavior modification. You know what I mean.  Maybe you’re 28 years old with 2 kids of your own, but you still hear the voice of your un-approving mother in the back of your head (or maybe in your actual ears).  Your actions still reflect your desire to please her, and you live under the intense scrutiny of her obligation on your life.

(Incidentally, that’s what religion does, too. It obligates.  Sets up impossible outward-focused expectations while simultaneously offering no hope for actually attaining them.  And I know there are lots of you out there that live under those very real and very guilt-filled religious chains. Some are just afraid to admit it because you’re heritage and your understanding of God are all wrapped up in the lie. It’s OK, you can be honest here.)

What if there’s a third option? A door number 3?

Mark 1:12 says “The Spirit then compelled Jesus to go into the wilderness…” (NLT)

At first glance, the word compel says force (in fact that’s in the actual definition).  But if you look closer, there is an element of compulsion that gives a different vibe.  To compel actually means to exert an “irresistible force.” Almost as if it causes me to drop my defenses and willfully subvert or push beyond what’s naturally in my DNA.

Being compelled is completely different than guilt-ridden obligation.  It’s also very different than surrendering to my natural, in-born desires.  It’s responding willfully, not from desire or obligation, but because I love, and trust, and believe in the One Who is compelling me. He’s an irresistible force.

I may not always want what He wants, but I do want Him.

Do you think Jesus desired to journey into the desert for 40 days with no food?  Doubtful.  But I don’t think He felt obligated either.  He was willfully responding to the irresistible force of the Father’s love. He was compelled.

How do you live? By what just feels natural?  From your in-born desires?  Out of obligation?  Guilty “hoop-jumping” to keep others happy with you (including God)?

What about door #3?