“Peace, prosperity, liberty and morals
have an intimate connection.”

- Thomas Jefferson

A short time ago I wrote a brief post about Romans 12:2, comparing our lives to a lump of clay either conformed by the world or transformed by God; either squeezed or pressed into a mold or filled and expanded as if by a hand reaching inside us as we spin to bow us into a bowl or vase or some useful vessel.

One thing I didn't note at the time is that in both cases, the lump of clay has very little say in what it gets turned into. Conformity is a matter of channeling our thinking, while transformation is a matter of renewing our mind (or having it renewed) so that those channels are overflowed. We might go along with either activity but once we submit to either we don't know just how it will turn out.

Not that we don't try, especially when it comes to the transforming/expanding touch of God the Father. Having spent our lives conformed, we almost can't help ourselves from repeating the process as we are being transformed. At first we are in awe of what God has done and is doing, especially when we are aware of the quality of the material that He's working with. All too soon, however, it seems we can't resist trying to shape God into something that suits our purpose instead of the other way around.

A little bit of revelation, or a transcendant, even miraculous, experience can seem like our destination rather than just a signpost on our way. When God wants to continue to work in our life we'll still instinctively hunker down, even with (or because) of our new understanding, and decide that "God obviously can do this, but there's no way He'd do that." It's as if he just put up a frame and a roof on our new house, but we don't think he's qualified to do the plumbing as well; especially if we've always handled the plumbing ourselves.

Conforming is easier because we have a sense of when we look like the other items on the shelf; transforming is harder because we're continually changing as the Master Potter spins, shapes and elongates, perhaps even adds a handle. Yet in effect we'll say, "No, please, I'll just stay a salad bowl. I never thought I could even be a salad bowl, but please don't turn me into an urn." Ceasing to conform and beginning to transform usually means throwing out some old thought or doctrine we had in favor of a new revelation; but it's as if we think that there was only one or two thoughts or doctrines that needed to change.

It's amazing how quickly we become expert theologians, even as the potter says, "You ain't seen nothing yet, Lumpy."

A short time ago I wrote a brief post about Romans 12:2, comparing our lives to a lump of clay either conformed by the world or transformed by God; either squeezed or pressed into a mold or filled and expanded as if by a hand reaching inside us as we spin to bow us into a bowl or vase or some useful vessel.

One thing I didn't note at the time is that in both cases, the lump of clay has very little say in what it gets turned into. Conformity is a matter of channeling our thinking, while transformation is a matter of renewing our mind (or having it renewed) so that those channels are overflowed. We might go along with either activity but once we submit to either we don't know just how it will turn out.

Not that we don't try, especially when it comes to the transforming/expanding touch of God the Father. Having spent our lives conformed, we almost can't help ourselves from repeating the process as we are being transformed. At first we are in awe of what God has done and is doing, especially when we are aware of the quality of the material that He's working with. All too soon, however, it seems we can't resist trying to shape God into something that suits our purpose instead of the other way around.

A little bit of revelation, or a transcendant, even miraculous, experience can seem like our destination rather than just a signpost on our way. When God wants to continue to work in our life we'll still instinctively hunker down, even with (or because) of our new understanding, and decide that "God obviously can do this, but there's no way He'd do that." It's as if he just put up a frame and a roof on our new house, but we don't think he's qualified to do the plumbing as well; especially if we've always handled the plumbing ourselves.

Conforming is easier because we have a sense of when we look like the other items on the shelf; transforming is harder because we're continually changing as the Master Potter spins, shapes and elongates, perhaps even adds a handle. Yet in effect we'll say, "No, please, I'll just stay a salad bowl. I never thought I could even be a salad bowl, but please don't turn me into an urn." Ceasing to conform and beginning to transform usually means throwing out some old thought or doctrine we had in favor of a new revelation; but it's as if we think that there was only one or two thoughts or doctrines that needed to change.

It's amazing how quickly we become expert theologians, even as the potter says, "You ain't seen nothing yet, Lumpy."

There is a lot of commentary back and forth following Tuesday's post about the German family seeking political asylum in the U.S. so that they can have the freedom to home-educate their children. This has had me thinking of the role of parents, and of fathers, and reminded me of something that happened at our March Inside Outfitters meeting.

This is the monthly men's breakfast and teaching that has been drawing a large group of men from Minnesota Teen Challenge, a residential drug rehabilitation program. Last month we were at my partner Earl's church for the meeting and Earl shared a message aimed at the men who had grown up without a positive male role model in their lives. He described the hurt and frustration of knowing you were missing something but not being sure what it was, and of the resulting anger and defensiveness that caused so many men to reject God the Father and to understand what it meant to be instructed and guided.

Earl is one who knows first-hand what that is like. He grew up with a violent, abusive father who was still highly respected as a deacon in their church. Earl's heart hardened with each outrage as he and his brother, sisters and mother absorbed each outburst. He grew violent himself and turned violently to crime and to drug and sexual abuse. He eventually found himself in Minnesota's maximum security prison, where the gentle spirit of a visiting pastor finally showed him who is real father is and set him on the path to becoming a pastor himself. As he finished his message, he told the men that God has plans for each of them and they need to be open to receive instruction and blessing and set aside the anger and hurt that was getting in the way. Then he did something kind of unusual. He invited my pastor and I to come up front with him, then he invited the men (some in their 30s and 40s) who hadn't ever had a word of support or acceptance from their own fathers to view the three of us as stand-ins, and to approach and receive that word from us.

About 40 men came forward, some almost staggering, and divided into three lines. As each man facing me approached I wrapped my arms around his shoulders or pulled his head down towards mine and said, "I'm proud of you. You're doing the right thing." Some started to shake so hard that it was difficult to hold them up. Many wept openly. I got pretty misty myself. As we finished I went over to Earl and put my arm across his shoulders and addressed the group.

"I didn't have a father like Earl's father," I said. "He had his outbursts and his moments, but I always knew he loved me and supported me and I know the sacrifices he made for me." I added, "I've thought from time to time how our lives might have been different if Earl had had my father and I had had his as we grew up. Where would I be today, and where would Earl be, if that had been the case?"

I paused to let that settle a bit. It was dead quiet. "Where would we be today?"

My pastor spoke: "You'd both be right where you are now, doing what you're doing."

"Exactly," I said, "because God the Father's plan is greater than anything we, or you, might have missed or might have done. You have the same opportunity — and He's proud of you."