Why Do You Do What You Do?

You are familiar with the story of the three Hebrew boys (from Daniel 3) who were thrown into a fiery furnace for refusing to bow down to Nebuchadnezzar’s golden image.  Among the many lessons that emerge from that story of courage is a powerful, three-word sermon that addresses one of the great errors of the church today:  “But if not.” 

 

When Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego were hauled before Nebuchadnezzar to answer for their refusal to bow down to his image, this was the answer they gave:  “Our God, Whom we serve, is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace, and He will deliver us out of thine hand, O king.  But if not, be it known unto thee, O king, that we will not serve thy gods, nor worship the golden image which thou hast set up.”

 

But if not. 

 

Would you still pray, even if God said no to your request?  Would you still go to church, and give God a tithe (ten percent) of your income, even if God did not increase your profits this year? 

 

Would you still obey God in your personal life, even if God allowed you to remain in the shadows?  Would you still choose to live a pure life, even if God never sent you a marriage partner? 

 

Why do you do what you do?

I fear that the church has fallen prey to a subtle idol—one that would demand righteous activities, but with a very false motivation.  Comfortable in our prosperity, I’m afraid we have forgotten that the highest purpose of doing right is not so that I can obtain more earthly comfort and earthly praise for myself.  In fact, this short life is not about me at all.   It’s about Jesus. 

 

When I was in college, there was a girl on my hall who was having a crush on my brother’s roommate.  Since we all hung around together, I suppose she thought I had “connections” and could encourage a relationship.  She suddenly wanted to be “close friends” with me, offering to drive me off campus, buying me donuts while I was at work, and even throwing a surprise birthday party for me. 

 

Sadly for her, I had no connections.  My brother’s roommate was free to choose whomever he wanted to date, without my input or persuasion.  He chose someone else.  The parties and the donuts disappeared. 

 

Kind deeds, fueled by false motives, aren’t kind. 

 

Going to church, reading the Bible, giving generously to the Lord’s work, avoiding substances that harm the body, and a hundred other noble works, done so that God might notice and throw out His benefits on us, are no more loving to our Savior than throwing a birthday party for someone in hopes that it will earn you a boyfriend.  That’s not love; it’s manipulation. 

How often this poor philosophy has been peddled to unsuspecting customers! Teenagers are told to avoid fornication so they don’t get pregnant or contract disease.  Wives are told to submit to their husbands’ leadership so that he will be kinder to them and appreciate them more.   Church members are told to tithe and avoid working overtime on Sunday because God will bless them with riches.    

 

The three Hebrews, standing before King Nebuchadnezzar, were prepared to do right and burn anyway.  “But if not . . . we will not serve thy gods.” 

 

Would you tithe even if your finances did indeed indicate a decrease of ten percent at the end of the year?  Would you decline an overtime opportunity that would remove you from church, even if God simply met your needs this year and did not choose to increase your riches? 

 

Would you avoid fornication and live a pure life, just because God said to (II Timothy 2:22), not because there was any measurable immediate benefit?  Would you submit to your husband’s leadership, just because God commanded it (Ephesians 5:22), even if your husband still chose to use his free will to be unjust and unkind? 

 

God promises to honor those who honor Him, but we don’t get to dictate the terms of God’s honor.  It is short-sighted and earthly-minded to tell God how He must bless us if we obey, and that the blessing must all happen right now, here on earth.  Much of the honor God promises is not going to happen until heaven. 

 

While we are so busy claiming honor and comfort down here, we have forgotten how live with the Bema seat in mind.  When I stand before that judgment seat of Christ, and He sets fire to all my works, only those things done for Christ and through His power will remain.  For all of eternity, I will present Christ with those remains, casting the rewards at His feet over and over again.  

 

And at that moment, I will be consumed with only one thought:   Was I motivated by love for Christ, or was I motivated by earthly gain?  The rewards will tell the whole story.   

 

 

 

 

The Danger of Expecting To Be Understood

I remember a conversation I had, many years ago, with a friend who was experiencing a deep trial.  It seemed that at every turn, someone was accidentally saying or doing something that opened new wounds for them.  In frustration, they said to me, “People don’t understand!”   And I couldn’t argue.  Their unique trial was something I barely understood myself.  Yet those words have haunted me for well over a dozen years:  “People don’t understand!” 

 Sometimes we don’t understand because we are thoughtless.  Pride is clumsy and unwieldy in the presence of injury, like a freshman medical student doing brain surgery.  Certainly we have all been bruised by the careless advice of friends who assumed they understood our hurt, who thought they were experts at our trial just because of their keen observation skills.   We timidly unveiled our hurts or fears, and they swooped in like barking sea gulls at a picnic, offering to sell us a health product, or sharing some inspirational tidbit they read on Facebook.  Like the Lawn Chair Drone that surprisingly penetrated White House security fencing, the most inept among us somehow manage to stumble wildly into the enclosed places of our hearts that wise friends gently leave alone.   Sometimes, thoughtlessness really is a punishable crime. 

 But there are times in life when even good people just can’t understand.  They have never been “us.”  We try to explain.  We feed them lots of articles and “raise awareness.”  We educate everyone around us on our needs, and we judiciously seek to protect ourselves from misunderstanding.  But try as they might, a hundred articles and a hundred conversations later, even the best among us still don’t get it. 

 If we are not careful, Danger slithers into a comfortable resting spot and lurks silently, buried underneath our search for understanding.  Ever watchful, he waits patiently for his opportunity to strike.   A wrong word, a misplaced question, or a missed phone call on a tough day, and he will uncoil and punish with venom that will take everyone by surprise.  Suddenly, they will learn what pain is all about!  Now we can all be miserable together. 

Bitterness.  The word itself rattles and hisses. 

The cool shade of loneliness in suffering that was meant to be a sanctuary where no one could find us but Jesus has now become the swampy headquarters of an enemy who wants us dead.  A soft bed of rotting leaves and humus should have made a couch, hidden behind the brush and weeds, concealing us from the curious and the careless.  In the murky shade where no one could see, we would meet the One whose nail prints are still a mystery to us.  And there in our dark place, the One Who has never been understood would understand. 

But instead, we often give our shady spot away to the serpent.  Sitting on the prickly briars of unmet expectations, we trade healing for accusations.  In the words of a man well-acquainted with bitterness, “They that observe lying vanities forsake their own mercy.”  From his make-shift seminary next to a withered gourd,  Jonah admonishes us four thousand years later:  Bitterness may seem to be your right, but that’s poison you’re drinking.

We all live with the fact that others truly don’t always understand.  Awkward questions; the noisy silence of a mind racing for answers in a funeral home; clichés that crash across our pain; an empty mailbox that reminds us that other lives have moved on:  Those are the mossy branches and the grape vines that overarch your precious shady spot. 

Don’t let the serpent steal your spot.  You have a Friend waiting there, underneath the quiet umbrella of loneliness and misunderstanding. 

 

 

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