I Don’t Have A Dog In That Fight

I’ve lived in the south my whole life and one of my favorite things here is the way that we talk. It’s more than just the accent. It’s the sayings. When dinner was almost done, my mom used to tell me, “Jay, I’m fixin’ to take it up.” I had no idea what that meant. I still don’t but I think it’s an old Irish phrase meaning, “The fish sticks and tater tots are ready to be eaten.”

Here’s another southern phrase.

“I don’t have a dog in that fight.”

That’s what people in the south say when there is some sort of conflict between two parties that they cannot relate to. When Earl is eating his breakfast at Waffle House and two hipsters in skinny jeans walk in having a heated argument about the Tony Awards, he tells himself that he doesn’t have a dog in the fight.

I’ve felt a lot like Waffle House Earl lately.

On one side I see women wearing hats that resemble reproductive organs marching though the streets demanding equality. On the other side I see a presidential administration playing games with the truth and even more dangerous games with things like war and oil. As I watch both sides go at it, I sit back and tell myself, “I don’t have a dog in the fight.”

It’s not that I don’t care. My head isn’t in the sand. It’s just that I can’t relate.

I can’t relate to leftists who are doing a fine job of reminding the world that Christians aren’t the only hypocrites. That’s always been the knock against Christianity, right? People don’t come to church because it’s full of hypocrites. Setting aside the irony of the statement, most Christians acknowledge the reality of our hypocrisy.

Not so for the left.

The left loves to preach a message of tolerance and inclusion. Until it comes time to tolerate and include a pro-life group of feminists in their anti-Trump parade. In a single tweet, I’ve seen leftists call for the assassination of President Trump while hash tagging something about love trumping hate. Nothing says I love you like an assassin’s bullet. The rules, it appears, only apply to the rest of us. And, call me crazy, but something just doesn’t seem right about a woman calling for equal rights while wearing a plastic reproductive organ on her head. Several years ago, feminists stood against things like 2 Live Crew’s lyrics. Now, a large portion of the feminist movement has become the embodiment of 2 Live Crew lyrics.

I just can’t relate.

But what’s coming out of the White House isn’t much better. Over the weekend we saw President Trump bemoan the fact that we didn’t take the Iraqi’s oil when we invaded. There are many reasonable people who call that a war crime. But for some on the right, war crimes can only be committed by the left. When the right does something barbaric, it’s patriotism. As if that weren’t enough, the president went on to say, “Maybe we’ll have another chance.”

Later on in the weekend, for some reason, a big deal was made out of the crowd size at the Trump inauguration. Instead of just moving along, the current administration decided to go to war over it which eventually led to the White House press secretary making a clearly false statement about the Trump inauguration being the biggest in history. In an effort to cover up the mishap, Kellyanne Conway classified the lie as “alternative facts.” Alternative facts? Maybe if we’re talking about 12 things you didn’t know about Pearl Jam. But this is just a rebranding of the word lie. Sadly, many who claim to belong to the way, the truth and the life, will have no problem with alternative facts just so long as they’re coming from the mouths of those on the right.

I just can’t relate.

But I don’t feel like a man without a country. Sometimes not relating can be quite liberating. I’m free from having to defend indefensible actions like murdering unborn babies. And I’m free from feeling the need to say sentences that start with, “Yeah, but Hillary…” whenever the current administration gets caught in a lie. Excuse me, an alternative truth.

It’s important for Christians to remember that we do not belong to the kingdoms of this world. Our King’s kingdom is not of this world (John 18:36). When we forget that, we end up selling our souls in order to prop up our broken kingdom against the other guy’s broken kingdom, all the while forgetting that both are on the verge of collapsing right on top of their most passionate supporters. Propping up an earthly kingdom, it turns out, can be quite a heavy burden to bear. That burden becomes much lighter when we realize our standing in the kingdom of Christ (Matthew 11:28-30).

When we see two sinking ships, we feel the need to pick one. There is another way. Rather than picking one of two losing sides, why not just pray for both sides while speaking the truth. The real truth. Not the alternative one.

I’m committed to pray for President Trump. I don’t support him but I wish him no ill will. And I’ll also be praying for the #notmypresident crowd of angry feminists. When you can’t relate to either side, sometimes it’s best to just pray for both of them.

And eat eggs.

With Earl.

At the Waffle House.

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Cootie Catcher

My son climbed into the truck and told me to name a color.

I said red.

Then he asked me for a number.

I said eight.

Apparently I gave the right answers because he told me that I was going to be a millionaire.

At school he had made what he called a fortune teller. A generation or two ago it was called a cootie catcher. You’ve probably seen one of these before. It’s made out of a piece of notebook paper and it fits over your hand sort of like a puppet. Written on the outside are numbers and colors that correspond with something about your future.

After I got over the initial thrill of knowing that I would be a millionaire when I grow up, something else amazed me.

Kids today can access a world of information on a phone. If they want to know how many touchdowns Matt Ryan has thrown this year, it’s just a few clicks away. They can watch entire television shows and download albums on their phones. But they still like to play the same paper game their grandparents played way back in another world. Score one for the simpler things.

But simpler things have a way of becoming complex things. In the second grade, you dream about the car you’ll drive and the house you’ll live in. In your thirties, when you get the car and the house, you long for the good old days when those things were just dreams rather than bills to be paid. Sometimes, the life we dream of isn’t as peaceful as we thought it would be when we were holding a cootie catcher in our hand.

Forget about the nice car. Is there a cootie catcher that promises us peace in the future?

Usually, when we hear about someone being at peace, it means that they’re dead. “Billy lived a hard life, especially there at the end, but he’s at peace now.” It doesn’t have to be that way. While we will never know a perfect life on this side of eternity, we can know peace. Peace among the dreams that never came true. Peace among the dreams that did come true but turned out to not to be so dreamy. In the thick of anxiety and fear, the Bible offers us hope.

But I have calmed and quieted my soul, like a weaned child with its mother, like a weaned child is my soul within me. Psalm 131:2 (ESV)

In the heat of your stress and anxiety, it is possible to know peace. It is possible to silence the unnecessary noise around you and to rest in Jesus like a child in his mother’s lap. David Powlison says, “Most of the noise in our souls is generated by our attempts to control the uncontrollable.” It’s as if we’ve grown to believe that the cootie catcher really works, that we really are in control of our future. We aren’t. Failure to recognize this is the root cause of much of our anxiety. That’s why David wrote, “I do not occupy myself with things too great and too marvelous for me (Psalm 131:1).

The future is too great for us.

But it’s not too great for the One to whom we belong.

David’s peace was not like the so-called inner peace that people talk about these days. You know, the kind that makes us feel better about ourselves but never really goes beyond ourselves. Real peace is shared peace.

O Israel, hope in the LORD
from this time forth and forevermore. Psalm 131:3 (ESV)

We live in a world where most people are being driven crazy by the noise of what they cannot control. It could be that your greatest testimony is living out the peace you have from being content in the God who controls all things.

In the town where I live, there used to be a guy whose job it was to stand out in front of the pizza place and try to get the attention of the people who drove by. Stand isn’t the best word to describe what this guy did. He danced. He danced like it was his goal in life to get people to stop at that place and buy a pizza. I don’t even like the restaurant he worked for but sometimes I would think to myself, “Well, if he feels that strongly about it, maybe I should try a few slices.”

He was the exact opposite of the guy who works for the place that sells Halloween costumes in October and does taxes in March. You know the place and you know this guy. He’s always dressed up like the Statue of Liberty, leaning on a sign that says, “We’ll do your taxes” while texting. That’s it. No dancing. Just texting. I hate to be so judgmental but I don’t want my financial future in that guy’s hands.

You are that guy. Or the pizza guy.

Whatever it is that you put your hope in, that’s what you advertise to a hopeless world.

If your hope is ultimately in your ability to control the future, you have nothing to offer a hopeless world.

But if you are trusting in the Sovereign God who has calmed and quieted your soul, even when everything else in your life is falling apart, the world stops and takes notice.

A Simple Beauty

There is a lot of beauty to be found in simple things. Sometimes it takes a kid to help us to look through all of the clutter and see that beauty in a fresh way.

I became a Christian when I was very young. The church I grew up in put a lot of emphasis on the sinner’s prayer, the walking of aisles and the raising of hands. As a young Christian, I spent a lot of time worrying about whether or not my faith was legitimate. Did I say the prayer right? Was I thinking the right thing when I walked down and stood in front of the church? What if I left something out?

The other night, standing under the cold dark sky in my driveway, it was like I was having a conversation with my younger self. Like me, my son became a Christian at a young age. Unlike me, he doesn’t know much about altar calls and raising hands and repeating public prayers after revival preachers. But he still has his doubts.

He was worried that maybe he got his prayer wrong all of those years ago when he asked God to forgive him for his sins. Like his father did before him, he feared that a misplaced prepositional phrase in a prayer could mean the difference between heaven and hell. To comfort him, I walked him through the Bible. I went to some of the same Bible passages people carried me through when I was younger. We talked about salvation being more about the cry of the sinner’s heart than the repeating of a sinner’s prayer. We talked about things like belief and Lordship and resurrection.

I asked him if he understood what I was saying. Before I had kids, I never did that. I never understood why people would end their sentences with phrases like, “You know what I mean?” or “Do you see what I’m saying?” Now that I’m a dad, I do it all the time. I guess that I just want to be sure.

He told me that he understood. But his face told a different story. It was the canvas for an uncommon mixture of comfort and confusion.

“I get it but it all just seems so simple,” he said in a prophetic tone you can only hear from a child.

That’s when I knew that he really got it.

My son is a worker. A hard worker. A few months ago, he set a really high goal for reading books in one of his classes. About midway through the semester, it looked like he wasn’t going to make it. So he got to work. My son read more words in the last few weeks of 2016 than I did in twelve years of grade school.

He met his goal.

I think that’s why the simplicity of the gospel had my son confused the other night in our driveway. When you meet a reading goal, you get to sit back and delight in the work that you did. You can say, “I did that.”

Not so with the gospel. Before Christ, we were all “children of wrath” fighting against God (Ephesians 2:3). We were dead in our sins (Ephesians 2:1). Dead rebels don’t usually have a lot to bring to the table. Just their faith.

And, just in case we might begin to think that our faith is somehow a product of our own doing, Paul reminds us otherwise.

For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God. Ephesians 2:8 (ESV)

The Christian life is not simple. Temptation can be very difficult. It’s hard to love enemies. It’s hard to fight against sin. Like Rich Mullins sang, “It’s hard to be like Jesus.”

But thanks to things like grace and love and the cross, it’s not hard to come to God. That’s because he’s the one who does all of the work. And he does that work on behalf of the small sons of a preacher as well as seasoned drug addicts. He pours out the riches of his grace, mercy and love, “on all who call on him” (Romans 10:12).

It really is that simple.

Sometimes the simplest things can be the most beautiful things.

For “everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.” Romans 10:13 (ESV)

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