In Gennesaret

“Our calling is not primarily to be holy men and women . . .” Thus sayeth Oswald Chambers in the devotional I’m reading this morning from My Utmost for His Highest . And that remark stopped me short for a second. Because of course I’m called to be holy. Right? Holy living. I mean, that’s what it’s all about, this Christian life. Living righteously. Doing the right things. Don’t drink, don’t smoke, don’t cuss, don’t show too much skin . . . but in fairness, it’s not just about the “don’ts”. It’s also the “be’s”. Be kind, be forgiving, be hospitable, be generous, be happy, be obedient . . . be good . At least that’s what the little Baptist girl in me understood. But I understand what Chambers is saying. When my focus is on how good I’m being, that becomes my identity – or as he puts it, my reality. “Reality is not human goodness, or holiness, or heaven, or hell . . . Christian workers fail because they place their desire for their own holiness above their desire to know God.” I

Last quarter, I read Where the Red Fern Grows with my 6 th graders. A sweet book. I love reading literature with my students; I love the discussions I have over literature with my students. Most of these discussions deal with inferences (“conclusions based on evidence” – the first word on our first vocabulary list at the start of every year). For example, what can we infer from the evidence in the book about this family’s beliefs about God? And just as importantly, what can we not infer? Billy prays, so he clearly believes IN God. And he says he believes God answers his prayers. But do we know he believes all the same things you believe about God? Do we know if he has “trusted in Jesus Christ as his Lord and Savior”? Do his parents believe in God? Do they believe God answers his prayers? At the point we were having this discussion, there was no evidence yet to answer most of these questions . . . so we couldn’t jump to conclusions. This is a good lesson for life. Don’t assume when

I read a book last year called Dog and Cat Theology . You cat-lovers would probably throw this book against a wall, annoyed at the stereotypical depiction of the loving submission of dogs and the arrogant attitude of cats. “Dogs have masters; cats have staff.” (Seriously, though – that’s funny. Right?) The picture drawn is a bit simplistic (one of my critiques of the book), but the distinction the authors make is valid. Dog theologians, they claim, are those who put God at the center of all things . . . much like a dog treats his master. Cat theologians, on the other hand, put themselves at the center, in practice if not in profession. God exists to make me happy. God is there to ensure my life goes smoothly, that the world runs fairly, and that right always wins – when I’m right, at least. When everything seems to be going to hell, dog theologians assume God is right and they are wrong. Cat theologians, on the other hand, assume they are right and God is screwing up. I mainly bri