On the particular day, Matt O’Neil was speaking during the “Blind Spot” series – and focused on the blind spot of “not learning.” When we started, I really had no idea where that was going – but I stayed tuned in.

It turned out to be incredible.

He began by talking about Cornelius: a Roman Soldier, a devout gentile who had conversations with God. To those of us who believe that there is a God who wants to have conversation with us, this seems completely reasonable. To a first century Jew like Peter, a ROMAN SOLDIER GENTILE is exactly the type of person that God would NOT want to talk to. It was completely earth shattering that this would be the case.

At about the same time that we see Cornelius get introduced, we flash to Peter who has a vision of God telling him to eat non-kosher food that good jews had been told for thousands of years to avoid – to never eat under threat of random penalties. Instead God says this:

What I have cleansed, you must not call “unclean”

This was earth-shattering.

Even more earth-shattering…. Cornelius wants to be baptized. As unclean of a man as a gentile, Roman soldier was, Cornelius felt as though it was right for him to be baptized.

This seemingly innocent “conversion” is a turning point in annuls of history and most of us miss it’s significance. What God has made clean, we must NOT call “unclean.”

The question was asked of Peter: “Is there any reason why this man should NOT be baptized?”

We haphazardly declare that people of various faiths, or histories, or criminal backgrounds, or sexual orientations are not clean, are not “ready” for God because they’re hanging on to some “unclean” aspect of their lives. But these are based on OUR standards. WE call them unclean. God calls them beloved and perfect children.

God asked us to unlearn the rule book several times. Jesus said to love him and love each other and we’re covered. But we in our modern mindsets we are driven by data and rules and a concreteness that form the antitheses of loving relationships. In trying to follow the first of the two updated rules that Jesus gave us, we constantly break the second.

Peter was challenged by God to unlearn the rule book. He did it. Now we reinforce it. We have communities of people that seem to thrive on rules because of the tangibility that it provides. The more we follow the rules, the more we think we can gauge the likelihood of us escaping hell. We monitor ourselves relative to each other in much the same way that when running from a bear, we don’t need to be the fastest, we just can’t be the slowest.

Nothing that God has made is unclean.

I have written in my Moleskine that “This is THE profound truth that so many of us in the church miss.” What I found to be completely telling after letting this profound truth sink in was the thought that God did not make the church.

Man made the church.

The church can therefore be unclean. It almost certainly is.

We treat so many people as if they’re second class members of God’s family because they don’t have it together according to our standards.

We made the standards.

It may be that I’m a heretic. I’ve asked myself several times in the past two weeks how it can be that with the rise and fall of so many devoted church communities we have missed this profound truth? Perhaps I’m spewing theological garbage.

But I can’t resolve that the Jesus who befriended criminals on the cross, ate with tax collectors, willingly touched all kinds of lawfully “unclean” folks without any preconceptions or further requirements, would want us to do anything different than to love.

Love. Plain. Simple.

It so easy to see the rules and think that God has burdened us with following them rather than to live in the freedom that He has granted to us from worrying about them.

Our love validates. Our love embraces. Our love is all-encompassing.

Why? Why on earth would God do this? Why would he love criminals and cheaters and the corrupt and the greedy? Why does this make sense to Him?

In the final exclamation point on this incredible message, Matt finished his prayer with thanks to God that “There is NO why.”

His love simply is.

We unconsciously use war metaphor to in many different facets of our lives. Already, we’ve said that sports, and science, and conflict are ripe with it. We talk about inner battles, battles of will, waging war against pick-an-injustice. For those of us that are trying to model the way that Jesus lived, is it appropriate to approach the world with this same angst? (I was about to say “spiritual world” here, but I’d rather not divvy it up like that)

“War” and “Battle” are words that are used fairly often throughout scripture. And the old testament is practically crammed with God-ordained conflicts between people that claimed the lives of thousands. But most of these references are literal references – either to actual wars or the prospect of wars if the people don’t respond in a certain way. They’re not figurative – i.e. they’re not metaphor language. The other interesting thing you see in the prophets of the Old Testament are the references to the end of war – to peace. Micah 4:3 as classic example talks about the conversion of weapons of war and destruction into weapons of provision, and that nations “will not train for war anymore.”

The New Testament talks far less frequently about these concepts. Jesus mentions war when outlining the cost of being a disciple as an illustration.

Then there’s the armor of God. Can’t forget this. This is perhaps the most blatant use of war metaphor in the Bible when the author of Ephesians says:

Be strong in the Lord and in this mighty power. Put on the full armor of God so you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes.

Perhaps this isn’t as metaphoric as it sounds. I’m not suggesting that there is literal armor – but I am saying that the readers and the author himself were literally being physically attacked and chained for their beliefs. They were, in fact, in a type of war scenario.

One last thing before I attempt to get far more practical with this. In this same passage we read this:

For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rules, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world, and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.

Growing up, I was very involved in a church that heavily used war metaphor to describe Christians relationship with sin. It was very much a battle, a near-literal altercation with demons and evil. Shouts of praise were often inter-mingled with battle cries. I understood that I was to be engaged in a spiritual war against an axis of evil (made up of beer, drugs, crossing “the line” with the opposite sex, smoking – up for consideration for the axis were cussing, lusting, and gambling). Looking back, it also took on the scope of “if you’re not for us, you’re against us.”

Given the significance of all things spiritual to many people, it’s not hard to understand why the fight becomes so important. All of this is very much in keeping with the use of war metaphor.

I felt as though that those who took part in any of the activities in the axis of evil were not just casualties, but they were brain-washed prisoners of war, recruited to fight the forces of good. On the one hand, I knew that I was called to “Love my neighbor as myself” but at the same time, these were “enemy forces” that had the potential to attack me. It’s shoot-to-kill time.

My biggest hang up with the use of war metaphor is that it promotes a sense of defensiveness. Even if we constantly on the attack, we feel as though at any moment enemy forces can strike. Defensive people and groups act very differently than the rest of us. There is a primal instinct that begins to emerge in even the most well-intentioned people. If at any point we feel threatened, we are liable to act out of desperation. In our figurative war, this could mean something as a comment/accusation that precipitates the alienation of a person or a group of people.

There is nothing as polarizing as war. Being at war means that opposing forces have become as diametrically opposed to one another as possible. It is the ultimate consequence to unmanaged conflict, or tension.

While it leads to alienation and destructive processes, there is a nobility to it all. In war, finding the power to continue the fight is admired. Officers are commended with medals or other awards for exceptional bravery. Conversely, there is shame is surrender, in humbling yourself to the enemy. It is a display of weakness to bow out of battle.

In the church, we have allowed this paradigm to permeate everything that we do. We have battle hymns and fight songs, chants that reinforce the diametric opposition of the forces of good and the forces of evil. And while there may be theological basis for this concept, that good cannot exist where there is evil, we are practically raining terror down on those that need our love the most. We rationalize by saying that we “love the sinner, and hate the sin” which can lead quickly to justifying our force with statements like “there’s gonna be some collateral damage,” or “it’s for your own good,” as if we have the capacity to decide what that should be. The consequences of our bloody battles are years and years of distrust, malice, alienation, and hatred.

We see this over and over. Homosexuals have long been essentially metaphorically labeled as terrorists to modern-day Christianity. We go on the offensive against abortion clinics, perversely assuming that God is smiling as we spew hateful slogans, carry placards plastered with the graphic images of aborted fetuses, or as we literally use lethal force.

Hatred for Christ’s sake is still hatred.

As long as we continue to propagate war metaphor in our churches, we will continue to falsely indoctrinate our people to believe that anyone that is “in” is good and that anyone that is “out” is the enemy.

It continues to be striking to me that Jesus’ harshest words were for the religious. A man marked by unwavering compassion across people groups and ethnicities and situations turned hostile when he looked inward towards those who were thought to be representatives of God on earth.

We could learn a thing or two from this Jesus character.

It’s also striking to me that aside from the disciples, we never hear about what happens with any of the people that Jesus encountered. We know that he was kind and loved regardless of the circumstance and never implied that he was about to bomb the enemy with righteousness and blessed sanctification. It was seldom more than a brief encounter, the beginnings of relationship, filled with understanding, compassion, and grace. If we approach life as though we’re all in this together, that we can learn mutually beneficial things from one another, that we are all part of a well-intended creation perhaps we’ll see the transformation that we’ve been trying to force for so long.

And maybe, the other people will change too.

I can’t say that I’ve been wrestling with prayer – that would be an overstatement.  Rather, prayer has always been perplexing to me and continues to be one of my biggest issues and questions.  Lately, as others around me have been wrestling with prayer, I’ve been processing through some of the same questions and concerns.

The dominating understanding of prayer in terms of pop-culture seems to be asking for something from God – maybe asking for a healing or a miracle or a raise or a new car or for a particular candidate to not become the next president of the United States.

For Jesus-followers, the Bible says that:

I tell you, you can pray for anything, and if you believe that you’ve received it, it will be yours.

or

Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours.

Mark 11:25 (NLT and NIV respectively)

Now, while I can tell you stories about praying for a million dollars and a big house and a fast car and how I have none of those things, I’d rather complicate the matter by talking about friends who have prayed long and hard for physical healings and deliverance from sicknesses.  They pray with all the faith in the world.  And nothing changes.  Their loved ones continue downhill.

Religion usually gives one of two very easy answers for this: 1) you didn’t pray hard, long, faithfully enough or 2) it wasn’t in the will of God.

These aren’t good enough for me.  This says that God rewards the people who are faithful, the people who’ve got it all figured out and the rest of us who are still struggling – well, it sucks to be us.  This says that once you reach a certain point, only then will God hear your prayers.

And this from a God who “causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and and the unrighteous?”

It’s not a good enough answer for me.

My reset here has been to starting thinking about prayer as more than just making an ask.  It’s talking.  It’s a conversation: a two-way flow of words, thoughts, wishes, intentions, feelings, concerns, questions, and  answers. I’ve understood this for a long time but it’s felt very one-sided.  Almost as if I trusted God was listening but never really heard much from Him. This is more experiential than anything else.  I don’t know where this “casual” approach to prayer came from or is referenced in the bible.  Then again, I don’t know how it become so holier-than-thou and elitist either.

I’ve WANTED to hear a voice.  I rarely ever have.

I used to think I had to do something special to get God to listen to me.  I know that’s not true either.  He listens to all of us. He probably gets annoyed at all the bickering and back-biting and ill-will wishes via the prayer line, but I really do believe he listens.

So, my biggest questions now revolve around the answers.

I don’t expect that I’ll hear an audible voice much.  I’m not ruling it out and I’m not convinced that I HAVEN’T on one or two occasions heard something “real” but I’m not counting on hearing words.

This whole prayer business raises lists of other questions, not the least of which are major, major challenges like “the will of God,” or WOG.  The WOG is thrown around so haphazardly and inserts itself as a matter of convenience, ignorance, or indifference.

Why didn’t I get into that school?  Not in the WOG.

Why is the sky blue?  Well son, it’s the WOG.

How will we know the right thing to do?  The WOG will work itself out.

Perhaps this is the next thing to talk about.

There are some core issues surrounding prayer that I still don’t know if I can answer.  Example: How does God decide “who” to listen to?  Bruce Almighty shows us the chaos that follows a blanket yes to all.

I think the central premise of prayer is off.  Prayer can be a very selfish endeavor.  God bless ME.  God forgive ME.  God heal MY friend.  And it’s hard to approach without this selfishness.  We’re interested in self-preservation.

Perhaps it’s fear.  Do we come to God more afraid of hell and suffering than with love and awe?  Is it the “he holds our fate in the palm of his hand” mentality?  We only have limited face-time with the big man upstairs so we should make all our big asks now.

And at the end of the day, I don’t have an answer.  Maybe putting all the big asks on the table is the right thing to do.  I have a hard time processing prayer and I’m sure I will for a long, long time.  I don’t need to understand the mechanics of it, but it sure would be nice for me to have some rationale behind it.

Paul says to pray without ceasing.  That to me does, in fact, make sense.  I do feel pretty online at most times during the day, and in those moments when I encounter something notable, I’ve got no problem being thankful or making an ask for it.

And perhaps I’ve not asked with the right faith, believing that I’ve received something.  Or perhaps I’ve already received everything and don’t know what to do with it all.