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The Nicest Thing I Could Say

It’s amazing that someone as lovable as me can make people mad. I mean, come on… I’m adorable, right?

Seriously, people always get mad at me when I write or preach against things that are unBiblical. Recently, it was a piece I wrote about how there’s no reason to believe pets will be in heaven. Note, I never said their grandmother wouldn’t be there, but that “Mr Fluffy” might not get a complete resurrection.

Instead of caring when I said that wasn’t in the Bible, people assumed I just hate animals. When I countered that theology matters, they just roll their eyes…

“People’s theology doesn’t matter. Why don’t you just let everyone believe whatever they want about God.”

Similarly, I also feel increasing pressure to proclaim that certain ethical opinions are perfectly ok. It’s no longer OK just to keep your opinions to yourself. People expect you to give any way they live your full-throated approval. If not, it’s clear you must hate them!

“That’s judgmental, Dave!” they say. “You’re not supposed to judge.”

I think these attitudes betray how used we are to preachers telling us what we want to hear. Perhaps too many religious promised health and happiness and a God who operates more like a free Costco than supreme being.

Some pastors now preach only “positive messages” and avoid all those negative parts of the Bible. Especially the ones warning us about sin.

They’d never talk about sin or hell in a sermon. That’s too old fashioned and judgmental. Instead, they preach self-help motivational speeches and toss in a few verses here and there to validate their message. But you don’t get the blessings of God if you ignore His warnings…

You can’t have God’s love if you harbor hatred in your heart for your neighbor.

You can’t have God’s forgiveness if you don’t forgive others.

You can’t have God’s peace if you live a life of rebellion against His laws. That will bring you nothing but constant turmoil.

People used to expect pastors to warn them about sin. You’d be considered a rotten preacher if you never told folks how Satan schemes to destroy their lives. But now if you don’t constantly validate people’s lifestyles, you are considered hateful.

When folks ask me if I affirm their lifestyle, I give them a firm no. I absolutely do not affirm their lifestyle. In fact, I don’t affirm MY lifestyle. The only life worth affirming was Jesus’. He’s the only one who got it right. Everyone else, including me, better be begging for God’s mercy, not His affirmation.

Let’s talk about judging.

We are warned “Judge not, lest ye be judged”. But the Bible is filled with warnings against sin. So if you never judge an action to be wrong or destructive, you will spend your life open to Satan’s attacks on you.

God never said not to judge actions. Instead, He warned we absolutely MUST judge all actions to know if they lead to destruction. Asking why are Christians so judgmental of sin is like asking why doctors are so judgmental of cancer! Because it kills!

Moreover, they shall teach My people the difference between the holy and the profane, and cause them to discern between the unclean and the clean. – Ezekiel 44:23

And this I pray, that your love may abound yet more and more in knowledge and in all judgment; that you may approve things that are excellent; that ye may be sincere and without offense till the day of Christ –  Phillipians 1:9-10

But he that is spiritual judges all things, yet he himself is judged of no man. – 1 Cor 2:15

That last verse shows us the key. We are to judge “things”, but not people. We absolutely must judge the actions people do, so that we do not fall into the same pit. But we are never to pass judgement on a person, saying they are worthless or beyond the love of God. That means I never write you off as hopeless. And I never ever say anything to belittle or diminish you, and I never do anything to destroy you. My words should make you better, not tear you down.

The same Jesus who told the Pharisees “Let him without sin cast the first stone” turned to the Adulterous Woman and said “go and sin no more”. The Pharisees used her sin to try and destroy her – Jesus used it to warn her and restore her.

It is our intrinsic worth and God’s desire for us that makes sin so beneath us. When we participate in sinful actions, we are destroying something that God values…ourselves! When we judge sinful actions, we are saying that action is harmful to God’s beloved creation and will lead to their destruction.

It’s like the old preacher used to say when people told him to preach love, not sin. He said, “If we’re hiking in the woods and you’re about to step on a rattlesnake, I will shout a warning if I love you. If someone were to keep quiet and let you get bitten, that is the person who truly hates your soul!”

Of course, I must be careful how I relay my warning to you. No one likes a know-it-all, and I need to speak as a fellow struggler with sin. When it comes to sin, we are all “in recovery”. But while my warning must be with humility, it must be clear.

But my friends also get upset when I point out theological ideas that aren’t from the Bible. The funny part is, they always say they believe the Bible is God’s Word. 

But when they talk about how a loved one who died is an angel now, they don’t like it when I say that’s not really the case. 

They say “we’re all God’s children” but get perturbed when remind them the Bible clearly states only those who accept Christ now are adopted into His family. 

What my friends often miss is something I’ve learned through the years, that BAD THEOLOGY REALLY HURTS PEOPLE! 

Ever talk to a couple whose son just committed suicide, and now some jerk has told them that suicide means he is in hell? It’s not a pretty thing and the suffering is completely avoidable IF you know what the Bible says. God’s Word says nothing at all about suicide being a one way ticket to hell. That is something people just made up as a deterrent to suicide. While I understand their motive, teaching something that’s not really in the Bible has consequences.

Likewise, if I tell a friend everyone goes to heaven even though the Bible says otherwise, I’m a co-conspirator in them avoiding getting right with God. My bad theology actually may end up sending them to hell. I’m not going to take that responsibility just so I can avoid hurting their feelings.

Telling people what they want to hear, no matter how well intentioned, eventually causes harm. 

I remember talking to a woman who visited my church once. As we talked after the service, she asked me what our church believed about healing. She asked if I believed it’s always God’s will to heal people. I responded that while God does heal all His children eventually in the next life, that healing doesn’t always occur in this life.  People who love God and have faith He can heal them die every day. 

I saw a look of relief spread across her face. 

“You don’t know how happy I am to hear that,” she said. “My sister went to a church that told her God always heals. She had terminal cancer, but was convinced by the church God would heal her. As her condition worsened and it became clear she was in her final days, she began to believe God had rejected her. If God was healing everyone else but not her, there must be something wrong with her. Friends at the church told her just must not have enough faith, or there must be some sin in her life keeping God from healing her. She finally died thinking God had abandoned her.”

What a horrible way to face death! And it was due to lousy theology. 

We have to be careful telling people what they want to hear, even if it’s out of a kind heart. Theology was never meant to be used as “spiritual anesthesia” administered to ease the pain of a sufferer. The true peace of God comes only from dealing with reality and being honest about sin, heaven, and absolute Truth. 

So next time I’m doing something wrong and about to screw up my life, I hope you love me enough to give me a good strong warning. Please, don’t spare my feelings.

When someone you love is about to destroy themselves, the nicest thing you can say is the truth.

Because the truth, and truth alone, is all that will truly set us free.

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Our dream house was a 120-year old 3-story Victorian home. It was just a few blocks away from one of the loveliest parks in the city and the same distance from the church I pastored. I could literally walk to work, and did so on many mornings. How convenient!

Unlike the other brick houses that lined the streets nearby, this one was painted light yellow and stood apart from the rest. Plaster reliefs of baby angels wrapped around the base of the house. They represented the children of the original owners, making the structure even more unique. It also had a three-car garage at the back of it. Few houses in this older section of town had one as large, and many people resorted to parking on the street. But not us! On just an average salary, we had bought one of the nicest places to live in the area. 

I had always dreamed of owning a Victorian home. I had performed the role of Prof. Henry Higgins from the musical My Fair Lady right before we moved to our new city. So I was primed to live the life of the English gentleman, sipping tea in my beautiful old house. I loved the old wood, the stained glass windows, and our “penthouse suite” for my wife and me on the top floor. We’d be sequestered away from the noise of our little girls playing below us. It all seemed so ideal.

But it turned out to be anything but ideal. Our “Golden House”, as our little girls came to call it, was not so golden. In fact, our dream house almost killed us, quite literally. 

One afternoon I got a call at the church. It was Dawn, my wife, and she was sobbing hysterically. Finally I was able to make out enough of her words to understand what was happening.

“I fell…come home!”

Almost 20 years ago, my wife had been in a bad car accident that crushed her right leg. That ankle couldn’t turn at all. So as I ran the 5 blocks to my home, I knew what had happened.

When I got to the house, I found Dawn in the basement. She was headed to the washer and drier there, and had misjudged a step going down. She hit the concrete floor hard.

After getting her to the hospital, thankfully we learned nothing had been broken. However, that would be just the first of several falls for Dawn down those steps. We eventually moved the washer and drier up to the second floor, which helped a little. But the bottom line was a three-story house with narrow stairways were not meant for a woman who had challenges with mobility.

I also learned having your bedroom on the third-floor is not a good idea for a chubby guy in his mid-50s. There were a few days I wondered if I’d still be alive by the time I reached the top floor. Though I began on the stairway to the bedroom, I might end up on the stairway to heaven…

Then there was the city. Dawn and I always loved culture, restaurants, theater and all the things a great city has to offer. So living there, we felt like kids in a candy store. There was always some new restaurant to explore, always a show playing somewhere, and interesting people living all around us. It seemed ideal.

Except for crime. And taxes. Many cities are big on those, and ours was no exception. We had both in abundance.

One of our regular nightly diversions was watching the notifications on our community’s “Next Door App” alert us to all the recent shootings and hold-ups around us. One of us would hear gunshots, and I’d watch for the posts to pop up. I’d then calculate how close it was to our home. Many were within just a few blocks, some just down the street. 

We would occasionally get notices of some tax we hadn’t paid. Usually, we neglected to pay because the city had neglected to ever send a bill. Then one day, you get a notice you’re being sent to a collections agency, even though you still hadn’t received a bill yourself. 

Once we got a bill for trash pick-up. We were confused because we paid a refuse bill on time every month. But a lady on the phone informed us what we had paid was in fact only the garbage bill. There was completely different bill that was a tax for just having trash pick up available to us in the city. This bill was paying for the “possibility” our trash might be picked up. No kidding.

I’m sure they’re still probably working on a way to collect a tax on our taxes. 

All of this added together was a painful lesson on the difference between perception and reality. After we first moved to that city and were still living in an apartment, I walked down those very streets and fantasized about how wonderful living there would be. When we found the Golden House, we rejoiced and basically cried out, “Here, take our money” to the realtor. 

But the view from the outside of a situation is always much different from the inside. Nothing is ever quite what you expect…with houses, or with life.

The problem with so many of the things we want is it’s too often based on an illusion. We think a thing, a person, or a situation will bring happiness. But happiness is never found in those things outside of us.

Real happiness only happens from the inside out.

There’s an old fashioned Bible word for this foolishness: covetousness. The prohibition against coveting is actually the 10th and final commandment. It’s easily skimmed over in favor of the more R-rated commandments against murder or adultery. Simply wanting your neighbors stuff as opposed to stealing it or killing for it seems like no big deal in comparison.

But coveting is like a powerful drug. The addict never gets enough. Once he gets that one thing he’s obsessed over, he’s disappointed to realize it doesn’t fulfill his needs and he moves on to something more. The new car he’d wanted all his life now sits in the garage most days. She can’t even remember why she bought that purse now. That’s how coveting works: whatever you get, it’s never enough. You’re always left wanting something else, and even more addicted to your desires.

Whatever my eyes desired I did not keep from them. I did not withhold my heart from any pleasure, for my heart rejoiced in all my labor; And this was my reward from all my labor. Then I looked on all the works that my hands had done and on the labor in which I had toiled; And indeed all was vanity and grasping for the wind. There was no profit under the sun. - Ecclesiastes 2:10-11

Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions. - Luke 12:15

There was nothing wrong with us wanting a house. But it was very wrong of me to think that it would bring us so much happiness on its own. The ideal life and fulfillment I was expecting from a house was unreasonable. 

That kind of happiness only comes from God’s address, not mine.

Inevitably, we become like kids on the day after Christmas. We’ve opened every package, played with every toy, and we’re already bored with them. The newness wore off in a day, all because we were expecting too much from them to begin with.

Most homes stop being dream houses the minute we walk into them. Reality inevitably sets in, and the “house porn” on the realtor’s website is now just a bunch of plaster and dry wall. 

We finally made it out of our dream house before it killed us. No, we didn't run screaming from it in the middle of the night like in the Shining or the Amityville Horror. When we left, it did take quite a bite out of our finances, and we had to sell for quite a bit less than we'd paid. But the wound was worth it for the lesson we learned.

We’re in a new place now, in a much smaller city. We’re renting a little one-story house we’re hoping to buy soon. We're in a little neighborhood where we hardly ever lock our front door. It's pretty boring compared to city life, but that’s just fine with me.

I’ve discovered what really makes a “dream house”. The dream is not the house, it’s the people you put in it. Regardless of the size or location, those people are what makes life worthwhile. 

Everything else is just a dream. And all that glitters is not a golden house.

Our dream house was a 120-year old 3-story Victorian home. It was just a few blocks away from one of the loveliest parks in the city and the same distance from the church I pastored. I could literally walk to work, and did so on many mornings. How convenient!

Unlike the other brick houses that lined the streets nearby, this one was painted light yellow and stood apart from the rest. Plaster reliefs of baby angels wrapped around the base of the house. They represented the children of the original owners, making the structure even more unique. It also had a three-car garage at the back of it. Few houses in this older section of town had one as large, and many people resorted to parking on the street. But not us! On just an average salary, we had bought one of the nicest places to live in the area. 

I had always dreamed of owning a Victorian home. I had performed the role of Prof. Henry Higgins from the musical My Fair Lady right before we moved to our new city. So I was primed to live the life of the English gentleman, sipping tea in my beautiful old house. I loved the old wood, the stained glass windows, and our “penthouse suite” for my wife and me on the top floor. We’d be sequestered away from the noise of our little girls playing below us. It all seemed so ideal.

But it turned out to be anything but ideal. Our “Golden House”, as our little girls came to call it, was not so golden. In fact, our dream house almost killed us, quite literally. 

One afternoon I got a call at the church. It was Dawn, my wife, and she was sobbing hysterically. Finally I was able to make out enough of her words to understand what was happening.

“I fell…come home!”

Almost 20 years ago, my wife had been in a bad car accident that crushed her right leg. That ankle couldn’t turn at all. So as I ran the 5 blocks to my home, I knew what had happened.

When I got to the house, I found Dawn in the basement. She was headed to the washer and drier there, and had misjudged a step going down. She hit the concrete floor hard.

After getting her to the hospital, thankfully we learned nothing had been broken. However, that would be just the first of several falls for Dawn down those steps. We eventually moved the washer and drier up to the second floor, which helped a little. But the bottom line was a three-story house with narrow stairways were not meant for a woman who had challenges with mobility.

I also learned having your bedroom on the third-floor is not a good idea for a chubby guy in his mid-50s. There were a few days I wondered if I’d still be alive by the time I reached the top floor. Though I began on the stairway to the bedroom, I might end up on the stairway to heaven…

Then there was the city. Dawn and I always loved culture, restaurants, theater and all the things a great city has to offer. So living there, we felt like kids in a candy store. There was always some new restaurant to explore, always a show playing somewhere, and interesting people living all around us. It seemed ideal.

Except for crime. And taxes. Many cities are big on those, and ours was no exception. We had both in abundance.

One of our regular nightly diversions was watching the notifications on our community’s “Next Door App” alert us to all the recent shootings and hold-ups around us. One of us would hear gunshots, and I’d watch for the posts to pop up. I’d then calculate how close it was to our home. Many were within just a few blocks, some just down the street. 

We would occasionally get notices of some tax we hadn’t paid. Usually, we neglected to pay because the city had neglected to ever send a bill. Then one day, you get a notice you’re being sent to a collections agency, even though you still hadn’t received a bill yourself. 

Once we got a bill for trash pick-up. We were confused because we paid a refuse bill on time every month. But a lady on the phone informed us what we had paid was in fact only the garbage bill. There was completely different bill that was a tax for just having trash pick up available to us in the city. This bill was paying for the “possibility” our trash might be picked up. No kidding.

I’m sure they’re still probably working on a way to collect a tax on our taxes. 

All of this added together was a painful lesson on the difference between perception and reality. After we first moved to that city and were still living in an apartment, I walked down those very streets and fantasized about how wonderful living there would be. When we found the Golden House, we rejoiced and basically cried out, “Here, take our money” to the realtor. 

But the view from the outside of a situation is always much different from the inside. Nothing is ever quite what you expect…with houses, or with life.

The problem with so many of the things we want is it’s too often based on an illusion. We think a thing, a person, or a situation will bring happiness. But happiness is never found in those things outside of us.

Real happiness only happens from the inside out.

There’s an old fashioned Bible word for this foolishness: covetousness. The prohibition against coveting is actually the 10th and final commandment. It’s easily skimmed over in favor of the more R-rated commandments against murder or adultery. Simply wanting your neighbors stuff as opposed to stealing it or killing for it seems like no big deal in comparison.

But coveting is like a powerful drug. The addict never gets enough. Once he gets that one thing he’s obsessed over, he’s disappointed to realize it doesn’t fulfill his needs and he moves on to something more. The new car he’d wanted all his life now sits in the garage most days. She can’t even remember why she bought that purse now. That’s how coveting works: whatever you get, it’s never enough. You’re always left wanting something else, and even more addicted to your desires.

Whatever my eyes desired I did not keep from them. I did not withhold my heart from any pleasure, for my heart rejoiced in all my labor; And this was my reward from all my labor. Then I looked on all the works that my hands had done and on the labor in which I had toiled; And indeed all was vanity and grasping for the wind. There was no profit under the sun. - Ecclesiastes 2:10-11

Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions. - Luke 12:15

There was nothing wrong with us wanting a house. But it was very wrong of me to think that it would bring us so much happiness on its own. The ideal life and fulfillment I was expecting from a house was unreasonable. 

That kind of happiness only comes from God’s address, not mine.

Inevitably, we become like kids on the day after Christmas. We’ve opened every package, played with every toy, and we’re already bored with them. The newness wore off in a day, all because we were expecting too much from them to begin with.

Most homes stop being dream houses the minute we walk into them. Reality inevitably sets in, and the “house porn” on the realtor’s website is now just a bunch of plaster and dry wall. 

We finally made it out of our dream house before it killed us. No, we didn't run screaming from it in the middle of the night like in the Shining or the Amityville Horror. When we left, it did take quite a bite out of our finances, and we had to sell for quite a bit less than we'd paid. But the wound was worth it for the lesson we learned.

We’re in a new place now, in a much smaller city. We’re renting a little one-story house we’re hoping to buy soon. We're in a little neighborhood where we hardly ever lock our front door. It's pretty boring compared to city life, but that’s just fine with me.

I’ve discovered what really makes a “dream house”. The dream is not the house, it’s the people you put in it. Regardless of the size or location, those people are what makes life worthwhile. 

Everything else is just a dream. And all that glitters is not a golden house.