All it takes to remain firmly planted on the path to destruction is someone else to blame for your condition.
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As humans, we tend to be very focused on the things that other people do, despite the fact that our greatest limitations are ultimately rooted in the things that we are unwilling to do.
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Today is my brother Kevin’s 50th birthday and it seems like a good time to reflect on all that his life has meant to me. I suppose that I could do what a lot of siblings do and wait until his funeral to say something nice, but for me that is a trend worth bucking. Kevin is just 372 days older than me and through a quirk in the government education system (we lived in Germany at the time) we wound up in the same grade throughout school. For most of those years we shared a room, played on the same sports teams and had a lot of the same friends. Despite that closeness, no one ever mistook us for twins. Kevin was a blond haired, blue eyed, athletic type; who looked a lot like my dad. While I was a smallish kid, with much darker hair and looked a lot like my mom. Beyond just our appearance, Kevin seemed to be almost stoic compared to my emotionally volatile persona. Generally, you had to pull words from him, whereas you’d be more apt to stick a sock in my mouth just to shut me up. He tended to do most things well, while I frequently turned things into somewhat of a crisis. As I watch my own kids interact with each other, I have a new appreciation for how patient both he and my brother Tom were with me. I had a big time chip on my shoulder about being the youngest and I deserved a thumping a lot more frequently than I got one. Despite the occasion scrum, I derived a great deal of security from my relationship with Kevin; as a matter of fact, when we were little, I’d crawl into bed with him when I was afraid. In those moments, he could have paid me back for my often bad attitude, but I never recall him making me feel small. I doubt that many annoying little brothers could make such a claim.
Surprisingly, Kevin didn’t stick with college any longer than I did and shortly after that, we joined the Navy together. Just after boot camp, we went our separate ways, as I headed for the submarine fleet and Kevin headed for an aircraft carrier (i.e. the USS Enterprise). We’ve not lived in the same area for any appreciable amount of time since then and we’ve both stayed busy raising our families. Despite the miles and years, our sense of closeness has never really diminished. Kevin is good about keeping in touch and we see each other when we can. Both of our lives have taken some unexpected turns along the way and it’s been good to have someone you can trust in those seasons. At 50, Kevin finds himself at somewhat of a crossroads, which I pray is the opening of a great new chapter in his life. Whatever the coming days bring, I am grateful for all the years we’ve already had. God knew from beginning that I’d need a lot of help and Kevin was undoubtedly part of His plan. As we share the journey of discovering who God made us to be, I feel certain that He will continue to meet us along the way; and I pray that I can be as big a blessing to Kevin as he has been to me. Happy Birthday big brother!
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My oldest son officially became a teenager this year and over the summer he was excited to find out that his feet had grown bigger than mine. I suspect in the next year or two he’ll weigh more than I do as well. These changes have got him thinking about becoming an adult and the other day he asked, “Dad, when will I know that I’ve become a man?” I took a few seconds to ponder my answer and said, “You’ll know that you’ve grown up when you can take care of yourself and you’ll know that you’re a man when you can take care of someone else”.
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There is undeniable wisdom in the concept of picking one’s battles, but I would submit that the criterion one uses to make those decisions is a critical factor. Human nature will most often drive us to pick only the fights that we think we can win; but for the Christian, a larger perspective needs to be accounted for. Beyond the questions of whether I want to fight this battle or am I equipped for this battle or can I win this battle, the Believer must first resolve, “Is this a battle that I’m called to fight?”
Left to our own devices, we will generally choose to do battle in the arenas where we feel the strongest. I would suggest that this is what Peter was attempting to do when he vowed to prevent Jesus’ crucifixion (Matt. 16:22). Despite the Lord’s stern admonishment of that plan (Matt. 16-23), Peter still gave into his compulsion to grab a sword in the garden of Gethsemane; though clearly that wasn’t a situation he’d been called to resolve. Unfortunately, just minutes before, he’d lost what appeared to be a far more manageable battle, in which he had been called to “watch and pray” with Jesus. Minutes later, he’d succumb in yet another seemingly innocuous confrontation, which ultimately led to him denying the Lord three times.
Like Peter, it seems that we’re often called to battles that we don’t really want to fight and get drawn into others that don’t really belong to us. I would submit that God rarely calls us to battle in the place where we feel strong, because He’s not interested in cultivating confidence in our own strength and ability. Most often, He calls us to battle in the place of our weakness, so that His strength can be revealed in and through us. In fact, it is generally the recognition that we can’t do it on our own, that causes us to tap into His divine power and authority. Ultimately, this understanding needs to be considered every time we encounter a potential battle, if we ever hope to see the Lord truly glorified in us.
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How an adult approaches the idea of “church camp” is most likely to depend on their childhood memories of that experience. Those with fond memories are likely to bring some measure of enthusiasm, while those without might easily come to it with a sense of trepidation or maybe even dread. As a kid who never attended a church camp, I tend not to fit well into either of those categories. On the one hand, I love kids and believe in the idea of teaching them about Jesus; while on the other hand, I can see the folly in gathering young children together, separating them from their parents and placing them in an unfamiliar environment. Despite those mixed emotions, I didn’t hesitate when I was recently asked to be a counselor at our church’s camp for kids. Even though I’d not been a counselor before, I’m certainly not a novice in dealing with kids. Over the years I’ve worked in the nursery, taught Sunday school, coached ball teams and raised four kids of my own. I’ve also been a part of the camp staff in previous years and had a pretty good idea of what to expect. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but I felt sure it was something I was “called” to do.
Despite my love of children, I’m not necessarily a good candidate for this job, as our culture has largely departed from the values that I was raised with. We now live in a society that holds almost nothing as truly sacred and sadly that is clearly reflected in our kids. As a child, I would have never dreamed of back talking an adult or openly defying their direction. Though we were certainly filled with the same sense of mischief and folly as today’s kids, there was an accompanying sense that there was a time and place where you had to put a lid on all of that. But in a culture where even the adults have largely cast off restraint, today’s children are allowed all sorts of autonomy that we never had. Boundaries are generally viewed with contempt and a sense of entitlement has become the pervasive theme. As a man who holds many things (e.g. God, marriage, family, fidelity, respect for others, protection for the defenseless…) as sacred, it has become a struggle to relate to what has widely become the standard for acceptable behavior. While we’ve tried to raise our own kids against that grain, it’s been a hard swim against the tide of popular culture. In the days leading up to the camp, I was painfully aware that these children weren’t likely to behave in the way that I’d expect from my own children and I prayed that God would help me to respond to that in the right way.
My wife was somewhat surprised when she heard that I’d asked for the younger kids (i.e. 1st & 2nd graders), as she is a substitute school teacher, who absolutely prefers working with the older ones (e.g. 5th & 6th graders). But I reasoned that my patience would be far more available to the little ones, who really don’t know any better, than it would be for the older kids, who are often filled with attitude and rebellion. I know that each age group has its upside and downside, but I was pretty sure that the little ones posed less of a threat to my sanity and composure.
One of the interesting aspects of church camp is that it is rarely populated with just “church kids”. To be sure, every church hopes that their camp will attract some kids who haven’t heard the gospel; and who might go on to be a light to their family and neighborhood. But this creates an interesting dynamic for the camp counselor, who has to blend kids who were raised on a steady diet of “Jesus loves me, this I know”, with kids who drop the F-bomb like sneezes in allergy season. Add to that, parents who pack their kids bags with candy, caffeinated soda and bubble gum; parents who decide not to send their kid’s Ritalin (or other behavior related medications) for the weekend and parents who don’t pack enough clothes, towels or bedding to last more than a day; and you’ve got a recipe for an incredibly spicy stew. Of course, God is bigger than all of those things, but it can be a heck of a ride for the vessel He decides to send into this fire.
The kids I happened to draw this year ran the spectrum, including all of the aspects discussed above and then some. Three of them had significant behavioral issues, which required some form of medication and almost constant attention on my part. Needless to say I couldn’t divide my attention in a way that kept all of them out of trouble. I was assigned two very sincere teenage boys to help me and to be sure, I’d have been lost without them; but their efforts had to be centered on the rest of the group, as most of my time and energy was consumed with these three young boys. One of those three would have been fine if I could have let him go off by himself, but with everything at camp being constructed as a group activity, he was miserable for the entire weekend. The other two boys were almost the exact opposite, as they couldn’t keep their hands off each other or from getting into other people’s stuff. As quickly as I might get one situation resolved, a new one would quickly arise.
After awhile, I found myself carrying one of the boys, so that I could keep after the other; and it was during those times that I had my first breakthrough. When I picked up the smaller of the two boys, I could feel the turmoil raging inside of him; but as I held him for a few minutes, I sensed that he was calming and he began to hold tight to me, just like my own kids did when they were young. I was surprised by that and felt certain that the Holy Spirit must be at work. This victory was short lived, as the bigger boy soon grew jealous and insisted that I hold him instead. That battle lasted for the rest of camp, but I found that whenever I held either of them, they would react similarly (i.e. be calm and seemingly at peace). While this made every other task almost impossible to complete, it at least gave me the sense that God was somehow having His way. Later that night, as the smaller boy was bouncing off the walls after lights out, I made him come sit with me and he quickly calmed and leaned against me. For almost forty minutes he laid almost perfectly still and stared at the colored Christmas lights I’d strung around the inside of the cabin, while I silently prayed that God would reach him in a way that only He could. For that entire time this boy didn’t say a word and then he drifted off into a peaceful sleep. I certainly couldn’t have said what (if anything) was accomplished in those moments, but it seemed profound at the time.
The next morning, we were off to the races again and any sense that I might be gaining traction in this situation was quickly lost, as chaos soon broke out. Needless to say, our group didn’t perform well in any of the camp competitions (e.g. best cabin, best song…) and that took its toll on the other kids, who had a sincere desire to be a part of all that. It was hard for me not to feel like I had really let them down, but honestly, I was giving it all that I had left. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit a profound sense of relief when the parents started arriving later that day; and not surprisingly, the parents of my two most troubled kids were amongst the last to arrive. Considering how stern I’d had to get with each of them, I was surprised that neither of them wanted to leave and that each of them actually clung to me for a few minutes. Despite the battle that we’d fought all weekend, I found my heart breaking for those kids and for the internal turmoil that they seem to be facing on an almost constant basis. Ultimately, it felt as though I’d failed them; and all of the other kids in my cabin; and maybe even my young assistants as well. As my best little campers watched in tears, as other groups got awards, all I could think was that this whole weekend had been an “Epic Fail!”
Of course, I knew that was the voice of the enemy and that there was no way that I could afford to throw a pity party; so I pushed all that aside and tried to press on. I was numb and exhausted as we packed everything up to go home, but as I looked at all the decorations and the other things I’d prepared for camp, I was reminded of all the plans I had going in and of how few of them actually came to fruition. Again, I realized that this was the enemy, making his case; but it was hard not to find his argument compelling. By the time we got home and unpacked two cars worth of stuff, it was late and I went to bed with a raging headache and the voice of “the accuser” echoing in my ears.
It seemed like only a few minutes later when my alarm went off at 4:45 a.m. But as I pulled myself out of bed, the Lord was there to meet me and as I prepared to go to work, He gave me a new attitude about what camp had really been all about. He reminded me that He works all things to the good of those who love Him and who are called to His purpose; and He pointed out that, in spite of my many flaws, I absolutely do love Him and was sincerely trying to fulfill His purpose. He also reminded me that we can only plant and water seeds; and that ultimately, only He can bring the increase. And finally, He assured me that He’d accomplished more in the brief moments I’d shared with some of those boys than He could have by us winning one of the camp competitions. As He spoke, He took me back to that quiet night, as the little boy seemingly stared in wonder at those colored lights and He once again allowed me to sense the profound nature of what He was doing. Though I can’t claim to fully understand it, that picture was sufficient for me to let go of my sense of failure and to be freed from the voice of the enemy.
Despite the Lord’s reassurance, I catch myself hoping to go back to the kitchen staff at next year’s camp. Given my rather spectacular results as a counselor, kitchen clean-up may be all that I’m offered. Ultimately, that is something I can’t concern myself with. I’ll write down, “where ever you need me”, like I always do and I’ll trust that God will get me where I need to be. All I can do is to prepare myself to love, to serve, to listen and to obey. The results will ultimately belong to Him. Between now and then, I will remember those precious little boys in my prayers; and I will pray that God has His way in their lives and that He accomplishes the things that only He can do.
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Bjcorbin's Blog 
America’s New National Religion
November 21, 2012 by bjcorbin
As I come dangerously close to reaching the half century mark, it is amazing to ponder the dramatic cultural changes that I have witnessed. As a child of 1960’s, I was born just as the counter-culture movement was reaching full swing and to be sure, those were tumultuous days. By the end of that decade it seemed as though the revolution had truly begun; but in just a few short years (i.e. by the mid 1970’s) the movement seemed to fizzle into a haze of disillusionment, cocaine and disco music. Initially, it didn’t seem as though this war on the “establishment” had been very successful in significantly transforming “mainstream” thinking; but with the benefit of hindsight, it has become clear that the impact was far greater than anyone could have imagined.
Considering the forty years that proceeded that period, it’s easy to see that the stage was set for something dramatic. The people had grown weary from decades of constant struggle (e.g. World War I, the Great Depression, World War II, the Korean War…) and they were restless to break out of that cycle. As the country found itself on the threshold of yet another significant conflict (i.e. the Cold War / the Vietnam War), the collective fortitude began to waiver. Many weren’t sold on the idea that America needed to engage in this latest battle, as the voices of dissent began to grow louder. After years of largely standing united against the external forces of adversity, many started to doubt the wisdom of that approach for the future.
In many ways it was a perfect storm and it ushered in a decade of great cultural upheaval. Most Sociologists would likely characterize this as a time of “enlightenment”, whereby traditional doctrines and values were questioned; and where concerns over the rights of the individual began to gain traction against the concept of what might be needed for the good of the whole nation. Amongst those cultural elements that were challenged was the largely Judeo-Christian based value system that had been so prevalent during the war years. From the earliest days of the movement, the seeds of secular humanism began to find fertile ground in the minds of its purveyors. One aspect of this assault on traditional values was the overt sexuality that would eventually become a hallmark of the movement. While the general public did not necessarily embrace the hedonism of the counter-culture, there is no doubt that there was a definitive shift in mainstream ideas about what was both normal and acceptable.
Although there is no doubt that the culture was changed by those years, I would submit that the greatest impact was still yet to be seen. By the late 1970’s America was fully emerged in the Cold War era and seemed to have returned to some new state of normal. At least on the surface, our national trajectory did not appear to be greatly altered; but within the collective consciousness, the seeds of this revolution continued to germinate. Culturally, as we opened our minds to “new truths”, our belief in absolutes progressively eroded; and with the explosion of new technologies, our sense of self-reliance continued to grow. With each successive generation, our thinking moved steadily toward moral relativism and secular humanism. Truths that were once perceived as etched in stone became like balls of clay, which could be molded and shaped into whatever form might suit us. Our concept of freedom shifted from maintaining a national landscape of opportunity to establishing an atmosphere of personal autonomy and entitlement. Little by little, who we are and what we stand for, steadily migrated away from where we’d been as a nation.
Despite this migration, I do not believe that it would be accurate to say that we’ve arrived at a purely secular humanist point of view. As an inherently religious nation, we’ve retained many of the trappings of our Judeo-Christian past; and instead of becoming a culture of atheists and/or agnostics, we’ve simply revised our brand of religion. Despite our pension for rationalization, the vast majority of Americans still consider themselves to be “spiritual” and to believe in some form of “higher power”. In keeping with the theme of moral relativism, we’ve chosen to retain those aspects of God and religion that we feel comfortable with and to disregard the rest. This has created a strange amalgam of beliefs that are based on wildly diverse concepts, such as the Bible, Hedonism, Capitalism, Marxist Socialism, the “American Dream” and Darwinian Theory. Despite the confusion caused by attempting to merge these disparate views, our culture seems to pursue this ideology with such fervor that this hybrid of religious-humanism should likely be characterized as a religion unto itself. Though many still identify themselves as being a part of one of the more established religious traditions, this new paradigm has largely replaced anything that might pass for an orthodox theology.
In this new religion, we still extol the virtues of faith; but now that faith is rooted in the basic goodness of mankind, in the advances in our technology, in the power of our self realization and in the superiority of our ideologies. It also acknowledges the value of hope; but that hope is based on the idea that every generation should do better than the one that came before it and that America is somehow destined to live at a level that is far beyond what the rest of the world does. It also believes in the concept of love, but does not bind itself to the constraints of things like loyalty, self sacrifice or turning the other cheek. Ultimately, this new theology will accept a god who “is love”, but not one who would attempt to hold a man accountable for his deeds. It will embrace things like angels and prayers and heaven; but it will not accept any orthodox view of sin, hell or judgment to come.
Despite the fact that many of these ideas (e.g. enlightenment, humanism, socialism…) are old and have a track record of utter failure, our new found faith frees us from feeling bound to their history; as we are confident that we have somehow evolved beyond the level of those cultures that came before us. Because of the numerous contradictions inherent in this patchwork of philosophies, it seems almost immune to rational criticism. After all, if one can reconcile this belief system, it seems doubtful that facts or logic would hold much sway. If anything, our culture seems to be aiming for ambiguity, as a means to head off the potential for accountability. Within our new value system, the only thing that is truly sacred is our right to choose our own way.
Even those who perceive themselves as the guardians of orthodox religion have largely compromised the purity of their message in an attempt to remain “culturally relevant”. In Christendom, the gospel has been blended with the “American Dream”, to create a message of endless, God ordained, prosperity; or with secular marketing strategies, in the name of evangelism or with futurist doctrines, under the guise of advancing the kingdom of God. A recipe that’s proven successful at many of the country’s most popular ministries is to mix a little motivational talk, with a pinch of self-help seminar and a cup of musical theater; all served up in the comfort of a posh coffee bar. It’s all about making the people feel comfortable and to keep them coming back for more; which just happens to play well with the populist view.
For the remnant, who still stubbornly cling to the ancient texts of the Bible, this all should come as no real surprise. The Apostle Paul told Timothy, “For the time will come when men will not put up with sound doctrine. Instead, to suit their own desires, they will gather around them a great number of teachers to say what their itching ears want to hear. They will turn their ears away from the truth and turn aside to myths (2 Tim 4:3-4).” In his letter to the Colossians he warned, “See to it that no one takes you captive through hollow and deceptive philosophy, which depends on human tradition and the basic principles of this world rather than on Christ (Col 2:8)”; and in speaking of the end times he said, “There will be terrible times in the last days. People will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boastful, proud, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, without love, unforgiving, slanderous, without self-control, brutal, not lovers of good, treacherous, rash, conceited, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God – having a form of godliness, but denying it’s power (2 Tim 3:1-5)”. As I turn on the television or listen to the radio or look at my computer or even just attend one of my kid’s ballgames, I can’t help but think that this is becoming a pretty fair description of our culture. Ultimately it is the fruit of our new national religion.
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