*  *  *  *  *  *  *

I learned a lot of garbage in the mid-‘70s while working on my B.A. in Journalism.  It wasn’t that I was focusing solely on fluffy subjects; I spent all my electives on modern American, Russian, and German history, earning my lone C in the latter class because I had succeeded only in mastering the material, without adding anything particularly brilliant to the discourse.
 
Alas, it was the university’s journalism curriculum that left so much to be desired.  Instead of challenging us to work hard and hone our skills, our professors spoon-fed us worldly philosophies that sent many of us down the broad way to destruction (see Matthew 7:13-14).
 
For example: There is no such thing as objective truth, they said. Every report is a product of the observed and the observer, whose preconceived notions inevitably sway his interpretation of the facts. Ergo, a journalist can only report “his” truth or “her” truth, never “the” truth, because “the” truth doesn’t exist.
 
Another example: If you can’t see it, it doesn’t exist. That includes fairies, elves, demons and gods. In my early 20s at the time and in full rebellion against the teachings of my Christian upbringing, I gladly embraced this idea. After all, if there was no all-seeing, goody-two-shoes God to judge me, I could do whatever I pleased. Which may explain why I never bothered to ask my professors, “But what about love and hate? Selfishness and sacrifice? Courage and fear? We can’t see things like these, either, but we know they exist.”
 
I must have missed the lecture on critical thinking.
 
At any rate, that’s what universities were teaching Wannabe Reporters as far back as the 1970s. Which probably explains a lot about the current state of journalism.
 
But I did pick up one interesting and most likely truthful concept in college: the idea of cognitive dissonance.
 
Here’s a good description of the phenomenon, compliments of Encyclopedia Britannica: Cognitive dissonance is “the mental conflict that occurs when beliefs or assumptions are contradicted by new information. The unease or tension that the conflict arouses in people is relieved by one of several defensive maneuvers: they reject, explain away, or avoid the new information; persuade themselves that no conflict really exists; reconcile the differences; or resort to any other defensive means of preserving stability or order in their conceptions of the world and of themselves.”
 
Or maybe they simply go mad.
 
I think cognitive dissonance must be epidemic in the western world today. I’ve never before heard so many people trying to justify the unjustifiable in a vain attempt to squelch mental conflict.
 
This is what happens when we refuse to recognize an absolute standard of right and wrong and instead consult our own desires. The Bible describes it as doing what seems right in our own eyes. Often, the result is cognitive dissonance – at least at first, until our hearts become so hardened that we are able to bury such conflict under mountains of excuses and distractions.
 
Happily, there is a worldview that eliminates this problem, requiring absolutely no mental gymnastics to ensure peace under any circumstances. That worldview is biblical Christianity.  
 
Biblical Christianity makes it easy to know which path to follow in any situation. There’s no need for guesswork; God has provided us with all the answers in His word.
 
“It’s in the Book,” my friend Pam has been known to say. “If you want to know what’s right, just look in the Book!”
 
Does your boss want you to fudge your hours in order to pad a client’s bill? “You shall not bear false witness” (Exodus 20:16). Are you tempted to cheat on your taxes? “Render to Caesar the things which are Caesar’s” (Mark 12:17). Feeling unhappy with your neighbor for pointing out, quite rightly, that your lawn could use a good mowing? “Whoever is angry with his brother without a cause shall be in danger of the judgment” (Matthew 5:22).
 
And so on. I don’t imagine there’s an issue in this world that the Bible will not resolve for us, if we can only be bothered to study and follow its advice.
 
Christianity doesn’t protect us from life’s problems. But it sure does put an end to cognitive dissonance. I’m grateful to my alma mater for alerting me to this phenomenon, and to the Lord for wiping it out of His children’s lives. 

Sometimes the answers to our questions are hiding in plain sight. At least, that happens to me more times than I care to admit.
 
A case in point: In a recent small-group Bible discussion, we took a look at a simple last-days timeline—a timeline showing the church age, the rapture, the great tribulation, the millennial kingdom, and eternity to come, punctuated in appropriate spots by the second coming of Christ, Armageddon, the Bema Seat and Great White Throne judgments, and the advent of the New Heavens and the New Earth.
 
One of the questions that arose in our discussion involved the Bema Seat judgment. That’s when Jesus Christ will judge the performance of His saints--those who repented and trusted in Him during this life--and grant heavenly rewards to those whose earthly thoughts, words and deeds have eternal value.
 
The woman who raised the question wondered if our wasted time and worthless deeds will reduce or perhaps wipe out those rewards.  “If so, I’m in trouble,” she said mournfully. She is now being used richly by the Lord; but she was concerned that the futility of her past behaviors would override her current service.
 
From time to time, I’ve wrestled with this very question in my own heart—in spite of the apostle Paul’s Philippians 3 admonition to forget “those things which are behind and … press toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.” 
 
My thinking went something like this: Well, sure, Paul’s pre-conversion life was at best worthless, and was at worst horribly anti-Christ. However, surely his work following that fateful day on the Damascus Road more than made up for his ghastly past, paving the way for glorious rewards in heaven.
 
But that was Paul. What about the rest of us?
 
Eventually, however, the Holy Spirit brought Paul’s words in 1 Corinthians 3:11-15 to my attention:
 
"For no other foundation can anyone lay than that which is laid, which is Jesus Christ. Now if anyone builds on this foundation with gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, straw, each one’s work will become clear; for the Day will declare it, because it will be revealed by fire; and the fire will test each one’s work, of what sort it is. If anyone’s work which he has built on it endures, he will receive a reward. If anyone’s work is burned, he will suffer loss; but he himself will be saved, yet so as through fire."
 
Envisioning the picture Paul painted here, I finally saw it clearly: No matter how big a bonfire our personal piles of wood, hay and straw may create, this bonfire won’t damage or destroy the gold, silver or precious stones that will determine our rewards.
 
So while our eternally worthless thoughts, words and deeds will go up in flames, vanishing just as surely as did the sin Christ bore on the cross, the things we’ve done of eternal value will survive intact. And we can trust the God of perfect justice to make sure that we are rewarded for our efforts on His behalf.
 
What more can I say but “Hallelujah, what a Savior!”
 
Ah, but perhaps a resolution is in order. Next time I’m wrestling with a weighty theological question, I’ll try not to waste time thinking it through under my own power. Instead, I’ll go straight to the Bible. After all, the Lord has provided the answer to every question of any importance to us. Questions that remain unanswered are simply not worth worrying about.

It’s an objection I’ve heard more than once over my nearly two decades as a nursing-home volunteer: How can a good and loving God allow all these people to suffer, year after year, from such relentlessly progressive diseases as dementia and Parkinson’s? Yes, He Himself suffered for mankind’s sake on the cross, but it was only for three hours; and He knew His work would then be complete, once and for all. 

Ordinarily, I respond to this objection by pointing out the “what’s in it for us” lessons so many of us have experienced: how the Lord often uses sorrow or pain to get our attention, to draw us to Himself, to usher us through the narrow gate to eternal life. And how it's not always our direct suffering, but the suffering of a loved one, that causes us to seek Him, to cry out to Him, to find comfort and truth in His response to us, and ultimately to repent and trust in His sacrifice to have paid for our sins.  

And of course this is all true enough. I’m living proof. And I’ll bet it’s been true of many born-again believers over the last 2000 years.

But of course that's only a very partial answer to this critical question. Shouldn’t we instead be looking at this singular event in human history from His perspective?

So I often return to the cross and ponder anew the three hours He hung there. After all, the Romans crucified thousands, and many of these victims suffered a lot longer than three hours. How can Christ’s anguish compare to theirs?

The answer is in what He bore on that cross: “For He made Him who knew no sin to be sin for us, that we might become the righteousness of God in Him” (2 Corinthians 5:21). He bore all mankind’s sin – past, present and future – in the process paying its penalty in full, for all time. And as a result, His beloved Father actually turned away from Him in revulsion: “My God, My God,” Jesus cried, “why have You forsaken Me?"  (Matthew 27:46).

Think for a moment about how we react when we’ve been falsely accused of even the most minor offense. We won’t rest until our good names have been cleared, right?

And yet in going to the cross, Jesus not only took the full blame for every sin that will ever be committed on this earth – so that He actually became our sin – but He also paid sin’s penalty in full.  

Think again, this time about the earthly consequences of some sinful act – something as simple as uttering a lie or speaking a few words of gossip. Then multiply those consequences by a number approaching infinity, and consider what it might be like to suffer for them not just temporally but for all eternity.  

Can we even begin to imagine what this cost the Lord? Can we possibly fathom what He suffered? 

What’s more, His ordeal lasted for far more than just a few hours. He had known for all eternity precisely how this story would end. How horrific would that denouement become as it approached? Witness this scene in Gesthemane: “And being in agony, He prayed more earnestly. Then His sweat became like great drops of blood falling down to the ground” (Luke 22:44). Luke was describing a very rare condition known as hematidrosis, thought to be caused by extreme stress and anxiety.  

These are important truths, I think – truths that should give us an even greater appreciation for what the Lord of glory did for each and every one of us on that cross, nearly 2000 years ago.  

Chances are you’ve heard something like this more than once. Maybe you’ve even said it yourself, as I did many times over the course of my 30-year career as a feminist atheist:
 
“There can’t possibly be a loving God. He never would have allowed ___________ to happen!” (Fill in the blank with whatever has broken the speaker’s heart.)
 
I was thinking the other day that the Lord certainly would have made it easier for unbelievers to embrace Him if He’d arranged things according to the teachings of the Prosperity Gospel crowd--the Name It and Claim It proponents who say that God rewards true and generous believers with problem-free and prosperous lives, while plaguing the unbelieving, the disobedient, and the stingy-towards-His-anointed with nothing but trouble.
 
Wouldn’t God see explosive and exponential growth in His kingdom if He simply erased the problems of everyone who believed in His Son?  Talk about a quick fix for the world’s ailing churches!
 
The trouble is, such a scheme would only succeed in filling those churches with cupboard love—the sort of love that is given only in response to, or in anticipation of, favors bestowed.
 
And cupboard love is about as far as you can get from what God wants from us. When Jesus said, as quoted in Matthew 22:37, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul and with all our mind,” He used a form of the Greek word “agape,” which is God’s love–nothing less than fully benevolent, astoundingly sacrificial, characterized by pure delight in the object of love.
 
Ironically, the creature who is most often accused of cupboard love is the dog. And yet he is probably the best example of agape love on this earth. He loves his master unconditionally, faithfully, endlessly, even unrequitedly if necessary. Talk about worship!
 
The best examples of cupboard love? Sadly, it would have to be us humans. And sadder still, it would have to include any Christians who have ever expected earthly rewards for their obedience or good deeds, or who have ever questioned God’s wisdom in allowing misfortune to darken their doorways.
 
I’ve certainly been guilty of exhibiting cupboard love before God. But enough is enough. From now on, I’m going to obey James 1's admonition to "count it all joy when you fall into various trials," and make my role model the lowly dog--the epitome of agape love.

Unhappy with your circumstances? Don’t just sit there—change!
 
That was my #1 takeaway from Chris Carrillo’s latest sermon for the folks attending the Christian Music Hour at Care-age of Brookfield. And it was another exceptional message, indeed.
 
Basing it on Exodus 14:15-20, Chris illustrated his talk with an allegorical tale entitled ”Who Moved My Cheese?” It was an engaging story of two mice named Sniff and Scurry, two cautious little men named Hem and Haw, a great hunger for cheese and a very challenging maze.
 
But there will be no spoilers in this post. Hear for yourself our favorite preacher’s advice on moving forward without fear:

In the summer of 2000, just months after watching Marcia Clark’s book had destroyed my O.J. theory, I began putting that silly theology of mine – as well as my mother’s faith – to the test.

At first my investigation was scattered. I didn’t have a clue how to approach this enormous task, so I just kept reading whatever looked interesting. In addition to bulldozing my way through much of C. S. Lewis’s fiction and non-fiction, I devoured a chaotic array of books from the library and bookstore of the church with the warm congregation and uplifting worship music. And I began immersing myself in my new study Bible, a fat volume with overview essays, charts, and maps as well as endless footnotes explaining what various verses mean to our lives today.

I read all these things and started to see my ideas as pretty weak – and pretty childish, based as they were on a spurious combination of fantasy and wishful thinking. And I started to gain some confidence that my mother’s faith could, after all, be true, that there really might be a heaven and that we might actually all be together again someday. Maybe I could even bank on it.

But I couldn’t be 100% certain, could I? 

And so I worried, intermittently but intensely, that it was all a myth some ancient leaders had cooked up to keep the masses in line. Or, as some of my fellow feminists would have said, a myth cooked up by men to keep their little women barefoot and pregnant and home.

Which meant that I had yet to set the whole question of atheism permanently aside.  A distressing realization: I had toyed with its negative brand of absolutism for too many years already. And as someone had said, you can’t prove a negative: Even if you know 99% of everything there is to know in the universe, how do you know that God isn’t in that last 1%?

Besides, atheism no longer had any appeal for me. I figured that marrying Dave had put the kibosh on my last remaining need for a godless universe devoid of moral absolutes.
But at first, all I had to prove God’s existence was C. S. Lewis’s argument about our instinctive understanding of a universal moral law – what some people refer to as the “argument from conscience.” It was a good argument, but I couldn’t accept it as conclusive evidence.

I kept going around in circles.

Did science eliminate any need for a Creator?

Did near-death experiences render atheism obsolete?

Might all religions be true, in their own way?

Could it be that my home-grown philosophy was right after all?

And so I returned to Square One.

It reminded me of my single days, when I would spend hours wondering whether some guy was telling me the truth or not, weighing and re-weighing the evidence, agonizing over what to do about each of three or four possibilities. I still hadn’t learned to think linearly, it seemed. 

(Was my circular thinking evidence that the eastern thought was true, after all?)

And then somewhere along the line I read that, centuries earlier, the world’s foremost philosophers had narrowed all these big questions down to the three biggest questions – the only ones that really matter:
 
1. Where did you come from?
2. What are you doing here?
3. Where are you going?
 
I had at least two answers: Science had solved #1 (from prehistoric chemical soup) and Betty [Friedan] had taken care of #2 (to become independently wealthy, protect my dignity and promote the sisterhood).

So #3 was the only outstanding issue.

Where are you going?

I’d once sidestepped this question by telling myself that writing the Great American Novel would assure my immortality; it would buy me a place in the hearts and minds of the intellectual elite for centuries to come, even if it didn’t reveal where I would be during this posthumous adulation.

But now my final destination had become enormously important, related as it was to the final destination of everyone I’d ever loved.
​
Especially my mom.

--From Heaven Without Her, pages 97-99