Category: Contemporary Short Stories

  • A Fresh Perspective – II

    A Fresh Perspective – II

    (See also A Fresh Perspective I)

    The church council didn’t know what to do. Well, that isn’t precisely true. Individually they did know what to do, but they didn’t all know the same thing, and no one plan of action was acceptable to all the members.

    This is a work of fiction. All persons, places, and things are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance of anything or anyone in the story to anything or anyone in the real world is coincidental.
    Copyright © 2012,
    Henry E. Neufeld.

    Here was their problem. They had dozens of young people coming to events at the church. They played basketball in the gym. They played softball on the softball fields. Many of them even went to Sunday School.

    The power bill on the gym was going up, and there was no money to pay it. The softball fields needed more and more maintenance, and there was no money to pay that either. The Sunday School classes needed more materials, but there was no money for that. They needed more teachers, but there were not enough volunteers.

    Some thought the problem was that the church didn’t trust in God enough. They proposed a month of fasting and prayer that God would provide the money.

    Others thought that the problem was that these were children whose parents didn’t go to the church. They wondered why they had to spend money on children whose parents weren’t interested enough to support the church with their time and money. They suggested the children should go to church wherever their parents did. They just looked blank when someone mentioned that very few, maybe none, of those parents went to church.

    Some thought they should try to get a grant somewhere, they weren’t sure where.

    Then one retired lady who had spent her entire life working with the children started asking questions.

    “Isn’t there something in the church budget we could give up?” she asked. “Perhaps we don’t need new hymnals this year.” Everyone was so stunned at this suggestion that silence fell, and she was able to continue. “Surely the children are more important than the appearance of our hymnals!” she continued.

    “And to all you praying folk. Are you going to show up to help? Will the money you save by not buying food while you fast help the budgetary problems?”

    “I know my granddaughter loves to work with children, but nobody has asked for her help. I’m told she’s too young, but is she really?” Again there was silence.

    “And has anyone considered contacting these parents? You seemed surprised at the suggestion they might not attend church. Most people in our community don’t—attend church, that is.”

    After a short pause she finished. “The only new thing I think we need here is a fresh perspective!”

    (This story is an alternative to the one I wrote for the One Word at a Time blog carnival on the word “Fresh.”)

     

  • The Stairway Going Down

    He stood looking at the hole in the ground. He could feel his hand trembling. He knew he was terrified and was embarrassed, even though there was nobody there to see.

    A stairway going down.

    That phrase was loaded with all the psychological freight of his own claustrophobia, heightened by his choice in literature, which tended to feature terrifying places, and by hundreds of dungeon adventures from fantasy role playing. The adventure party would be practically out of supplies and wounded to the point of death. Then the gamemaster would intone: “You see a stairway going down.”

    They’d pretend to lack imagination and tease one another about using the last of their power to climb down the stairway into the darkness.

    Dim. Dark. Dank. Damp. Dirty.

    This is a work of fiction. All persons and places are products of my imagination. Copyright © 2011, Henry E. Neufeld.

    All connected to “down” and all seemed to apply to the stairway in front of him. But this wasn’t a game. This wasn’t fantasy. He was actually standing in front of a stairway. It went down. It was dim. No, that wasn’t adequate. It was dark, it was damp, it was dirty.

    I could just go back to the car and call the police, he thought. I could get help. But the image was still in his mind. The light flashing to the sky as though someone had fallen holding a flashlight, or perhaps dropped one. He’d actually stopped to go and investigate. Then he was sure he heard crying, or perhaps moaning.

    The wisest course of action, he knew, was to get help. Why did he think it was urgent? What good would it do to get injured. Then he could easily end up way down some hole and nobody would know he was there.

    On the other hand he heard the words of his parents, his brothers and sisters, and associates. “A hero in his own mind.” “He can handle the fantasy world; the real world is beyond him.” “The more heroic the character, the more cowardly the player.”

    He had to go down that stairway.

    The first step was the hardest. No, that wasn’t right. It was the second. Or perhaps the third. Actually, it was always the next step. He hated the word “down” more with every step. He had even forgotten why he was trying to go down this stairway. He just focused on the next step.

    Suddenly he slipped. He threw up his arms, and hit something, then he was sliding, and he could hear rocks, or perhaps bricks falling around him. Then he landed hard. He was in complete darkness. It was bricks, not rocks. He could feel them all around him.

    It was his worst nightmare. Underground, in a cramped area, and finally buried alive. And here he was, living it.

    There was a moment when he thought he couldn’t think. He thought his mind and body were both frozen. Then he realized he was thinking about not thinking. Then he realized he was thinking more clearly than he had ever thought before.

    While he could feel bricks around him, he was still breathing easily. He felt that he was bumped and bruised, but he didn’t feel like he was bleeding. He didn’t feel any dampness. If he was really buried under a pile of bricks he wouldn’t be in as good shape as he was.

    He tried to move, and found he could. There were quite a few bricks around him, but only a few on top. It was painful to move, but not so painful that he couldn’t do it. He suspected nothing was broken, or it would hurt more.

    My mind has been making all this worse than it really is, he thought.

    A few moments of movement and tossing bricks, or rather mostly pieces of brick to the side, and he was able to stand again.

    Now where was he? He looked back, and he could see that there was still a small hole, but it offered plenty of room to crawl through. He should have a flashlight with him, but he didn’t. He did have a lighter. Why he carried a lighter, he could never explain. It was one of the things he kept in his pockets, most of which were not very useful. He wondered if he’d done it because he was so afraid of being buried underground.

    He lit the lighter, and saw that he was very near the body. Hardly had he thought “the body” than he realized that this was even more of his own nightmare scenario. It occurred to him to wonder if he was dreaming.

    Then he saw the flashlight several feet further on. He walked over and picked it up, flashing the lighter a couple of times to light the way. It was a waste of time. The flashlight was history.

    Then he went over to the body. He felt around the man’s neck (at least he thought it was a man), and thought he felt a pulse. Then he realized he really knew of nothing to do, and couldn’t really be sure he’d know the difference. He’d just heard you should be able to feel a pulse at the neck.

    Now was the time to do what he should have done in the first place, and call emergency services. “What goes down must go up,” he said, laughing as he mangled the common saying. Then he crawled up through the narrow hole and onto the stairs above.

    He was standing at the top of the stairway going down before he realized that he was no longer trembling. I could go right back down there, he thought. But he knew he needed to make that phone call. Where was his cell phone? Oh. Right there in his pocket, next to the lighter, complete with an app that would turn on the little LED light.

    I won’t mention that part to anyone, he thought, as he dialed 911. It wouldn’t do to have them realize he could have called the police at any time.

    The police wondered why he had gone down the stairs at all. “How was I supposed to know whether there really was anyone down there? I hadn’t really seen anything,” he explained.

    They explained to him that the “body” was a local gentleman who had gone for an evening walk and gotten lost. There used to be a few houses here with basements, and this was one of them. It’s a good thing for him you saw him drop that flashlight.”

    “Yeah, it is,” he said. But he didn’t mean for the guy who had fallen.

    He felt like a new man. He could handle reality, even in down in dim, dark, damp, dank spaces.

    Maybe next time he’d even remember he had a cell phone!

    (This story has been submitted to the One Word at a Time Blog Carnival – Down)

  • The Benefit of a Secular Education

    “I don’t know why it isn’t working.”

    The old man looked over at the young pastor. He saw a well-dressed young man, with an earnest but very troubled expression.

    “So that’s what you wanted to talk to me about? It isn’t working?” he asked.

    “Right. It just isn’t working, and I don’t know why. I’ve done everything I know, and I just can’t seem to connect with my congregation.”

    The old man thought for a minute. He could see that the young man was about to start talking again, but he waved him back with his hand.

    “Just what is ‘it’ that isn’t working?”

    “My ministry. My church.”

    This is a work of fiction. All persons, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination. Copyright © 2011, Henry E. Neufeld

    “You need to be more specific. What should be happening that isn’t?”

    He could see a look of impatience pass briefly over the young man’s face. The young man clearly thought it was all very obvious.

    “Well, church attendance is down since I took over the church. Membership is down. We haven’t had any professions of faith. We’ve had a few people transfer in, but not enough. We can’t meet our budget obligations. It just isn’t working.”

    “So ‘it’ is a church with good statistics—membership, budget, church attendance.”

    “Exactly! With all your experience as a pastor, I kind of expected . . .” His voice kind of faded. He had probably intended to finish with “you to know that.” But he didn’t.

    “Numbers aren’t everything, you know,” said the old man.

    “True, but there isn’t much that I can accomplish with a church that’s shrinking and that can’t pay the bills.”

    “I didn’t say numbers weren’t important, just that they aren’t the only thing.”

    There was another long pause.

    “I’m wondering,” the old man resumed, ” what you preached about last Sunday.”

    “I preached about the importance of being in church, not neglecting gathering together. It seemed to be what was needed.”

    “And what reasons did you give them to go to church?”

    “Well, besides that the Bible tells us to do so?”

    “Yes, besides that.”

    “I told them that it’s essential to our spiritual growth, to overcoming sin, and to becoming true disciples. We need encouragement from one another.”

    “Did you mention farming?”

    “No.”

    “Truck driving?”

    “No.”

    “Teaching biology?”

    “No. What do those things have to do with it?”

    “Perhaps nothing at all. How long have you known you were called to be a pastor.”

    The seeming non sequitur caught the young man off-guard. “Umm,” he said, “I think I knew when I was about 10 years old. I never told anyone till I was about 12.”

    “And what did you take in college?”

    “I took a degree in Bible. Many people questioned that decision, but I didn’t want to waste my time on things that weren’t relevant.”

    “So you went to a Christian high school, then Bible college, then seminary, and from there to the pulpit, is that correct?”

    “Yes.” He looked puzzled. This wasn’t how he expected this conversation to go. The old man had pastored many churches successfully. His reputation was that if you sent him to a large church it would get larger and more active. If you sent him to a small church it would become large. If you sent him somewhere where there was no church at all, there soon would be one. The man must have some secrets to pass on. The young man wanted those secrets.

    “And how did you pay for school?”

    “I was very blessed with that. I won scholarships that covered most of it. I have very little debt.”

    “But you never really worked while you were in school, in a job, I mean.”

    “Well, I was a teaching assistant.”

    “To a religion professor?”

    “Biblical studies. I learned a lot in that job.”

    “Oh, no doubt. But how many biblical studies professors do you have in your congregation?”

    The young man looked stunned again. “Well, none, of course.” The old man should know that much.

    “How many truck drivers do you have?”

    “I don’t know. Several, I’d think. There’s the factory and all.”

    “How many farmers?”

    “Well, again I don’t know exactly. Quite a few.”

    “Teachers?”

    “Again, we have a few.”

    “What do you know about those things?”

    “You mean the demographics of my congregation? I have a detailed report on my desk. I just don’t remember numbers well.”

    “I don’t mean demographics. I mean what do you know about truck driving, farming, and teaching. Not Bible teaching, but regular secular teaching.”

    “Well, I guess not much.” He’d thought of saying he knew something about those various topics, but he was afraid the old man would ask him what he knew, and he actually didn’t know anything about those jobs.

    “Precisely,” said the old man, as though he had made a major discovery. “You never had the benefit of a secular education.”

    “I see,” said the young man. And he didn’t like it, but he thought he did get it. “You mean I need to understand these people’s jobs so that I can find the hooks to draw them into spiritual things!”

    It was the old man’s turn to be stunned. “No! No! No!”

    “I don’t understand.”

    “You need to know about their jobs and their lives so that you can help make those things sacred.”

    The young man looked confused. “Make them sacred?”

    “Where do you think the congregation impacts the world? In the church?”

    “No, I suppose they do it at work. But I thought they should learn about spiritual things and then share those things at work. It’s my job to teach them spiritual things.”

    “True, but only partially so. It’s your job to equip them to do ministry. You can’t equip them to do ministry if you don’t understand where it is that they’re going to do ministry. They do it at the office, in the cab of a truck, on a tractor, at the market, and in many other places.”

    “I’ve tried to get more of them involved in the church . . .”

    The old man interrupted him, “And that’s where you make your mistake.”

    “But they need to be involved in the church!”

    “Yes, but it’s even more important for the church, and I don’t mean your building or your committees or your programs, but the Church, the people, to get involved in the world.”

    The young man looked at the old one for a couple of minutes. It was the first time of silence he wasn’t in a hurry to interrupt. He knew that. But he certainly hadn’t put it into practice.

    “So what do I do now. I can hardly go back and change the way I was educated.”

    “Perhaps so, but think about this. There are many ways to get a secular education. One is simply by paying attention to what people are doing. Now that you have the idea, I think you’ll think of ways to do it. And you may find it’s not all that secular after all . . .”

    (This post has been submitted to the One Word at a Time Blog Carnival – Secular.)

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  • Why Justin Quit Reading the Bible

    “I’m wondering why Justin has quit attending Bible study regularly,” said the youth pastor, after he’d settled in at the table with a cup of coffee. Wendy Schermer, Justin’s mother was sitting across from him.

    “Attending Bible study has always been voluntary. I know he hasn’t been attending much recently. He doesn’t seem to be that interested in the study any more.”

    Copyright © Henry E. Neufeld, 2011. This is a work of fiction. All events and characters are products of my imagination. Any resemblance to real persons, places, or events is purely coincidental.

    “How long ago did his attitude change?”

    “You should be able to figure that out as easily as I can.”

    “But you’re his mother.”

    “Yes, but you know when he quit attending Bible study on Sunday nights.”

    “True.” The youth pastor paused. “It’s odd that it seems to coincide with a time when our youth group has been really digging in to study the Bible. The young people are giving up other literature and focusing on serious study of God’s Word.”

    “Is Justin the only one who has quit attending?”

    “No, there are about half a dozen young people who quit about that time. I’m guessing they don’t like the new intensity in our study.”

    “You really think that?”

    “Well, with many of the young people I think it’s possible. These youth are getting rid of their secular literature and focusing in on the pure Word of God. Some of them don’t want to go there. They don’t want their lives to change that much.”

    “But Justin was quite ready to change his life as he studied. I can think of many things he did change over the last year or so. Just ask his younger sister!”

    “That’s what I was thinking. The others, maybe. But Justin? So I had to ask.”

    Wendy hadn’t been very anxious to talk to the youth pastor. She was pretty sure she was going to change churches, and she didn’t like a big argument. But the youth pastor seemed so sincere. “Do you really want to know? You may not like what I have to say.”

    The youth pastor paused a moment, startled. “Yes,” he said finally, “I really want to know.”

    “Well, you recall that speaker you had a few weeks back?”

    “Yes, I do. In fact, it was as a result of his teaching that we started digging into the Word more seriously.”

    “That was the very weekend. I don’t interfere with Justin’s study and reading very much. He’s a better reader than I am. But he told me about that weekend. He mentioned how the speaker warned them against Bibles that weren’t really the Word of God. I don’t remember the names, but I think I recall the Living Bible . . . ”

    “More likely the New Living Translation,” put in the youth pastor.

    “. . . and something called The Message. There were Bibles they were supposed to use instead. But Justin thought they were less enjoyable to read. He also mentioned some of the secular reading your speaker asked the kids to give up. Justin reads science fiction, fantasy, mysteries, and a good selection of the great literature.”

    “Yes, our speaker asked the kids to voluntarily give up that sort of thing and stick with the Bible, Christian books, and those books required for their schoolwork. That kind of books doesn’t help build character and prepare for the kingdom of heaven.”

    “Well, I think Justin doesn’t agree.”

    “You’re his mother. Do you agree?”

    “Yes, I’m his mother, but I’m not ashamed to admit that in many ways he’s smarter than I am. He reads books I can’t really understand. But many of them I can. I don’t particularly care for science fiction, but I don’t see anything wrong with what I’ve read.”

    “But that’s the problem. You don’t see anything wrong with it. But what’s right with it? What good does it do?”

    “Well, before you suggested he not read that kind of books he was also attending Bible study.”

    “It seems to me that it’s a form of addiction. When he was asked to give it up for God, he just quit reading the Bible.”

    “Who said he quit reading the Bible?”

    “I thought you did.”

    “No, I said he quit attending your study. As far as I know he still reads the Bible.”

    “Probably using those paraphrases.”

    “Well, I wouldn’t know about that. I think he tried your speaker’s suggestions for a week or so, but he told me that they were just badly written, and he didn’t see any benefit in struggling through mangled sentences so he could be closer to some theoretical idea of God’s Word. Those aren’t exactly his words, but they’re close.”

    “The danger I see here is that this is rebellion against God.”

    “You mean not attending your study is rebellion against God?”

    “Not attending Bible study is a symptom.”

    “So if he had refused to switch to one of your favored Bible versions, and had refused to burn his science fiction books, you’d still welcome him in Bible study.”

    “Of course we’d welcome him. Nobody’s perfect.”

    “And you wouldn’t spend all your time pushing him to go along with your reading list?”

    “Is that what he told you?”

    “No, he didn’t really tell me anything. I just got the impression that much of the time in your study was now spent ‘encouraging’ everyone to burn their secular books and change their choice of Bible versions.”

    “We have to encourage the young people in their discipleship,” said the youth pastor.

    “I think there you see your problem. If your time is spent telling him to burn books rather than studying the Bible, then I suspect Justin isn’t going to want to attend.”

    “But what do you think? Shouldn’t you make the choice here?”

    “Well, Justin is 16 years old, and I don’t think I’m going to order him to attend Bible study. But if I was making the choice, I think I’d make the same one.”

    “Why? Do you think you’re qualified to make a choice regarding Bible translations?”

    “Well, I don’t have a theological education like you do. I’ve never thought I was terribly smart. But I do see what is happening around me. When Justin was 14, he was nothing but trouble. I had to drag him to church. I had to practically sit on him to make him do his homework.”

    “Then he started reading the Bible . . .”

    “Actually, no. Then he borrowed a science fiction book from a friend. After that he joined the reading club at school, and began to read various other books. Then he decided to get serious about his faith, so he bought a Bible. That was about a year before you arrived at the church. He did some research and made a choice of books to use in studying. He attended Bible study right up until your speaker showed up. He tried your ideas for a couple of weeks, but they didn’t work out.”

    “I can understand if he didn’t have the will power to follow through . . .”

    Wendy interrupted. “Is that what you think? Justin has plenty of will power. He just thinks you’re wrong, and doesn’t see any reason to spend his time every week arguing with people who think they’re holier than he is.”

    “Is that what he told you?” The youth pastor was becoming angry, but he was controlling it carefully. One had to be polite to the parents of the youth, however one might feel.

    “No, he didn’t tell me anything. He just quit attending. But I know him, and I know you. I may not be book smart, but I do see things.”

    “I don’t want to anger you,” said the youth pastor after a pause. Nonetheless, she could hear the tension and anger in his voice. “But I must tell you that God is going to hold you accountable as Justin’s mother. It’s too bad he doesn’t have a father to keep him straight on these things.”

    Wendy stared at the youth pastor for a full minute. He didn’t realize it, but she was getting control of her own temper. “I guess he’ll just have to do with a mother, then. And if I do say so myself, he’s a fine young man. I thank the Lord for him.”

     

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  • Our Church is Shrinking

    “Our church is shrinking,” said the head elder, “and it’s your fault.”

    Zeb didn’t respond immediately. He’d been summoned to the church board meeting, though when he’d used the word “summoned” the head elder had objected. “We just want to talk to you,” he had said. But it felt like a summons, and this felt like a trial, only less organized.

    “Well,” said the head elder after the silence had grown uncomfortable. “Do you have anything to say?”

    “I’m not sure what makes you believe it’s my fault the church is shrinking.”

    “It seems obvious to me. We hired you to make this church grow, and now a year has passed, and we’ve lost more members this year than ever before, and of those that have joined the church not one—not one!—has stayed.”

    Copyright © Henry E. Neufeld, 2011. This is a work of fiction. All events and characters are products of my imagination. Any resemblance to real persons, places, or events is purely coincidental.

    “But this church has been shrinking for more than a decade, and shrinking faster each year. How does it become my fault?” Zeb looked truly puzzled.

    “A year ago we took a big risk,” said another man, a businessman who also acted as church business manager. “We decided that we could afford to hire a pastor of outreach to stop the bleeding. But spending all that money on your salary has proven a bad investment.”

    “Yes,” said another, “and you missed our last planning meeting as well.”

    “I did send an e-mail to let you and the pastor know I wouldn’t be available.”

    “Yes, an e-mail! I didn’t get it until after the meeting. But that meeting was important! Even critical! You had known about it for weeks. You shouldn’t have missed it.”

    Zeb really couldn’t argue here. He’d chosen to drive a homeless man to the shelter. He’d sent an e-mail because he knew they wouldn’t get it in time and so they wouldn’t be able to order him to attend the meeting. He really could have gotten someone else to drive the man to the shelter. But he just couldn’t face that meeting.

    “So you see,” said another, “we gambled on you and it looks like we lost.”

    “I see,” said Zeb. Then he paused for more than a minute. People started shifting in their seats in discomfort as the time extended, but it did look like Zeb was gathering his thoughts.

    “I’m afraid I’ve been operating under false pretenses,” he said finally. “The only excuse I can give is that I didn’t know it. But I should have. I should have known what you were doing.”

    “What do you mean ‘what we were doing?’” asked the head elder. “We’re talking about you.”

    “I’m wondering if you have the letter you sent describing this job.”

    “I can’t say that I have a copy,” said the head elder. “Why?”

    “Well, I can’t recall anything in there that said I was supposed to make this church grow. If I had seen anything like that, I wouldn’t have applied for the job. If I’d suspected anything like that was in your mind, I would have never taken it when it was offered.”

    “But we hired you as outreach pastor!” The head elder was somewhere between shock and anger.

    “And if you expect an outreach pastor to ‘grow your church,’ then you’re badly mistaken. I can’t grow your church and neither can any other person you might hire.”

    “Don’t pretend that everyone is as incompetent as you are,” said the businessman.

    “Incompetent? I suppose I deserve that. I should have realized just what you were up to long ago and done something about it. But I was so happy to be doing outreach and getting paid for it, I didn’t realize.”

    “You keep saying things like, ‘what we’re up to,’” said the head elder. We’re not “up to” anything, except that we expect you to do your job.

    “But you didn’t include ‘make our church grow’ in your job description.”

    “I’d think it was obvious.”

    “Oh, but it isn’t. In fact, it’s obviously wrong!” There was a gasp in the room. One didn’t tell the head elder he was wrong in that direct a way.

    “So what do you think your job is?” asked the head elder after he’d recovered enough. He was sure they were going to fire this guy before the meeting was over.

    “Well, the description you provided in your letter said things like ‘building the kingdom of God in this community’ and ‘reaching the lost for Christ,’ not to mention ‘leading the congregation in showing Christ’s love.’ I have tried to do those things with God’s help.”

    “But if you had been doing all that, our church would have grown!” said the businessman. “As it is, few enough people visit, even less come back a second time, and the two families who did join left the church in a few weeks. So somewhere in there you’re not doing your job.”

    Zeb tried hard to stay calm, but with that last line something broke in him. He had always wondered if there was such a thing as righteous anger, and he was in enough control to wonder if his anger right then was righteous or not.

    “I think I can explain that,” he said in clipped tones.

    “I’d really like to hear it, said the businessman before Zeb could continue.

    “I really doubt you do,” said Zeb, and continued before he could be interrupted. “I remember each and every person I’ve brought to this house. One man came to church in jeans and a t-shirt. One of you told him he wasn’t dressed appropriately, and should make sure to wear appropriate clothing next time he was in church ‘out of respect for God,’ was the phrase, I believe.

    “He didn’t own any better clothing, so he just never came back. Fortunately, I found him another church that was willing to let him attend in whatever clothing he had. Well, actually, the members got together and found him a new wardrobe. He has a job now as well.”

    “But you’re supposed to be bringing people here!’ exclaimed the businessman, “You’re not hired to grow other churches.”

    “I did bring him here, in case you hadn’t noticed. I’d even talked to some members and started to collect clothes for him. But you ran him off before I could finish.”

    The businessman was red in the face and opened his mouth to respond, but Zeb just rolled right over him.

    “Then there were the Jeffries. Their family actually joined the church, but one of you caught Mr Jeffries having a beer and told him he was misrepresenting Christ and the church by drinking. He decided he’d rather be somewhere else. But you see, nobody had told Mr. Jeffries that people at this church don’t drink beer.”

    “You should have taken care of that,” said the head elder, just short of shouting.

    “True, but you see, I can’t find anything in the stated beliefs and practices of this church that says one can’t have a beer. It’s just sort of something you do. Or don’t do.”

    “So,” said the businessman, “you’re saying we’re running people off.” He was a practical man.

    “Yes,” said Zeb, “you’re running people off.”

    “I think you’re bringing in the wrong people,” said the head elder.

    There was silence. Nobody wanted to put it that explicitly. The head elder had spoken without really thinking. It was something you did, but not something you named.

    “I think,” said Zeb, “that the only honest thing for me to do is give you my resignation. The job you hired me to do can’t be done by someone hired. It has to be done by the whole church. And as it is, I wouldn’t want to do it. I don’t believe there are any wrong people. That you think there are”—he looked straight at the head elder—”is something I believe you should make a matter of serious prayer and seeking.”

    With that, Zeb stood up and left the room. He tried to do it courteously, but he wasn’t sure he succeeded. He just knew he couldn’t waste time this way for another minute.

    “Well,” said the head elder after Zeb had left, “what should we do?”

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  • The God-Talk Club Faces the End

    “So I guess I won’t be seeing you any more after tonight,” said Bob Norman, looking at Jerry.

    “And why would you say that?” asked Jerry, though his expression and tone indicated he wasn’t surprised.

    “May 21,” said Mac.

    “I expect May 21 will pass as many other May 21s have passed before,” said Jerry.

    “You didn’t expect to find anyone here that believes that nonsense, did you?” asked Mandy.

    Ellen chuckled. “Not likely,” she said.

    “So how am I supposed to tell the difference between one nut and another?” asked Bob, grinning to take away the sting. “Seriously, Jerry here believes any number of things I find irrational. He already knows that.” Jerry nodded. “In fact, you believe the rapture will happen soon, don’t you?”

    “Actually,” said Jerry, “I don’t believe in the rapture. I believe in a single second coming at a time nobody can predict. We are to live as though it might happen tomorrow, but we don’t know when it will happen.”

    “That’s weird,” said Bob. “I thought all Christians believed in the rapture. Do you believe Jesus might come back in your lifetime?”

    This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between these characters and anyone in the real world is totally coincidental. Copyright © 2011, Henry E. Neufeld

    “As I said, I don’t know. I’m not supposed to know.”

    “What about the rest of you? Do you believe in the rapture?” asked Bob.

    Ellen shook her head.

    Mandy said “Not me.”

    Mac said, “I don’t count.”

    Mark said, “I’m not sure.”

    “You’re never sure,” put in Jerry.

    “I guess I’m the odd woman out, then,” said Justine.

    “So doesn’t it bother you that you’re the only one who believes that Jesus is coming back to take you off to heaven?” asked Bob.

    “No, and I think you’re missing something. Nobody said Jesus wasn’t coming back. We just disagree on the details and how last day events fit together. I believe in the rapture. I’m premillenial. Jerry, I’d guess, is amillenial. It doesn’t matter to me, as long as we believe Jesus is coming back.”

    “So if you don’t believe in the rapture, what does it mean that Jesus is coming back?” asked Bob.

    “If you’re going to call them nuts, you really should get your varieties straight,” said Mac. “And believe me, I think this end of the world stuff is nuts in almost any form. But there are Christians who believe in a second coming where everything is open and public, and everything ends at once. There are other Christians who believe that all the ‘saved’ people will be taken to heaven and others will be left behind for the tribulation time.”

    “How do you keep this stuff straight?” asked Bob, but everyone could tell it was rhetorical.

    “On the other hand there are Christians who believe that God’s kingdom simply wins and takes over in the end, like leaven working its way through dough.” Mandy could always be counted on to provide the unexpected answer.

    “I like that one,” said Mark.

    “But do you think it’s true?” asked Jerry.

    “I really don’t know,” said Mark.

    “It’s pretty complicated, as a result of the number of different Bible books that talk about it in inconsistent ways,” said Mandy.

    “I wouldn’t call it inconsistent,” said Jerry. “You just have to understand what applied to what time. Most of the prophecies applied to the immediate time frame, and then give a quick look at the final consummation right at the end.”

    “It looks pretty inconsistent to me,” said Mark.

    “I still believe in the rapture. I used to think it was obvious, but after taking a class in eschatology here at the seminary, I discovered other ways to understand the texts. So I understand why people believe different things. It’s not clear, so differences of opinion are inevitable.”

    “But isn’t this something you should get clear?” asked Bob.

    “Why?” asked Mandy.

    “Well, it seems important! It’s the end of the world, after all!”

    “But what can I do about it?”

    “Well, you could get ready, I suppose.”

    “But that’s precisely what she’s supposed to be doing anyhow,” interrupted Jerry.

    “Exactly,” said Mandy.

    “In fact, if she didn’t, that would put her sincerity in question,” said Mark.

    “So you have to get it right and be sincere about it?” asked Bob.

    “You have to be real,” said Jerry.

    “If you don’t mean it, what good is it?” asked Mandy.

    “So let me get this straight,” said Mac. “I thought Christians were saved by faith. You’re telling me you have to do things?”

    “I’d think ‘actual faith’ would be a good term. If you say ‘I believe’ and you’re lying, it’s not much good.” Mandy looked at Jerry.

    “For once I pretty much agree, though I’d expand it a bit. The reformation saying was ‘saved by faith alone, but not by a faith that is alone.’ That suggests the faith must be real and that real faith results in real actions.”

    “So if you don’t do good deeds, you won’t be saved,” said Bob.

    “There will be good fruit in your life, yes,” said Jerry.

    “So you earn your way into heaven by doing those good deeds.”

    “No, you do good deeds because God has saved you.”

    “This is another one I don’t understand. Do you all agree on this?” asked Bob.

    Everyone nodded. “I think we might disagree on a few terms, but in general, we’d all agree with that,” said Justine.

    “So the idea is that you’re supposed to live as though Jesus might come and put an end to it all at any moment,” said Bob.

    “Precisely. Because Jesus is already here with us in any case,” said Jerry.

    “So why do various groups, like Adventists, make predictions about the end times at all? It just makes you look silly,” said Bob.

    “Well, Adventists are a small group. Most Christians don’t make such predictions,” said Jerry.

    “Adventists only made the one prediction–well, really two–back in the mid 19th century. Now they don’t do that any more,” said Mandy.

    “But they still harp on this ‘soon’ thing in terms of thinking it will happen in their lifetimes or within just a few years,” said Jerry.

    “But so do many other groups of Christians,” said Mandy.

    “And that’s what I don’t get,” said Bob. “I realize it’s easy to beat up on this Camping guy for giving such a precise prediction that will certainly turn out to be false. But other haven’t there been other dates?”

    “Some people thought Jesus would return by 1988 because Israel was restored as a nation in 1948, and they thought it must happen in a generation after that, you know, ‘this generation will not pass till all these things are fulfilled.’ I can’t remember precisely where that’s from.” It was the most Mark had added to the discussion for several sessions.

    “And that’s what seems crazy to me. Constantly going back to your holy book for a new timeline when all the timelines have failed before,” said Bob.

    “Which,” said Jerry, “Is why I don’t believe we should do anything of the sort. And the passage in question is part of what Jesus said about the last days in Matthew 24, Mark 13, and Luke 21. You quoted Matthew 24:34. That’s also where it says nobody knows the day or the hour (verse 36), but the 1988 folks thought they avoided that by saying that they weren’t giving a day and an hour, but only a year, and that as a deadline, not a specific year.”

    “Sounds like weasel-wording to me,” said Bob. “It seems like a pretty clear way to say you won’t know when.”

    “I agree,” said Jerry.

    “Mark it on your calendar folks,” said Ellen. “Bob and Jerry agree!”

    “I think it’s interesting that there’s all this hype about May 21, and here in a group like this I don’t find anyone that believes it,” said Bob.

    “I doubt you’d find anyone in any of the churches we attend. It’s a media circus. There are very few people who actually believe it.” Jerry didn’t even bother looking around the group, he was so sure of their agreement.

    “Absolutely,” said Mandy.

    “A couple folks in my church were disturbed enough to ask me, but as soon as I quoted a couple of the texts we’ve used here, they understood,” said Justine.

    “Well,” said Mac, “I’m going to have to be the first to leave today. I, for one, think we can continue the discussion next week!”

    “Yes,” said Bob. “Since you’re all going to be here after all, I’d like to know what you think about hell. Will God really fry sinners for all eternity, just for being wrong?”

    “I wouldn’t put it that way,” said Jerry. But the group was breaking up.

     

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  • Dying for a Bad Man

    Drooping spray of pink double roses, probably ...
    Image via Wikipedia

    “OK, Grandpa, why the h … heck are we here again?” The words were polite enough as the 17-year-old addressed his grandfather. The tone wasn’t.

    “Because you enjoy driving other people around in your car, and I’m paying for your gas.” The grandfather’s words were equally sharp and direct. It was how their relationship worked, much to the embarrassment of the boy’s parents.

    “OK, first point goes to you. But you know what I mean. I’d take you anywhere in the city and you know it. You could be looking out over the ocean. You could be in the park with green grass and trees. But you’re here in this run-down alley, messing around with those–what are they?–wanna-be roses?”

    “I am.”

    “But why?”

    “I like it here. I feel peace here. I feel life here.”

    “But why?”

    “What’s gotten into you today? You’d usually be in your car with the stereo turned up. Why do you care?”

    “It just seems strange. Every month or so you have me bring you here and you tend those roses. Why nobody has just dug them up, I don’t know. It’s just weird.”

    “You see that cross there, painted on the wall?”

    “Yeah.”

    “What does it say?”

    “It says some dude died here, 40 years ago.”

    “Thanks for the translation. Frank Baczkowski was my partner. He died right there.” He pointed to the middle of the alley.

    “You’re coming to the place where your partner died? Forty years ago?”

    “Yes.”

    “You feel peace?”

    “Yes.”

    “Life?”

    “Yes.”

    “Grandpa, we need to get you checked out. You’re going senile.”

    He chuckled. “There are worse things than dying.”

    “So he was a cop, right? Was he shot?”

    “Yes. He stepped out into the path of a bullet …”

    “Stupid!”

    “… to stop one man from shooting another.”

    “Oh. Was that you?”

    “No. I was right over there.” He pointed further down the alley. “There were some garbage cans between me and the shooter.”

    “But this Frank whatever dude, he saved someone’s life.”

    “Yes.” The old man went on tending the rose bushes.

    “Was it someone important?”

    “No, I suppose not.”

    “Was he a good person?”

    “No.”

    “Why?”

    “He ended up spending the rest of his life in jail.”

    “Sounds awful. I wouldn’t want to be here.”

    “True.”

    “OK. I can tell you’re in a mood. When you’re happy, you’re sarcastic. When you’re pissed at me, you go all quiet.”

    “Do you really want to know what happened?”

    “Yes. Yes, I think I do.”

    “It’s fairly simple. Frank and I were partners.  We were in the alley checking something out. I don’t even remember what it was. There was junk and garbage cans all over the place. Suddenly a man jumps out further down the alley and starts running, and another just appears in that end and starts shooting at him. Frank says to me, ‘I’ll distract him, you shoot him.’ I say ‘OK.’ So how does Frank distract him? He steps into the middle of the alley and he stops the next bullet. He yelled at the shooter, I assume to identify himself as a cop and to tell him to stop, but the bullet hit him before he got very far. Then I shot the bad guy. It turned out later they were rival criminals having a dispute.”

    He paused for a few moments. “There was a lot of debate about what Frank did. Some said he shouldn’t have given his life for such scum. Some said he couldn’t have known. Others said he should have found a way to stop the shooting without dying as he did it. I don’t know. There were only a few seconds. It happened. Frank was dead.”

    “But why do you find peace here?”

    “Because for all the reasons that shooting was a bad idea, it was pure Frank. He wouldn’t have cared whose life he saved. He wouldn’t have cared about the debates over how he did it. I know exactly what he would have said. He’d say, ‘It was the only way to be sure.’”

    “But at least you killed the bad guy.”

    “No, actually, I didn’t.”

    “You missed?”

    “I shot him, but he survived.”

    “What happened to him?”

    “Oh, he was executed for the murder.”

    “OK, but I still don’t see why you like this place.”

    “Frank and I had been going down hill. We were both drinking heavily, and I was neglecting my family. Your dad will remember those times. I was always at work, but sometimes when I was ‘at work’ I was at the bar. After what Frank did, I decided I’d been given a new chance at life, and I took it.”

    “But you never were rich. You never had it easy. Dad says he made all the money.”

    “He’s right. I stayed a cop until I retired. It wasn’t easy. Your grandmother worried every day about whether I’d come home. But I had an example to follow. Things got better.”

    “It still seems a waste. Things should be easier.”

    “I know you feel that way. You’ve gotten everything free. You don’t understand what it means to work hard for something to go through despair, and then come out alive on the other side. I do. Your father does. You don’t. It’s like when Jesus died. The disciples went through despair, they had to wait, but when Easter Sunday morning came, there was a new power, something they wouldn’t have had if they didn’t go through the dark times.”

    “I like it easy! And besides, I don’t go to church.”

    “But consider this one thing,” said the old man, as he finished with the rose bushes, then watched as the afternoon sun reached them. It was the one place in the alley that got enough, almost enough, sunlight. “Which of us is happier?”

    (This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of the events and persons to those in the real world is purely coincidental. Copyright © 2011 Henry E. Neufeld.)

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  • Our Pastor is Lazy

    Our Pastor is Lazy

    “You know why I wanted to talk to you today?” said Jim. His intonation indicated a question, but Emily Wall, Rev. Emily Wall, knew she was expected to know.

    “Yes, sir,” she said.

    Jim Evans, district superintendent looked across at the young lady on the other side of his desk. She had no right to look so calm and poised, even comfortable, under the circumstances. Truth be told, he felt a little intimidated by her. That PhD in New Testament from a prestigious university along with her intelligence and self-possession just seemed out of place in someone so young.

    “You can call me Jim,” he said. He’d said that many times before, but she was always a little formal with her superiors in the church organization.

    “Yes, Jim, I do understand.”

    Jim wondered why he felt that there was hostility in the atmosphere of the room. Emily seemed calm and was not challenging his authority in any way, yet he felt challenged. “Your church is going to ask that you not be reappointed, but they’ve asked me to talk to you first, before they make this official. This is entirely informal.”

    Jim waited for Emily to say something, but she simply sat there. Why couldn’t she take her cue? It was time for her to ask what she needed to do, how she could be reverse the decision of the SPR committee.

    “Well,” he said after a few moments, “your evaluation by the members of your congregation is not good. The members say that you’re arrogant, pushy, and, worst of all, lazy.” Jim thought he sensed a little bit of a reaction on the last word, but he wasn’t sure. She still looked peaceful. Again, she didn’t react.

    “Do you have any response to those comments?”

    “I’m not sure. I don’t believe I’ve been any of those things. I’ve been given a number of complaints, but I’d rather hear more specifics. Why do they think I’m arrogant?”

    This is a work of fiction. All persons, places, churches, and events are products of my imagination.
    Copyright © 2011, Henry E. Neufeld

    “Well, they mention here your emphasis on your doctoral degree. ‘Throwing it in our faces,’ is one comment.”

    “But I haven’t made anything of my doctorate. Other than my resume, where it’s kind of required, I don’t believe I’ve mentioned it at all.”

    “But it’s on the church sign.”

    “Yes, but it was put there without my permission, and I’ve asked to have it removed. In fact, I was promised it would be, but it just has never happened. It’s possible that I got a bit pushy about getting it removed.”

    Jim grinned at her reference to the second complaint. He wasn’t surprised. He’d never heard her say anything about her degree either. It was there. She’d done it. She was, in fact, brilliant. But you’d never know about it unless you read the actual record. “OK, I see that.”

    “Actually,” Emily continued, volunteering something for the first time, “I asked that they remove my name from the sign entirely. I don’t see any need for my name on the sign. What does that accomplish? And the way it is now just looks pretentious: ‘Rev. Dr. Emily Wall, PhD, Senior Pastor?’ That’s … I don’t have a word for it. It makes me shudder every time I see it. I’m the only pastor, so I suppose I’m ‘senior’ but Reverend Doctor?” She’d showed an emotion other than calm for the first time in the conversation.

    “They’re proud of their pastor,” said Jim.

    “Yet they want to get rid of her.”

    “Well, not precisely. They want to make an arrangement to work with you. But before we look at that, let’s look a bit more at why they say you’re pushy. It’s not just about the sign. They say you have asked every mission committee meeting what they’re going to do to be missionaries before the next meeting.”

    “Yes, I ask that.”

    “Every meeting?”

    “Yes.”

    “But why approach it that way?”

    “Because they aren’t doing anything to be missionaries between meetings. The mission committee meets to distribute the mission budget money to various causes. Then they talk about how they can raise more money. Sometimes they come up with ideas, but they never implement them. But more importantly, they don’t actually do anything. They want to give away a little money, but they don’t want to get involved.”

    “Well, perhaps that’s their role. Not everyone can go.”

    “I think everyone can do something. I think everyone should do something. There are dozens of projects that could be undertaken within a couple of miles of the church.”

    “But couldn’t you come up with a more gentle and tactful way of bringing it up?”

    “I tried tact. My predecessor tried tact. So did his. I wanted to get their attention.”

    “You did, but not in a good way.”

    “Why do you say it’s not a good way?”

    “Because they’re going to ask not to have you appointed again. You can’t do any good at all if you’re gone.”

    “Perhaps I’ll do some good somewhere else.”

    “I don’t think I like that dismissive attitude.”

    “I didn’t mean to be dismissive. It’s important to me to try to get the members of the church to be disciples, and I believe that means being missionaries, whether it’s down the block or around the world. If doing so offends them, I’ll have to live with that. I don’t want to come up on judgment day and have Jesus ask me whether I ever told them they were called to be missionaries.”

    “I see. I do think you could find a better way to do it. But let’s go on to the next issue. They think you’re lazy. Do you know why they think that?”

    “Yes, that one I do know. I only preached at two services in the last two months.”

    “That’s what the lay leader told me, but I wasn’t sure whether I should believe it. Why didn’t you preach those Sundays? Were you sick?”

    “No, I wasn’t sick, and I was right there in the congregation. I had lay speakers preach on those Sunday mornings.”

    “Lay speakers.” Jim paused. “I know you’ve really pushed lay speaking in your church, but if I had known that was happening earlier, I would have put a stop to it. You’re expected to be in the pulpit regularly on Sunday morning.”

    “I think that’s wrong.”

    “Wrong? It’s our standard practice.”

    “The standard practice is wrong.” He was amazed that it didn’t sound arrogant. The conviction behind the sentence seemed to be beyond arrogance–absolute conviction. Then she continued. “When I arrived at that church there was only one lay speaker, and he had never spoken at anything. I arranged to have him preach for the first time. His training was not really that good, and I spent hours helping him with his sermon. He did very well. Now we have half a dozen lay speakers. That first lay speaker is now working full time at another church.”

    “Where? I didn’t know that!”

    “It’s a small non-denominational church, but it has doubled in membership since he started preaching there. I think they’re going to ordain him.”

    “So it’s not a Methodist church then. You know we didn’t lay hands on you so you could send members to other churches. Your job is to build the church to which you’re assigned.”

    “My job? Perhaps. But my call is to make disciples. My call is to equip the church for ministry. That man was ready to go out and serve. He just needed the confidence and a push. He needed someone to recognize what God had gifted him and called him to do.”

    “But what about those other lay speakers. Do you have to have them preaching all that often? Perhaps you could have a lay revival every year and give them the chance to learn.”

    “I don’t think that would be enough. To learn to preach the gospel you need to preach the gospel. Where better to learn than in your home church?”

    “But what about the ministry to your own members. I got a separate letter from one of your church members. He brought a business associate to visit the church, and a lay speaker preached. He had hoped to have the man hear one of your sermons. Don’t you think the impression you make on visitors is important?”

    “Yes, I think it’s important. But the impression I want to give is not of my intelligence or my speaking ability, but of my commitment to Christ.”

    “Of course we want them to see your commitment to Christ. We want you and the church to be committed to Christ. But people don’t necessarily look at the things we want them to see. The church member who wrote the letter hoped his friend, a prominent businessman, would join the church. But he wasn’t interested in hearing lay speakers.”

    “Again, I believe my job is to equip the church, the whole church for ministry. To do that I need ministry for them to do. For those called to preach, I need to give them the opportunity.”

    “But you’re talking about working yourself out of a job. If the pastor isn’t in the pulpit, the people won’t think she is needed.”

    “I’d love not to be needed in that sense, but I don’t think it’s going to happen any time soon. I’ve spent more time with each of those lay speakers before they preached than I would spend preparing my own sermon.”

    “But the one thing the people really like about you is your preaching. Yet that’s precisely what you won’t give them. What do you expect them to do?”

    “I expect them to get into ministry themselves. In evaluating myself, I would not rate my preaching as all that effective. I entertain people. I’m good at fashioning a speech that they like, but I’m not that good at getting people moving.”

    “Well, you do have your fans. I know the district coordinator for lay speakers thinks you’re one of the greatest. He wants to make sure you’re reappointed somewhere in the district so he can use you at training events.”

    “I appreciate that.”

    “Unfortunately, you don’t have many fans at the church.”

    “So why didn’t they just recommend I not be reappointed?”

    “I think they’re rather proud to have a 26 year old pastor who has a PhD from a prestigious university. That’s probably why they put so much emphasis on the sign.”

    “But it’s the wrong reason for them to want to keep a pastor.”

    “You may have to work with whatever reason they have.”

    Again, there was an awkward pause as Emily didn’t offer any further thoughts.

    “What they’ve proposed is a covenant for next year.”

    “I believe I’ve seen this.”

    “Well, there are several major points. First, they want you to preach 48 out of the 52 Sundays during the coming year.  I believe this is quite reasonable. I’ve known pastors to commit to 50.”

    Again Emily added nothing.

    “They want you to commit to personally doing all the hospital visitation. They want additional church office hours.”

    “But they don’t make use of the hours I am present.”

    “Nonetheless they want more hours. What are you doing with your time anyhow? You’re not preaching, you’re not doing visitation, you’re apparently not in your office. What do you do?”

    “Well, it’s not true that I don’t do visitation. What I have been doing is taking gifted church members with me and then letting them do visitation on their own. I’m often not in the office because I’m doing some of those mission projects that I want the members to get involved in.”

    “But I thought you couldn’t get the church involved in those missions.”

    “No, I couldn’t get the mission committee involved. I have church members out serving in the community every day, and I work with them.”

    “So you do it without the approval of the mission committee.”

    “I don’t think I need the committee to approve my going to a soup kitchen with a few members and serving people.”

    “But the mission committee probably thinks you need their approval.”

    “Did they complain?”

    “No.”

    “They wouldn’t.”

    “Yes,” said Jim after a moment. “That wouldn’t fit with the pattern.”

    “Why haven’t I heard from any of these other members, you know, the ones who are out doing service projects with you?”

    “I think it might be because they’re busy doing things. And they’re not really all that knowledgeable about church politics. Some of them may not even know one can complain to the district superintendent.”

    “Well, it doesn’t matter a great deal. The people who have the power are the ones who are complaining and they’re demanding that you sign this covenant they’ve proposed or they’re going to ask that you not be reappointed.”

    “I see.”

    “I think it’s your best option. We need you where you are. That church needs you. The only way you can continue in the ministry God has called you to is to accept these conditions.”

    “So in order to be permitted to do ministry I have to agree not to do it?”

    “I wouldn’t put it like that. I’d suggest that you take a little more time. Work more slowly and carefully.”

    “Pastors have been doing that for years. It hasn’t worked.”

    “It’s the only option.”

    “But that’s not true, is it?”

    “What do you mean?”

    “The bishop can appoint me where he wants me. He can go against the church’s recommendation.”

    “Is that what you’re expecting?”

    “I’m not really expecting anything. I’m just pointing out that the SPR committee of that one church doesn’t have the final say.”

    “I’ll tell you not to expect it. Your choice is clear. Sign the covenant, or plan to be reappointed elsewhere, probably to a smaller church.”

    He pushed the document across the desk toward her …

  • The God-Talk Club: Naturalism and Miracles

    Prevailing model of the origin and expansion o...
    Is it just an appearance of age?Image via Wikipedia

    “Hey guys, I have this quote from Albert Mohler about evolution,” said Bob.

    “So let’s hear it,” said Mac.

    Bob quoted:

    As I have stated repeatedly, I accept without hesitation the fact that the world indeed looks old. Armed with naturalistic assumptions, I would almost assuredly come to the same conclusions as BioLogos and the evolutionary establishment, or I would at least find evolutionary arguments credible. But the most basic issue is, and has always been, that of worldview and basic presuppositions. The entire intellectual enterprise of evolution is based on naturalistic assumptions, and I do not share those presuppositions. Indeed, the entire enterprise of Christianity is based on supernaturalistic, rather than merely naturalistic, assumptions. There is absolutely no reason that a Christian theologian should accept the uniformitarian assumptions of evolution. In fact, given a plain reading of Scripture, there is every reason that Christians should reject a uniformitarian presupposition. The Bible itself offers a very different understanding of natural phenomena, with explanations that should be compelling to believers. In sum, there is every reason for Christians to view the appearance of the cosmos as graphic evidence of the ravages of sin and the catastrophic nature of God’s judgment upon sin. (Quote of the Day on Jesus Needs New PR – while this story is fiction, the quote is real, as is, of course, Dr. Albert Mohler!)

    “It seems pretty unremarkable to me,” said Jerry.

    “It sounds to me like he’s saying God lied and we can’t really do science,” said Mark.

    “How is that?” asked Jerry.

    “If God makes the universe appear old, but it isn’t, what’s the purpose? It seems deceptive.”

    “Maybe he’s testing our faith,” said Justine.

    “Testing your faith?” asked Bob, puzzled.

    “Yes. He’s trying to see if we’ll believe him or not.”

    “But Justine,” said Mark, “it seems that he’s asking us whether we believe him or our senses.”

    “I’d say it’s more like a test as to whether you believe an ancient book written by primitive people, or the best evidence of your own senses,” put in Mac.

    “It seems to me,” said Jerry slowly, “that we’re making an assumption here. Why would God need to make the physical universe at any particular time in its history? Why is the default position that it should look its actual age?”

    “Why not make the universe look just the age it is?” asked Mark.

    This is a work of fiction. All persons and events, with the exception of the reference to and quote from Dr. Albert Mohler, are products of my imagination.

    The story is part of the God-Talk Club Series.

    Copyright © 2011, Henry E. Neufeld

    “Well, lets say God created more people than just humans here on earth. Let’s say he also creates an intelligent race on a planet that orbits a sun a couple of billion light years from here. If he made the universe look like it was just 6,000 years old, the distance would have to be very small. So I would think the universe needs to have the appearance of age in order to accommodate the space for all of God’s creation.”

    “But how would that work with oil and coal? Those imply that there was death, whereas in your scenario, God wouldn’t have created life that early. Yet he plants the remains of life under the soil so we’ll see evidence that there was life way back then.”

    “Well, he had to provide oil somehow,” said Jerry. “Why do you choose one method over another?”

    “I don’t suppose we could be wrong about what formed the oil, could we?” said Justine, cutting Jerry off.

    “I was about to say,” Jerry continued, “that an alternative explanation there was that geological formations were created by the flood, so, as Justine says, oil might have been produced in a different way than modern scientists believe.”

    Bob was shaking his head. “This is just amazing. All of science is swept aside because your book must be true! Unbelievable!”

    “I bet Mandy doesn’t have any problems with it at all. Do you, Mandy?” said Mac.

    “No, I don’t. I have no problem with God using evolution to create and diversity life.”

    “Well, technically, evolution isn’t the process that creates life. That’s abiogenesis,” said Mac.

    “On the contrary,” said Bob, “while the processes may be somewhat different, some of the same principles of variation plus selection may well apply. We just don’t know precisely–or even generally–how it works.”

    “Yet you believe it happened,” said Jerry, looking puzzled. “Why is that?”

    “It seems pretty clear to me,” said Bob. “There’s life. It must have gotten here somehow. We have a number of excellent leads, so it’s not unreasonable to suppose one or another will work out.”

    “That seems to me to be a rather incredible statement of faith.”

    “I suppose you drive a car,” Bob responded.

    “Yes, I do. But don’t try comparing the way a car works to theories of abiogenesis.”

    “No, that isn’t my point. Is it faith that makes you believe your car will run?”

    “No, I know how the car works, and it has worked before.”

    “Precisely! I know how science works. In one area after another ignorance has been displaced by leads and ideas, and then finally to explanations. I believe it will work this way too. You call that faith. I call it learning from experience.”

    “But you still trust science. Scientists have been wrong so many times. Why do you think you have it right now?” This came from Justine.

    “Oh, I have no doubt that,” said Bob. “I’m wrong about many things. What I do know is that science has successfully solved problems and come up with new information. And many of those ‘wrong’ answers were quite workable in their context. Newtonian physics handles quite a lot of problems even if we do know its limitations now.”

    “I want to get back to an earlier point,” said Jerry. “I still maintain that Bob’s statement is a statement of faith. He believes in science. He believes it can solve everything. I can solve many problems on my calculator, but no matter how many I solve, it doesn’t mean I can solve everything. Science can solve many puzzles, but that doesn’t mean it can solve everything.”

    “But the problems you can’t solve with your calculator are of a different nature than the ones you can,” said Bob. “I think the origin of life is a similar problem to the ones we have already solved. I see no reason why it cannot be solved as well.”

    “To me the creation of life is a very different problem from birth even of new species,” said Jerry. “But I also want to go back to an earlier point that Mark made. Mark, why would you say that Dr. Mohler’s statement makes science impossible. Certainly many people who believe as he does do carry out scientific research.”

    “One consistent thing about people is that they are inconsistent,” said Mandy.

    “Let Mark answer,” said Jerry.

    “If God lied in one area–the appearance of age–then how can we trust anything else. He could have set up the evidence to mislead us intentionally.” Mark looked thoughtful and troubled.

    “I don’t see how God is lying,” said Jerry. “We’re misinterpreting the data.”

    “But it seems to me that God is intentionally making us misinterpret the data. God could quite easily create the universe 12 or 13 million years ago and then create life now. Then it would be what it appeared to be. I just don’t like the idea that God is making it impossible for us to use our senses.”

    “But Dr. Mohler argues that some of this is the result of sin,” said Justine. “The universe is messed up because of sin. That’s why we can’t interpret it correctly.”

    “Or even more,” Bob added, “because we’re sinful we can’t interpret the data correctly.”

    “But what does sin have to do with the appearance of age?” asked Mandy.

    “The flood is certainly a result of sin according to the Bible,” said Jerry. “If it produced the appearance of age in the rocks, that appearance would be a result of sin.”

    “Well, scientifically, the idea that a worldwide flood created the oilfields and coal deposits is quite ludicrous,” said Bob.

    “You’re sure that’s not something that will be revised,” said Justine.

    “In general, revisions of scientific theories don’t involve completely invalidating well established laws,” said Bob. “They usually result in adjusting or refining. No, I don’t find it likely that science will be revised sufficiently to allow a worldwide flood to explain geological features such as oil fields.”

    There was a pause. “What I don’t understand, Mandy,” Bob continued, “is how you can stomach being associated with someone like Dr. Mohler, when you know what he’s said is nonsense.”

    “I have the same problem,” said Mark.

    “I don’t think what he said is nonsense. I disagree. I’m not embarrassed to call him a brother in Christ. That may not mean that much to you, Bob, but I think Jerry and Justine can understand what I’m saying. I don’t agree with his comment about naturalistic assumptions, because I believe in God, I think as much as he does. But I can disagree, even vehemently disagree, without despising.”

    “I guess we’ll have to discuss ‘naturalistic assumptions’ some other time,” said Jerry. “I don’t see how you get away from them.”

    “I have no problem with science sticking with naturalistic assumptions. If they didn’t, what would theologians have to do?” Mandy was grinning.

    But it was time for the group to part for the evening.

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  • The God-Talk Club – New Year’s Resolutions

    Two New Year's Resolutions postcards
    Image via Wikipedia

    “So what’s your New Year’s resolution,” asked Ellen, looking at Mac.

    “I don’t do New Year’s resolutions. Come to think of it, I don’t do resolutions at all. I figure I am who I am.”

    “Let your yea be yea and your nay, nay,” intoned Jerry.

    “Trying to make me into a Christian, Jerry?” asked Mac.

    “No. Well, yes, but this wasn’t an example of it. It sounds to me like you’re living like that text.”

    “Making a resolution just makes me tense. If I really decide to do it, I do it. Making it a resolution just makes it harder.”

    “Well, I like to make resolutions,” said Ellen.

    “I bet you keep them, too,” said Mandy.

    “I do!” exclaimed Ellen, smiling. “How would you guess that?”

    “You just seem like the sort of straightforward person who wouldn’t like resolutions if she didn’t keep them. You’re just too happy with the idea. It has to work for you.”

    This is a work of fiction. All persons and events are products of my imagination. It’s part of the God-Talk Club series, where you can find a list of characters. Copyright © 2010, Henry E. Neufeld.

    “Well, it does,” said Ellen. “But it sounds like not doing resolutions works for Mac as well.”

    Mandy was always impressed by how easily Ellen dealt with differences. The group had ignored her as their waitress until she had kind of pushed her way into the discussion.

    “I always try to get my church members to make resolutions and do so publicly, so that other members can hold them accountable,” said Justine.

    “Whoa,” said Bob. “That sounds spooky!”

    “What’s spooky about it?” asked Justine.

    “Well, all that trying to control people’s lives. ‘Holding people accountable’ sounds a little authoritarian to me.”

    “But nobody makes them do it,” said Justine, truly puzzled.

    “I bet there’s a lot of social pressure. Emotional manipulation.”

    “I don’t see that at all,” said Justine.

    “What happens to a member who doesn’t make a public resolution?” asked Bob.

    “Well, nothing. We don’t have some sort of punishments or anything.”

    “Will the rest of your group look down on them if they don’t make a resolution?”

    “I wouldn’t think so.”

    “So how to you encourage them. Do you call it a good thing to do?”

    “Of course I do.”

    “So if they don’t do it, then it’s a bad thing.”

    “I wouldn’t say that.”

    “Well, at least not as good.”

    “Well, true. I do think it’s better if they do.”

    “So there’s social pressure to do it. They’ll be thinking that others will think less of them if they don’t make a resolution, make it public, and be ‘accountable’ as you say, to the church.”

    “OK, yes, but I don’t see how that gets us to social pressure and manipulation.”

    “But it seems obvious to me.”

    “I think your problem, Bob, is that you’re making voluntary participation equivalent to manipulation.” Jerry joined the conversation for the first time.

    “But there’s a thin line between social pressure and unfair force or manipulation, or even just plain controlling behavior.”

    “But you don’t know that the people in Justine’s church behave that way.”

    “No, but I do know that some churches are overly controlling. I think we should go out of our way to avoid that.”

    “I’m sure it can go too far,” said Jerry. “But on the other hand, we could give up all forms of social control and accountability. Wouldn’t that also be bad?”

    “Well, I think churches having less control would be a good thing.”

    “But you don’t think all private associations are a bad thing, do you?” asked Mandy.

    “Well, I really don’t think much of most organizations that try to control their members and ‘hold them accountable.’”

    “You don’t like private organizations at all?” asked Mandy.

    “Oh, I like private organizations. Groups of people who are like-minded on some issue or another. They work together because they like to.”

    “But you assume my church members aren’t there because they like to be?” asked Justine.

    “Oh I don’t assume that. But church membership is very important in American life. I think many people are there just because there is social pressure to be there.”

    “In this part of the country I doubt that,” said Jerry.

    “What about fraternities and sororities?” asked Ellen.

    “I really don’t like them all that much. They pressure young men and women to follow a social norm rather than be themselves.”

    “You’re no fun,” said Ellen. But she said it sweetly.

    “How do you do that?” asked Bob.

    “Do what?” said Ellen.

    “You can put somebody down so very gently.”

    “I didn’t know I was putting anyone down,” said Ellen.

    “That’s probably it. You actually say it like you like me.”

    “But I do like you,” said Ellen with a slightly puzzled frown.

    “The thing about Ellen,” said Mac, “is that she’s easily the most genuine person in the room. She is just who she is.”

    “But I think all of you are!” exclaimed Ellen.

    Everybody laughed. Mac shrugged and lifted her hands, gesturing her surrender.

    “But I’m still not comfortable with what Justine is doing,” said Mark. “I don’t think whatever we say should apply to churches more than any other group of people. But Justine’s ‘accountability’ thing still makes my skin crawl.”

    “What about it is so bad?” asked Justine.

    “Getting up in front of the church and making your resolution? Asking other church members to hold you accountable? These people might not be your friends. They might just be looking for gossip. Why would I want to make a real resolution in front of them?”

    “Well, they’re supposed to be your family,” said Justine.

    “That’s biblical,” added Jerry.

    “But how does it work in practice?” asked Mark. “I suspect that many people do spread gossip about things they find out while they’re holding people accountable.”

    “People do gossip. It’s a sin, but they do it anyhow.” Justine shrugged.

    “So perhaps we should be careful how we do things in that case,” said Mandy.

    “So you don’t like the idea either,” said Justine.

    “No, I don’t really. I’d encourage people to make resolutions. I’d encourage them to find friends who can hold them accountable. But I’d suggest they do it with a few friends.”

    “Well, I take seriously the idea that we’re the body of Christ. We’re even told to confess our faults one to another.”

    “I just see that as potentially very dangerous considering we can’t be sure everyone in a particular church is following the same spirit.”

    “Don’t you think the churches in New Testament times had similar problems?” asked Jerry.

    Mandy paused a moment. “I suspect they did, but we don’t know precisely how they applied ideas like confessing faults one to another. Was it in a group setting with the whole church? Was it with a few trusted people? I don’t think we know.”

    Jerry was intent. The New Testament church subject got his attention. “I’d suggest we do know. That’s why gossip is so high on the various lists of sins. They confessed to one another, and one of the things they held one another accountable about was gossip!”

    “I’d suggest instead,” said Mandy, “that we don’t really know the details of how they dealt with these problems, and perhaps we should use some contemporary wisdom.”

    “I’m with Mandy,” said Mark.

    “Wow,” said Ellen. “I just ask whether people have made resolutions, and it becomes a philosophical debate! I thought it would be fun to compare notes.”

    “OK, I’ll go with that,” said Bob. “Just because I don’t like the whole church thing doesn’t mean I don’t like resolutions. I have made a resolution to complete three scientific papers I’ve been working on and get them published this year.”

    “Oh, thinking of moving up to the college or graduate school scene?” asked Jerry.

    “And just how would it be ‘moving up’?” asked Bob.

    “Isn’t that the normal career path?”

    “Perhaps, but I think the place for science education in this country right now is at the high school level. I’m going to stay where I am, teaching kids about science.”

    “So why do you want to publish those papers?” asked Jerry, genuinely puzzled.

    “Professional development, contribution to science, and yes, a good bit of ego.”

    “I can understand that,” said Ellen.

    “So what’s your resolution?” asked Bob. “You started this!”

    “My resolution is to read one serious book every week next year.”

    “That’s a good one,” said Mandy.

    “So what’s yours?” asked Ellen, looking at Mandy.

    “I have resolved to start my doctoral studies online. I’m interested in technology education. I’ve been intending to start for a long time and just haven’t gotten around to it. Next year is the year.”

    “What about you, Jerry?” asked Mandy after a short pause.

    “I’ve determined to share my faith with at least one identifiable person each week next year.”

    “Make me feel like a target,” muttered Bob.

    “I didn’t mean convert you. Just share my faith. But you’d only count as one person, even if I do share with you every week during the year.” It was the closest Jerry came to joking.

    “So what is yours, Justine?” asked Bob. “You’re making all your church members do resolutions. Surely you have!”

    “Yes, I have, but I wonder if I should share it with you.” Justine was grinning.

    “OK. I deserved that.”

    “Oh, I don’t mind. My resolution is to include our young people more in church leadership. By the end of the year, I plan to see young people active and in leadership in every area of the church. I’ve made a chart so I can track it.”

    “Yay!” Ellen clapped her hands. “What about you, Mark?”

    “Oh, I haven’t made any resolutions. I’m more like Mac. I do what I do, and don’t make a special issue of days.”

    “Well, at least it’s not a Christian vs. Atheist issue this time,” said Bob.

    “Be thankful for small blessings,” said Mandy.

    And that was the end of the evening.

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