Old Trucks and City Codes

I remember my brother telling me about how mad he was that he couldn’t work on his truck in front of his house in Lincoln, Nebraska. It was his first house in the big city. We grew up in small town Arkansas, and he’d previously lived with his wife and daughter out in the middle of the desert near Flagstaff, Arizona, so he didn’t really have much experience with city codes and neighborhood organizations. It all sounded silly to me, and I even thought he was being a bit silly, too. I subconsciously thought that I wouldn’t find myself in that situation.

For one thing, I don’t really work on 30 year-old trucks, spewing their guts across my front lawn.

But last month, I faced the code enforcement guy on my porch. And I felt the white hot flames of rebellion creep up from the center of my chest and burn my cheeks. I had been reported. I had brush on my curb. Someone didn’t like it. Several people didn’t like it. And where I live, the people who pass my house every day just happen to be some of the right people to get quick action.

How dare they?

Don’t they know who I am? Don’t they know how hard I work on that house? Don’t they think I’m intelligent enough to call the brush people myself? I should put a snarky sign in my yard! I should do something even more annoying that doesn’t break any codes! I should go down the street and report any little violation I can find!

The longer I thought about it, the more a still, quiet thought crept in: “As much as it depends on you, live at peace with all men.”

The truth is, my rebellion and all of my subsequent thoughts were all about myself, how I’d been wronged, how hard I work, what a good person I am, how my rights had been violated. The entire time there was something I needed to do--adhere to the city code that I was violating.

But that brings me to an uncomfortable topic. I still don’t think those people were right to complain. And if I knew who it was that reported me, if it affected my relationship with them, the right thing for me to do would be to approach them and clear the air. After I cleaned up my curb.

It’s the Matthew 18 principle. If someone has sinned, or sinned against you, if forgiveness and over-looking the sin isn’t possible, the best thing for your relationship is to go to the person by yourself and try to clear the air. If that doesn’t work, go back with a friend or two. If that doesn’t work, rest easy knowing that you did what needed to be done and give the relationship over to the Lord. I find that usually it doesn’t get that far.

Because people usually like giving and receiving forgiveness. And because those who have received Christ’s forgiveness understand what it is to be forgiven of more than they could ever pay back.

Gore and Horror

You can call me a bad Christian if you want, or somewhat less of a disciple if you choose to use that language, but I have to admit something to everyone today. This is a difficult thing for me, and I would hope to have everyone’s understanding and discretion in this matter.

I didn’t see Passion of the Christ until just a few weeks ago. In fact, until then, I don’t remember ever watching any of the great passion movies that have been made.

I know. I’m supposed to be this example for our children. I’m supposed to be the guy on the cutting edge of culture and how media interacts with the gospel and spiritual things. And I demonstrate such an epic fail in this area. How can I call myself a student minister? How can I assume any place of leadership in our church?

The fact is, I don’t enjoy gory movies. Especially when I feel an emotional connection with one of the characters. When Mel Gibson made The Passion of the Christ, I knew what was in store. I knew that the graphic violence of crucifixion would be displayed for all to see. And given the connection I feel with Christ, I knew that by the end of the movie I would be a basket-case. And I was right.

Maybe I was a coward. The movie was released in 2004, and it took 6 years to bring myself to watch it. I have friends who sat in the theatre parking lot for an hour after they saw it, just weeping.

To be honest, I didn’t want to see it. I was comfortable with the imagery I’d built in my mind of what Jesus experienced when He died for my sin. In many ways, my imagination was cleaner and more pleasant than the movie portrayed, and the movie couldn’t even capture the fullness of terror and gore that surrounded the crucifixion.

I don’t like violence.

I would be totally comfortable with a non-violent atonement. Some have built theologies on this idea that Christ either didn’t really die in such a violent manner, or that God accomplished our reconciliation by some other means. Unfortunately, sin=death. In any circumstance, believer or not, where there is sin, there is death. Enter the violence of God’s redemption.

Christ died a violent death, unbelievably violent, so that I could taste this redemption. Christ experienced separation from God so that I could be reconciled to Him. So, while I still don’t prefer gore and horror, I recognize that it was these things that enable me to have eternal life with my Creator.

And there’s always the happy ending, when Christ shattered death by His resurrection. Well, that was just awesome.