But If Not

We interrupt my next planned post to bring you an important message.

One of my adult kids texted me. Romans was really good!
I smile. Indeed it is.
Another one sat at the kitchen table last month and looked up from a meditative silence. You know what's a really good book?
I'm thinking Enger. Or Lee. Or Dostoyevsky.
Galatians.
My 10-year-old is saying with increasing frequency, Wow! I read something like that in the Bible this morning!
My 17 yr old just finished the whole Bible for the first time. That was really good, she exclaimed.
Two enthusiastic thumbs up? I tease. Maybe God will ask you to blurb His next edition.
My heart is warm all over. My children are becoming People of the Book. And I am humbled by God's work in this quiet suburban home.
Because ideas have consequences. And little minds and hearts informed by scripture grow up to make choices and take positions based on the True Ideas of scripture.

Don't think that's important? Read on, Lizzie.

Did you see the news coming out of Bethel "Church" over Christmas break? Let me fill you in.

On December 14, two-year-old Olive Heiligenthal passed away suddenly. Her parents, who are on staff at Bethel, kept her body in the morgue for five days while they prayed for her resurrection. Now I have never buried a child. I cannot, can not, imagine that kind of soul-searing suffering. But I do have a healthy regard for scripture and for the need to read it with great care. It is a sword, after all, and one does not simply go swinging swords about. Jesus did NOT raise people from the dead to be our model. He raised the dead to demonstrate His Lordship. Over every square inch. Over every last enemy.

In short, I have nothing but contempt for the theology of Bill Johnson because Bill Johnson has nothing but contempt for the theology of God. I wonder what will happen on Judgment Day to people who make a shipwreck of other people's faith. *coughrecklesslovecough* I want to be a fly on THAT wall.
Oh, where have you gone, Billy Boy, Billy Boy?
Oh, where have you gone, charming Billy?

Tomorrow you will have pink eye.
I could never believe in a God who makes eyes itch. And the tear duct goop is an added insult. 
The Apostle Paul: God made your eyes. Can He not make them pink? (ND Wilson, Notes from the Tilt-a-Whirl, 32)

Dare I say it?
Yes, I dare.
Boom, baby.

Why am I so passionate about this idiocy now? Don't worry; I nearly bolted out of my chair the day sweet Olive's story hit the headlines. Trust me, I was passionate about it on December 15. But now, it's personal. Last week, we received the double-whammy of bad health news from both sides of our family. Part of me is bummed. Bummed that the sadness of  2019 was fading, and life has to get dicey again. Bummed at pain and sickness. Bummed that living in this fallen world can suck sometimes. Billy Boy would beg to differ. Billy Boy thinks we can be healed if we have enough faith. As in, if I don't get healed--and keep healed--it's MY fault. As in, God needs my faith to make His power work. Ah well, small minds have room only for small gods.

When my son Jake hears people waxing stupid about the sovereignty of God, he gets a glint in his eye. He smirks. He quips, "Oh I see. God's sovereignty ends where my sovereignty begins."
God's sovereignty. So simple, a college freshman can understand it.
But not a charlatan preacher.
Billy Boy will not rob me of resting in God's sovereignty.

And Brett reminded me that there is also golf and pork belly and Montana. There are date nights and family and Wingfeathers. Right there in the middle of bad reports. Common graces that God sends just in time to carry us through. But Billy Boy can't see goodness in calamities.
Billy Boy will not rob me of resting in God's goodness.

And I've a good mind to tell Billy Boy where he can put his bad theology and his angel feathers and his gold dust. But this is a family blog.

Blessed be Your Name when the sun's shining down on me,
When the world's all as it should be, blessed be Your Name.
Blessed be Your Name on the road marked with suffering.
Though there's pain in the offering, blessed be Your Name.*

I'm learning the power of lament. And I want my kids to learn it, too. I want to protect them from the Bethel Koolaid. When I lay me down to sleep, and when I lay my six-year-old down to sleep, we pray.  'Lord, we ask that you would heal them,' we pray, the six-year-old and I. 'But if not, we still love You. And we know that You still love us, and that You still love them.'

But If Not.
The theology of Shadrach, Meschach, and Abednego.
The theology of Job.
The theology of Amos.
The theology of the Potter and His pots.
But If Not is the theology of the saints of ages past and ages to come.
But If Not is the theology of People of the Book.
But If Not is the theology of God.

Dear Refuge of my weary soul, on Thee when sorrows rise,
On Thee when waves of trouble roll, My fainting hope relies.
To Thee I tell each rising grief, for Thee alone can heal. 
Thy Word can bring a sweet relief for every pain I feel.**

When those who profess to be God's people reject His word, they can expect God's wrath. (Tabletalk)
Rock on with your bad self, Billy Boy. (Me)

Meanwhile, all God's people say:
But if not, God is still sovereign and still good. The Author of Calamity is still working everything together for my good and His glory.

And all God's people said,
AMEN.

The next post will begin shortly. Please stand by.
--------------
*Blessed Be Your Name, Beth Redman, Matt Redman, 2002.
**Dear Refuge of My Weary Soul, Anne Steele, 1760.