Disfigured Action Figures

1 Timothy 3:15-16

Growing up, my brother and I were spoiled.

I know my parents were good intentioned, wanting us to have the best of everything in life. My brother and I however were not to concerned with having the best, we just wanted whatever toy was advertised during GI Joe, Thunder Cats or the Cosby Show (That reminds me, I really miss 80′s TV shows).

And many times we actually got that toy. I can remember the joy and jubilation of tearing into that cardboard and plastic that had been so carefully molded around the toy. We felt so privileged and vowed to play with that toy day after day, to care for it like nothing we had ever had before. Nothing was better than that toy.

By the time we reached that awkward stage in Junior High where we knew it was time to retire our toys (aka: poor all of mom’s nail polish remover over them and set them on fire), what we had was a room full of cars missing wheels, action figures with missing extremities and a battery of toy guns and lasers that looked liked they belonged to the losing side in a war.It’s obvious the novelty of the toys wore off pretty quick, and because this is just how things happen, when we didn’t care about something, we weren’t to interested in treasuring it and making sure it didn’t get damaged or torn apart.

I can’t tell you where any of those toys are today (the ones my mom salvaged from the for-mentioned inferno and gave away), that is, except for one. I hope this doesn’t get me beat up next time I go home, but on my brothers bed still sits a little brown teddy bear in a green and white “Co-op” shirt. Even though I couldn’t tell you the name (though I know my brother could), I can tell you that little bear meant enough to my brother that through countless moves, life transitions, cross country treks and, perhaps most difficult of all for a boy to keep a bear without sucumbing to the pressure of “cool”, through puberty, my brother has kept that stuffed animal. To him it’s precious, it has incredible value that can’t be replaced. There is something different about that bear that saved it from being given away or tossed into our fiery abyss. It has such value that my large, rugby playing, fills the doorway and blocks out the light of the sun, brother has protected it throughout the years.

At the risk of sounding like an idignant, irreverent heretic for comparing the holy scriptures to a Co-op teddy bear, I think there’s a good parallel here. I’m in no way trying to argue apologetics for the infallibility of the Bible as we have it today, that’s not my desire, and this isn’t the forum for that discussion. But here’s my thought:

2 Timothy 3:15-16 tell us that we gain insight into the life that is available to us through Jesus by the words of scripture, and not only that but that all of scripture is straight from the horse’s mouth (again, not meaning to be irreverant, just trying to draw the point home).

Now, assuming, as I believe, that number one, there is a God, and two, that those words from Paul to Timothy were recorded properly and handed down correctly until today, what I see is that the scriptures are of incredible importance to God. According to Paul, these words hold isight to salvation and messages from God. Apparently, the Scriptures are pretty valuable.

If this is so, would God not make sure that the messages did not get distorted and twisted. Would he not care for something of such great value in an even greater way than my brother cares for that bear, protecting it from the many eras the world has seen, the many transitions the church has gone through, in order to bring it through to today, still in a condition to change lives and communicate his message of freedom and destiny to the audience of today?

In a world of disfigured action figures, I am confident that the Bible is the bear.

Here Fishy, Fishy, Fishy

Matthew 5:14-16 

I went to college in Atlantic Canada where the people are french and the winters are hard.  I think it’s for this reason (the cold thing, not the french thing) that my Bible College had “the fish bowl”.

The fish bowl was basically a breezeway that was built onto the front of the girls dorm to (presumably) protect the ladies from the wind and snow as they were getting their keys out.

It’s true purpose though, was as a location to meet, talk and after a nice dinner at one of the 3 retaraunts in town (McDonalds, KFC or Tim Hortons), to stand in and whisper sweet nothings.

Many first kisses, I love you’s, heartfelt admiration, bitter fights and disagreements, ugly breakups and even proposals have happened in the fish bowl.

However, it was just that.  A fishbowl.  It is a room enclosed by 4 glass walls.  Whatever happens in the confines of the fishbowl are 100% public.  Every first kiss and breakup are available for the entire campus to be a part of.  In the fishbowl you work on your relationship knowing that at any moment the eyes of 230 people could be staring at your intimate moment, or even walk right into the fishbowl and stop whatever it is that has begun.

I don’t think we’re ever suppose to leave the fishbowl.  At college we chose when we would go and stand in the fishbowl.  At the time we may not have felt we had much choice because it seemed there was nowhere else to go, but the truth is, we chose that to be the place for first kisses and last words.  We chose when we would allow others to see the intimate times of our relationship.

In our journey with Christ, we don’t have that choice. The Bible is pretty clear that we live in a fishbowl, that every aspect about our faith is open for the world to observe, poke and probe.

If we are truly a city on a hill, our faith will not be a drunk in an alley.  It will be open for examination and not hidden, profoundly private.  The world will see whether or not we are being real with our creator and ourselves or if we are just faking it and have a surface level, “Jesus love me, this I know” sort of faith.

Throughout many Latin American countries, governments have come to the slums and poverty stricken neighbourhoods, especially on the coasts, heralding a love for the poor and offered to paint their houses bright colors of blues, greens, reds and pinks.

The result has been simple, tourists coming in on cruise ships now look at the mountains surrounding the cities and take picture, gawking at how pretty all those small, colorful houses look.  But if the tourist would think for a moment, and even take a moment to approach these “cities on the hill”, they would find that the children in those homes are still hungry, the fathers still come home in alcohol induced fits of rage and the water is not safe to drink.  All that happens to these “cities” has been an external facelift.

In the fishbowl, a facelift faith isn’t going to work.  In the fishbowl, the world will be able to witness our most intimate moments with God.  They will see when we struggle with questions or triumph in victory.  And at any moment another follower is able to walk into the picture and come alongside us, already knowing how we need their help, because they’ve seen us in the fishbowl, they’ve seen our pain and our joy.

The fishbowl is not a bad place.  It’s by watching us struggle and triumph that the world will see that this faith is more than just following ancient, dead words, but it is alive and changing people, and in the end “they will give honor to God” (2 Pet. 2:12).

These “Fishbowl Devotions” are my questions and studies, open to the world to question and comment and grow me in my faith.