Hearing the Message

Last night I had the fortunate privilege to attend Dr. Kenneth Schenck's lecture near Perimeter Mall.  His message was entitled "Are Differences in the Manuscripts a Problem for Christian Faith?"  The whole field of textual criticism is fascinating to me, and I thoroughly enjoyed his presentation.  A dozen or so years ago, had I known that such a career existed, I would almost certainly have pursued this path.  A product of the Information Age, I still marvel that a significant number of men and women in the Church are ignorant as to how the Bible as they know it came to be.  As Evangelicals who place such a significant portion of our faith on a compilation of documents which are thousands of years old, it behooves us to understand why we can have such a great degree of trust in modern translations' faithfulness to the original autographs of the Holy Scripts.  I would love to see a local congregation engaging it's members with this level of information; surely it would form a people characterized by their love of God's Word.  It makes me wonder how many Bart Erhman's we have lost because we don't teach our history and how it shapes our theology (or vice versa).

Perhaps even more interesting was God's plan for yesterday evening.  I arrived early to avoid traffic and to have my choice in seating.  Ever the people-watcher, I selected a lovely chair towards the back of the hall.  The welcome and introductions were beginning, and I'm sure a smile crossed my face at the realization of my situation.  Despite the large crowd, the two seats to my right were empty.  I like my space, and I don't like sharing it with people I don't know.  This would explain my chagrin at the sight of a late-comer who spotted my unsettled space with greed in her eyes.  She and her 55-gallon purse plopped into the seat right next to me.  As she descended into my bubble, I could vaguely hear her say "anyone sitting here?"  Clearly, no.  Sadly, no.  Quite unfortunately, no.  And the lecture began.  She leaned into my shoulder and glared at the dimly-lit notepad and pen in my lap.  Without even asking, she began to copy the speaker's name, mouthing the letters.  Really?  In my head, the wheels began to spin.  How do I politely communicate that I would really appreciate a little social distance?  Is there a Christ-like way to express my distaste for her being even remotely near?  The problem is that her presence only grew larger throughout the evening.  She would comment outloud on any statement she disagreed with, add any detail she thought might be lacking, voice her frustration when the speaker didn't say it just right (in her estimation, of course).  She would gesture and point and shake her head.  She would try and fill in the blanks when there was a momentary pause.  She would also fold her arms disapprovingly.  Did I mention that she was speaking outloud... to no one?

After two and a half minutes of the dueling lectures, I realized exactly what was taking place.  I looked sharply to my right and then to my left.  Not there.  Under my seat?  No.  Perhaps hidden in the rafters.  Nope, not there either.  For the life of me, I could not find the "Sweet LORD, I Hear You!" buzzer.  I get it.  I hear the message.  I know it's for me.  Of all the seats she could have chosen, she chose the one next to me, and I understand.  I am that person.  Granted, I might be a little more aware of my space, and I mumble my thoughts and sometimes even hold them in.  But I am nonetheless that person with the aura of superiority.  I am the authority in my own world except I'm too passive agressive to know what to do with it.  It's ugly enough when I'm wrong, but it's even more hideous when I'm right (which the girl may have been last night, but I tuned out her words early on).  In my mind, I want to stand on a chair and say "I knew that!!!  I knew it all along!  I even said it!  Didn't you hear me when I said it - back then - before you agreed?  Can you just tell me that I was right?  Now!"

For the love.  It was ugly on her, but "sweet LORD, I hear You."  It is beyond ugly on me.  If I can ever find that buzzer, I will press it a thousand times.  Seriously, I hear You.  France in his commentary on Matthew says, "the natural human concern with status and importance is clearly one of the most fundamental instincts which must be unlearned by those who belong to God's Kingdom" [emphasis mine].  I have no vain imaginations about status, but I surely have built mountains of other kinds.  The path of discipleship is a continual process of dying, and that part of me must die.  I have to live out the truth that humility is a requirement of the Kingdom.  I have so much to learn, and in order to make it to the other side of the process, I have to walk humbly.

"He has told you, o man, what is good; and what does the LORD require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?" - Micah 6.8

Sweet LORD, I hear You!