Idled by Idolatry

Recently I encountered a moment of deep conviction upon my running life.  It is an interesting thing to me, because it was a conviction about my own idolatry.  That’s right, IDOLATRY.  

In modern times idolatry seems like an almost non-existent practice, yet nothing could be further from the truth.  In days gone by, among tribes in lands most of us never encounter, idolatry consists of people “less enlightened” than ourselves worshiping a fashioned piece of wood, stone, or metal made into the image of some thing, some animal, or maybe of some-one.  For more “civilized” societies, idolatry seems like a silly topic, yet I have heard preachers preach against it most of my life... for that matter, I have preached against the principles of idolatry myself.  We often use sports and money to illustrate idolatry for such sermons.  I never think I’m preaching to myself on this topic.

Idols can be good things in our lives.  Not the idolatry itself, but the objects of it.  My children are good things in my life, they should not be my idol.  My job is a good thing to have, it should not be my idol.  Food is a good thing, it can be an idol.  Likewise, exercise, with all its benefits, can be an idol in our lives.  Anything I place in priority over my God, is an idol.

Strange as it may sound to some of my readers, I believe God wanted me to start running.  I believe the Holy Spirit compelled me to do so.  There is no doubt there were some personal revelations and physical motivators involved (See Weak One on Day 1), but ultimately I believe they were simply measures God used to get my attention to tell me to run. 

One of the surprising discoveries in the process is my personal enjoyment of running.  I really do like running. I know! Who knew!  I like the personal achievement I feel.  I like the stress relief it brings.  I like the physical energy I have gained.  I like the loss of pounds that has occurred.  I like what I have seen along my running routes, the sunrises I have witnessed, the personal praise and prayers to my creator as I reflect.  I like the personal applications I have made in the process.  I like it all.  In fact, after completing the training of my C25K app I immediately downloaded the next app in the series and began running towards the 10K goal.  I was amazed at the progress I was making and excited to not only have hit the 5K goal (3.1 miles), but then to run 5 miles.  Then to run 5 miles again... and again... and then even farther.

The five mile mark is kind of a cool mark to me.  I feel proud of the fact that I can.  I think back to the struggle of reaching a single mile - it was hard to imagine five.  I know there are marathoners and triathletes and tough-mudder runners out there that are doing far more exerting runs, but all of them hit the five mile mark at some point.  Even from the perspective of their accomplishments, I know they haven’t forgotten what it felt like to reach their first five miles. They know how I feel.

But then... God spoke to me again.  I was at the point of being just a 1/2 mile from the 10K mark in my running.  I had about two weeks of training time left on my app.  I had already looked at downloading the half marathon training app the night before.  But God convicted me.  In the quite, cool, sweat dripping, rhythmic, serenity of one of my runs God said “I didn’t tell you to run 10K”.  

Wait!!! What?!?  I chose not to listen.

The next run that week was exhausting. I was having an awful time. I actually ran my fastest time ever to the 5K mark, but then fell apart after that.  Each step seemed grueling.  It was almost like day one all over again.  My side began to hurt.  My legs felt feeble beneath me.  I felt more out of breath than ever and decided to stop and walk back home after having only run 3.5 miles.

Once again in the stillness of what was now a walk home, God spoke to me again and said “I didn’t tell you to run 10K”.

Simple as that.  He cleared me to run 5, NOT 10...but why?  Because of my own idolatry.

You see when I started, I found myself more disciplined spiritually as well.  I found myself less neglecting of time alone with Him.  I would return after a 30 minute run and sit on the patio reflecting, praying, meditating, and reading my bible more (I have an app for that, too).  I would spend the rest of the hour or so tending to my spiritual walk early in the day.  They were sweet, revealing moments indeed, and I was not doing it for any other reason than enrichment and pursuit of God.  I didn’t use the time to pray for my church or prepare sermons.  I didn’t use it to research biblical history or think about leadership strategies.  It was simply me and God having intimate time together and tending to the spiritual needs and counsel of this broken man.  People think ministers find such personal time easy, but that is simply not true for many of us.  It is easier to rationalize our study and prep time as “our time with God”.  Believe me, there is a difference between the two.

When I decided to go on to run 10K that time stopped.  My 10K training took longer.  It consumed more of my time.  It consumed more of my energy.  It consumed more of me altogether.  I was reveling in my accomplishment and leaving the spiritual exercise behind.  I was driven to achieve my goal and something had to go in order to get it done.  Like many of the people to whom I have ministered over the years, in order to achieve what I wanted to do, I let the spiritual discipline go.  It is a classic example of the flesh battling the spirit inside.  

I didn’t want to stop running farther, but I must.  I didn’t want to reduce my time on the run, but I must.  I didn’t want to feel like I am achieving less, but I must.  For now, it is 5K only for me.  Somewhere down the road I expect God will release me to pursue a new distance.  Until then I will perfect the one I have permission to do, and pursue new distances in my time with Him.

Ultimately, idolatry points back to self.  Even when the idols reflect something of greater power than our feeble humanity, it points back to self because it is the idol we have chosen for ourselves.  We have decided that it is our god, and that very act declares that we hold self as god even though we camouflage it with the image of something else.

1 Timothy 4:7-8

Discipline yourself for the purpose of godliness; for bodily discipline is only of little profit, but godliness is profitable for all things, since it holds promise for the present life and also for the life to come.

Galatians 5:16-17

But I say, walk by the Spirit, and you will not carry out the desire of the flesh. For the flesh sets its desire against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh; for these are in opposition to one another, so that you may not do the things that you please.

Looking Like A Runner, A Runner Does Not Make

 As I started to run, one of the things I deemed important was to dress the part.  If I’m going to be a runner, I need to LOOK like a runner, right?  I mean, come on! Nobody but the Duggars would run in jeans.

I have gear.  By gear I mean clothes.  By clothes I mean shirts, shorts and shoes.  That’s really all you need, a pair of shoes for running.  You could almost argue a biblical position of running naked by quoting some Hebrews 12 about casting off all that entangles, but that is stretching things a bit.

I have some sport shorts and a couple of those quick-dry work-out shirts.  One of the shirts seems a little small, but I figure when I lose all my gut weight it will fit perfectly to accentuate my anticipated physique.  I guess, to me, it is kind of like that special pair of jeans a woman aims for trying to get into upon reaching her goal weight.

I dressed out in all my gear the first day I ran.  I put on my special moisture drawing skivvies, my best work out shorts...not the tiny, little flappy kind, mind you, but long ones... my shirt, my earbuds plugged in, my shoes, and my work out app.  I felt relatively comfortable and confident that I looked the part.  Looking the part when participating in a new activity is extremely important - especially when trying to hide incompetence.

I was dressed like a runner, but a “runner” I was not.  

This leads me ask, what makes a runner?!?  Is it simply that I run? Is it because I have run for any reason in the past?  If so, then I have run into the ocean.  I ran after a ball in the street.  I’ve even run to the bathroom in a moment of desperation.  Really though, most of my past running has been from bullies in the early years; but all have been times of “running”.

Or maybe running is specifically defined by doing it for its own purpose, and not as a means of sudden travel.  So, is it the frequency?  Is it the consistency over time?  If so, how much time?  And, what if I stop, am I still a runner, or a guy who used to run? I haven’t water skied in a lot of years, but I consider myself a skier.  If I become a guy who used to run, what distinguishes between a guy who used to run and one who simply TRIED to run once?  How is all that measured?  I just don’t know.

I was sitting in a meeting not long ago while attending a Christian conference.  The facilitator was illustrating a point with a running analogy and asked if there were any runners in the room.  I didn’t know whether or not to raise my hand - this was eight and a half weeks into my consistent habit of running.  A couch potato would call me a runner, a marathoner would call me a rookie.  Some of my more candid friends would simply call me insane.

I continue to ponder on this thought of being a runner.  It seems to me that the level of my running does not determine my identity as a runner.  The fact that I run determines this, and I am beginning to recognize myself as a runner.  Ask any seasoned runner when they started running, and they will inevitably refer back to the day they took the first step.  They all have stories of what that was like, how hard or easy it may have been to them, obstacles they faced in the process, unexpected challenges, and the nourishment needed to fuel their efforts, but it started with the first step. 

Additionally, the fact that my body reflects the fruit of my running further confirms I am a runner; the fat trims down, my consumption changes, my endurance and stamina increases, my distance and speed gets farther and faster.  The results are obvious.  The results confirm the reality.  I am a runner, and soon I will run an actual timed race.  That will seal the deal for me.

Regardless of how one might define a “runner”, one thing is certain; my clothes did not make me one.  

Similar is the Christian journey.  So many experiences and encounters along the way prove the truth of our claim.  There are many people who get dressed up in their “religious gear” to mask mediocrity.  We see them at church, sometimes with smiling faces and names on their bibles.  We see them give their offering, not as a reflection of the gift God has given us, but because it is a practical tax write off in the moment, or an emotional tug that could have come from a stranded puppy as much as an imprisoned missionary.  Sometimes we hear them pray with hollow words of repetition that sound eloquent but are black holes of emptiness.  We see them nod at cliches and spiritual snippets that sound good but mean nothing.  They “like” it all, and engage in the appearances, but apply nothing to the working of their own lives.  They are chameleons blending into the environment in which they happen to find themselves.  Like the fig tree Jesus cursed, they bear no fruit in their lives.  They are chaff among the wheat.

Sadly, many probably think they are dressed for success in the Christian race and in the “full armor of God” as mentioned in Ephesians.  Perhaps they think they have upon them a helmet of salvation, but it’s more of a crown of personal glory than anything divine.  Maybe they have a belt, but it is a belt of deception, not of truth.  The breastplate is one of pride and not righteousness.  The feet are shod, not with soft soles of peace, but cleats, under which others find themselves trampled from disunity and criticism.  The shield they bear is not one of true faith, but one of false security rooted in self achievement and personal success.  And the sword?  They are strapped with an empty sheath because the Spirit of God does not exist in their lives.

Christians are known by their fruit.  It isn’t hard to point to fruit in the lives of godly people.  None of us point to the superficial, we point to things that are real.  The evidence is produced from a supernaturally transformed heart.  From death to life we rise.  

• We are not Christian because we dress in Christian morals and principles.
• We are not Christian because we dress ourselves in rituals and rites.
• We are not Christian because we dress ourselves in “righteous” and religious acts.

We are Christian because, and only because, we have been transformed in heart and mind by the supernatural, saving power of God through the work of Jesus Christ.

Matthew 23:27-28

“Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you are like whitewashed tombs which on the outside appear beautiful, but inside they are full of dead men’s bones and all uncleanness. So you, too, outwardly appear righteous to men, but inwardly you are full of hypocrisy and lawlessness.

I Hate My Job... sometimes

Sometimes I really, really hate my job.  My responsibility.  My calling.  My role.  Yesterday was one of those days... yet, the job must be done.

The job, the calling, the role, is parenting.  Being a parent is tough.  It is truly not for the faint of heart or the sap - especially when it comes to discipline.

I had to punish two of my boys; more extremely than a simple talk, sending to their rooms or taking something away for a while.  This was physical.  Yes, I am aware of the possible risk of publishing physical discipline in a blog.

Know this, we are spankers [you can say it like the Farmers Insurance commercials if you want - We ~ Are ~ Spankers! bum--bum,bum-bum,bum,bum].  I know that does not sit well with all parents, but I don’t care.  We are not abusive.  We do not punish in the heat of anger.  We use only a specific tool for the job - a paddle [not a belt, spoon, stick, water hose, inner tube, lit cigarette, etc.] all of those items have different jobs, and I do not use them to strike my children.  I know that sounds condescending and pointed; good.  I have strong opinions on various forms of physical discipline. 

Discipline is the point, of course.  The point is not to have an outlet to express my own frustration and anger, it is to correct and straighten my child’s incorrect behavior and understanding of what is acceptable.  Yesterday, I hated having to do that job.  I always hate having to do that job.

Two of my boys were disobedient with me to a degree that not only made me angry, but also seemed to indicate they had no care that they were out of line.  That is a huge problem.  It is one thing to need to modify behavior, and another thing entirely to modify attitude.  See, the minute my verbal instruction and cues are disrespectfully disregarded and then that behavior [and attitude] left unattended, a downward spiral of continuing disobedience and disrespect can ensue.  By itself, that moment of disobedience may be blown off by me as “no big deal”, but that demonstrates a lack of self discipline in me as a parent [and biblically you might say it also demonstrates a lack of love].  Over time that in itself "disciplines" them into an entirely different way of thinking.  As Barney Fife would have said, “you have to nip it in the bud.”  

We were 20 minutes away from home when I began my speech about how disappointed, angered and deeply bothered I was by what had just happened.  I could see it all over their faces, they knew they were in for it.

They knew that when we got home, they would be sent to their rooms immediately.  They knew they would sit their wondering what would be next.  Would Dad just come in and talk?  Would Dad take something away?  Or, would Dad come in with the spanking paddle?  

I guess to some degree I contemplated all of those things as well.  However, I knew.  I knew my step was to go in with the spanking paddle.  The sheer terror of that alone is disabling... for me that is.  It kills me to have to do so.  

I hate having to crack open that door and see a face change from hope to conclusion.  I hate seeing that instant when the reality of the next few moments sets in.  I hate the sound of the pleading, the crying, the begging for a stay of execution.  It makes my heart hurt.  Let me also clarify that these moments are actually pretty rare for our house.  There are many forms of penalty that we implement before and instead of spanking.  But sometimes...well, anyway.

I always know my plan before going in.  I also strike my own leg to remind me of the “feel” of the paddle and the sting produced.  This is a practice I have always done to reinforce and remind myself that it is the effect, not necessarily pain that matters.  That being said, it does hurt.  This form of punishment requires so much energy, and focus, and enough time to be correct in it.

The worst part, for me, is immediately following the punishment.  I dread what may come from the mouths of my children.  Are they going to scream that they hate me?  Are they going to declare that I don’t love them?  Are they going to weep in a pillow and refuse to listen to anything else I have to say?  So far none of that has happened.  None of those words have been verbalized.  Tears? yes. Weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth? Dramatically yes.  Grabbing and rubbing their own booty?  indeed.  Saying things they regret?  No, never.

They will will ultimately come to me, sit next to me, climb into my lap, rest their head on me, snubbing (mostly from fear and anticipation more than actual pain), and then... they listen.  

This is where it all comes together.  This is when the effect of mature parenting and discipline must take place.  It is at that moment when the full lesson of the importance of self-discipline, obedience, and love is fully reinforced.  It is at this moment when they see an authoritative, stern, focused, restrained, and loving father communicate the importance of good personal judgement.

I always tell them how important my job as their Daddy is.  I always tell them how much I hate having to punish them.  I always tell them how much it hurts my heart.  I always tell them how much I love them.  And, I always tell them that I love them too much to allow them to get away with whatever they want.  And then, there is repentance.  There is forgiveness.  There is restoration.  There is course correction.  And there is peace.  

Most times, one of the greatest opportunities to demonstrate God’s attributes to our children is in times of discipline and course correction.  After all, God disciplines us as well... because He loves us too much to not correct our course.

Hebrews 12:5b-6; 11

5b MY son, do not regard lightly the discipline of the Lord, nor faint when you are reproved by Him; 6 for those whom the Lord loves HE disciplines, and HE scourges every son whom HE receives.

11 All discipline for the moment seems not to be joyful, but sorrowful; yet to those who have been trained by it, afterwards it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness.