Deuteronomy 6:13-15 (New International Version)

Aren’t you so glad that we aren’t like those crazy Israelites in the Old Testament? I know for a fact that there is no chance that we would ever be found bowing to a golden cow, or a pig, or really any kind of hand crafted idol.  Give those Israelites five minutes of time to tinker, and it seemed like somehow an altar was built and a foreign god was worshiped. God got a bargain with us.  No need for him to repeat all this business about “other gods” where we’re concerned.

We’d never be so easily deceived.  By a golden cow.

But what if it was a god that looked and sounded much like the God who has been proven, yet with just the slightest of adjustment?    I would submit that a good many people who claim to worship “God” are actually worshiping a god created in the image of both man and God.  He is a god who conforms in so many ways to the notions of modern man, be it in the way of women’s rights, global warming, or absolute evil of war.  He is easier to understand because he approaches this world in the way man would. This god is presented beautifully in “The Shack”.

After very careful consideration, I have chosen to focus on only one statement made by the “Jesus” of “The Shack” in a conversation with Mack, the main character.  I think that I could use any one of several, but isn’t it true that one lie is enough to ruin it for proper instruction as to God’s person?

“Remember, the people who know me are the ones who are free to live and love without any agenda.”

“Is that what it means to be a Christian?”  It sounded kind of stupid as Mack said it, but it was how he was trying to sum everything up in his mind.

“Who said anything about being a Christian?  I’m not a Christian.”

The idea struck Mack as odd and unexpected and he couldn’t keep himself from grinning.  No, I suppose you aren’t.”

They arrived at the door of the workshop.  Again Jesus stopped.  “Those who love me come from every system that exists.  They were Buddhists or Mormons, Baptists or Muslims, Democrats, Republicans and many who don’t vote or are not part of any Sunday morning or religious institutions.  I have followers who were murderers and many who were self righteous.  Some are bankers and bookies, Americans and Iraqis, Jews and Palestinians.  I have no desire to make them Christian, but I do want to join them in their transformation into sons and daughters of my Papa, into my brothers and sisters, into my Beloved.” (p. 181-182)

So, it turns out that Jesus is not interested in us becoming Christians.  He is not a Christian.  Why would we want to bear a name He doesn’t bear?

The name “Christian”, meaning simply, “follower of Christ”, was first given to the disciples at Antioch.  This is recorded in Acts 11:25-27.  Christian is a Biblical term, not something contrived by people who create religious terms to make sense of things unclear.

I believe that Jesus, the Jesus of the Bible, made clear his intentions.

Mt 28:18 Then Jesus came to them and said, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me.
Mt 28:19 Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit,
Mt 28:20 and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.”

We are to obey everything He has commanded us.  We are to follow Him.  We are to be Christian.

What harm is a little lie?

Ask Eve.

“Did God really say that you would die if you ate of this fruit?  You won’t die.”

Some of you rightly called this book a piece of fiction which should be handled as such.  I completely agree.  The problem is that this piece of fiction is being peddled from pulpits as being “inspired” fiction to the hands of people who would rather have their ears tickled by all things lovely and magical instead of solid Truth.  The problem is that the god of “The Shack” is becoming the god of many who have no clue they have eaten the cake.

My final thought on “The Shack” is that you can read it if you want to.  I don’t think it is necessary to show you any side of God that is not revealed in His Word.  If there is any new “truth” about God revealed to you in “The Shack”, I deeply implore you to test it against the Word.  And I encourage you to avoid the urgings of the publisher to purchase more copies for your friends and family. They’ll just have to settle for a plain ol’ Bible.

(Throughout this post, there are links to articles that will fill in some of the blanks I know I leave.  I have written this post based on the idea that most of you have heard something about this book and the many debates it has sparked.  Because I assume you to have a general knowledge of this book, I have skipped a rundown of the story and characters and jumped right into my thoughts on the work.  Please follow the links to read others’ thoughts and to get more details about this book.)

Just under a month ago, I was talking to a friend who said that he felt guilty because he didn’t read his Bible enough.  Another friend of ours, with great intentions, comforted him by saying, “God doesn’t care if you read your Bible.  He wants your heart”.  I somewhat disagreed, but kept silent.

The next week at church services, I was approached again by that first friend saying, “Have you read ‘The Shack‘?  I finished it in two days.  You have to read it.  It will totally explain God to you.”

It struck me as important that someone who had a hard time making time for Bible study could find it so easy to read this book in two days.  And, it explained God to him when the Bible couldn’t?  I made the immediate mental note to research Google this book.

“The Shack” was written by one man, William P. Young, and then gone over many times over for theological accuracy by about five other men.  This, according to Wayne Jacobson who was one of those men.  In his defense of “The Shack”, he says,

“Just because we didn’t put Scriptural addresses with their numbers and colons at every allusion in the story, does not mean that the Bible isn’t the key source in virtually every conversation Mack has with God.  Scriptural teachings and references appear on almost every page. They are reworded in ways to be relevant to those reading the story, but at every point we sought to be true to the way God has revealed himself in the Bible except for the literary characterizations that move the story forward.  At its core the book is one long Bible study as Mack seeks to resolve his anger at God.”

If you have a copy of this book, you will find on the back pages a call to help put copies of this book in the hands of every person you know.  The call comes from people who say they have “been touched by ‘The Shack’ [and] are convinced this book deserves a reading across the broadest reaches of our culture”.  So far, it’s working.  Since June 8 of this year, the little self published book that could has been on New York Times best seller list.

Since it was hailed by one of its contributors as “one long Bible study” and because my friend ate the whole thing on a Biblically empty stomach, I wanted to read it.  Jesus tells us in John 10:27, “My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me.”  Would I hear my Shepherd in “The Shack”?  Or would I hear the Deceiver, manipulating my Shepherd’s words?

Some time ago Eric and I watched an interview with a woman who had authored a fictional story about vampires.  She said that she was getting some heat from vampire enthusiasts because her vampires did not act like vampires act historically.  Her very valid point was that vampires were fictional characters and she had the freedom to make them do and say whatever it is she chooses.

She was right.  William P. Young and company are wrong.  God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit are NOT fictional characters.  The Bible is not subject matter that can be adjusted to fit what we think or feel it should.

I do not feel it necessary to present the fallacy of “The Shack” in order to defend God’s name against damage, His name will in no way be tarnished by falsehood.  The damage that is done by books like this is to the sheep who still live on milk.  Those who lump Bible study in with any number of things that are good for you but just too difficult to keep up with.

I will not debate whether or not some of this book is dead on accurate in its portrayal of the heart of God.  In fact, I believe that the bulk of its accuracy is the most dangerous thing about it.  Like the cake I made for you, it is made with some of the finest of possible ingredients, but it’s the little bit of Anthrax that’ll kill you where you sit.

Tomorrow, I will post the passages from the book that look like poison and we will talk a little bit about whether or not this book makes enough valid points to make it a worthwhile read for any who may be searching for answers, like my friend.

(I decided this had to be a two parter.  Did you see how long it already is?)

I am.  That’s who.

It has been almost a year since my dryer kicked it (may he rest in peace).  In the months since then, I have learned the finer points of hanging laundry.

In the beginning, I hung my laundry on my back porch.  But then the apartment manager lady had to get all up in my business about the terms of the lease that I signed.

And so then hung my laundry inside.  Susan brought me a lovely drying rack and between that, two shower curtain rods, the top of every door, and the back of every chair, I found a way to hang every stitch of clothing, towels, sheets, or rags my family owned.

Not having a dryer, and not rushing to replace it, has taught me a lot about toughing it out with grit when times get hard.  (If you’re new here, I’ve seen worse circumstances than a blown dryer.  I’m shallow, but deep enough to know lacking a dryer isn’t the end of the world.)

About two weeks ago I hit a wall.  My laundry routine which once went: washing machine, dryer, fold , had now become: washing machine, lay each item flat, put on hangers and hang in bathroom or carefully arrange on the drying rack and over doors and backs of chairs.  Check often for dryness.  Once dry, remove most items from hangers.  Fold.

I told Eric I was finished playing martyr and that I would very much like a dryer.  He made plans to put it in the coming week’s budget and I waited.

This morning I am doing my daily phone conference with Mom and I tell her that Eric is going to buy me a dryer this weekend.  I confide in her that I am a little surprised that we don’t have one yet.

“I mean, really, Mom.  I told the world two weeks ago that I was saying Uncle.  I really thought that when I decided I wanted a dryer, one would just show up.  I’m kind of surprised that we are actually having to buy one.”

Hours later I was in the kitchen when I hear a knock on the door.

I know what you’re thinking, “This can’t be a dryer at her door.  Life can’t be that golden for Eric’s Wife”.  And you’d be wrong.

My neighbor happened to have an extra dryer on hand and wanted to know if I wanted one of them.  No joke.

We’ve talked before about being on God’s radar.  May I present exhibit Z?

School starts on September 8 here in the Peterson house.  I am working on lesson plans and curriculum while my children are working on getting excited to start a new homeschooling year.  Shut up, they are excited.

This being that time of year, I hear a lot of parents joyfully talk about the break they are soon to get when they drop their kids off at school after a long summer cooped up with them.  I would be lying if I said there wasn’t a piece of me feeling just a little bit envious of the notion.

I know that homeschooling is not for everyone, but one thing I have learned since we started doing this is that homeschooling is not limited to families with 20 kids, prairie dresses and no television.  There are so many different types of homeschoolers and just as many different reasons why people homeschool.

My homegirl and fellow homeschooling Mom, Deleise, has started a site for parent educators that you should check out.  Her post about why her family chose this path lines up really well with why Eric and I chose to homeschool.  I have often thought I would write about our reasons some day, but then Deleise pretty well summed it up for me so I figured I would copy off her paper.

Maybe I’ll get on the ball and write my own story, but right now I am all twisted up with deciding how to properly review “The Shack”.  That will be posted on Monday.  In the meantime, go check out Deleise.

I am reading this book.  It’s a very popular book and I feel compelled to write a review of it for my blog.  That will come in a few days when I have fully finished and absorbed this book for all the author’s intent.

In the meantime, let me tell you about this lovely cake I have made for you.  One look at it and I am sure you can tell that it is a fabulous cake.  I can assure you that it tastes just as good, if not- better, than it looks.  I have included in this cake all the proper ingredients.  More than just proper, the best.

The eggs are from free range hens that are read bedtime stories to every night to make the eggs extra fluffy and wonderful.

The sugar comes from hand selected sugar cane from fields in Guatemala, where the best sugar cane is grown.

Don’t even get me started on what makes makes the flour so great.  The wheat was actually crushed in a mill owned by a one legged missionary who prays over each grain.

This, friends, is a cake most perfect.    Moist and buttery.  Melt in your mouth.  Perfect.

There’s just one thing I added.  It’s a small thing.  You likely won’t even notice, but I feel it only fair that you know.

Just before I put the cake in the oven , I added the tiniest sprinkle of Anthrax.

Don’t get all up in arms about it.  Remember the eggs?  And the sugar?  This is a perfect cake where no corners were cut in making it as wonderful as possible.  The Anthrax doesn’t take away from how great it tastes.  If you are one to favor sweets over healthy food already, you likely won’t even notice.

So, sit back.  Tuck your napkin under your chin and get ready to open wide for a big bite of my perfect cake.

And I’ll be back real soon with my review of “The Shack”.

My family is funnier and weirder than your family.  Here is proof.

Exhibit A:

Eric: Tell me the truth: Is it wrong to wear boots with shorts?

(no answer)

Eric:  Well?

Eric’s Wife: I’m going to keep quiet on this one because I want the world to get a good laugh if I die before you.

Exhibit B:

Upon returning from a night at my parents’ house, Mackenzie remarked, “Wow, Mom.  It looks like you’ve done a good job keeping the place clean.  Good job.”

Exhibit C:

Random Neighborhood Kid: No girls allowed past this porch.

Ian:  What about my Mom?  She’s not a girl.  She’s a Mom.

Exhibit D:

Charlie, at two in the morning.

Charlie: Heeeeeeey!  Hey! Hey! Hey!  I heard something!  Some person/animal/gust of wind has invaded my very tiny territory!  Hey!  Hey! Hey! Heeeey!

Eric:  Honey?

Me:  Come on, Charlie.  Let’s get your leash and head outside.  Even though it is two o’clock IN THE MORNING.

Charlie:  If it’s no bother to you.  You’re always so kind, Miss Amy.  Can I call you Mom?

Me:  I am not some dog’s mother.  No matter how cute and sweet and talented the dog may be.  You are Charlie and I am your Miss Amy.

Gina tagged me.  She’s my cousin and we’re tight, so I decided to play along.  Also, I still carry guilt for defacing her New Kids On The Block posters when we were 12.  Again, I’m really, deeply sorry.

The Rules:

Link to the person who tagged you (check!), mention the rules (check!), tell six quirky, yet boring & unspectacular things about yourself (check!), tag six other bloggers by linking to them (uhhhhh), and then go to each person’s blog and leave a comment letting them know they’ve been tagged.

1.  It took me twenty minutes to pick out a collar for Charlie.  I think I might turn out to be one of those ladies who dress their dog for the appropriate holiday.

2.  Sometimes I think my cat “allergy” is really just my nose and eyes validating my brain’s dislike of cats for being elitist.

3.  I honestly believe that my dishwasher loading skills are unparralleled.

4.  I take a certain bit of pride as I near the one year anniversary of my clothes dryer’s death.  I have proven to myself that when the times get tough, I get tougher.  Grrrr.

5.  I call all my recipes “a secret recipe” because I like the mystery.  They aren’t really secrets.

6.  I have a method for using the same knife to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich WITHOUT getting streaks of jelly in the jar of peanut butter.  I often marvel at the skill and look over my shoulder to see if there’s a fan also marveling.

Here’s the part where I tag six people.  Only, I happen to have a bit of a summer cold (thankyouverymuch, Ian) and I feel like skipping this step.  I’m a maverick.  That’s how I roll.

Dear Disney,

I sure am glad Walt isn’t around to see what you folks have done with the place.  Shame on you.

Hugs,

Amy

PS  If you don’t know what I’m talking about, I can’t help you.  Hannah Montana? For little girls?  Seriously!?

For several weeks now I had plans to hop in the car with my parents and my kids and go on a trip to visit two of my brothers and their families.  On the morning that we were to leave Ian turned out to have a fever.  It was an easy choice to stay home and keep Typhoid Mary away from the newborn babies, but I was really sad to miss out on my chance to rub some crazy Aunt Amy on ‘em.

My parents decided Kenzie could just travel solo and so off the three of them went.  I didn’t think much of it at the time.  It seems so natural to just kiss my daughter good-bye and send her off on an adventure with my parents.  Just as quickly as they were out of sight, though, I almost fell apart.

Six days without Mackenzie!  How will I manage?  She writes the funniest stories and has the craziest pictures that accompany them.  Six whole days without a Kenzie Faye original.  What was I thinking?

I had no idea how many times a day Ian can say, “Hey!  Watch this!” because he usually has a sister right at his shoulder who will watch.  She’s his watcher.  How will Ian ever make it through six whole days of my half-hearted attempts to feign excitement at his twentieth head stand variation?

I didn’t even take into consideration the neighborhood girls.  Those poor things.  They have nobody to direct their play time.  I really should have thought the ramifications through.

Mackenzie Faye, we will muddle along somehow without you.  But please rush home quickly.  We’re missing your color.

Three years ago a young man sat in the cold and final seat of a defendant on sentencing day.  The verdict was unnecessary as he pled guilty, but there was still the sentence to decide.

On his neck he wore a tie, but on his hands he wore the blood of my baby brother.

In the moments after the car crash that would change our lives forever, this young man fumbled and took Nathan’s phone off his (dead? dying?) body and called home and a few other numbers before finally calling the authorities.  In the hours after Nathan’s death, his family held that phone and let it ring while we and Nathan’s fiance tried calling.

Nathan was dead for 14 hours before we were told.

The judge was slow and deliberate as he read the letters that my parents and I wrote on behalf of Kevin C.  Not knowing anything more about him than his apparent callousness and immaturity, we asked for mercy.  We asked that he not be made to sit in prison, but that he be allowed to walk away from this and build for himself a good life.

Truly, these were the hardest letters in the world to write.

Community service and a bit of probation were the light sentence he received.  Not very significant when you consider the isolation of prison he likely deserved.

Some months later Dad called Kevin C.  I think that we all thought that perhaps he would have sent us a note of thanks, or at the very least called us.  Instead, Dad picked up the phone and made the first move.

“Hi, Kevin.  This is Brad Dodd.”

“Who?”

(wince)

“Nathan’s Dad.”

“Oh.  Hey man, what’s up?”

What’s up!?  You killed my son!  You should be rotting in prison, but you were dealt a hand of mercy and you want to know “What’s up?”!?!?

That’s not what my Dad said.  But it’s how he felt.

I wanted so badly to talk this over with God.  I wanted to tell Him just how much this jerk had hurt my family and I wanted God to hear my heart cry for the lost opportunity to make him go to prison.  I wanted to, but I couldn’t.  I didn’t dare.

How could I go to God and tell Him how much this slight hurt when I know full well the things I have done with His Son’s blood on my hands?  How many times have I approached Jesus’ Father and said, “Hey man, what’s up?”.

I think it is easier than it should be for us to forget that we are covered in blood when we speak of being covered in mercy.  Theresa wrote some time ago that she feared we were losing some of the reverence we once had in approaching God.  I tend to agree with her.

This is not a post with much of a wrap up, just a call for self examination.  If you have taken advantage of the mercy you were shown, take this moment to repent.  Return to the higher place and start acting like someone whose very life depends on the mercy of another.  Because it does.