God does not have a plan for your life

I recently wrote this article for Christian Standard magazine, and I’m already getting lots of feedback on both sides of the issue. Click the link below to read the entire article on the CS site.

“God’s plan for your life isn’t a map you see all at once, but a scroll unrolled a little at a time, requiring faith,” Rick Warren recently tweeted.

“God will accelerate his plan for your life as you put your trust in him. God is giving you victory sooner than you think,” says Joel Osteen.

Less prominent Christians champion the theology as well. In responding to a new believer’s question about his career, a contributor to Bible-Knowledge.com writes, “God will now be the one to fully guide you into whatever jobs he will want you to have. . . . The choice is no longer yours! In the meantime, God will make sure you have enough money and support coming in to keep you afloat until this next job comes through.”

It is comforting to believe God has mapped out our future. It is exciting to think he’s bringing me victory. And I would love for God to make sure I have enough money while I passively wait for it to happen.

But unlike pastors Warren and Osteen, Mr. Bible-Knowledge, and many Christians I know, I don’t believe God has created a plan for my life—or for yours.


Problems with “The Plan”
–We take verses out of context

Jeremiah 29:11 is a cherished verse, frequently used for encouragement in graduation cards, post-breakup pep talks and, yes, job searches. (Well-meaning believers have recited it to me in all three contexts.) Along with The Bachelorette and people who refuse to vaccinate their children, its yanked-out-of-context use is one of the biggest pet peeves of my life.

Somehow we forget the grim reality surrounding this verse: amidst oracles of doom and judgment against Judah, Jeremiah says these words to comfort the people (as a group) with promises of eventual restoration and return from exile.

This is a bit different from claiming it as a guarantee of a fulfilling job, wonderful spouse, or ministry “call.”

Click here to read more, including why I find this theology harmful, why it lets American Christians feel special, and and what I do believe about God’s plan.

new to you friday–how to stop worrying

Be someone other than Jennifer Taylor.

Kidding, of course, although this is a good first step since I have completely mastered worrying and could compete at a Worry Olympics with other champions.


It began early.

Jen, age 5: (holding paper and crayons, sobbing): Mom, I can’t make my fours right. I make them backwards. (More sobbing.) Mrs. Pence makes her fours the right way and I can’t do it!

(Mrs. Pence was my kindergarten teacher, a lovely lady who introduced me to turnips and wrote a poem about me that had nothing to do with turnips before retiring the next year. But I digress.)

Mom: (patient smile): How old is Mrs. Pence?

Jen (trying to breathe): Old.

Mom: How long has she been making her fours?

Jen: A long time. Because she’s old.

Mom: How long have you been trying to do your fours?

Jen (a dim light dawning in her tear-soaked little brain): One day.

Mom: Right. I promise before you are old you will make your fours just fine. You just need to practice some more.

Sniffling and hugs…………….end scene.


So the ability to turn small issues into huge crises is one of my biggest gifts.

But I’m now closer to 35 than 5 (gulp) and it’s time to get a handle on this. Although the situations are far less common now, I still tend to turn into that teary five-year-old (inside, anyway) when things I care about don’t go as planned.

Worry is one of those acceptable sins, like gluttony and gossip, that we minimize or say we can’t help. Sometimes we also cause ourselves more worry by believing if we could just “trust God more” we would stop fretting, and therefore we are bad Christians with little faith.

I disagree with both perspectives.


I think it’s a control issue.


Author and Christian psychologist Henry Cloud writes, “Worry is often the non-acceptance of situations that you cannot do anything about.”

This is an amazing insight, because it positions worry as the symptom, not the core problem. The real issue is an inability to accept our lack of control over other people and circumstances. We are unable to accept that we may not get the house we put an offer on, or the job we interview for, or the relationship we want. We can’t control the other couple making an offer or the opinions of the interviewer or the feelings of the potential friend or date.

We can do some things, of course: work with a good realtor and make a competitive offer, research the company and practice our interview skills, share our wishes for the friendship. But ultimately we cannot make anyone else do anything, and we certainly can’t control the timeline of their response. We must simply do what we can and let it go. (This is where the trust-in-God discussion becomes more helpful.)

You lucky non-worrier types are thinking, “What’s the big deal? Of course you can’t control everything. Why waste all that emotional energy?” To which I say to you, on behalf of all worriers everywhere, yes, we know, and thank you for pointing out that we are wasting time and energy on this because now that gives us something else to feel bad about. Also, please ask your spouse what aspects of your “laid-back” personality drive them nuts.


As for me, one thing I have accepted is it’s time to deal with this issue, this year. After all, I did finally learn to make my fours. I can do this, too.

new to you friday–give it up for Lent

Earlier this week I wrote about one activity—giving thanks before a meal—that can be deeply meaningful or routine and legalistic. As I saw the many people enjoying their last Diet Coke or signing off Facebook on Tuesday, I realized the observance of Lent can be another.

It’s become trendy among Christian church folks to give something up for Lent, and I admit my own tendency to, at times, avoid doing something simply because it seems everyone else is choosing to. And I still question how much we’re really identifying with Christ’s sufferings or taking personal inventory of our sins by giving up caffeine or the Internet. (Or, as at least one of my friends does, swearing.)


But, ultimately, I add Lenten fasting to the long list of other rituals, practices and disciplines that can be meaningful if approached with the right heart. And while I’m not giving anything up this year, I will sincerely be praying for those of you who are. And watching American Idol.

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The Christian churches have never been big on observing Lent, or the church calendar in general, so I grew up with little to contribute in discussions with friends about what we planned to go without during the Lenten season. I was in college before I saw someone actually walking through Ash Wednesday with ashes on their forehead, or made the connection to the bacchanalia of Mardi Gras the night before.

Although I still attend a church that focuses little attention on these holy days (except Easter, and the almighty Christmas—that one seems to be remembered each year), I have started to be aware of them. The cycles of Advent, Epiphany, Lent, and Pentecost lend a comforting spiritual rhythm to the year; even more importantly, they have the potential to refocus us on Christ in between the “big” holidays.

Still, I’d never considered actually giving something up for Lent. Remembering the cross, yes. Trying to be more reflective and contemplative in the weeks leading up to Easter, sure, okay.

But actually forgoing a regular treat as if it in any way approached Jesus’ sacrifice for us? Thinking my abstinence from candy or coffee even mattered to him? Truth be told, I always found it a little silly and self-important.


So I’m as astonished as anyone that this year I plan to observe Lent by giving up TV and movies.

A few days ago the notion popped into my head as I watched a Seinfeld rerun with one eye and lamented my unread list of “edifying” books with the other. Irony is fun.

Coincidentally or not, the same day I came across a website of prayers and reflections for each day of Lent (click here) that also piqued my interest. An idea was born: no TV, no DVDs, not even a sitcom on iTunes from Ash Wednesday through Easter Sunday.

(And lest you think this doesn’t count because of the writers’strike, let me remind you that new episodes of LOST begin next week and will continue throughout February and March. So scoff not.)


This little “sacrifice” isn’t about equaling Jesus’ sacrifice, of course. As for whether my 46 days without TV “matter” to God, a myriad of Bible passages teach us anything can be done (or not done) to God’s glory if the heart is right. Putting a check in the offering plate or reading my 3.2 Bible chapters each day can be meaningless routine or intentional obedience. Likewise, the self-imposed deprivation of Lent can be the legalistic restriction so many “Christians-only” see it as, or it can be a quiet act of worship.

I’m going for the latter with Lent this year. And really looking forward to catching up on LOST after Easter.

grace notes

“Are we allowed to eat?”

Spend enough time around Christians and two things will happen: a) we’ll eat, because it is one of our few vices and b) a latecomer to the gathering will ask this question.


For those of you not part of the subculture, the person is really asking, “Have we said a rushed, cliche-filled ‘blessing’for this food? Because you must do so before eating anything with protein.” (In youth group we prayed before pizza, but not before chips.)


Prayers—sincere, thoughtful prayers—of thanks before a meal are appropriate and even biblical (Matthew 14 & 15, Matthew 26, Luke 24, Acts 27). And for some people it is a meaningful moment. But for too many others it’s a requirement to be rushed through before the food gets cold.

Perhaps this is a small thing to be annoyed by (or blog about), but it’s a symptom of more significant problems. We scoff at the Pharisees who constructed elaborate laws about the Sabbath but missed the whole point of rest and worship. Are we any better? We insist on a mumbled prayer before eating (bonus points if we can use it to “witness” in restaurants), but how many of us think about the words we’re saying, or give thanks for our blessings at other times? Does our gratefulness ever prompt us to provide food for those in need?


Sometimes I pray before I eat. Sometimes I don’t. If we cross paths at a potluck, I promise never to ask if the Jello salad has been blessed. But I do have some other questions:

—Couldn’t we just pray once over everything in our grocery cart and call it good until the next shopping trip?

—What about leftovers?

—What if there’s a gap between dinner and dessert? Is dessert “covered”?

—Which is worse: to skip prayer in a restaurant or to pray and then be rude to the waitress?

—What about giving thanks for food we shouldn’t be eating in the first place? (If I’m about to consume a Burger King Triple Stacker with bacon, shouldn’t I be praying for my arteries to survive it?)

—And how do you think Jesus would look in a tuxedo t-shirt?

 

new to you friday–child’s play

Nashville’s been blessed with some wonderful 70-degree days lately, so I’ve been working from my front porch in the afternoons. I moved to a new neighborhood since I first posted this, but the squabbles among the kids haven’t changed. “Idiot Head” seems to be a universal insult.

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As last summer wound down, I wrote about my young neighbors and our occasional interactions. As a new summer begins the kids are back outside, and when my cocktail of allergy drugs makes it possible I like to have the windows open—which means I’m once again privy to their many arguments, negotiations, and meltdowns.


Some highlights from this week (imagine these in put-upon, fed-up little voices):

You are not LISTENING to me!

He has my stuff—that’s not FAIR!

You are not even smart. You don’t know what you are saying out of your face.

Come here. Come HERE. COME HERE!

You are a stupid IDIOT head.


Jesus said we must become like children to enter the kingdom of God. Although he meant we should have attitudes of humility and simple faith, we usually settle for simple immaturity instead. Thanks, God, for the thousands of years you have endured our complaining and bickering—all without the benefit of drugs.

new to you friday–the parent trap

When I was young, my parents determined what I ate, what I wore and—as much as is possible with a strong-willed child—how I behaved. (They also determined the punishments when I misbehaved.) That’s what parents do.

Now my folks and I relate as adults. I still honor their role, and I try to submit to them as I would to any other believer, but all three of us set boundaries and make our own choices. We even argue occasionally.

In a recent enews from Crossroads Christian Church in Anthem, AZ, lead pastor Steve Wyatt wrote about the difference between parent-child forms of interaction (in which one participant assumes a domineering role and the other passively submits) and the adult-adult form (in which two adults relate to each other as peers).


Steve says, “Far too often, the church traffics in the realm of the Parent-Child relationship. Leaders function in the role of the authoritative “Dad” and faithfully discharge their duties in a rather dictatorial fashion.

In some church traditions, Christians aren’t taught how to think, they’re told what to think. They’re handed a creedal statement and told to memorize it. Young people are given lists of ‘Do’s and Don’ts’rather than schooled in the art of discernment and wisdom…..

The fact is, the single most popular approach in religion is the Jim Jones model of discipleship (remember him?). He’s the grape Kool-Aid cult leader who led nearly 1000 people to follow him right into the jaws of self-imposed death. That’s the approach of many in religious circles: Treat your flock like mindless children. Demand their acquiescence. Keep them dependent on you and you alone for life’s answers. Create dependency over discipleship.

That’s the Parent-Child approach to church leadership. And it works. In fact, dare I say it? Most of the so-called ‘megachurches’in our culture function according to this model.”



These are bold statements. And, in some ways, correct ones. I know several megachurch ministers who prefer this parent-child method. (I’ll send you a list for $19.95 plus shipping and handling.)

I also know some who take this approach with their staff; in fact, just last week I heard about another one, a pastor who, without all the facts, belittled a staff member’s ministry and questioned the person’s key relationships under the guise of helping the person “be a good example.” Instead of acting like a spiritual leader, inviting the staff member’s perspective, or—at the least—treating the person like a team member, the pastor mandated conformity to his uninformed ideas of what the staffer’s life should look like.

But I also know senior leaders who quite rightly would bristle at the implication they want church members or staff to mindlessly follow them. Of course, they teach the scriptures unapologetically; adult-adult relationships are not about diluting the truth or making everyone feel good. But some issues really do have more gray than black and white, and many leaders really do want people to study, pray, and develop their own faith.


Which is also God’s preference. If anyone has the right to invoke a parent-child dynamic, it’s the Father, but he requires us to make choices, experience consequences and “work out our salvation with fear and trembling.”

It’s easier, quicker, and more satisfying in the short term to tell people what to think, how to behave, or how to feel; it’s much more difficult and time-consuming to dialogue, explain, and listen. It requires more maturity to accept conflict and messiness as part of the process, and to accept that the process may take decades.

Basically, it requires people to be adults, and the root problem is many leaders—in and outside the church—never learned to relate this way. In these situations we must still honor their roles and submit to their authority. But we can also set boundaries, make choices, and even argue occasionally. It’s what adults do.

war-torn

This weekend a good friend asked what I thought about pacifism. For all my opinionated-ness, this was one issue I hadn’t considered.

So I did.

In principle, I like the idea: that we bring in the reign of God through “militant nonviolence,” that we turn our enemies’hearts toward God through our love of them, that “it is better to suffer wrong than to inflict it” (Arnobius).

But I am too pragmatic (cynical? negative?) to believe we will ever live in a world free of war between nations or neighbors, or to think the methodology of pacifism will always be effective in those conflicts. (Mark Moore offers an alternate view at Stake.)


As with so many issues, proponents of both sides can turn to scripture to support their point. We serve a God who not only taught us to turn the other cheek and forgive 70 x 7, but also exacted justice against entire people groups and nations. Jesus blessed the peacemakers in Matthew 5; in Matthew 10 he declares he hasn’t come to bring to peace. He told his disciples to carry a sword (Luke 22) and told Peter to put it away (John 18).

Last week I re-read Anne Frank’s diary, the “Critical Edition Prepared by The Netherlands State Institute for War Documentation” that includes the unabridged original text and weighs more than some first-graders. After two years hiding in the forgotten rooms of an Amsterdam warehouse, Anne, her family, and four others were arrested and sent to concentration camps. All but one died, most of them just weeks before the Allies won the war.


The pacifism thing holds up for me until I get here.

Were we to let Hitler shove his way across Western Europe, occupying its major cities and exterminating its citizens? Sure, we entered the war for political and economic reasons—that doesn’t (necessarily) mean it was wrong. Can’t bruised and bloody kids finally stand up to the violent playground bully?

It’s trendy to be opposed to the current wars the US is fighting, and I agree it’s more difficult to get behind a war with murky reasons for beginning and an even less definite conclusion. It’s especially tempting to scoff at the idea of a “just war” when you were persuaded into the last one by imaginary WMDs. And certainly there is a limit to what military force can accomplish. But I’m also not ready to say all war is wrong.


I’m not a fan of the gun-toting, good old boy, if-America-is-doing-it-it-must-be-right attitude. But neither am I able to trust that sit-ins and stubborn ideals will single-handedly defeat evil in the world. Until those internal conflicts are resolved, I can’t be a pacifist.

re:gifting

Sometimes my experience is different from what the traditional teaching suggests it should be. A few months ago I devoted a week to exploring some examples, partly to process my own thoughts and partly to learn from yours.

So reposition those thinking caps, because I’ve got another one, folks: spiritual gifts.


According to Romans, 1 Corinthians & Ephesians, each Christian has been given a spiritual gift as evidence of the Holy Spirit working in his life, and each of the gifts are to build up and serve the church.

Love that. What I don’t love is that I cannot, for the life of me, figure out my gift.

I’ve done all the tests and they’re inconclusive at best—some say one thing, some say another. It’s entirely possible the tests are flawed, not the principle, or that the problem is with me. Then again, many generations of believers built the church without Scantron sheets, so a person’s gift should be evident without taking some 20-question quiz. And you’d think if God really intended these gifts to make his church more effective, he wouldn’t make it so hard to figure them out. Although the list of things I think God could have given us more clarity on could fuel another blog.

Of the gifts listed in scripture, the one I usually score highest on is administration, but that’s a temperament/talent/workaholic thing, not a gift that suddenly emerged when I became a Christian. I’ve always been able to break huge projects into manageable chunks and balance the big picture and the details. I love to make plans and I live for lists. Does that mean I’m spiritually gifted or just obnoxious?

Of course, there could be additional gifts beyond the ones listed in these passages, or there could be some mentioned in scripture that no longer apply. Again, this is all God’s prerogative but it does make the entire exercise seem rather pointless. And who gets to decide what else makes the list? (I vote for procrastination.)


So we don’t know how many spiritual gifts there are, what the choices are, or how to know if you have one. What do we do with this?

guest post #2–washed and waiting

You all are a rebellious bunch.

The first response to my call for guest posts was an email saying, “I don’t want to write about this—will you?”

Okay.


Then I got a guest post submission that had already appeared on the writer’s own blog, despite my insistence that posts be original material.

The trouble with creative people is they usually don’t like to follow rules. However, because this particular creative is a friend who makes me think, and because this blog post talks about a book that’s made both of us think, I’m bending the rules. Also I’m pretty sure he paid for the extra guacamole last time we had lunch.

Check out Kyle’s blog here.

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Thank you, Wesley Hill.

I’ve just finished reading his book Washed and Waiting: Reflections on Christian Faithfulness and Homosexuality. I was able to hear him speak at the STORY Conference recently and was profoundly impacted by his exposition of Romans 8.


“For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the freedom and glory of the children of God.”


I have a dear soul-friend who possesses wonderfully thoughtful intelligence, a soft wit, deep passions, and a same-sex attraction, so I quickly made time to read this book.




Washed and Waiting begins with Hill’s own journey through adolescence, his failed attempts to re-orient himself to women, and the agony of being different. (Side note: I’m wonderfully proud of the communities that surrounded him during this journey. The story is a testament to their authentic faith lived out: churches and small groups fully participating in their God-given roles as an extended family.)

Many reviewers will comment on Hill’s choice to be sexually abstinent because he believes the Bible to be inerrant in its condemnation of homosexual practice. But the book is not simply about being gay—it is a collection of field notes from a soldier in a war against self. And this war—the burden and longing of Romans 8—is one we can all relate to regardless of our sexual orientation.


We all struggle with desires that may never be fulfilled in this life. For me it is the passion for beautiful ideas, for seeking and creating and curating them. However, these are not the skills most commonly requested in the ministry marketplace. And so I learn and produce and work and serve, but with little to feed my own spirit. Eight years later I am still searching for the right beautiful idea, and I need to own the reality of longing for more than I may experience in this life.

That is the power of Hill’s book. We all wrestle with unfulfilled dreams, or desires which—if they were fulfilled—would damage us. Washed and Waiting can teach us important lessons about choosing a holy life in a world we did not choose.

guest post #1 (sort of)

Yesterday I issued a call for guest posts, and I’ve received several interesting responses. In addition to some queries about writing a post, I got a great question in the comments (“Where do 30-something Christians go? Or is the church just not geared toward my age group and I need to wait ’til I’m 50?”) and an I-don’t-want-to-write-it-but-you-should email.


“I wouldn’t want to write this myself,” it began, “but I find it interesting how many churches heavily emphasize faith in the Bible. (‘We believe the Bible is inspired, inerrant in its original language, completely accurate in every instance and absolutely relevant in every circumstance….’)

I’m not convinced the Bible is, or even claims to be, everything our churches assert that it is……For example, when the preacher explains the nuanced definition of some Greek word, which Jesus likely spoke in Aramaic some 30+ years before, it makes me scratch my head. I sometimes feel like faith in the Bible is on par with faith in God in a lot of churches, and that’s odd to me.”


The person who emailed declined to write a post on the subject, but did give me permission to quote him in a post of my own (potato, potahto). I’m choosing to do so because I resonate with his thoughts. In fact, just before reading his email I was listening to a friend and seminary graduate talk about Luke 17. “It’s geographically impossible for Jesus to have traveled the way Luke presents it,” she said. “Either Luke was a really bad navigator, or this is a signal (which would have been very clear to the original readers) that the passage is not to be taken literally.”

I don’t know if that’s true. (Sometimes I think about going to seminary myself. Then the sickness passes and I remember I like my life without homework.) But the very fact that I don’t know if it’s true, any more than I know those nuanced meanings of ancient Greek, makes me wonder why—if the Bible is our inerrant guidebook to life—it also has to be so hard to understand. And did God intend for us to make belief in the Bible equal to a belief in the Savior it describes?


So, wanna respond to Kevin’s question in yesterday’s comments? Wanna respond to this one? Wanna write your own post about it? This is getting fun.