After yesterday’s post, my wife and I had an interesting conversation about what it means to discern God’s will. It seems to me like we get really excited about discovering God’s will for our individual lives, and we all too quickly ignore what we know to be God’s will for the world at large. We want to know where God wants us to work or go to college, what God wants us to major in and who God wants us to date. Should I move there or stay here, God? Tell me what your will is for my life in this situation!

Meanwhile, God wants to restore shalom to our world and may not care all that much what you have for lunch today!

I wonder if it’s like having a conversation with your kids before the first day of school.

“Now, be sure to treat your teachers with respect, okay?”

“Dad, what do you think we’ll have for lunch?”

“I’m not sure, but you heard the thing about treating your teachers with respect, didn’t you?”

“Do you think we could find out what’s for lunch?”

“They’ll probably have a couple of different options for you. But when you’re on the playground, make sure you play fair with the other kids, okay?”

“I wonder if we could look it up on the internet.”

“Maybe. But I really want to make sure you hear me about respecting your teachers and being fair on the playground. Oh, and do your own work; no copying someone else’s paper.”

“Maybe it’ll be cheese pizza.”

It’s not that God doesn’t care at all about what you have for lunch. If you eat nothing but candy and ranch dressing for lunch, he may not be all that pleased. But get the pizza or the chef salad or a ham sandwich. I’m not sure he minds all that much which option you choose.

He’s more concerned with you treating others with respect, playing fair and being honest. You know…the things you don’t really have to pray about.

God, do you want me to do my own homework, or could I cheat on this one assignment?

You know the answer to that one, right? (hint: God’s not big on cheating)

We get so hung up on God’s will for the small things in our lives, but I wonder if we do so at the expense of the bigger picture.

God is actively at work restoring things to the way they’re supposed to be. He does this in individual lives through the painstaking (and often painful) process of character transformation. But he’s also working to do this in society and in humanity as a whole. He’s given each of us certain gifts, and he wants us to use those gifts to partner with him in this whole enterprise.

That’s the not-so-mysterious will of God. Any questions?

In the lone comment to last Friday’s post, Nick Gill suggests that what we’ve been talking about lately is a good summation of the instruction we find in Romans 12:1-2. Nick’s paraphrase comes to this: “BE transformed by the renewal of your mind,” not “Transform yourself by thinking better thoughts.”

The actual verses read like this: “Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is true worship. Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.”

Now, looking at this paragraph — especially if we look at it in its context — we can see some interesting thoughts. The first thing to note is that it is “in view of God’s mercy”, not God’s judgment, not God’s disappointment, not God’s potentially destructive power. It is God’s mercy that motivates this kind of change.

The second thing to note is that the author is moving into the more practical application section of this letter, and he’s interested in helping us understand how we can best be used by God in advancing his cause in this world.

We find two alternatives set before us. The first is to be conformed to the standards, values and goals of this world. The other alternative is to “be transformed by the renewing of your mind” — especially with an eye towards learning to discern the will of God.

The assumption seems to be that it is possible to have your mind renewed, and this whole new mind will radically alter your behavior.

What kind of behavior might be a result of having a whole new mind like this? And how do you think churches could help people move from having been conformed to the mindset of this world to being transformed with a renewed mind?

Psychologists often refer to the core convictions we talked about the other day as part of your “mental map”. We all have these mental maps; they’re the way see reality and, consequently, interact with the world around us. More importantly, they’re the way we interact with the world around us when we don’t really have time to think carefully about it.

For example, my belief in gravity is just part of my mental map. I never have to wake up and say, “Now, how would I live today if I really believed in the laws of gravity?” But if you watch the way I live, you’d be able to tell that gravity is a core conviction of mine.

When people followed Jesus around, it became obvious to them that his belief that if you sought the Kingdom of God and the righteousness of God above everything else, all the other stuff would take care of itself. He believed that so deeply, you could say it was as much a part of his mental map as gravity is a part of mine.

I want my mental map to look more like Jesus’. This is what the Apostle Paul meant when he said it was possible for us to take on “the mind of Christ” (1 Corinthians 2:16b; cf. Philippians 2:5-11). But how does my mental map get redrawn?

Look at how I worded that last question, please. Notice I did not ask, “How do I redraw my mental map?” The truth is: I cannot draw my own mental map. This is what we were talking about last week when I said that I cannot choose my own beliefs. But, as I suggested then, I am not helpless in this, either. I may not be able to redraw my own mental map, but I can submit to a process by which I find it redrawn.

Here’s what I mean: Jesus told his earliest followers that it was better to give than to receive. That must have seemed very counter-intuitive to them. It didn’t fit into their mental maps. But they saw his life and wanted his freedom, so they mustered up enough courage to actually try doing what he said. And they found out an amazing this: Jesus’ prescription for life actually worked!

They did something they hadn’t done before and experienced their desired outcome. And their mental map was redrawn a little.

My friend Andy Stanley often says, “When your faith intersects with God’s faithfulness, great…things…can…happen.”

When your faith prompts you to obey one of God’s teachings, you’ll find that he is trustworthy. And your mental map will look a little more like Jesus’.

Now, let’s think practically about this for a moment. If this is the case, then what are the possible implications for you as an individual? For churches? For parents?

Philosopher Michael Novak has written about three different kinds of convictions people may hold. I hope that this addition to our recent conversations may help us understand why some people who claim to be Christians remain jerks for so long.

Novak says the first kind of conviction is a public conviction. This is a conviction I say out loud because I want you to believe that I believe it. Public convictions may be as innocuous as what a husband says in response to his wife’s question: “Do these pants make my hips look big?”

The husband, of course, says, “Hips? What hips? I’d actually forgotten you had hips until you mentioned them.”

The husband does not say this because he necessarily believes it, but he wants his wife to believe that he believes it.

Public convictions can also be darker and more sinister than this. For example, perhaps you told people that you voted for John McCain because you really agreed with all of his principles and policies, when in reality you may secretly harbor some latent racism. I’m not saying you did that, but a lot of people did. They said one thing because they wanted others to believe it to be true. Or you may have voted for Obama in the primaries instead of Hillary Clinton. You told everyone it was because you prefer the change a newcomer like Obama would bring to the White House when you actually just dislike Hillary Clinton or have some sexist/misogynistic beliefs.

John Ortberg says the most famous biblical example of this is King Herod telling the Wise Men: “When you find the newborn King, please come and tell me where he is because…I’d…er…like to come and…worship him, too! Yeah, that’s the ticket.”

You understand the point, right? A public conviction is something I say out loud because I want you to believe that I believe it.

Then there are Private Convictions. A private conviction is something I actually believe is true, but when push comes to shove, when the heat is really on, or when circumstances simply change, my conviction melts away. This can also be innocent — like when you think, “If I could only have that job or live in that house or be in a relationship with that person…I’d be completely satisfied and content for the rest of my life.”

But all too often, you get that job, you buy that house, you date that person…and…well…it turns out your private convictions are fickle.

A good biblical example of this is Peter. He told Jesus, “Even if everyone else deserts you, even if I have to die with you, I’ll never run away.”

I think Peter was sincere when he said that, but what happened? Within a few hours he was bailing out like everyone else.

A public conviction is something I say is true. A private conviction is something I think is true. And then there is what Novak calls a core conviction.

Core convictions don’t even have to be said out loud; they are revealed by your behavior. I had a professor who used to say, “Don’t tell me your theology. Show me your methodology, and I’ll tell you your theology.” In other words, what you do reveals what you really believe.

So, two people show up at church on a Sunday morning. They both affirm the same doctrinal statement, but they both live radically different lifestyles. Do they have the same faith?

Perhaps. But, for one, their faith is simply a public conviction or a private conviction. For the other, their faith is a core conviction.

“What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if people claim to have faith but have no deeds? Can such faith save them? Show me your faith without deeds, and I will show you my faith by what I do” (James 2:14, 18b).

And now…a question: How does faith become a core conviction? Is there a process, or is it simply a gift from God?

The comments from yesterday’s post were…interesting. Thanks to everyone who played along. At several points, it became obvious that this conversation is made all the more difficult by the presuppositions we bring to it. First and foremost, there was the presupposition that we’re talking about “getting into heaven” or “being saved”.

Now, how those two phrases became synonymous, I’ll never know. I did not intend for that to be the topic of conversation. I intended to address the question: Why are so many Christians jerks? Why do so many people who claim to follow Jesus look so little like him?

But the conversation kept going towards whether or not we’re being judgmental if we say jerks can’t get into heaven when they die. And this poses a problem for me, because — if you read through the Gospels — you’ll never once find Jesus saying, “Here are the minimum entry requirements for you to get into heaven.” You’ll hear that kind of talk in a lot of churches (probably phrased differently), but you won’t hear it from Jesus.

This is, in my opinion, part of the problem we have to address. I think we’re so focused on getting people to trust Jesus with their eternal destiny that we lose the essence of Christianity sometimes. The true essence of Christianity has never been to focus on the afterlife to the exclusion of the present life. Rather, it has always been to live in the present in light of the eternal, to bring some of the eternal, in fact, into the present.

“On earth as it is in heaven,” was Jesus’ prayer.

Perhaps the elephant in the room when it comes to so many Christians demonstrating jerk-ish behavior is the fact that churches spend too much time worrying about who’s “in” and who’s “out” when it comes to “getting folks saved” and not enough time helping people understand the real plan of God, which has always involved the establishment of a community of people who are rightly related to him and rightly relating to one another, working together for the good of the whole world.

The earliest followers of Jesus watched the way he lived and said, “I’d like to live like that.”

So, they started doing the things he told them to do. When they were offended, they forgave. When they had more than enough, they shared. When they were in positions of authority, they used that authority to help others. And they found out that his way of life actually worked. It provided them with peace in the midst of persecution, joy in the midst of sorrow, security when all the world was coming apart. It was the best recipe for healthy relationships and true satisfaction. They signed up to go anywhere he wanted them to go and do anything he wanted them to do, and they did this willingly, joyfully, gratefully.

And — this is the important part — they did all of this before they realized that Jesus was also concerned with their eternal destiny. They trusted Jesus with their present life, and it was because he proved trustworthy that they eventually came to trust him with their future life.

Having spent the better part of a decade studying the intersection of philosophy, theology and psychology, I’m ready to go on record with the following statement: It is psychologically impossible to separate faith in Jesus’ ability to take care of us after we die from faith in Jesus’ ability to be right about the best way to live between now and then.

The fact that we seem to have disconnected the two is troublesome to me.

Two people show up to church on a given Sunday morning. Both are members of this church in good standing. Both know people and are known by people. Both put money in the bucket as it goes by. Both sing the same songs and hear the same sermon. Both affirm the same doctrinal statement or creed.

One is a true saint, kind and generous, honest and hospitable, patient and peaceful, a true joy to be around.

The other is a real jerk, bitter and selfish, argumentative and pessimistic, gossipy and critical, a terror to be around.

Question: Do they both have the same faith?

They both claim to be Christians. They both attend and are members of a Christian church. They both affirm the contents of the Christian faith.

But do they both have the same faith?

It finally hit me tonight: I have to move. I have to leave California. I have to pack up another house and drive across country again.

I’ve made friends out here. That’s the worst part. There are people here who I’ll miss terribly. Just like there are people in the last place I lived who I miss terribly now. And the place before that. And the place before that.

There are people all over the country who I miss terribly. Some more than others to be sure, but it’s beginning to feel as if I’ve left these little pieces of my heart scattered in various places. And I wonder when I’ll ever be whole again.

I’ll miss people in California. I miss people in Texas and Maryland. In Louisiana and in New York. In Ohio and in Georgia. It seems as if there’s not any place I can go where I won’t miss someone. If I stay here, I’ll miss Dane and Hal and David. If I go back to Atlanta, I’ll miss Chad and Sandra and Scott. I miss Tom and Denise and Rick and Suzanne and Kerry and Margaret and Derrell and Andrea and Dan and Lisa and Andy and Kelly and on and on it goes.

I can’t help it. I can’t just forget about people I care about so easily. Though I may be far from them physically, I am never far from them in thought. I am not, by nature, a very emotional guy, but I am learning to live less from my head and more from my heart. Sadly, this means I experience a tremendous sense of loss when I am no longer near one of these dear people.

I pray about this. Of course, I pray about this. Constantly I pray about this. And I hold those memories close to my heart, replaying those cherished moments over and over in my dreams.

But, in the end, I do my best to seek the highest good for the greatest number of people. And that may mean saying goodbye to loved ones. It may mean leaving behind a little piece of my heart. It may mean feeling a little less whole…until that great and glorious day when we all meet again and everything is as it should be.

Earlier this week, I talked about the fundamental difference between conviction and commitment. I said, “Conviction is something I think and feel to be true. It’s largely a matter of intellect and emotion…. Commitment is an act of the will. Commitment is a matter of choice.”

And then I asked whether you thought faith is more a matter of conviction or commitment.

This sparked some sort of neo-debate between someone who sounded sort of Calvinist and someone else who sounded sort of Arminian. If you don’t understand those two terms…good for you!

Given the fact that there is a difference between the two, my assertion is that sometimes I am called upon to demonstrate 100% commitment in spite of the fact that I lack 100% conviction. In fact, my level of conviction is likely to waver from time to time, but this does not mean that my level of commitment must waver along with it.

Sunday morning I told about a time when I was talked into going bungee jumping. I don’t know if you’ve ever participated in this sort of thing, but let me tell you: it’s a rush! When I went, I was taken into a small, square, wood-paneled room. While I was in there I watched an instructional video that explained all the math and physics involved in bungee jumping. I was told how the harness worked and how much pressure the cord could stand. I was shown how the whole thing was rigged and anchored. In short, everything they could think of to assuage my fears was explained in great detail.

I was 100% convinced.

But I was a pretty safe distance from the platform I was going to jump from. As I walked closer and closer to the edge and stared out into the abyss…what do you suppose happened to my level of conviction?

No new information had been introduced into the equation. The math and physics still held. But my conviction wavered. Greatly.

Still…if I was, say, 85% convinced, I couldn’t simply commit 85% to jumping. No, with bungee jumping, you’re either in or you’re out. You either jump 100%, or you don’t jump at all.

A 100% commitment was required in spite of my lack of 100% conviction.

It’s that way with marriage. It’s that way with being a parent. It’s that way with many of the biggest decisions in life.

And it’s that way with faith.

Now, don’t mishear me. I’m not saying you should skip the instructional video. I’m not saying you should blow off the math and the physics. You should investigate to make sure things are anchored properly, and licenses are up to date. Call the Better Business Bureau. Do whatever form of investigation you think is warranted.

Just now that when you’re standing on the edge of the platform, your conviction level is likely to waver.

The question is: Will you allow your wavering conviction level to keep you from experiencing the rush of free-falling through the sky?

My cyberfriend Douglas Young left a good comment about yesterday’s post:

So immersed in the community of the Braves, listening to announcers, reading the stats (facts), and being engulfed in the culture, you adopted a set of convictions because of the experience altogether. It makes perfect sense!

The similarities may be easy to spot, but let’s go over them just to make sure. Often, people who don’t embrace the convictions or beliefs of the Christian faith find themselves hanging around lots of Christian people, listening to Christian speakers, reading the Bible for themselves and learning the Christian culture. Then — gradually — over time they find themselves rooting for the Christian story to be true. Eventually, they may become convinced that it is, in fact, true.

They may not be able to point to a definitive moment when they first believed. They may not even be aware of their newly formed beliefs at first. They may not want to admit these beliefs at first, but — like it or not — that’s what they believe now!

And I say all of that to say this: We do not choose our beliefs; more often than not, it seems almost as if our beliefs choose us. People who work with students often say it this way: sometimes you have to belong before you can believe. We might go further and say that some people must belong in order to believe.

And now we find ourselves back at our original question, which is whether Christianity is more a matter of conviction or a matter of commitment. It would seem from what we’re saying here that commitment comes first and conviction comes as a byproduct.

But enough about what I think. What do you think? Does this whole “faith and baseball” analogy stand up? And, if so, what are the practical ramifications of thinking about faith development along these lines?

Of course, I am prone to saying that everything is at least a little like baseball, but this time I really mean it. Faith can be like a particular aspect of baseball that I’d like to talk about today: being a fan.

When I was growing up in southern California, I rooted for the Dodgers. Yes, the Angels were closer to my house, but even at an early age I realized the the designated hitter was a corruption of the purity of the game. The National League team closest to my house was the Los Angeles Dodgers, and that was my team.

But then something happened when I was in high school. My parents moved me to the suburbs of Atlanta, Georgia — home of the Braves. Now, it’s important to remember that this was before the Braves were good. They were terrible, in fact. And the Dodgers were good.

I, of course, went to old Fulton County Stadium every time the Dodgers came to town (which was frequent back then because both teams played in the same division). And I always rooted for the Dodgers. I was no fickle fan.

But something began to happen. See, more than I love any particular team, I’ve always loved the game. So, I’ve always loved watching the game, but I lived in Atlanta. The only teams I got to see were the Braves and whoever was playing the Braves. When I listened to the radio, who were they talking about? The Braves. When I read the Sports Page, who were they writing about? The Braves.

I was submerged in the Braves culture, and — gradually — I came to learn a great deal about the team, about the owner, about the manager, about the players. I knew their names and where they’d gone to school. I knew their batting average and their ERA. They weren’t such bad guys.

I decided that I could root for them as long as they weren’t playing my beloved Dodgers. That was the line I drew.

But one muggy September night in 1987, something really devastating happened. I went out to the stadium and sat in the bleachers like always. Back then you could smoke in the bleachers, and I had a really stinky, cheap cigar with me. I was one of about 50 people scattered here and there in the seats (I honestly just looked it up, and there were officially 14,090 people in attendance that night). The Dodgers were in town, and I was wearing my Dodger blue cap.

The Braves jumped to an early lead, but the Dodgers got six runs in the 4th inning. They added two more in the top of the 7th and were winning 8-4. I knew intellectually that I should be happy about this.

Except I wasn’t. I was trying to manufacture it, because the people near me were giving me a hard time for wearing the visiting team’s colors. But something inside me felt a little…I don’t know…off.

Then the Braves started a rally in the bottom of the 7th inning, and to my shock and horror, I felt a little twinge of excitement. I could not believe this! What was happening to me? The Braves kept chipping away at the lead, and the tighter the score became, the more excited I got.

By the end of the inning, they’d tied the score, and I found myself cheering them on with all the other bleacher bums. As the game stretched on into extra innings, I came to a startling realization: I had become a Braves fan. I’m not sure when or how it happened exactly. I can’t point you to a moment in time or an intentional choice. All I know is that I found myself rooting for the Braves. I really wanted them to win, even though it meant defeating the team I’d cheered for since I was young.

My fandom snuck up on me.

When Ken Griffey doubled home a run in the bottom of the 10th inning, the few people who had stayed for the duration jumped and screamed and clapped and high-fived each other. And I wanted to be part of that celebration. But I had that Dodger blue cap on my head. So, I congratulated the people around me, and I left — with my convictions shaken.

Now, let’s process this together, okay? How is this story of how I became a fan of the Atlanta Braves similar to faith?