The Evil Side of "Peace of Mind"

Here's a thought (and be prepared to wince): "Christianity is not a therapy for those who wish never to be upset." It comes from Robert C. Roberts in his book, Spiritual Emotions: a Psychology of Christian Virtues, (Eerdmans, 2007). You'll find it in the chapter on peace. It reminds me of a comment John Wesley once made about people wanting "a pillow for the soul."

We rarely admit it so candidly, but isn't this sort of peace pretty close to what we really want? Isn't this desire what we have in mind when we talk about the "peace" that Christians have in Christ? Isn't this why we memorize and quote verses like, "Be anxious for nothing, but in everything...and the peace of God which surpasses all understanding..."?

Now, I want peace of mind, too. Who goes around saying, "I want to be mentally tormented?" One of the blessings of walking with Christ is peace - a sense of settledness, even rest - that one feels even if one's circumstances are not peaceful.

But when we turn peace of mind into the ultimate aim (to see how much we want peace of mind, think about how much we talk about stress), we take what is good and twist it into something evil. The Christian's peace of mind starts to look suspiciously like "therapy for someone who wishes never to be upset." On the contrary, the follower of Jesus is supposed to share the sufferings of Christ. How else do we feel compassion - which literally means "to suffer with" someone? Consider the implications of Philippians 3:10, for example. I often think of what Bob Pierce, the founder of World Vision, prayed: "Let my heart break with the things that break the heart of God." Now that is a truly dangerous prayer.

Dare we assess the health of the Americn church on this question? Go to a Christian bookstore and see what is being published. Ask the manager which books sell the best. Check a Christian bestseller list. Are more people reading Joel Osteen or Shane Claiborne? (I hope you'll google for book titles.) Listen to sermons preached. How many times have you heard that God loves you no matter what, which is true, to be sure? How many times have you been challenged to risk sharing in Christ's sufferings?

If we truly take the biblical God seriously, then we have to ask, how long will God permit this Christian self-indulgence to go on?

My Dirt Doesn't Bother Me

In my haste to get out of the office shortly before Christmas, I left a quarter-full coffee cup sitting on my desk. A week later when I went to the office to climb back in the work saddle, there was the cup with a thick slab of dried coffee in the bottom. Off to the bathroom I went to clean things up.

It was amazing how many rinses it took to get all the sludge out of that cup. And that's when I thought, "You know, if I were in someone else's office watching this process, I'd be a little grossed out." Then came the next thought, "My dirt doesn't bother me nearly as much as someone else's dirt."

Last Friday, Joni and I met halfway between our work places to pick up a part for a home bathroom project. We decided to make it a date and go for dinner. Now, you need to know that I'm culinarily challenged. I eat what's put in front of me. I like pretty much everything I eat. I'm not very picky or discriminating. And I promptly forget what we just had after we eat. I'm a happy, but quite dull, don't-notice-much eater. Sadly (for my wife), I'm married to something of a gourmet cook, who loves to try new things and who really, truly gets the chemistry of cooking.

OK, back to the date. Joni suggested that we go to a new Japanese Steakhouse that she had spotted not far from the national chain home repair/building/supply store we had just frequented. So off we went. The restaurant was brand new, so new, in fact, that they didn't have their liquor license (ergo, no saki after dinner). We sat, as people do in Japanese steakhouses, with total strangers, at a big cooking station with seats surrounding it.

That's when we started noticing - the place wasn't very clean. The cook station was slightly dirty from the previous meal: little bits of rice back up under the edge of the grill, a stray pea, a sticky spot on the floor under my feet. Our cook was good. He was funny. (He was also Mexican, not Japanese. I love this country.) But somehow, the food just didn't taste quite right. We didn't relish the meal like we would have had we gone to the other place where we've been before. As we left Joni said, in that philosophical tone, "Well, I'm glad we tried it, but the next time we want Japanese, I probably won't recommend we come here."

My nasty coffee cup didn't bother me at all. A less than perfectly clean restaurant made my gullett a little jittery.

I don't really mind my dirt. Now yours...? Hence, my problem. I'm so thankful Jesus isn't squeamish like I am.