I begin this post with a shocking admission: In my life I am discovering that God kills and the Devil gives life. Now having written that, I feel compelled to go out of my way to make it clear that I actually believe what I have stated ... because I do, you see. I do believe that God is in the business of bringing death and Satan is in the business of sustaining life.
A teaser statement to get you to read on? O.K., yes ... sort of; but that statement is more than just a writer’s “shock-jockey” trick. For in some ways it’s actually true.
Scripture, some would say, defeats such a wild statement with very little effort and in several different places. Perhaps the most obvious of these is Christ’s claim in John 10 that the thief comes only to steal, kill, and destroy but that he (Jesus) came to give life, and not just any life, but abundant life. I wholeheartedly agree, but I do that while at the same time maintaining my original assertion: God kills and the Devil gives life. It’s just that God seeks to kill what should die in us and Satan tries to breathe life into what should not be allowed to live. In other words, the abundant life Jesus comes to give is realized by means of a series of funerals over which he presides, while the “killing and stealing” of the enemy of God is done through his attempt to enliven the very beliefs and practices that have always and only served to poison us.
Ironic? Absolutely. The author of death tries to keep death alive by offering life-support to the very things that will guarantee our current and eternal demise, while the giver of life brings that life about by means of a series of killings - some of which are quite brutal and all of which require us to be accomplices – as though we were participating in a string of divinely assisted suicides. Still unconvinced? Let me try to explain through story – some of my own story, actually. Even though this particular example is sort of “every-day” and not very dramatic, perhaps it will help me to communicate more effectively.
I'm a local church pastor – a quivering bundle of insecurities wrapped in thin skin, in my case. Frankly, I sometimes doubt that God has ever called a more ill-equipped person to this most precious, strategic, and honorable office. Recently, in fact, I was talking with a friend about how it felt as though God designed me for 110 volts, then called me to a position that ran 220 through already inadequate and fragile wires. But that’s for another conversation. For now, let me get back to my story of life and death.
As a pastor I'm given daily opportunities to be too impressed with my successes and too dismantled by my failures. I’m embarrassed to say it, but I take full advantage of each of those opportunities. However I’m not the only one who uses these moments. Both have also proven to be chances for God to kill and Satan to give life. For instance: though I’m not nearly as enamored with my own preaching as I used to be, I was successful one recent Sunday with my sermonic offering. I could tell that God had anointed what I said. The feedback I got from people who wouldn’t usually say anything only helped to confirm that I had succeeded in letting God speak through me. Right away I felt something coming alive. “I still have it,” I thought to myself. “I’m a good preacher – maybe even as good as John Wenrich, or Brenda Salter McNeal or even Efram Smith!” I must say that I felt quite alive after that first of our Sunday gatherings – as though I wanted to yell at top volume, “I preached! Therefore I am!” Something or someone was breathing life into what I was feeling and I liked it very much.
However it didn’t take too long before that still small voice (you know ... the one that always seems to come to curtail our most base enjoyments) began to whisper to me. “What is this that you are feeling?” I thought to myself, convinced that God was actually the one implanting the words. “I suppose you can call it some sort of celebration of my work and the Spirit’s gifts, but we both know it’s nothing nearly so honorable as that.” And the corrective thoughts were just that ... “correct.” That thing into which Satan wanted to breathe life (with plenty of help from me, by the way) was something that didn’t deserve to live at all. It was nothing more than the same old, sick need to be celebrated that had always haunted me. And God wanted to shoot it straight through the heart.
My prayer was pretty honest. “Please, Lord. That’s the only thing that has even come close to feeling like life all week. Can’t I at least feel alive? Can’t I feast on this carcass of pride ... just for today ... just for this morning? I mean, it’s not like we’re talking about stealing or cheating here. This is your Word I’m enjoying. It’s a decent sermon that has me feeling so good about myself.”
His answer was just as honest. “Only if you’re really intent on joining it and becoming what it is: just another useless carcass. Don’t you remember your own definition of humility? ‘Humility is the willingness to be perceived as insignificant in order to be faithful.’ You preached that too. You want something that feels like life? Well, in my Kingdom, it is death that feels most like life. And I want to take you there. Offer this so called ‘life giver’ to me - so I might slaughter it – or at least this manifestation of it.”
I felt like the new student who had finally started dating a pretty girl, only to discover that her family was being transferred to South America. Not all that sure that I really meant what I prayed, I at least said the words – issued the command, “Kill it, then if you must. Kill it before I change my mind and completely indulge it. But don’t just wound it. Every time that thing gets wounded it seems to heal up and come back even stronger than before. kill it! And 'kill it good' or leave it alone and let me keep enjoying it! But don’t just wound it!” Then I made my way into the worship center to get ready for the next service, smiling, shaking well-intentioned hands, and greeting folks along the way. “Yes. Hi. How are you? You did? Oh, thank you. I enjoyed preaching it too...” And oh boy, did I ever enjoy preaching it ... but for all the wrong reasons.
I have no idea why it’s so difficult for me to experience it since it is a major theme in the life of Christ, but Christianity is a religion of death. It’s a death, however, that brings life. It’s a religion of weakness, but it’s a weakness that proves true strength. This is the faith of dirty feet, missing teeth, swollen eyes, torn flesh, bloody wrists, splinter-filled shoulders and spear pierced hearts. To be a Christian is to begin a “Golgotha trek” that results in a publicly embarrassing display that looks a lot like defeat but is actually the gateway to real life ... full life ... abundant life.
I am discovering that God kills and the Devil gives life – that Christ is in the business of destroying and Satan is in the business of sustaining. It’s just that God seeks to kill what should die in us and Satan tries to breathe life into what should not be allowed to live. Perhaps that’s why I find myself addressing God in a rather strange way when I pray lately. “Lord,” “Savior,” and “Father” are all wonderful names by which to refer to God in prayer. But lately I’ve been praying to him using a much less often used title.
“Oh dear Holy Assassin: be loving enough to eliminate what pollutes my heart and erodes my soul. And when the day comes that I attempt to annul this contract – to withdraw the permission I now give, listen instead to the instructions of your own headstrong mercy. Swallow hard, breathe deep, take aim, and pull trigger. Amen.”
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