The 2011 synod was a much more pleasant experience than the last one. It seems that the storm clouds which gathered over last year's meetings, though they not completely gone had mostly cleared and patches of sunlight shone through. This certainly was the result of the diligent prayer of so many members for unity. The leadership of Steve May and Andy Putnam had a lot to do with it. I think that many of those who were so angry last year simply came to their senses and backed off. We all lose our heads in battles, but only the wise admit it.
I'd be tempted to say that such theological and moral debates as we had last year were over and forgotten this year. But this is not so. Even if the majority of us had stopped fighting the effects of those battles are still with us. World War II, Korea, and Vietnam are over, too, but we still have wounded veterans.
Theological battles are like cannon barrages--we all line up and spout off our angry words, but we do not see the human damage they do to the other side. We are shielded the results of our words by emotional distance.
When a professor is accused of heresy, he does not only feel the sting, but so does his wife, children, parents, and friends. His loved ones often take it harder than he does. Friends become enemies, students suffer, and reputations are permanently marked. A minister forced from his pulpit loses not only a job, but his church family, friends, home, security, and emotional support. A trustee is accused of being a poor influence, he takes is personally, whether or not the accusation is shouted or spoken calmly. They never completely forget the slight. It does not matter if we think the accusations are true or not, they take a serious human toll. There is no such thing as loving if we are not willing to walk with that person through the pain of recovery. There can be no true Christian concern if it does not involve real human contact. It's easier to pretend that the pain we inflicted is not our responsibility than to actually come to grips its results.
The reason I am writing about this is because of two friends I saw this week. Both I have known as loving, easygoing Christians, with a strong faith in Christ, a desire to win the lost, and a strong faith in the Lordship of Jesus and His infallible Word. Both had been hurt in the battles of the past two years. Not only were they hurt, but their families, their friends, and their churches were also hurt in the process. Neither has been able so far to get beyond the pain. Both were still struggling to get beyond the hurts and forgive. I do not blame them at all for having a hard time with letting it go. Forgiveness is a process, not a declaration.
I once heard it said that the church was the only army that shoots it wounded. It is easy to let the past go, but we have to remember those who are still experiencing that pain. Maybe eventually they will get over the hurt of the Erskine debacle, but not now, not yet. We should keep them in our prayers, our thoughts, and our hearts
I'd be tempted to say that such theological and moral debates as we had last year were over and forgotten this year. But this is not so. Even if the majority of us had stopped fighting the effects of those battles are still with us. World War II, Korea, and Vietnam are over, too, but we still have wounded veterans.
Theological battles are like cannon barrages--we all line up and spout off our angry words, but we do not see the human damage they do to the other side. We are shielded the results of our words by emotional distance.
When a professor is accused of heresy, he does not only feel the sting, but so does his wife, children, parents, and friends. His loved ones often take it harder than he does. Friends become enemies, students suffer, and reputations are permanently marked. A minister forced from his pulpit loses not only a job, but his church family, friends, home, security, and emotional support. A trustee is accused of being a poor influence, he takes is personally, whether or not the accusation is shouted or spoken calmly. They never completely forget the slight. It does not matter if we think the accusations are true or not, they take a serious human toll. There is no such thing as loving if we are not willing to walk with that person through the pain of recovery. There can be no true Christian concern if it does not involve real human contact. It's easier to pretend that the pain we inflicted is not our responsibility than to actually come to grips its results.
The reason I am writing about this is because of two friends I saw this week. Both I have known as loving, easygoing Christians, with a strong faith in Christ, a desire to win the lost, and a strong faith in the Lordship of Jesus and His infallible Word. Both had been hurt in the battles of the past two years. Not only were they hurt, but their families, their friends, and their churches were also hurt in the process. Neither has been able so far to get beyond the pain. Both were still struggling to get beyond the hurts and forgive. I do not blame them at all for having a hard time with letting it go. Forgiveness is a process, not a declaration.
I once heard it said that the church was the only army that shoots it wounded. It is easy to let the past go, but we have to remember those who are still experiencing that pain. Maybe eventually they will get over the hurt of the Erskine debacle, but not now, not yet. We should keep them in our prayers, our thoughts, and our hearts
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