Unsolicited advice: why bother?

Never have I met a person who appreciates unsolicited advice. So, why do we continue to offer it? Is this just one more pointless human activity, like when someone yells at you and you yell back at them, or when you carry on philosophical conversations with your dog? There is no explanation for why we do such things. We know they don’t serve any purpose whatsoever, yet we continue to do them anyway. Does unsolicited advice fall into that same category? Or could there possibly be a good reason for this compulsion we have to tell other people what’s best for them, despite the fact that they aren’t interested in hearing it?

I don’t know about you, but when I go to a friend with a problem and pour my heart out, that doesn’t mean I’m asking for advice. I don’t want her to solve my problem; I just want her to listen to me. When I want advice, I’ll ask for it. If I don’t ask for it, it doesn’t matter if it’s the best advice in the world, I’m not receptive to it. Aren’t most people like that? The only time we respond well to unsolicited advice is when someone advises us to do something we wanted to do all along. Otherwise, put a sock in it!

Knowing this, advice-givers will often find well-disguised ways to get their message across. There’s the stealth advisor, who sneaks his directives under the radar by asking innocent questions like, “Were there any instructions in the box?” Or the disclaim-er who thinks she can clear the way for receptivity by preceding her prescription with, “I don’t mean to be telling you what to do, but…” The one I find most endearing is the yarn spinner, who opens with, “Did I ever tell you about the time…?” Is this going to be a stroll down memory lane, or is it a story with an agenda?

Now, there are clearly some people who simply enjoy telling others what they ought to do. I suspect it gives them a feeling of superiority. And there are also those who are insufferable control freaks who will jump at every opportunity to push other people around. But what about all the people who truly mean well when they freely offer up their pearls of advice without being asked?

My children are the recipients of unsolicited advice on a regular basis. I know this because I’m their unsolicited adviser. They roll their eyes and sigh while I say my piece. Then they proceed to do what they want to. I realize that’s the way it works, but I can’t help myself. I have to dish it out like great big heaps of mashed potatoes. Why?

Well, here’s the thing. When they were little they needed me to guide them. If I hadn’t, they probably wouldn’t be here today. They needed me to tell them things like, “Don't play with rattlesnakes 30 minutes after you've eaten.” Then, as they grew in independence, my guidance wasn’t needed like it once was, and I tried to keep my mouth shut as much as possible. Yet, I still find myself saying things like, “It’s never smart to make the minimum payment on your credit card.” Or, “Please promise me you wear a condom when you have sex.” Through the years, the content of my advice has changed. But my need to offer it hasn’t. And, that may be the key to understanding why I do it. I do it because I need to be needed. It’s not that I think Gretchen and Ben are incompetent to figure these things out on their own. They’re both smart people, and I know they don’t need me to give them advice. Yes, they’ll end up doing whatever they choose, despite anything I might say to them. But when I offer them advice, it’s not for them, it’s for me.

When you love someone, your happiness is intricately connected to theirs. You want to protect them because, if they’re not safe, you’re not safe. You don’t want them to mess their lives up because when they do, it messes up your life, too. When they pay the price for their mistakes, you pay the price as well. Their heartbreak breaks your heart. Their failures leave you feeling defeated. Their wounds make you bleed. That’s why we have no choice but to offer advice to those we love, whether they ask for it or not. Yes, it may be annoying as hell for them, but hopefully they’ll understand that offering unsolicited advice is just another variation on “I love you.”

Why I’m alone on a Friday night

Every once in a while I think it might be nice to have a man in my life. But when I get real, I know all too well that the odds are against me. Seriously against me. Not too long ago I met a good man. We seemed to hit it off and I enjoyed his company. Then it all went south quickly. We were having dinner and the topic of football came up. He has season tickets to the Panthers games and this is a big part of his life. When he asked me if I liked football I talked about all the old men I’ve met who are crippled because they played football in high school. “It’s hard for me to watch a football game without thinking about how they’re abusing their bodies. I mean, people weren’t meant to run at top speed and crash into each other like that.” Then I made what I will admit was an unfair comparison. I compared watching football to watching a cockfight.

Last Friday night, I was telling this story to a girlfriend and she shrieked. “Oh my God, you didn’t really say that to him! Are you nuts?” The implication was that I shot myself in the foot at that moment. I blew it with him because I couldn’t keep my opinion to myself. Is that what happened? Would I still be seeing him if I pretended to be someone I wasn’t? “That’s why you’re alone on a Friday night!” my girlfriend told me.

I don’t know if I’m getting pickier about men as I get older, or if I’ve finally come to terms with how narrow the field of potential mates is for me. I do know what I can and can’t live with, and I will admit that by the time you line all those things up, the field of potential men for me becomes miniscule to non-existent in no time.

First of all, the man would have to be available. That means someone who is straight, single and healthy enough to consider being in a relationship with a living, breathing woman without flipping out. There aren’t as many of those men around as you might think. Then, of course, he would have to be in my age group, give or take a decade. And so the field narrows a bit more. He would have to be bright and have the ability to write in complete sentences or I could never get past it. (I’m not saying this is fair, but I know how I am.)

And, here's a real sorter down here in the Bible Belt… He would have to be somewhat accepting of religion in general, because, after all, that’s my life, but… and this is the kicker… not a Bible thumper. (These two things seem to be mutually exclusive in these parts. Men are either hostile to religion, or they’re so religious that it creeps me out.)

In order to be comfortable around my friends, he would need to accept people regardless of their sexual orientation or gender identity. (And now we’re whittling the field down further.) Politically, if he ever voted for W, I couldn’t deal with it. (Are you starting to see my problem here?)

Then there are the little things that would be deal breakers for me. He has to love dogs and tolerate cats or he couldn’t come to my home. If he doesn’t contra-dance, he’d have to be willing to learn. He would have to make me laugh on a regular basis, and here’s a biggie… he also would have to laugh at my jokes. (I’m just sayin’.) Then there’s the whole thing about football (see above). And now we’re talking about a very select few men in the entire world. (But, of course, I’m not interested in dating men in the entire world. For example, if such a man existed in Nome, Alaska, I would regretfully have to pass.)

All that’s to say that the field of men I could seriously be in a relationship with is mini-micro-microscopic. And then, on top of all that, should I ever find someone who meets all the above criteria, he would have to be into me. So, now what are the chances of all those planets ever aligning?

I know that for the sake of a relationship, sometimes compromises are necessary. I’m willing to do that. I can eat in a Thai restaurant once in a while. I can go to the beach in August. I can even watch a football game on T.V. if that makes him happy. But what I won’t compromise is who I am. And that’s why I’m alone on a Friday night.

So much to celebrate!

Baby showers don’t usually do a whole lot for me. But I went to one today that left me feeling so full and happy that I still haven’t stopped smiling. Stephanie and Chrissy are expecting their first child, Amelia Rae, in a few weeks. The people in our Holy Trinity family are so thrilled that they’re already calling dibs on who gets to hold her during worship.

At today's baby shower, Stephanie and Chrissy received gifts from the whole congregation. I was so touched to see the three little sleepers that an elderly widower from the congregation gave them. And there were gifts from people who have only worshipped with us a few times. The guests at the shower included folks who were male and female; married, partnered and single; toddlers through senior citizens; straight, gay and transgender; parents, grandparents and doggy parents. All showered the new moms, not only with their gifts, but with their love.

Chrissy and Stephanie first started attending Holy Trinity when their relationship was budding. Then, they decided to get married and went to another state to make it legal. Next, they told us they were going to have a baby. Every step of the way they have been loved and supported by their church family.

I’m so thankful to be a part of a congregation where this is possible. In fact, it’s so commonplace at Holy Trinity for same-gender couples to marry and have families that I forget how unusual this would be for most other churches in Charlotte, North Carolina. I feel like I’m living in a bubble in that regard. While all around me pastoral colleagues have been battling for years with their congregations over sexual orientation, when I came to Holy Trinity, that war was over. They were already completely open to all, regardless of sexual orientation or gender identity.

It’s been over six years now since I first met with the search committee at Holy Trinity. Back then, their biggest problem was a membership so small that they were struggling to survive. As I sat with leadership to talk about my potential pay package, they insisted that they wanted a full time pastor and they were prepared to pay me for full time work. But when I asked them how long they would be able to compensate me at that level, if nothing changed, they told me we had about eight months. They knew that I could very well become the last pastor of Holy Trinity Lutheran Church. And yet, the faithful remnant at Holy Trinity believed so strongly in their mission that they couldn’t imagine how God would ever allow that to happen.

I believed in their mission, too. Although I wasn’t as convinced as they were that they were going to make it, with all my heart, I wanted to them to make it. At the time they were the only Reconciling in Christ congregation in our North Carolina Synod; they had carried the banner for the full inclusion of LGBT folks for a long time, and at great cost. I knew that other congregations were already pointing to Holy Trinity in their struggle for survival, saying, “See, that’s what happens when you welcome gay people into your church; we don’t want to become like Holy Trinity.” But I had another vision for Holy Trinity. I wanted other congregations to point to them and say, “Why can’t we become more like Holy Trinity?” I felt so passionately about it that when I was called to become their next pastor, I had to come.

When I first arrived at Holy Trinity, we only had one family with young children and no babies. Our new nursery, which I insisted would be in place before my first Sunday, stood empty, never used once in over two years. If a family should come to worship with us, they would take one look around, see no other small children, and that would be the end of them. I was beginning to think that I would never baptize an infant.

All of that changed when Kevin and Aaron, who were foster parents, started attending our church. I can’t remember exactly how it all unfolded, but suddenly we were crawling with kids. And that brings us to where we are today. We have families with a mom and a dad, some with a single parent, others have two dads or two moms. When they all come to the altar for communion on Sunday mornings, I can hardly take it in; there is so much to celebrate!

I have witnessed so many God-moments at Holy Trinity that I lose track of them. But next Sunday, I know another one is coming. After 32 years of ordained ministry, I’ll be baptizing my first triplets when three little boys will be brought to the font by their two moms. We’ll welcome them into God’s family through the power of the water and the word and this extraordinary community of love that surrounds them.

What did I ever do to deserve a congregation like this? Not a blessed thing, that’s what. They’re a gift from God. I’ve always insisted that the most important thing I can do as a pastor is love my congregation and if I can no longer do that, I need to leave. Well, it takes no effort whatsoever to love the people of Holy Trinity. I’d be crazy to think about leaving.

This is a test.

The story of Abraham and his willingness to sacrifice his son Isaac at God’s command is a biggie for three faith groups: Jews, Muslims and Christians. Interestingly, each tradition has focused on a different overall meaning. For Jews, it is that the Lord will provide. For Muslims, the obedience of Abraham is the central thrust. And for Christians, the parallel between this story and the sacrifice of Jesus has been significant.

Despite the meaningful interpretations from those faith traditions, on a personal level, the story of God asking Abraham to kill Isaac has caused individual thinkers a lot of angst through the years. Typically, people react to it in one of two ways. Either they flat-out reject a God who could do such a thing, or they try to rationalize God’s actions in an attempt to defend God’s honor.

This is a tricky story. Before we launch into it, perhaps it would be a good idea to review a few of the basics on how to approach the Bible in general. The Bible does not give us a definitive picture of God. Instead, it tells us about the way people in different contexts have understood God. Those understandings are always limited by the lives of the ones who are telling us the story. It’s told through their eyes. So, what we get in the Bible is a collection of stories told by a variety of people who have a variety of perspectives based on a variety of experiences. That’s why we can say that the Bible is not a history book or a science book. It’s a book of faith.

Unfortunately, calling the Bible a book of faith is often misunderstood as well. That’s because, for many people, faith means accepting things at face value that nobody in their right mind would ever believe are true. But that’s not at all what faith is. Faith is a distinctive framework for living in this world. To live by faith is to walk in a relationship with God, open to the truths God reveals along the way. To say that the Bible is a book of faith is to say that it bears witness to the way people of faith have experienced their relationship with God through the ages.

When we read and study the Bible, its authors become a part of our faith community. Their witness informs our discussion as people of faith who are open to the truths God is revealing to us. I hope you hear what I’m saying here. The Bible is not a book we come to for answers. It’s a book we come to for questions. It’s not the final word that ends the discussion. It’s the living word that continues to be a part of the discussion.

Many of the Old Testament stories come to us by way of oral tradition. They were handed down from one generation to the next until finally, in a time when the religion of Israel was being threatened, someone thought, “This is a good time to start writing some of these down so we don’t lose them.” The story of Abraham and Isaac was once a part of that oral tradition.

Can you imagine a wise sage telling these stories to children as they sit around a campfire? Many of them were told to explain why the world is as it is. “Children, do you want to know why there is so much evil in the world? Well, once there was a man named Adam and a woman named Eve.” “Would you like to know why people are so violent? Let me tell you about two brothers named Cain and Abel.” “Have you noticed how people speak so many different languages? It all began when they were trying to build this really tall tower.” Explaining why things are the way they are comes through in the story of Abraham and Isaac as well.

The most primitive form of religion is the one that makes a case for an angry god who can only be appeased with some sort of sacrifice. In the ancient world, this primitive belief system was common, and along with it, the practice of child sacrifice. The story of Isaac and Abraham seems to have been told as a polemic against that. Yes, other gods may demand infanticide, but not this god, not our God. We worship another kind of God. Our God provides another way. This story differentiated the God of Abraham from the gods other people were worshipping. It was part of the process of figuring out just who our God is and what makes him different from other gods. I like that way of considering this text. It makes sense. But it still leaves a lot of questions unanswered about the narrative itself. And that’s why this is such a rich faith story.

Why would God ask Abraham to do this to begin with? And why does Abraham go along with it? It makes no sense that Abraham would do this when you consider his background.

Abraham was an old man and, in ancient times, any future hope a person had was intricately tied to having children, particularly sons. Abraham and Sarah had waited forever to have the child God had promised. They even decided God needed a little help and took matters into their own hands by using a surrogate mother, one of their servants, Hagar, to produce a son for Abraham, Ishmael. Then, in the midst of human impossibility for Sarah, she conceived and bore Isaac, even though she was in her eighties. With a true son to be the heir of Abraham, Sarah wanted Ishmael out of the picture, so she told Abraham to send Hagar and Ishmael away. Abraham questioned God on this matter, and found reassurance that God would be good to Ishmael and make a nation from him. So Abraham sent his first born son away, confident that his nation and his name would rise through Isaac.

Now, after going through all of that -- God asks Abraham to sacrifice Isaac? This is crazy. Not simply because Abraham is asked to kill his son, which is horrific enough. But because it seems to contradict what God has already done through his faithfulness in providing Isaac. This is the son God promised to Abraham and Sarah. Now would God ask Abraham to kill that son? Seriously?

Well, it helps somewhat to know, from the first sentence of this story, that God is testing Abraham here. But what kind of a test is this? Was he testing Abraham to see if he would be obedient? Certainly, Abraham doesn’t have a very good track record when it comes to following God's lead.

When God told Abraham that he was going to destroy those dens of iniquity, Sodom and Gomorrah, Abraham couldn’t accept it and tried to talk God out of it. When Sarah told Abraham that Hagar and Ishmael needed to be sent away, Abraham questioned God. And I don’t even want to get into that messy incident where Abraham passed Sarah off as his sister to save his own skin despite the fact that he knew how God felt about it.

So, considering the way Abraham behaves elsewhere in the biblical narrative, the Abraham in Genesis 22 seems completely out of character. After God tells Abraham to make a burnt offering of his son, we read, “So Abraham rose early in the morning, saddled his donkey, and took two of his young men with him, and his son Isaac.” All the other things God asks Abraham to do and he digs in his heels, fighting God every inch of way. And NOW he chooses to acquiesce? No questioning, no pleading on Isaac’s behalf, Abraham just gets up in the morning and sets out to do what God tells him to do. What’s the deal? Could it be that, given the history he had with God, Abraham knew better than to believe that God would actually let him sacrifice his only son? Perhaps Abraham trusted that God would provide another way all along, just as it turned out he did.

Yes, knowing that this was some kind of a test for Abraham seems to help a bit. But, did Abraham pass or fail the test? Did God expect Abraham to obey whole-heartedly without putting up a fight? Or was he testing him to see if he would speak up and refuse to do something so absurd? Is it possible that God was disappointed in Abraham's unquestioning obedience? God's last-minute rescue suggests that Abraham's response was off the mark. Abraham may have deserved credit for his devotion, but his behavior called for swift intervention in order to spare Isaac.

This is a great example of one of those Bible stories that was never intended to give us THE answer. Instead, it invites us into a discussion. It’s also one of those stories that just won’t let us go because it entertains the kinds of questions that people of faith struggle with in every time and place. Does God ever test us? Even when we think we hear God speaking to us, can we really be sure the voice we’re hearing is God’s and not our own? How much are we willing to sacrifice in order to follow God? Would God ever require something of us that we know in our hearts is wrong? Can we ever know what God is really asking of us without stepping out in faith and putting one foot in front of the other, trusting that God will lead us to where we need to go?

It’s been thousands of years since this story was first told around a campfire and, for people of faith, the discussion continues.

I shall never surrender!

“We shall never surrender!” So said Winston Churchill in his famous We Will Fight on the Beaches speech. The implication is that if you don’t surrender, you have only one choice, and that is to keep on fighting. But I have a problem with that. Is surrender the only alternative to fighting? What about love? Both surrender and love stand against fighting. But when we surrender, it’s because we have no choice. Love is always a choice.

Many people will say that the key to following God's will for your life is surrendering your own will to God's. As someone who has spent most of my adult life battling with God, I can tell you that approach may work for some people, but it doesn’t cut it for me.

Surrender is the language of war. When you surrender, you resign yourself to the fact that you've been beaten, or at least you aren't going to win, so you throw in the towel. In surrender, you come to the other defeated. And it’s pretty hard not to resent someone you have surrendered yourself to. You may continue to want the same things for yourself that you always wanted, but now you're forced to deny them and the resentment grows deeper.

Doesn’t God want to be in a loving relationship with us? How can you love someone to whom you have surrendered yourself like that? When I strive to follow God's will for my life, the real point for me has become, do I love God? If I love God, then I want what God wants. It's not a matter of doing battle with God and surrendering my will to God's will. It's about making God's will my will, too.

Have you ever watched two people who professed to love one another for the rest of their lives grow to become adversaries? Every issue between them becomes a battle of the wills and there is an ongoing struggle to see who will ultimately win the war. But when you love someone, you want what they want, don't you? If the one you love wants to watch a football game on Sunday afternoon, you don't dig in your heels and refuse to allow it. You want them to have what they want. You want them to be happy and their happiness makes you happy, too. Your will becomes the same.

That’s how my relationship with God works as well. God isn't the enemy. God doesn't want to do battle with me. God doesn't force me into submitting to him and seeing things his way. God loves me. And God wants me to love him so much that I want what he wants for me.

There is a huge difference between surrendering myself to God and giving myself to him in love. One approach feels like a requirement and I come to resent it. But when I respond in love, I’m offering myself as an expression of thankfulness for a gift beyond compare. And there isn’t a speck of resentment in me. Only joy.

God only knows

I was thinking about how many questions I carry around in the course of a day. My brain has become a repository for whys, whats, and hows.

Why do I always end up wearing a white shirt when I’m eating spaghetti?
Why is my trash basket always full and my gas tank always empty?
What magical place do stray socks go to when they disappear in the dryer?
What makes forbidden things so irresistible?
What does my dog find so appealing about the taste of her own poop?
Why is it that when I was a little girl the doctor would come to the house to see me when I was sick, and now I can’t get one to talk to me on the telephone?
Why would anyone object to two people getting married who love one another and are committed to spending the rest of their lives together?
Why aren’t more people outraged by the fact that in the wealthiest nation on earth so many people can’t afford to be healthy?
How is it possible that people can use God as an excuse for hatred?

When I was a kid I had a lot of questions, too. But back then, I was working on the answers and thought that surely I would have them all worked out by the time I got to be the age I am now. Instead, what has happened is that I’ve become comfortable co-existing with the questions. It’s been a process. I’ve gone from -- I gotta know the answers, to -- I’m going to have to accept the fact that there aren’t always answers, to -- I treasure those questions the most for which there are no answers. Really, I do. I’ve learned that life isn’t about finding answers. It’s about savoring the mystery.

This is particularly true for the life of faith. Seekers eventually figure this out, if they hang in there long enough. We can never find God, no matter how hard we try. We may delude ourselves into believing we have, from time to time. But in the end, it’s God who finds us. And it usually happens when we we’ve finally realized the futility of the search, when we’ve learned to appreciate our limitations in the face of unanswerable questions, acknowledging that we are not God after all. I’m reminded of that whenever I entertain a question I find myself answering with the words, God only knows.

Never mistake your critics for your judge

I could never be a politician, for many reasons. But one of the biggest reasons is that my fragile ego couldn’t take the abuse. I can’t imagine what it would be like to live with the constant criticism that they receive. Everyone is listening to every single word they say, ready to pounce on those words or twist them or take them out of context. Everything the person ever did is scrutinized. Every term paper they ever wrote, every person they ever talked to at a cocktail party, every stupid thing they ever did as a kid. And people will go after them on the basis of their race or their gender or their age. Nothing is off limits because the goal is to tear someone else down so you can win. How can these people stand it? How can they tolerate being criticized so mercilessly without taking it personally, without being crushed? It’s brutal. Thank God it’s not the way people usually treat one another.

Now, that’s not to say that we don’t all know what it’s like to be criticized. We’ve all prboably had people in our lives who tell us how to dress, how to talk, how to think, how to live. How do you respond to criticism?

When dealing with our critics, we can make one of two mistakes. We can ignore them, which can work sometimes, but if they’re telling us something we really need to hear, blowing their criticism off isn't helpful. On the other hand, it can be an even bigger mistake for us to take our critics too seriously and assume they're always right. When we do that, we're promoting a critic to the status of judge.

Dr. Lewis Smedes talks about the difference between a critic and a judge. He says that critics give us their opinion and it’s up to us to decide if we’ll take it or leave it. But when we receive a judgment, we have no choice, we simply have to take it. So, he says, we should listen to our critics, but never let them become our judges.

Now, this whole idea caught my attention because it calls me to dig a little deeper into our core value at Holy Trinity, Loving Not Judging. Being judgmental is not the same thing as being critical. There's an important distinction to make between the two.

Often I think we don’t want to be viewed as judgmental, so we give the impression that no matter what a person does, it’s OK. It’s like anything goes. But anything doesn’t go. There are some things that are unacceptable. We'll say, "It's not for me to judge" as a way to let us off the hook, to exempt us from any kind of criticism, whether giving it or receiving it. Is it possible to offer criticism without being judgmental? And is it possible for us to receive criticism without feeling like we’re being judged?

The Apostle Paul had his share of critics and he had a word for them that’s helpful. He said, “With me it is a small thing that I should be judged by you—or anybody else for that matter. I do not even judge myself…. It is the Lord who judges me” (1 Corinthians 4). He identifies three kinds of critics in his life: 1)other people, 2)himself, and 3)God. These are the same three critics we all have.

Paul’s critics were all over his case for the way he did his missionary work. And he responded to them by saying that he was listening to their words but he knew that their words were never the last word for him. They were not his judges.

Our human critics are our friends, our mothers, our children, people who go to our church, people we work with. They can be a blessing for us. We can learn from them and often, if their criticism is constructive and offered in love, it can lead us to make some changes in our lives that are for the better. But if we allow our critics to become our judges, we let them decide whether we’re good enough or beautiful enough to be loved and accepted, and any blessing that might have come to us from their criticism becomes a curse. Can we receive their criticism without allowing them to become our judges?

Our second critic, and for many of us our most brutal critic, is our own self. God created us with an ability that no other creature has – the ability to examine our own lives, to take stock of ourselves and become our own critics. The only way we will ever grow in our lives is by being somewhat critical of ourselves, being dissatisfied with ourselves as we have been and pushing ourselves to become something more. Being critical of ourselves can be healthy, but it crosses the line when we become our own judges. Remember, when a critic gives you their opinion, you can accept it or reject it. But when someone pronounces judgment, you’re stuck with it.

The fact is, we’re not competent to judge ourselves. We tend to see what we want to see. When we’re feeling up, we want to see only the good stuff about ourselves. When we're down, we actually look for bad things about ourselves to hone in on. How we see ourselves is always confused by how we’re feeling at any given moment. Besides that, we’re way too complicated for us to understand ourselves. You could see a therapist your whole life and still only scratch the surface of what you’re all about because there are so many sides to you. There’s light and darkness, evil and good, ugliness and beauty, hate and love. It’s all in there and you can never sort it all out because it’s always changing.

It’s troubling when people look inside themselves and like everything they see. They never do anything wrong. In any confrontation, they’re always the innocent ones. They’ve convinced themselves that they’re above reproach. But it’s also troubling when people look inside themselves and conclude that no matter what they do, they never measure up and they’re always lacking. Again, the mistake is not in criticizing. It’s in judging. And it’s something a lot of us do to ourselves.

And that leaves just one more critic. The apostle Paul refused to let his human critics be his judge. And he refused to be his own judge. But it wasn’t that he refused to be judged by anyone. He did have a judge. “God is my judge,” he said. God is the only one qualified to be our judge, because God knows us right down to the core. He knows everything there is to know about us. Good and bad.

And here’s the thing, the really BIG thing. The only critic who is really able to judge us also loves us and forgives us. So, despite anything you have ever done or ever will do, God will never reject you. The only critic qualified to be our judge is the Lord himself. And the good news about our divine judge is that he refuses to condemn us. As Paul puts it: there is therefore no condemnation. Only forgiveness. Only love.

As long as I know I have a judge like that, I suppose I can handle my critics. But that doesn't mean I'll be running for public office anytime soon.