Angelo: Part IV

    I ran into my neighbor Angelo again a couple mornings back. I hadn’t seen him for a while on my morning walk. I usually run into him once or twice a week. He seemed glad to see me and yelled out, “Happy New Year!” He said he’d been out of town for two weeks over the holidays visiting his daughter. He asked me how I was feeling. Now, its kind of eerie when a 92-year-old asks you how you’re feeling. I wondered if I was looking particularly old and tired: I did endure another b-day since I’d last run into him. But Angelo remembers that I suffer with allergies and that I’d had a couple bad colds during the fall and it’s just his way of being kind.

    He said he was happy to be home. I asked if he took morning walks at his daughter’s. He said that he did, but that it wasn’t the same–not as beautiful as our woodsy neighborhood. I’ve written about Angelo before. He loves life and is interested in everything: the weather, nature, history, politics, sports, etc.  His memory for events both recent and remote is astounding. One of the characteristics of getting too old is that recent events are not well imprinted. That’s certainly not the case with Angelo; he can recall our last conversation in detail. Running into him is a pleasure and I value our conversations. No need to watch the History Channel when you can experience living history with Angelo. 

    Since I last wrote about him he told me about going deer hunting every year after Thanksgiving. He lived in the Bronx then, and after T-day dinner he and a couple of his buds would drive a few hours up into the Adirondacks and spend the rest of the weekend  at a cabin. I think he enjoyed the fellowship, being in the quiet, snowy mountains and coping with the elements more than the actual hunt. In many places and cultures deer hunting is a male-bonding event. He related a story about a buddy serendipitously bagging a huge 12-point buck. I would imagine he shot some too but he didn’t talk about his exploits. He’s a very sensitive guy and I’m almost surprised that he would even go hunting. He wears a big wooden cross around his neck and openly talks about his faith. One reminiscence he shared with me recently had to do with WWII. He was a ball turret gunner on a B-24 Liberator in the 8th Air Force. He mentioned that when returning from missions they would start to disassemble their guns over the Channel. They had to remove and clean them between missions. The ever resourceful Germans apparently figured this out and while nearing the English coast a Ju-88 slipped into their formation and started shooting. They had no way to shoot back with their guns taken apart. He talked about how upsetting it was to have to help remove the dead and wounded after they landed. He got teary-eyed while recalling this memory. And so it’s hard for me to imagine him shooting a deer.

   God’s speed into 2012, Angelo!

The Comfortable, Familiar Demons

    In Matthew, Chapter 8, there is an interesting vignette familiar to most Christians. It is the story of Jesus and the two demoniacs. I happened on this again recently and some things jumped out at me that I hadn’t noticed before. For one, I didn’t recall that there were two demon possessed men. I had remembered the story as just one:

        ”Son of God” they shouted, “Have you come here to torture us before the appointed time?” . . .The demons begged Jesus, “If you drive us out, send us into the herd of pigs.” 

    I find it interesting that the demons acknowledge Jesus as the Son of God. That goes along with Satan challenging Jesus as to who He is in the wilderness temptations (Luke 4:3)–Satan, of course, knew perfectly well who He was. And isn’t it interesting that evil supernatural beings acknowledge Jesus when there are billions of humans who can view the Creator thru His creation and still steadfastly refuse to see God.     

     Also, does ”torture” mean that they thought Jesus was going to judge them early and cast them into the lake of fire before the end of the age? It seems to suggest that they know their “appointed time” is coming and perhaps even approximately when.

     This story suggests that short of human possession, demons might be fairly comfortable inhabiting animals, even swine–an animal reviled by Jews.  I’ve known a few dogs and cats that seemed possessed by evil spirits. It’s apparent that demons have to have a home. Then we have the question of the tidy but vacant soul: Recall Luke 11:24-26: “When an evil spirit comes out of a man, it goes through arid places seeking rest and does not find it. Then it says, ‘I will return to the house I left.’ When it arrives it finds the house swept clean and put in order. Then it goes and takes seven other spirits more wicked than itself, and they go in and live there. And the final condition of that man is worse than the first.”  This parable can be interpreted both as a metaphor for the effect of empty ”home improvements” on the state of one’s soul–or it can be interpreted literally. In a higher sense, it’s not enough to rid oneself of the bad but one has to actively seek the good–you don’t just stop sinning but you have to fill yourself with the good, noble, pure, etc.–fruits of the spirit lest evil will return more truculent than before.

    However, in a literal sense, perhaps not inhabiting some person or animal was dereliction of demonic duty. Maybe they would get in trouble with the arch-demon–be written up and get sent to the Sahara or the Antarctic. At the very least it suggests that demonic spirits, like vampires, need hosts–empty minds, like fresh blood to feed on.

        “He said to them, “Go!” So they came out and went into the pigs, and the whole herd rushed down the steep bank into the lake and died in the water. Those tending the pigs ran off, went into the town and reported all this, including what had happened to the demon-possessed men. Then the whole town went out to meet Jesus. And when they saw Him, they pleaded with Him to leave their region.” 

    Does it not seem odd that after Jesus had performed what was in a sense a community service that the whole town, like some angry lynch mob, came to out to beg him to leave? It would suggest maybe that they liked being the way they were–that they didn’t want to be rid of familiar demons. Or perhaps they were worried that Jesus had a power that could send them rushing headlong into a type of suicide–the death of their egos. There is a type of sin that is so habitual that it becomes comfortable–my personal favorite: judging & condemning others. Perhaps it was reassuring to have tormented souls around who they could feel superior to in comparison: “I may be a sinner, but look at old so-and-so. He’s downright crazy, and evil to boot.”

    Sometimes I think I have people who fill that role in my life–all the sinful, lowlife jerks I compare myself to. I wouldn’t like to think so but I probably do. If I stay focused on the mote in my brother’s eye, I don’t notice the plank in mine. In any event, I have my own personal familiar, comfortable demons. They don’t possess me, but they’re there, hovering around in the ether, disembodied voices in my thoughts telling me what’s wrong with me, my life, how I can’t do anything about it and how everything will always be the same–hopeless. But I’ve learned where they originate and I’ve learned to ignore them. When I’m really sharp I answer them with Scripture or by praising the Lord. This is what the devil and his demons least want to hear.

    What are the familiar demons with which you’ve become comfortable?

Control: That Enormous Addiction

    We all know about the obvious substance addictions: alcohol, food, tobacco and drugs (both legal and illegal). There is also an addiction to a person or relationship–sometimes called codependency. Then there are somewhat subtler addictions, such as an addiction to approval, compliments or praise. Some folks can’t get thru the day without fishing for an “attaboy” or a compliment–some little morsel that says they were noticed and approved. They want to hear the “good job” or “you look nice” that they never received from some hypercritical parent or spouse.

    Another subtle addiction is to adrenalin. It’s why some folks take crazy risks racing motorcycles or climbing the highest peaks in the Himalayas. There are also addictions to emotional states like anger or infatuation. I was married to a women who got high on anger. Her anger was a frightening thing to behold. When launched into a tirade all of her endorphins and neurotransmitters ran amok. Not only did she get high but she almost always got her way.

    There are the addictions slightly more adaptive, like to work or compulsive exercising. But most addictions are not a bit adaptive. They are based in fear and/or emotional hunger and are destructive to varying degrees. They ultimately lead to a skewed, out-of-control life centered around their problem.

     However, I tend to believe that the most subtle and destructive addiction is to power and control. We all come by it naturally. When we are kids we figure out strategies to control the big people in our lives. It all has to do with wanting to live in a predictable environment. We learn to manipulate to get our needs met when we are little and powerless. But as we get older we learn that we have power over those smaller and younger than us. We learn that we don’t have to manipulate so much; we can just be brutes if it suites our needs. Who hasn’t faced a bully at one time or another–or perhaps been one.

    We all like to feel safe, and part of feeling safe is feeling in control. We learn when we are kids that being in control of our own behavior is safer and more adaptive. But then we start to think we can enhance that safety by controlling those around us. Generally speaking, other people’s behavior is the most dicey thing in our lives. Our unconscious, with a little help from the enemy, tells us that we will be “safe” if we can just control everybody else.

    A few years back my eyes were opened to the power/control paradigm and now I see it everywhere. I see it in history and in politics. I see it in my clients and my associates. I even see it in addiction to substances. Part of the allure of alcohol or drugs is that they give the illusion of control.

    I see people hanging on with every fiber of their being–telling themselves the satanic lie that everything will be okay if only everyone in their life will do just as they want them to do. Every time they get their way in exerting control over another there’s a neural event as sure as a hit of nicotine releasing dopamine that reinforces that behavior. Some of the biggest abusers of power/control are narcissists–but not all. Sadly, I see this misuse of control in some of the most “Christian” people I know. They may try to convince themselves that they are doing the controlling out of love, but it’s much more likely  they’re doing out of fear. They don’t trust God, but they will likely use His scriptures to try to exert their control. Consciously, or unconsciously, they feel like God has anointed them to help Him run His universe

    But what did Jesus do? Didn’t he use His supernatural power to control those around Him? Didn’t he order Mary to anoint his feet with oil, and didn’t He have the disciples wait on Him hand and foot at the meal the night when He was betrayed? Didn’t He order people to love Him? No, not so much. But he did say, “Follow me.” I think that meant do as I do. What He did was love people, serve people and teach people.

    Matthew points out at the end of the Sermon On the Mount that Jesus taught with “authority”–but it was the authority of God-breathed truth not the authority of a controlling earthly personality with selfish needs. In John 5:19 Jesus makes the point that he is only doing the Father’s will and that He’s doing it out of love. Presumably, when God gave us all free will it was an act of love. We would do well to give others that same grace.

    Shameless commercial: I write a lot more on the misuse of power/control, the temptation of safety and trusting God in my recent book Jesus v. satan: The Message of the Wilderness Temptations. Available from Amazon.com and at the Northland bookstore.

Anniversaries

    It was 25 years ago today that my wife and I split up: 10-24-86. My friend John drove his little Datsun pickup out to our 5-acres in the Black Hammock. We loaded most of my worldly belongings into the truck’s bed, and I left our little dilapidated mobile home on Stone St. and that era of my life behind forever. It was after work on a Friday. Today is Friday, 10-21-11.  We got together on a Friday, Halloween 1977.  October has been an eventful month in my life–a time of passages.

    Friday, Oct. 10 was the last night my wife and I spent together. The following day she said she was going over to New Smyrna Beach to give a riding lesson and might spend the night at her client’s home. I was clueless. When she didn’t come home by Sunday evening I was worried but had no way to get in touch with her. She stayed away for the following week and communicated with notes left on the fridge while I was at work. When I finally saw her that weekend she said she’d been thinking things over and that she wanted a divorce. It was the first time in our 9 years together that the d-word had ever been uttered. With my mouth I said, “I don’t want that.”– but the little voice in my head said, “Run like hell, she’s giving you your freedom.”

     Things did not go well for me in the final two years of the marriage. I was tired of the almost daily emotional beatings, the name calling and tongue lashings. I was tired of her moods and her explosive temper. I was tired of sharing a bed with someone who gave no affection. But this isn’t meant to trash my ex-wife.  She has her side of the story too.

    I know its in scripture that, “God hates divorce.” But God hates adultery too and an adulterer was part of our Saviour’s genealogy. So I think God uses divorce too even though He may not officially “like” it. I think sometimes that it’s part of His kingdom-building program. God’s economy is something we can at best just dimly comprehend.

    At times I wonder about what my life would have been like had we stayed together. That fantasy never ends well. Though my wife was a Christian, she was incredibly damaged by a childhood of abandonment and emotional neglect. I was maybe the one man in a million who could help mend those wounds. Sometimes I think God put us together for that reason. But what I had to offer wasn’t near enough. Ultimately she fell back into self-punishing and self-defeating behaviors–as well as the controlling and manipulative strategies that helpless children acquire, and that make an adult-child’s life dysfunctional. I understood that about her and made lots of allowances. Forgiving was easy.  But sometimes I feel like I gave up too easily, and I feel guilty.  Yet I know in my heart I never stopped hoping and praying that things would work out–and right up to the end I believed that they would.

    Had we stayed together, I doubt that I would have written four books and traveled to Europe three times. I doubt that I would have had something resembling a ministry, gone on mission trips and taught classes at a church. I suspect that if I’d grown at all it would have been quite differently. My wife and I exchange letters a couple times a year. She has grown too, but though a Christian, she remains a strange and tormented person. In some respects the past 25 years have not been easy. The loneliness of my life has been oppressive at times, but that has caused me, a naturally shy person, to reach out in ways I never could have imagined. And because of that I have been blessed immensely. Hopefully, some others have been blessed by my efforts as well.

Inflation

    It was 1981. I was married then, and our little family of three survived on the thinest of margins. I made a mediocre salary working at a community mental health center and my wife was a full-time student with only a smidgen of income. I balanced my checkbook to the penny almost daily. Often there was less than $10. in the account. I worried a lot about money back then.

    One brisk Winter morning I drove to work in downtown Sanford. As I drove I was likely both praying and ruminating about our finances. I parked in a large lot behind the building. I often parked on the street in front of the building, but for whatever reason I parked out back this particular morning. The parking lot was almost empty. I got out of the car and as I started to walk there it was on the grassy median–a picture of Alexander Hamilton smiling up at me. It was a ten dollar bill. I could scarcely believe my eyes. There was not another soul around and not another car within fifty feet. It was mine.

    I felt a twinge of guilt; somebody had lost that 10-spot, but there was no reasonable way of getting it back to that person. I rejoiced with a better than usual lunch that day. Later, I put a couple bucks worth of gas in the car and bought a gallon of milk and a loaf of bread on the way home. I felt like a rich man for a change. Thirty years ago ten bucks stretched a lot further than it does now.

    That memory has lived vividly in my thoughts since the day it happened. It was the Lord winking and saying, “Dont worry, everything’s under control.” It was just one incident of many in a time when we had to rely on the Lord’s providence to keep going. I could see the Lord working in my life thru occurrences like that and it strengthened my faith. I was pretty much a new believer at that time.

    Back to time present: My work has been slow the past five months and I’ve started to worry about money again. Around mid-May new referrals slowed dramatically and my schedule book is dotted with cancellations and no/shows. I’ve been praying a lot for new referrals. I’ve even been praying the Prayer of Jabez. Now that’s desperation. I’ve often thought of Dave Ramsay as an overly smug emissary of the world–but maybe I was wrong. I know he plays the Christian card. Nevertheless, you become what you think about constantly. Maybe I should’ve taken one of his money-obsessive classes. Maybe I wouldn’t be in this fix if I had.

    Anyway, last Sunday I drove over to a little shopping plaza near where I live. I wanted to check on an item at both Radio Shack and the phone store. I parked outside of the phone store but then decided I would go to Radio Shack first and so I moved the car several rows further. And there it was. Even before I got out of the car I could see it on the grassy median–a crumpled up, well-worn $20.  Once again I had a twinge of guilt. There were several cars parked nearby and I had the urge to stick it under the windshield wiper of the closest. Perhaps I should have. Maybe it was the Holy Spirit telling me to do that–but I didn’t. But I know the money isn’t mine and I’ll give it away.

    Then, last week some reimbursement checks came and my bank account is looking better. Why was I ever worried?

That Hideous, Familiar Voice

    We’ve all heard it, especially those of us who like to think of ourselves as Christians. We tend to attune to it more because it is a jarring intrusion on who we like to think we are. To the sophisticated and better educated ”the voice” generally seems to be just thoughts–thoughts surfacing in the stream of consciousness–embarrassing bits of debris floating on an otherwise lovely, placid pond.

    It is often a critical, accusatory voice. But not always. Often its a voice that’s not a bit embarrassing or intrusive. It’s a voice we want to hear. It’s a voice that tells us we’re the best–certainly better than others. It reminds us that we may be a sinner, but not nearly as big a sinner as so-and-s0 and old whats-his-name. We may be a bit bad but whoa, they’re far worse. It is the voice that tells us we’re smarter, better, and holier. It’s the same voice that told the nihilist philosopher Nietzsche that whereas most men looked up to be exalted, he looked down because he was exalted.

    It is the voice that tells us its better to be a Baptist than a Catholic, better to be a Republican than a Democrat, better to be white than black or brown, better to be a Gator or an Aggie, than a ‘Nole or a Hoosier–or better to be a Jew than a Greek. It’s the voice of sanctimony. It is the voice that told the Pharisee that it was good to be a Pharisee.

    Well, that voice is too pleasant and subtle to be hideous–no, not at all–more comforting and reassuring. It is the sweet tone of the seducer–the sophist who plays with words and makes sin seem sort of, well, harmless. After all. Paul reminds us that the devil tranforms into an angel of light (2 Cor. 11:14). The voice we are more familiar with is the one which gives us a play-by-play narrative on our sins, our shortcomings and our errors. It is the voice that says one is not worthy. It is the voice that says God disapproves–nay, hates you. It is the voice that says its okay to do unto others what was done unto you. It is the voice that says it’s okay to lie and hide and live an inauthentic life because no one could possibly love or understand the real you. It is the voice that says life isn’t worth living because there is no hope. It is the voice that says that just one little ole drink wouldn’t hurt. It is the voice that says to the man with the gun at his temple, “Just do it.”  And it is the voice that says to heed nothing but that voice.  

    It is the voice that crucifies Jesus again and again. After all, there is a lot of scripture that basically says we’re toast. Perhaps its the voice that brings those scriptures readily to mind when we need to hear something about hope and love and forgiveness. Sometimes it’s difficult to discern the voice of the accuser from the voice of the Holy Spirit. A hint: one leads to repentance but the other leads to deeper despair and self-loathing.

    Paul refers to Satan, the accuser, as the prince of the power of the air (Eph 2:2). He lives in the thought-mosphere, in the aether, and his hideous voice is manifested in our thoughts. For most, they’re just thoughts arising from who knows where, but to schizophrenics and the actively psychotic they are “voices” labled by psychiatrists as hallucinatory.

    Five years ago I published Satan’s Top Ten Tricks  to give Christians a leg up in discerning and defeating that voice. It is about my own struggles in the realm of spiritual warfare and the discernment given me by the Holy Spirit. Last year I wrote somewhat of a sequel Jesus v. satan: The Message of the Wilderness Temptations.  the second book is about each individual’s struggle with the idols of materialism, power/control and security/safety.

    Well, my books are climbing up the NY Times best seller list–not. They haven’t even set the Christian publishing world on fire. There are a few hundred in circulation and I’ve gotten a few testimonials about them being life changing. But what I’ve discovered is that Satan and his demonic host are a topic most mainstream Christians would prefer to ignore. Most prefer books giving helpful hints on “Christian” living or at least on grace and hope. We can never get enough of hope. But maybe folks need to take a look at the archdemon too. He’s active in our lives whether we like it or not. Most hear his hideous voice every day.  And I’ll give his best trick away: Satan’s #1 trick. . . a drum roll please,  is his invisibility.

Angelo: Part III ~ Keep on Truckin’

      I felt relieved when I saw my neighbor Angelo out walking again last night. He turned 92 on Saturday, Oct 8, and I hadn’t seen him out since a day or two before that. The weekend of his birthday the weather was terrible–torrential rains and wind–and I was not surprised that he stayed in. He had been walking every day and some days twice. He goes up the street and back–about half a mile. In August, two months early, he started talking about his upcoming birthday, and seemingly in anticipation of that event he increased the frequency of his walks. It was as though he wanted to be extra healthy for the big day. Or maybe just make it to the big day. 

     A few days before his birthday I asked him if his family had planned a celebration. He said, “No, they hardly know I’m around.” He lives in a suite attached to his son’s house. As is his fashion, I suspected that he was being a bit overly humble. It was hard to imagine that they wouldn’t honor such a beautiful soul with a celebration commemorating his 92 years.

    Anyway, when I didn’t see him for well over a week after his b-day I got worried. There’s been a nasty cold going around–some superbug that knocks people for a loop for a week or more. Myself and a couple friends have had it and I worried that Angelo may have caught it. It’s no walk in the park even for a young person.

    But mostly I worried that maybe he was satisfied with 92 and that he’d given up. I worried that maybe his seemingly joyous anticipation may have in fact been his way of  dealing with the stress of getting older. He’s long outlived his wife and well over 90% of his peers. Maybe he thought 92 is enough and I’ll just go quietly into that good night.

    I was in the car headed out and I didn’t have time to stop and chat. I waved and he waved back. I sure felt better when I saw him trudging up the street. He’s a living and breathing time machine. I look forward to his comments about the weather (it’s always getting better), sports or politics. He walks erect and his purposeful stride gives me hope.