knowledge vs. love

"And I, brethren, when I came to you, did not come with excellence of speech or of wisdom declaring to you the testimony of God. For I determined not to know anything among you except Jesus Christ and Him crucified." 1 Corinthians 2:1-2

I've read this several times over the past few days. I'm captivated by verse 2, "For I determined not to know anything ..."

It makes perfect sense that Paul would have to determine not to know anything. If you've been reading the New Testament from the gospels, by the time you get to this statement you've just waded through 16 chapters of Paul knowing quite a bit. In his letter to the Roman church he reasons and he argues and wields logic all over the place. Paul was an intelligent man; he probably had the Old Testament memorized. And yet here, as he recalls his visit to Corinth, he remembers that he purposed in his heart to be ignorant of anything but the gospel.

Paul did not set out to impress the Corinthian people with his vast knowledge, understanding, or divine revelation of the scriptures. He did not reason with them on theology, or share his ideas on angels and demons. He knew nothing among them, "except Jesus Christ and Him crucified."

I can't imagine the kind of humility that requires.

This morning I started thinking about the value of knowledge in our society. How much time and how much money do we spend trying to see how may facts we can make ourselves remember? Of course, a certain level of knowledge is good and necessary. But I had a high school history teacher who, when asked the annoying and very disrespectful "Why do we need to know this?" question, responded, "So you can look smart and pick up girls at cocktail parties." I wonder if most of our drive for knowledge - as a society - isn't rooted in vanity.

And I wonder, if I can be long-winded this morning, how that priority started. Somewhere during the genesis of our culture a group of people decided that an individual with a lot of knowledge is more valuable than a person who loves well, and the amassing of knowledge became the driving factor in our society.

When I was a freshman in college I spent one morning in an adviser's office agonizing over changing my major when she finally told me, "It really doesn't matter. As long as you get a degree from this school you can get a good job just about anywhere." It doesn't even matter, to some extent, what you know anymore, as long as you know a lot about something.

I wonder what it would do to our society - and our world - if we refocused some of that energy on teaching our students how to love (because "Jesus Christ and Him crucified" is the greatest expression of love). What if, instead of teaching 15-year-olds basic trigonometry, we taught them love? What if we took classes to homeless shelters or nursing homes where they could practice loving the unlovely? What if role playing had less to do with making a sale and more to do with turning the other cheek? I wonder.

reincarnation request: denied

Titus sent me a link to a fantastic Newsweek article.

"In one of history's more absurd acts of totalitarianism, China has banned Buddhist monks in Tibet from reincarnating without government permission."

That sounds like the by-line of an article from The Onion. The Chinese government should start writing for American tabloids.

"But beyond the irony [way, way beyond] lies China's true motive: to cut off the influence of the Dalai Lama, Tibet's exiled spiritual and political leader, and to quell the region's Buddhist religious establishment ... By barring any Buddhist monk living outside China from seeking reincarnation, the law effectively gives Chinese authorities the power to choose the next Dalai Lama, whose soul, by tradition, is reborn as a new human to continue the work of relieving suffering."

Of course the Dalai Lama has rebutted by refusing to be reborn in Tibet as long as it is under China's control. That'll show 'em. Instead, he'll probably reincarnate among Tibetan exiles in India, Europe and North America.

What about the U.S.?

"If so, he'll likely be welcomed into a culture that has increasingly embraced reincarnation over the years. Recent surveys by the Barna Group ... have found that a quarter of U.S. Christians, including 10 percent of all born-again Christians, embrace it as their favored end-of-life view."

Lama and the Chinese government can argue all they want about who is allowed to reincarnate and where, but what on earth is wrong with a society when one tenth of people who claim to be born-again Christians are voting for reincarnation? That doesn't even make sense: if you're all about reincarnation, why be born again?! Is Jesus a back-up plan?

One more sign that the last thing America needs is another false Christ. I'll be introducing a bill to Congress next week that would effectively ban the Dalai Lama from reincarnating in the U.S.

let go!

It is so hard for me to let go of stuff - in terms of releasing my cares to God and trusting Him to take care of it. Especially people. I'm losening the death-grip on our finances, but people that I feel at least in part responsible for are hard. I have this mother hen complex that I'm trying to rebuke.

The real problem is that most of those I feel at least in part responsible for are teenagers, and teenagers are all over the place. Even the ones that are relatively stable and rooted - and we have several of those at Switch - can be all over the place.

Pastor has given me great advice, at least twice, without my even soliciting it. He seems to know that someone needs to remind me to pray for and with them, and then submit them to God and go home without them. Good advice. Difficult advice.

'Cause it kills me when they do stupid things. Not when they mess up, because everyone messes up and those we can get over pretty simply. It's when they deliberately do things that they know are beneath them. Do I sound like a mom right now, or what? I'll stop.

I guess this is a prayer request, then. I need to be able to commit them to God's faithful hands and not mull over their spiritual conditions at 1:30 in the afternoon while I'm at work.

Old Lutheran

My dear friend Nate directed me, recently, to the Old Lutheran website. Oh ... my ... goodness. I laughed out loud when I read the "You Know You're a Lutheran If ..." bit. If you are a Lutheran, or a recovering Lutheran, you should check this out. The Shop is the best part: hilarious tshirts, wind-up or bobblehead Luthers ... and I really want this shirt:



I still laugh out loud every time I read it. It's corney and I've read it dozens of times, but it still gets me. "A pulpit." Man, that's good stuff.

If you are not, nor have ever been, Lutheran you may not be amused. But if that's the case you were probably Catholic and Catholics have all kinds of humor I just don't get. We're even.

authority

The Lord has been teaching me about authority. Spiritual authority and natural authority. Being put in a position of authority over people whom you don't feel like you should have authority over, or, conversely, who don't feel like you should have authority over them, is uncomfortable.

Natural authority is harder than spiritual authority. Being in a relatively exalted position of authority has definitely taught me how to better be under authority. One big lesson I learned was, "Always report the first signs of diarrhea to your team leaders." It started out as a bit of comic relief (with an important lesson embedded) when one of the girls had to be hospitalized for dehydration, but has come to be a bit of comic relief with a bigger and bigger lesson.

Diarrhea (or "The Big D" as we referred to it with our team) is an uncomfortable topic, especially with the girls. No one really wants to talk about it, so it's easy to ignore. It's also something that starts as a small problem, with seemingly natural causes and a seemingly simple solution. This leads one to believe that it doesn't have to be reported, because one can take care of it oneself.

I started to notice that a lot of problems take the same course. They start small, they're often embarassing, and we usually think we can take care of them ourselves. When we keep it a secret, though, it usually gets worse and we end up - proverbially, of course - in a second world hospital with nurses who can't get an IV in our rapidly collapsing veins. We need accountability, and for those of us in ministry, we need to talk to our leaders every time we stumble. (I am now convinced that anyone in ministry needs to talk to their authority, not just an accountability partner.) We rationalize, "I'm not addicted to _____ (pornography, alcohol, cigarettes, lying, etc.), it was just once. I'll be fine." And then it's twice and then it's a problem.

So the lesson of the day is the same it's been in my circle for the past two weeks, "Always report the first signs of diarrea to your team leaders." You are under authority so that authority can help you, but if you wait four days you will become severely dehydrated and you and your team and your ministry will suffer for it.

no greater love

I'm going to halt the India testimonies. I'm working on a special issue of the zine that will tell it all, so you'll have to wait for that. Or buy me coffee and I'll spill (not the coffee ... haha).

In the meantime, the Lord answered a question I had a few months ago (while I was in India, but that's just a coincidence). I had been a little upset with Him for introducing sin. Adam introduced sin, ya ya - but if God hadn't said, "Don't" it wouldn't have been sin. You can re-read the whole post if you're not sure what I'm talking about.

I'd prayed fervently about it for probably a week, and while I felt like He spoke to me, it was such a heavy burden that I didn't want to speak too soon. The gentle answer that I felt in my spirit at the time was, "How else would you have ever known My love for you?" I thought about all the times I had ever been moved, humbled, or appalled at His love. Death can express love that words cannot.

The verse that came to me at the time was John 15:13, "Greater love has no one than this, than to lay down one's life for his friends." But, like I said, it's a serious matter so I hesitated to weigh in.

During our missionary quiet time last week I was reading Romans and I came to chapter 11, verse 32, "For God has committed them all to disobedience, that He might have mercy on all."

Then I started to try to look at it from His side. How much must it hurt Him, after He's given everything, every time one of His children turns away forever? He knew before creation that many would, so why expose Himself to such pain? For the love of a few. Your love is worth it. Meditate on that for a minute.

I call her Anna

We sat in pairs. Two sets of dirty, khaki capris surrounded by sparkling saris and gorgeous, dark skin. That these women revered us at all was embarassing.

"Lex!" Vyola shouted under her breath and waved me across the room. I pointed at Christine to say I needed to stick with her, but Vyola beckoned me again. I obediently scooted across the marble floor. "This lady would like you to pray for her. She pointed at you." That's strange.

I more than glanced at the woman for the first time and smiled. Her old, brown frames clung to one last piece of glass, but she didn't seem to notice. Her hair shined white like it must have once shined jet black, and whispered from beneath her sari of wisdom. Her skin, weathered from decades of work, smoothed to stretch over fragile bones each time she opened her mouth to speak or smile. The later she couldn't seem to do with her eyes open. I wanted to hug her, but only so she would hug me back. Her gentle spirit astounded me as I briefly considered the hardships her life must have seen.

We diagnosed her ailment and I began as I always did, "Ask her what she knows about Jesus." You can't ask simple Yes or No questions because they know what you want to hear. "Are you Christian?" Of course. "Do you believe in Jesus?" Absolutely, whatever makes you happy. Not this lady.

She squeaked for a while in Telegu and Vyola tried not to laugh. "That was a lot," Captain Obvious contributed.

"She just explained to you the gospel," Vyola chuckled. "She comes to the church every day. She teaches. She just spent five years here, praying."

"Five years here? In this building?"

"Ya."

"I think she should pray for me." Vyola chuckled, but said nothing. The look on her face informed me that I couldn't possibly ask that of her, so we prayed. The wrinkled intercessor was healed and I asked if I could take her picture before she left. "Tell her I was honored to pray for her." Vyola translated and Anna smiled and left.

the next morning

Namaste! Thanks for all the comments, guys, I feel so loved. I will hereby post some pictures. I'm not sure which ones are on the India site, so if there are duplicates ... you can feel cool because you know. These are a few of my favs:

This was on the wall of a church under construction in the second village.

Me and some of the Indian pastors. It was the first day we got fruit. I was excited.

Beautiful faces

Kids doing a traditional stick dance at the church.

This woman is an intercessor. I'll tell you all about her in an ensuing post.

The girls.

Sarah being rehydrated. That's a whole story for later.

Missionaries.


In the second to last village Justein and I met an old woman. The thinnest of all the thin, old Indian women and adorable. She can't hear or see well, and when she started talking to herself one of the other women pointed out to our translator that the woman is a little out of her mind. We prayed for her, but nothing much happened. I wanted to talk with her more (or try), so we asked her to sit in a chair for a minute. She sat for about a minute, and left.

We took a break for lunch and told the rest of the women to come back for prayer around four. A couple hours later we were on the floor, surrounded by saris again, and this old woman came back. I was elated. She sat down and after a couple minutes started to cry. I asked Vyola why she was crying and she said the woman couldn't understand why we wouldn't pray with her. She'd forgotten about this morning already. We prayed again - for clarity, for her eyes, for her ears. Nothing. Initially I was frustrated because she was the only old woman in the village who had not been healed. After she disappeared again, frustration turned to worry.

The woman is old and frail and losing it. It's not pessimistic to say she's not going to last much longer, but how to you communicate the gospel to someone who, by the time you get to the third day, has forgotten the part about her creation? I struggled with her for a while, and eventualy gave her to the Lord with a desperate, "Holy Spirit, You have to do something."

We did the evening service that night and it was my turn to give the gospel after the main drama (which very effectively sets up the gospel). I got through the message, close your eyes, raise your hands, stand up, and I started to communicate the gravity of the commitment the respondants were about to make when I saw her. She was at the front corner of the crowd, standing probably three feet from the speaker. I threatened them about giving up other gods, skipping Hindu festivals, and the disapproval of some of their families/neighbors, all the while praying in my spirit that this little woman would not sit down. I gave a final call and she didn't flinch. Hands raised, she turned her life over to Christ, and I have never come closer to the joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than I did that night.

goodbye again

I'm saying goodbye again. I've only been back for a month, but c'est la vie. Off to India tomorrow morning. I'll be back in a couple weeks with pictures and testimony. Keep us in your prayers. You can check out the India for Jesus website for updates from the front lines!

props

You're just not going to get anything profound out of me until I get back. I'm too busy. I do have to give props to my hubby for this, though:

We were driving home from Hampshire on Monday evening. It's a bit of a drive. It was dark, because we'd stayed far too late, and the full moon was spilling all over the passenger side of Timothy's car. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him looking at me. I turned to meet his stare and remind him to watch the road, but he cut me off, "You make the moonlight beautiful."

Sorry ladies, I got the best one.

bye, Jen

The youth leaders said official goodbyes to Jen last night. She's not leaving for a couple more weeks, but those of us going to India won't see her again. Someone leaving (until eternity or just October), usually inspires people to expand their visions of the relationship. I discovered two things on the way home last night:

1. Jen and I took far too long to become friends in the first place.
2. Jen is leaps and bounds from where she was when we met her just a few months ago.

'Cause I remember when Jen first came to Switch, shy and at least a little uncomfortable in herself. Not at all the confident, bold young woman of God who will soon be heading back to start revival on a college campus in Michigan. It's amazing what the Holy Spirit can do with a willing heart in such a short time.

There are pictures of that too that I occationally day dream about getting posted before I leave, but it's not a realistic day dream. My schedule for the next three days is thus:

Today after work: Clean the apartment and dinner with a friend (because who knows where in the world this girl will be in two weeks) ... at the India Curry House.

Wednesday after work: Purchase everything that I personally need for this trip, and that our team as a whole still needs. Conduct two more hours of missionary training. Finish cleaning the apartment.

Thursday after work: Finish everything that's not done yet, which hopefully does not include cleaning the apartment. Laundry and pack.

Tada! Pray for me.

don't accept Jesus

We had missions training all weekend, and I am tired. I think if I ever co-lead a missions trip again, I'm taking the week before the trip off too.

Yesterday we did a lot of role playing to get our missionaries more accustomed to engaging someone of a totally different culture in a conversation. And then moving that conversation toward Jesus. They were in pairs or small groups, practicing the gospel on each other, and I stopped two of them to explain something that's been on my heart for a few months now.

Don't tell someone they need to accept Jesus.

Webster defines "accept" as (1) to receive, (2) to give approval to, (3) to endure without protest or reaction, (4) to make a favorable response to, etc.

That's weak sauce. That makes me think all I have to do is give Jesus a hug and everything will be okay. Or that I just have to nod at the idea that Jesus is who He is, and He'll bless me. I just have to endure Him without protest. God's heart is overcome with one look of our eye, and we, in turn, endure Him?

Jesus tells his disciples to take up a cross. To repent. Be renewed. Die daily. Give everything. To be reborn.

There's a degree of "accepting" in there, but I wonder what kind of "Christians" we're creating (all over the world) when we're satisfied that someone has prayed a prayer and comes to church three Sundays a month. Are we "mak(ing) disciples," or backsliders?

time

Tim talked last night about time. He mentioned that old adage in passing, that "time is money." A thought crossed my mind, and I won't dare guess where it came from. It was this: If time is money, do I need to tithe on it? 2.4 hours per day? That's 2 hours and 24 minutes, which is basically two-and-a-half hours. Just a thought.

hymns

I remember going to church as a very bored child, and flipping through the hymnals during service to try to find something good. I remember not being very satisfied very often.

I was thinking yesterday about how strange it is when the Holy Spirit breathes on a song. There are some songs that are well composed, and can evoke some sort of emotional response. Then there are songs, every once in a while, that spark revival in your spirit. You don't even have to be trying for those songs.

There are several in a modern worship repetoire, but what I've been musing over lately is hymns that the Holy Spirit chooses to nod at. A new song is a little more understandable because, fine, God's doing a new thing. New thing, new song. But hymns are old and this is still happeneing.

Musically, most hymns are very similar. They use chords that many worship leaders today find uncomfortable, but they all use the same uncomfortable chords. They use the same strange progressions, and they sing on the beat almost all the time. Most hymns convey the same basic ideas in their lyrics; they're usually more generic in content than a lot of modern worship songs. Isolate almost any hymn and it looks like a masterpiece, but line it up with its peers and it conforms.

So how is it that a certain few remain the collective favorites decades to centuries later? How Deep the Father's Love for Us, It Is Well With My Soul, and Joyful Joyful We Adore Thee are a few. How have thousands fallen by the wayside, but a few will still reach to the depths of us?

It's not the music. It's probably not the lyrics. I know it's not nostalgia, because I never really knew a hymn until I met Jesus a few years ago. They're not offering any fresh, new sound or revelation. I don't have any answers.

I do have some fresh inspiration, though. I'm thinking it will be fun (when I get back from India) to fill out a basic structure of some of these hymns with my own arrangements. I'm starting with It Is Well With My Soul, because I stumbled across the following video again recently. Like I said, though, I'm kind of new to this, so there are probably some classics I don't know about. What are some favorite hymns?

spoken word of life

A 17-year-old college freshman me walked 30 minutes through Missouri's only monsoon to the first real open mic night of my life. (Because I'd already walked 30 minutes, so pressing on or going home was going to leave me similarly wet.) A girl I didn't know, but who spoke the same body language as a good friend of mine back home, bought me a cup of coffee and I sat down at a table of three more people I didn't know just in time for a crash course in spoken word.

What I heard in that tiny little café in a midwestern town that no one can name, startled me. It was the power of music in the potency of words. I love music, and I've always loved music, because it expresses the inexpressible. What it does not do is express the expressable.

Sometimes - many times - that which can be best communicated through word is exactly what a soul needs to hear or a heart needs to utter. Sometimes it is those things that are looked over or looked down on because a lecture is not artistic. A discussion or debate does not touch our emotions, but there are things that the artist needs to understand that emotion cannot.

At a basic level, spoken word is performance poetry. Some people read poetry into a microphone. Some people read poetry emotionally into a microphone. The good ones, I soon discovered, wrote poetry that would only be wholly understood when breathed into a microphone. It is music that is spoken.

I started to get into it, writing a little and listening a lot. Shortely thereafter I met Jesus. He can be rather disarming. Everything I was working on suddenly became wrong, and the opportunities to participate suddenly disappeared.

Inspiration has been resurrected. I recently discovered Bradley Hathaway and Amena Brown.

mini revelation

I've been having these brief moments of clarity for the past couple of weeks that I just don't know how to describe. (This is going to make for a great blog entry, hmm?)

I don't know what actually counts as a "revelation," but I don't think that's what this is. I think of a revelation as understanding something you didn't previously understand. Or understanding something to a level you couldn't previously comprehend. I don't think that's what's happening. I think "clarity" is really the best word. It's as if, for the span of a deep breath, the veil is removed and my spirit completely understands something about God that my mind has known for years.

The first one happened toward the end of The Call in Nashville. We were in the middle of a worship set. I was standing - eyes closed and arms raised - when I was suddenly, very aware of God's grace. It's something that I knew, and you know, and when I try to explain in a minute - unless the Holy Spirit assists - you'll nod at, completely unmoved. I'm still going to try. Pray for ears to hear before you read this, or something.

I stood, singing a song I didn't know, but whose chorus was simple enough to remember after the first couple presentations. One line was a very basic lyric about redemption - so unremarkable that I don't remember a word of it now - and as it was sung for the third or thirteenth time the Lord moved it through my spirit and broke something inside of me.

He breathes life into me, not once, but every time I inhale. From the beginning of the beginning He loved me with a heart I will never see the depths of, and for so long I maliciously and intentionally spit in His face. At that moment, though, as I sang that song, He loved me perfectly and for no other reason than He wanted to. His sacrifice was so great, and his mercy is so consuming that it should cost everything. It should cost hell. I realize on the one hand it does cost everything, but not like it should. There is nothing I can do, and only because He wanted it that way.

Because He could have put a cost on it. Purgatory could have been real; indulgences could have been real; He could have assigned a terrible cost and He would have been just in doing so. He didn't want to, though, and in looking over myself I couldn't understand why.

Of course I still don't understand why, but I think He replaces the veil because a person couldn't live day to day with that kind of burden.

But you know all that, and this - like I said - is a bad blog entry because you can't blog about what words can't express. It's been happening every few days since Nashville, though, and I like it.

irony

It's fun the way the Holy Spirit will set you up to preach whatever it is you most need to hear in a given season.

Like when Martin Luther found it impossible to love an angry, unpredicable, malicious god his instructor sent him to Witburg to teach a course on the Bible. In studying scripture to prepare for his assignment, Martin met Jesus and the rest is awesome.

For me, when I've nearly given up on finances or the prospect owning a real home anytime soon, He sends me to teach on faith and Jehovah Jira. In writing lengthy emails, I meet my priorities.

bicycle

The Inghams let me come over last night and play bike shop in their garage. I wish I had before and after pictures to post, because the rims on that blue Schwinn look brand stinkin' new.

We got home rather late and my cutie husband made a comment about his cool wife that fixes bikes. He asked why I like it so much and I didn't know what to say. "Relaxing?" He suggested. I shrugged, not really. I get really frustrated many times when a brake set refuses to hold tension for no good reason.

I left work twenty minutes ago - foresaking lunch in the office for my sanity - to get tea and an internet connection, and realized why I like bicycles. Ready? They're simple.

Even when something goes wrong for no reason I can completely tear the thing apart and put it back together to make it work. Most of the time, though, even considering a dozen different styles that have changed over time, they're pretty basic.

I need simple once in a while.

below the radar

Religious Bonds Divide Some Parents, Kids - USA Today

This is interesting.

Though Gallup polls dating to the '50s say young adults are less likely to attend services or say religion is very important in their lives, clergy of all stripes say they are seeing a small wave of young adults who are more pious than their parents. And they're getting an earful from boomer moms and dads who range from shocked to delighted.

It's not just Christianity, which is even more intriguing to me. There's an increasing passion in young people to live out an uncompromised faith.

Luke 12:49-53//I came to send fire on the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled ... Do you suppose that I came to give peace on earth? I tell you, not at all, but rather division. ... Father will be divided against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against mother ...

Of course, said division has been on the earth since Jesus died and rose and ascended ... or even since Abram left his family for an unknown land. It's interesting to me that it seems to be picking up again. In a society that has become less and less "pious" with every passing generation, this new pattern is beginning to emerge.

One Rabbi notices that these "devout young people are 'floating below the radar.'" Probably not for long.

A sign of the times? I leave it to you.

five wise

Mike Ingham delivered a great sermon/message/teaching (whatever you want to call it) last night on the parable of the ten virgins in Matthew 25. It was wonderfully insightful, and if you weren't there you should pray fervently that it was recorded and rush to buy it on Sunday.

I do have one question kind of nagging at me, though.

Mike Ingham pointed out (with a fair degree of fervor) that "the wedding" mentioned in verse 10 is not the kingdom of heaven, is not salvation. All ten, after all, are described as "virgins," which symbolizes purity, which can only be had through the blood of a Savior. So all ten were believers. All ten had lamps that burned. Oil is symbolic of the Holy Spirit, so all ten were Spirit-filled believers. This should indicate that all ten will eventually enter the kingdom of heaven.

Then what is the "wedding?"

Because I thought the wedding that scripture refers to was Jesus coming back for His Church - His bride. Revelation 19 talks about the bride making herself ready for this wedding; is that not talking about Jesus calling the faithful unto Himself?

In Matthew 25 the foolish virgins cry out, "Lord, Lord" but He answers that He does not know them. In Matthew 7, Jesus declares that not everyone who says, "'Lord, Lord,' shall enter the kingdom of heaven" because He "never knew you." Even the parable of the ten virgins begins, "Then the kingdom of heaven shall be likened to ten virgins ..."

We know that salvation can be forfeit. During that waiting period in verse five when they slumbered and slept, could it not be that some who once claimed purity by the blood of the Lamb grew weary, bored, and dispassionate? If the "testing of your faith produces patience (James 1:3)," could the foolish virgins be those whose seed fell "on stony ground," as in Mark 4? I know people even now who once believed, and who once spoke in tongues, but have fallen far from Grace.

Certainly, all ten of the virgins slept, but that period could, as Mike Ingham suggested, be a dry, level period of church history. When there is no revival, no mighty work going on in the Church (or at least in your local church) and the congregation as a whole "slumbers," will you have enough of the Holy Spirit to come out of it, or will your oil burn up?

Isaiah tells us to "seek the Lord while He may be found." Will there be a time immediately preceeding Jesus' return wherein He will be hard to find? When trial and tribulation and the apparent tardiness of the Lord will cause the bridal party to relax a bit on the duty of watching (which will call out the real watchmen, because someone cried out when He came)? How many will have the strength of spirit, the overflow of God's presence, the Word sown in their hearts, to maintain their fires through that period? (Jesus seems to think about half - five out of ten.)

I'm open to the idea that the wedding in Matthew 25 is not the kingdom of God, but what is it, then?