Thinking Out Loud

“So he got up and went to his father.  But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.  The son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you.  I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’  But the father said to his servants, ‘Quick!  Bring the best robe and put it on him.  Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet.  Bring the fattened calf and kill it.  Let’s have a feast and celebrate.  For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’  So they began to celebrate.” (Luke 15:20-24).

What a beautiful portrait of grace, masterfully communicated by Jesus in the context of a three-fold parable that He offered as a defense and rationale for His willingness to welcome and break bread with tax collectors and sinners.  Having already described the earnest efforts of a shepherd to find a wayward sheep and the similar desire of a homemaker to locate a misplaced coin of great value, Jesus crowns the parable with a figure even more relevant and dear to human hearts, the story of a son who had wandered far from home.  

There is no question that the son’s reception represents totally unmerited favor, graciously bestowed by a loving father.  The son had done absolutely nothing to earn or deserve such a welcome.  Quite the contrary.  He had selfishly and disrespectfully demanded his share of his father’s estate, traveled to a distant land (Gentile country), and squandered his wealth with loose living.  He spent it prodigally (with reckless extravagance and foolish waste), wantonly paying for the services of prostitutes, at least according to the accusation of his hard-hearted older brother.  Penniless and friendless in a famine-stricken land, he sought subsistence through feeding swine as a hired hand.  This wasn’t just a dirty and lowly task; for a Jew, this was a nightmare episode of The World’s Most Ceremonially Unclean Jobs, working for a Gentile and handling pigs.

But, none of that mattered to the father who joyfully welcomed home a son who had come to his senses and humbled his heart.  He once was lost, but now was found.  Celebration!

When I was in the seventh grade, my sister came home from school with a couple of cigarettes that a friend had given her.  (Sorry to “out” you on this one, Karen, but I think the statute of limitations has expired on the offense by now).  Being a good sister, she shared with her brother; one for her and one for me.  Mom was out of town and Dad was still at the office, so we thought it might be a good opportunity to try this smoking thing.  Being much brighter than I, Karen smoked her cigarette on the patio.  I, on the other hand, believed that the exhaust fan in the bathroom was more than sufficient to remove any hint of the smell of burnt tobacco, especially since I would stand in a chair and blow the smoke directly into the fan.  How cool I must have looked!  Detecting a “slight” odor afterward, I emptied a can of Lysol throughout the house just to be on the safe side.  What could go wrong? 

Dad arrived home a little earlier than expected and asked, “What’s that smell?”  “What smell?,” I responded.  Questioned further, I offered that the smell was Lysol, which I had generously sprayed because, in my opinion, the house stunk.  He left it at that for the moment, then went to Karen’s room and promptly got a full confession, including the fact that I was the brilliant one who had smoked in the house.  His voice called from kitchen for me to leave my Gilligan’s Island rerun and join him at the table.  I knew it was over at this point.  Dad didn’t raise his voice at all.  He didn’t look angry, and he spoke in a very calm voice.  He said, “Tim, I’m very disappointed in you; not just for what you did, but for lying to me about it.  I’m not going to tell your mother about this, because I don’t want her to be as disappointed in you as I am right now.”  A beating wouldn’t have hurt me as much as those words did.  Through tears, I told him repeatedly how sorry I was, and that I would gladly take whatever punishment was coming.  Dad said, “Dry your tears, go wash your face, get your sister, and we’ll go to McDonald’s for supper!” 

I was stunned!  We didn’t eat out much in those days, and going to McDonald’s was special; it was extremely special. 

Grace!  Forgiveness!  Unmerited favor!  Undeserved blessings!  I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that, though disappointed, my father loved me.  A Big Mac was my fattened calf!

Thanks, Dad, for helping me understand the Father’s love, mercy, and grace!                               

One of life’s simple pleasures for me comes in the form of a cup of piping hot coffee.  Morning, noon, or eve; Winter, Spring, Summer, or Fall; while driving, sitting at my desk, or lounging at home; anytime is the right time for a mug of my favorite beverage.  As long as it comes black with no sugar, it doesn’t matter to me if it is regular, decaffeinated, perked, dripped, or even instant.  A connoisseur I am not.  I have no need for a gourmet concoction with a six-part name, a frothy top, and the price tag of a small meal.  Just a regular cup of joe will do just fine.

When Coleman was quite young and in and out of the hospital with great frequency, a friend of ours gave us a gift basket which included a box of “Coffee Singles.”  (This was long before Keurig appeared with the greatest invention since sliced bread.)  The coffee was packaged in small, single serving-sized bags and functioned just like tea bags.  They provided a quick and convenient cup of coffee when you didn’t have either the time or the need to make a whole pot.  These proved to be very handy to have in the hospital room, and we took the remaining supply home with us when Coleman was discharged.

A few days after getting Coleman home, I decided to grill some hamburgers for supper.  While waiting for the charcoal to burn down a bit, I went into the house to get a cup of coffee.  Since there was not a fresh pot made, I decided to use one of the coffee bags.  I filled a mug (my favorite one) with water and popped it in the microwave.  As I waited for the water to boil, my mind began to wander a bit, but the familiar “ding” of the microwave snapped me back to reality.  I opened the microwave door, grabbed the hot mug, and went back outside.  As the aroma of grilling burgers filled the air, I took a few sips from my mug and thought, “It just doesn’t get any better than this.”

It was shortly after this that shock and amusement set in.  I had put the mug down on the patio for a moment so that I could flip the burgers over, and, as I reached down to pick it up again, I noticed that I could see straight to the bottom of the mug.  It was filled with nothing but hot water.  I experienced a very surreal moment or two, wondered if I might be on Candid Camera, and then realized what I had done.  In my haste to get back outside to the grill, I never put the coffee bag in the water.

Talk about a drinking problem!  It seems impossible.  How could I have sipped from a mug of hot water and not known that something was seriously wrong?  The answer is that everything else was just like it should have been.  I had reheated mugs of coffee hundreds of times.  There was the “ding” of the microwave.  The mug was hot and comforting in my hand.  It was my favorite mug.  The liquid was warm and soothing to my throat.  The aromatic burgers were being cooked to perfection.  Everything felt right and smelled right.  There was only one problem: no coffee.  I would probably make a great laboratory animal.

So…..I was settled into my pew on Sunday morning just like I have been on hundreds of Sundays before.  I had on my “church clothes.”  I smiled and greeted those around me.  My voice could be heard as songs of praise were sung.  I ate unleavened bread and drank the wine.  I sat quietly as the Word of God was read and expounded.  I bowed my head and even closed my eyes as petitions and thanksgivings were raised to the throne of the Father.

Everything looked like worship and sounded like worship.  So, I must have really poured out my heart in praise, right?  Maybe so.  Perhaps not.

“One person regards one day above another, another regards every day alike.  Each person must be fully convinced in His own mind.  He who observes the day, observes it for the Lord…” (Romans 14:5-6).

Given the diversity of religious backgrounds and congregational contexts in which people are raised, I know that some of us grew up in homes and churches in which Easter Sunday was a big deal every Spring.  I also know that others may have come from backgrounds where Easter was virtually ignored (maybe even maligned) on the basis that it was considered to be an extra-Biblical, post-apostolic innovation, the popular celebration of which was built largely upon pagan fertility notions and imagery.  Other families were “tweeners” that celebrated the cultural and commercial aspects of the day, but downplayed the religious significance. 

While the apostle Paul was most likely addressing issues connected with the Sabbath and Jewish feast days in the Romans 14 passage above, the Holy Spirit also knew that the church in subsequent centuries and millennia would face similar questions about the observance of special days.  Offered in the context of his discussion of freedom in Christ in matters of opinion and personal judgment, Paul’s answer was essentially, “Do whatever your conscience and heart lead you to do.  Do it (or don’t) for the Lord and His glory, and grant to others the same liberty, without judgment or condemnation.”

I have fond memories of Easter Sundays as a child.  Dyeing real boiled eggs (cool activity if you’ve never done it!); egg hunts; Easter baskets; chocolate bunnies; big crowds at church; ham, mashed potatoes and green beans for lunch; six inches of snow one Easter morning in Louisville, Kentucky.  Easter was special to me then, but it is even more significant to me now. 

I know that the word Easter does not appear in the New Testament (except in the KJV of Acts 12:4, where it mistranslates the Greek word for Passover).  But, I also know this: the crucified Christ was raised to life by the power and glory of the Father on the Sunday following Passover.  It was precisely at this time of year 1,980 years ago that Death was deprived of its sting and the Grave’s victory was taken away.

While the weekly memorial feast that we observe with bread and wine proclaims the body and blood of the Savior’s sacrifice and death, we celebrate it in anticipation of the Risen Christ’s return.  In that sense, every Sunday is Easter.  Just ask a Russian!  The Russian word for Sunday is Voskresenie, meaning “Resurrection.”

Happy Resurrection Day!

Over the weekend, federal raids in Michigan, Ohio, and Indiana resulted in the arrest of eight suspects affiliated with a Christian militia group called Hutaree.  According to the organization’s website, Hutaree means “Christian warrior”; I’ve got no clue about the supposed linguistic derivation of the name.  I tried to access the website today and got a “Service Temporarily Unavailable” message, but the blurb connected with the Hutaree web address in my search engine was a quotation of John 15:13, “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”  Today, the suspects were charged with conspiring to kill a police officer and then attempting to kill more law enforcement personnel by launching another attack during the funeral.

Nearly 15 years ago, I wrote the following:

“In the aftermath of the bombing of the Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City, a great deal of media attention was focused on the organization and nature of citizens’ militias.  The U.S. Senate Subcommittee on Terrorism heard testimony concerning the militia movement.  The testimony was both enlightening and frightening.  To say the least, these groups are extremely disaffected with the federal government and the enforcement of its laws.  While one should be extremely careful about painting with a broad brush and using overly generalized terms in describing them, it remains that many militia organizations do share some common, disturbing features.

One of the most unsettling aspects of the militia movement is the partnership that it has found with some individuals who possess strong, conservative, religious convictions.  The June 1995 issue of Christianity Today featured an article entitled “Guns and Bibles,” which dealt with this volatile mix of ideologies.  The article identified broad families of militia groups such as “Christian Patriots” and “Christian Identity and Aryan Nations.”  One of the men profiled in the article, who also appeared before the Senate subcommittee, was Norm Olsen of the Michigan Militia.  Mr. Olsen had served as the pastor of a Baptist church until shortly before the hearings.  The heavily armed and well-trained Olsen claims to be a “warrior for the Lord.”  Similarly, an Alabama group describes itself as a “Christian militia founded on the principles of the Holy Bible.”

Much of this strange mixture of Christian thought with a militia mentality emerges from radical millennial views which are themselves based on gross misinterpretations of portions of the book of Revelation.  These millennial beliefs are blended with fears of one world government, United Nations troops occupying American soil, mysterious black helicopters traversing the skies, and concentration camps being constructed for the imprisonment of religious and political conservatives.  The most extreme elements within the movement are characterized by deep paranoia and a total distrust of the federal government.  The manufacturing of conspiracy theories has been elevated to an art form among them.

Those who have mingled discipleship with armed militancy have demonstrated that they are well-versed in their knowledge of the U.S. Constitution, but severely lacking in their understanding of the Word of God.  Their strength in exegeting the Bill of Rights is matched by their weakness in comprehending the mind of Christ.  Like so many misguided individuals of the past, they seek Divine sanction for their political ideologies; they seek to make their cause a “holy war.”  The entire weight of Scripture runs counter to armed resistance against one’s government.  The involvement of Christians in such rebellion is fundamentally inconsistent with the teachings of Christ and His apostles.

Many, perhaps most, of those who would be classified as conservative Christians are politically conservative as well.  For that fact we should generally be grateful.  However, as is the case with political liberalism, it is possible for one’s extreme political conservatism to lead to the support of positions and activities that are at variance with the will and word of God.  We are Christians first, and patriots second.”

I shared the above thoughts, along with a few others, in a bulletin article for the church in Alabama where I was serving at the time.  Within a couple of weeks, a hand-delivered (no postage) packet appeared in my mail slot at the church office.  The material was all related to a document entitled “Operation Vampire Killer 2000,” a disturbing anti-government diatribe complete with a “battle cry” and a smattering of Scripture.  Some well-meaning brother or sister in Christ apparently thought that I needed some enlightenment on the subject.  It creeped me out to think that they had been right outside my office door. 

To be honest with you, health care reform doesn’t really scare me that much.  But the thought of deluded Christians, armed with explosives, who see the Antichrist in each new election and are intent on inaugurating their vision of Armageddon is enough to keep me up at night. 

From 1985 to 1987, I served in a two-year missions internship in Gympie, Queensland, Australia.  It was one of the most spiritually formative experiences of my life.  In addition to the joys and challenges of working with a local congregation and the opportunity to grow and mature in my faith and ministry, there was the bonus of living in Australia! 

On a day off from regular ministry responsibilities, my co-worker’s son Shane Drollinger and I joined our mutual friend Scott Roff for a long hike through Noosa National Park on the Sunshine Coast.  Scott’s girlfriend Rhonda dropped us off at the southern end of the park with a plan to rendezvous with us later in the day at the other end of the trail.  The hike took us past interesting coastal features and formations like Devil’s Kitchen, Lion Rock, and Hell’s Gates.

Our jaunt led us down a steep descent onto an extended, isolated stretch of beach in Alexandria Bay.  As we plodded along through the sand next to the breaking waves, we drew nearer to a large group of beachgoers about halfway down the bay.  Before I even noticed anything unusual, Scott said, “Oh man, I forgot!  Alexandria Beach is a nude beach!”  He was right.  While not an officially designated area for nudists, the beach was very remote, accessible only by hiking trails, and served as a haven for those who didn’t want to be encumbered by swimsuits.   

There was no turning back or detouring at this point.  Shane was about 18 years old at the time, getting ready to head to the States to attend Harding University, and I felt a strong sense of obligation to offer some counsel to my younger brother in Christ.  We were far enough along that we could clearly make out the rock formations at the northern end of the beach where the trail resumed.  I said something like, “Shane, see those rocks at the end of the beach?  Just keep your eyes on the rocks!”  I told him I would do the same. So onward we marched, right through the men, women, and children playing in the sand and splashing in the surf; sort of like the Israelites going through the Red Sea!

I wasn’t yet familiar with Job 31:1, but it would have been very appropriate and applicable to our circumstances and the pact that we made with one another.  “I made a covenant with my eyes not to look lustfully at a girl.” 

Every Christian, especially every Christian man, needs to enter into such a covenant with their eyes.  Our eyes are windows into our hearts.  Visual images are powerful, and they are permanent.  They can draw us closer to God and deeper into faith, or they can fan the flames of lust and lead us further into sin.  Sometimes we say of a rather clumsy person that he or she is “an accident waiting to happen.”  Lust is just sex waiting to happen; all that is lacking is the right circumstance and the opportune moment.

Pornographic addiction continues to run rampant in our culture, and it is no respecter of persons.  Satan doesn’t just employ its allure among unbelievers and worldly pleasure seekers; our Adversary is all too well acquainted with its effectiveness in enslaving the hearts of disciples, with those serving in ministry showing no greater immunity than anyone else.

Make the covenant!  Discipline your body and exercise Spirit-empowered control over your eyes.  Know your weaknesses.  Be sensitized to the first warning signals of lust.  Fight the second glance and overcome the prolonged gaze.

“Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable – if anything is excellent or praiseworthy – think about such things” (Philippians 4:8-9).  If we are to achieve this goal, our eyes must be mutually committed and integrally connected with our hearts and minds.       

 “I will set before my eyes no vile thing” (Psalm 101:3).

Snow on Hyacinth; Pyles' Home on March 21, 2010

The first day of Spring brought a snowstorm to northeastern Oklahoma on Saturday, with additional accumulation on Sunday.  Temperatures had been in the low ’70s on Friday.  What a difference a day makes!  Kim, Coleman, and I had been on a quick getaway to visit friends in Texas, but returned home late Friday night in order to beat the arrival of Winter’s jolting reminder that it wasn’t quite finished yet.  The elders at the Broken Arrow church made a prudent decision late Saturday afternoon to cancel our Sunday assemblies, just as most churches in the area had done. 

On Sunday morning, I stood in the warmth of the entryway of our home, sipped hot coffee, and watched the wind-driven snowfall through the glass panes in the front doors.  While the strong north wind was blowing the snow at a 45-degree angle further out in the yard, the contours of the front of the house provided a sheltered environment where the snow would swirl for a moment and then slowly spiral downward to the landscaping just beyond the front porch.  I watched for quite some time as large, distinct flakes made a soft landing on the blanket of snow beneath them and were instantaneously rendered indistinguishable from the thousands of snowflakes around them.  Though every snowflake possessed a unique, intricate, crystalline design and identity, each contributed (in a sense, “sacrificed”) its individuality for the benefit of something much larger, an entire landscape of wintry beauty.  

Like snowflakes, each of us has been created in the image of God with a design of intellect, passion, and ability that is unique and special.  Yet, as Christians, despite our intrinsic value and essentiality to the functioning of Christ’s body (Rom. 12; I Cor. 12), our spiritual existence is not one of independence or the showcasing of our individual set of talents.  Ours is contributed with that of others for the glory of the head of the body, Christ, and interdependently blended with that of others for the health and beauty of the whole.  As individual believers, and even as congregations of God’s people, we are woven into the tapestry of God’s kingdom, both contemporary and historical, that envelops the globe. 

While microscopic examination unveils the intricate design of snowflakes, it also reveals their imperfections and irregularities.  Yet, millions of “flawed” snowflakes unite to form a pristine, pure, and breathtaking landscape.  Under the shadow of the Cross and the blood of Jesus our Savior, our sinful souls are cleansed and united into a beautiful Bride for Christ.  He has sanctified His Bride, “having cleansed her by the washing of water with the word, that He might present to Himself the church in all her glory, having no spot or wrinkle or any such thing; but that she would be holy and blameless” (Ephesians 5:26-27). 

How beautiful is the body of Christ!

A Word of Caution:  If you are eating right now or plan to eat in the next few minutes, let me suggest that you close this page and return to read this post at a later time.  What I am going to share has a significant “yuck factor,” to quote a person interviewed in a story reported last week by Sarah McBride on NPR’s All Things Considered. 

The story was about tourists who are trekking from as far away as Switzerland to Nevada’s Carson Valley for an event called Eagles and Agriculture, which is now in its ninth year.  While other birds of prey like hawks, falcons, and owls can be seen in great numbers in the region during February and March, bald eagles are the main draw.  Ranchers open their gates for people by the busload to get up close and personal with these iconic American raptors.

But what attracts so many of these majestic birds at this time of year?  Cow afterbirth!  That’s right!  Cow afterbirth!  In Carson Valley, it is the peak of the calving season, during which thousands of calves are born each year.  Some cows eat the placenta (I warned you!), but most of it is left for scavengers, both airborne and terrestrial.  While coyotes don’t offer too much incentive for tourists, bald eagles are a surefire crowd-pleaser! 

Here is the aspect of the story that I love.  You have the “circle of life” in which cattle give birth to calves, creating a rather gross by-product that bald eagles and other birds of prey find impossible to resist, and a diverse group of enterprising people in the region says, “I think we can use this to stimulate the local economy.”  Eagles and Agriculture is jointly sponsored by ranchers, the Carson Valley Visitors Authority, Audubon Society, Great Basin Birding Observatory, Carson Valley Conservation District, Carson Valley Inn, and Cooperative Extension.  Has it been successful?  The tour completely sold out this year!

If good old American ingenuity can turn cow afterbirth into cash, I’ve got all the confidence in the world that our nation will pull out of the current recession.  It’s just a matter of time!       

As I drove to the office one morning last week, I noticed a small dead bird lying at the edge of the street, nestled up against the curb.  I assume that it had been hit by a car.  Most people driving past likely would not have seen it.  It was such a tiny little thing.  I just happened to be glancing that way when I passed by.  My first thought was, “Poor little guy; he probably never saw it coming.”  Then I thought about something that Jesus said.  “Aren’t two sparrows sold for only a penny?  But your Father knows when any one of them falls to the ground” (Matthew 10:29, CEV).  God is so intimately connected with His creation that nothing occurs in the cosmos without His knowledge, no matter how small or insignificant it might seem to human eyes and estimation. 

While Jesus’ statement about sparrows was absolutely true, He spoke those words to make a much larger point about God’s care, concern, and knowledge of those who have been created in His own image.  Jesus continued in Matthew 10, “But the very hairs of your head are all numbered.  So do not fear; you are more valuable than many sparrows” (Matthew 10:30-31).  The Teacher masterfully employed understatement here.  In our Father’s eyes, we are more valuable than all the sparrows in the world; indeed, we are more precious than the cumulative value of every material thing on the planet.

Though our Creator’s thoughts and ways are infinitely higher than our own (Isaiah 55:8-9), that does not mean that He is distant, detached, or disinterested.  “He is not far from each one of us; for in Him we live and move and exist” (Acts 17:27-28).  One of the unfathomable spiritual realities that we enjoy in Christ is that Transcendant Deity dwells in and among us through the Holy Spirit.

Psalm 139 is one of my favorite passages of Scripture.  Some have titled this psalm, “An Ode to an Omniscient God.” 

“O Lord, You have searched me and known me.  You know when I sit down and when I rise up; You understand my thought from afar.  You scrutinize my path and my lying down, and are intimately acquainted with all my ways.  Even before there is a word on my tongue, behold, O Lord, You know it all.  You have enclosed me behind and before, and laid Your hand upon me.  Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is too high; I cannot attain to it.  Where can I go from Your Spirit?  Or where can I flee from Your presence?  If I ascend to heaven, You are there; If I make my bed in Sheol, behold, You are there.  If I take the wings of the dawn, if I dwell in the remotest part of the sea, even there Your hand will lead me and Your right hand will lay hold of me” (Psalm 139:1-10).

Whenever I am tempted
Whenever clouds arise
When songs give place to sighing
When hope within me dies
I draw the closer to Him
From care He sets me free
His eye is on the sparrow
And I know He cares for me

(Civilla D. Martin)

Today’s post is not going to be particularly long.  I have written before about the blessing that Kim is to my life, and I will undoubtedly do so again, but I wanted to share with everyone that Kim and I will celebrate 22 years of marriage tomorrow.  This milestone is a glorious testimony to both God’s grace and Kim’s patience!  

I really don’t know what I would do without her.  Being married to a minister is not easy.  Being married to this minister is a particular challenge.  I am a rather peculiar fellow; I honestly don’t know if I could live with me.  

Kim has been the best mother imaginable to Hannah and Coleman.  We were told a long time ago that 4 out of 5 marriages involving a special needs child end in divorce.  We are grateful on a daily basis that God has allowed us to remain on the enduring side of that statistic.  Through sometimes difficult and trying times, Kim has continued to believe in me, believe in us, and keeps putting her trust in God and her future in His hands.  I’m so very glad that she has. 

Happy anniversary, Kim!  The best is yet to come!

My last post about the thunderstorm in Alabama several years ago brought back other memories from the period of time during which we served with the Chisholm Hills church in Florence.  Back then I was in a fairly regular exercise routine and would often work out at the YMCA after leaving the office.  Not only was it beneficial for my health and fitness, it also provided a great “buffer zone” in which I could review and process the day’s activities, do some mental planning and preparation for the next day, and then be able to just focus on Kim and the kids when I arrived home. 

In the free weight area of the gym, there was a sign on the wall which read, “Please Put Dumbbells In Their Proper Place!”  It was a pointed reminder for everyone to be courteous in their use of the equipment and to return the weights where they belonged.  This ensured that subsequent users could easily find what they were looking for and kept the floor of the workout area free from hazards that could cause someone to trip and fall.  Even though I completely understood the intent of the sign, I still couldn’t help but smile as I considered an alternative meaning and application. 

“Please Put Dumbbells In Their Proper Place!”  Tempting, isn’t it?  When someone says something to us or acts toward us in a way that is thoughtless, careless, hurtful, demeaning, insulting, or just plain “dumb,” there is a strong inclination to “put them in their place,” set things straight, and even the score.  We instinctively want to defend ourselves and fire a volley in return, hurtful word for hurtful word, criticism for criticism, insult for insult, spiteful act for spiteful act.  Jesus taught us to fight and overcome this urge and choose a higher road in our response.  

The “eye for eye and tooth for tooth” provision in the Law of Moses was intended to be judicial (administered by judges and the court of Israel) and restrictive (ensuring that punishment did not exceed the crime).  However, it was frequently interpreted as personal and permissive: a license for individual vengeance and retribution in response to perceived wrongs and injustices.  The result is an endless cycle of retributional one-upmanship in which the score is never mutually considered to be even.  In such situations, there is no “even”;  just ask the Hatfields and McCoys, Arabs and Israelis, the Sunni and the Shia. 

Jesus calls His disciples back to the Law’s intent and challenges us to “break the cycle” and refrain from returning injury with injury and insult with insult (Matthew 5:38-42).  Paul wrote, “Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse…never pay back evil for evil to anyone…never take your own revenge, but leave room for the wrath of God…do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good” (Romans 12:14-21).  “When we are reviled, we bless; when we are persecuted, we endure; when we are slandered, we try to conciliate” (I Corinthians 4:12-13).  Christ left an example for us to follow in His steps; “while being reviled, He did not revile in return; while suffering, He uttered no threats, but kept entrusting Himself to Him who judges righteously” (I Peter 2:21-23).

Jesus calls us to a higher standard of thinking, speech, and behavior.  It is not something that will come easily or naturally for us.  It is a level of self-control that can only be produced by the Holy Spirit living within us (Galatians 5:22-23).  It has to be a premeditated mindset of response to which we commit ourselves long before “the heat of the moment.”  It’s not a matter of if we will ever have to deal with “dumbbells”; it’s only a matter of when.