May, 2006
At last month’s writer’s conference, I was listening to a speaker talk of his upbringing. He spoke of how, in their home, they were not allowed to play with cards. “Ah, a kindred spirit,” I thought.
You see, I was raised in a church which didn’t allow you to play with face cards (“THEY might see you and think you were gambling”), nor could one go to movies (because if THEY saw you and THEY didn’t know what you were seeing THEY might think it was OK and then THEY might choose an X-rated movie and it would all be your fault that THEY were going to hell). We were not allowed to go to a dance (“You know what that leads to.”) Actually I didn’t know what it could lead to since that topic was also off limits. You didn’t drink anything older than week-old apple cider because it could lead to drunkenness and if you were drunk you might start dancing and, well, you know what that leads to.
There was one year that Dad and Mom went to a vegetable convention. Apparently, Del Monte had a booth there and, as part of their advertising, they gave out packs of cards with a can of Del Monte green beans printed on the back. When they returned from the convention Dad tossed the pack of cards into his “junk drawer” in his armoire. My brother, Bill, and I would wait for the nights when Mom and Dad would be gone for several hours on a date. It was those evenings when we had enough time to commit our sin. First, we would sneak into the folks’ room. In the corner of the room Mom kept an extra chair from the dining room set. We’d pull it slowly out across the gold shag carpet, (knowing we’d have to rake it later to hide our tracks). Our pulses increasing, we’d ease the chair next to Dad’s armoire, open the upper oak doors of the massive chest and slowly pull out the drawer, making sure none of the loose change gave us away. We’d take the Pack of Sin out of the drawer, and glancing around the empty room, we’d go over to their bed. Our fingers would nervously slide over the glossy green beans on the box, and, with hearts pounding in our ears, we’d pull out the cards with a curious, yet oddly reverent air. Then. . .we’d look at them.
I still remember my first movie – it was for a high school lit class – we went to see Romeo and Juliet. When Romeo’s bare derriere flashed across the screen, I started looking for the trap door that would drop me into hell. Yet even as I questioned my eternal security, I also began to question the powers at large. I asked my youth pastor if I were to go to a movie carrying a sign that said “I’m only going to a PG” if that would have made it OK. Never got an answer to that one. My friends and I joked about our upbringing, that the children of all up-tight Baptists had to be the products of adoption because such Baptists never had sex. (THEY might think you were dancing.)
Don’t get me wrong – I am so grateful for my upbringing. Though the list of “Thou shalt not’s” was long, that church grounded me very deeply in Scripture. All four of us kids were on a quizzing team where we memorized whole books of the Bible. I remember one year when we had a smaller amount than normal – First and Second Timothy and Titus. Because there was less new monthly material, review questions were included so by the end of the year we had it down pat. My sisters and I used to have contests at the dinner table seeing who could quote through the three books fastest. Backwards. Though the backwards part probably didn’t help my understanding of the passages, there have been many, many times when the Holy Spirit has brought those deeply-imbedded Scriptures back to memory just when I needed them most.
After the speaker at the writer’s conference finished his session, I went up to share of our kindred spirits. I told him of my brother’s and my card-peeping sins. His response was interesting as he quickly defended his home. Wanting to distance himself from my legalistic background, he explained that his house’s anti-card-playing rules were of a different nature. You see, he was raised in Bridge country. Everyone played Bridge, his family included. Then one day, someone suggested to his parents that they give up Bridge to make more time for Christian service. His parents thought about it and decided to give up Bridge as an offering to the Lord. Theirs would be a cardless house.
I thought about this. Wow, a voluntary tithe, a fragrant offering. Not playing cards was actually a gift that they were giving to God. Mine was just another rule that had to be obeyed.
Legalism may help keep out problems, but it also has a sneaky, devilish side. It robs you of an opportunity to give an offering or a sacrifice to God. And if you still manage to give the offering but do so out of obligation then it robs you of the joy of sacrifice.
What was really interesting, though, came a couple of weeks ago. I was at a speaker’s workshop and the same guy was a presenter there. I had given a speech on my path to submission and a couple of people were discussing it. This man overheard the conversation and immediately jumped in and began mocking the concept of submission – going on about being chained to a kitchen and what have you. When I learned of what happened, I was spitting nails. How dare this guy – one who was so quick to defend his own parents’ offering – make a mockery of my offering and try to rob me of the joy of it.
Here I am, trying to offer my obedience to my God and a servant attitude to my husband, and that twit wanted to put the focus on the law of submission rather than on the joy of making an offering. But he got me to thinking. Is it even possible to take a command in Scripture and make it an offering, or will it always remain in the realm of legalism? God himself delineated several offerings in the Old Testament. Some remained in the realm of the law. But He also gave directions on what to give even if it were to be an offering of thanksgiving. He didn’t limit those freewill offerings to yeast-free cakes and pigeons – one could give more if one desired (I’m thinking here of David’s abundant offerings to the temple). But He also gave explicit directions regarding how to give an offering. If an Israelite could give a non-obligatory offering of joy and thanksgiving and yet still have to abide by the rules, could I not also take this obligatory obedience to the command of submission and make it an offering of joy and thanksgiving to God and to my husband?
Then I thought about what and how I was teaching my kids. I trained them to do their chores using for motivation the fear of punishment. But have I really transitioned them to do their chores out of love for their family, to make their home a nicer place to live? As Abby starts driver’s ed, do I try to instill a fear of a ticket in order to get her not to speed or do I teach her about love and respect for the others on the road? Do I teach them to have their daily quiet time because it is commanded and “besides, it’s good for them” or do I speak of the joys of an intimate relationship with Jesus Christ? Both result in the same action, but one way is accompanied with guilt and shame while the other is motivated by love and joy.
Yes, extreme legalism and extreme liberalism are both easier to live under than to recognize the laws and execute them with grace and joy. For me, what really helps is keeping my eyes focused on the One to whom I am making the offering. When I do that, it doesn’t matter what others think.
Like a rock,
The Submissive Despot
Amy Louise
Amy
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