Playing House

Sometimes I feel like I'm playing house. There are days when I come home from work and everything is as it should be. I am greeted at the door by two of the greatest little boys who shower me with affection for no reason other than I am their father. My wife, who has cleaned the house and done my laundry, is preparing us a filling and delicious meal. After dinner, the boys play quietly and then are in bed by 7:00 p.m., leaving Lori and I to relax watching baseball or a movie. Life is good. Feels like playing house.

At other times life is not so idyllic. The family and I just returned from a week at Missouri District Family Camp. Lori was excited because she would not have to cook or clean for a whole week. Nate was excited…well, because Nate is always excited for the next new thing. Sam couldn't care less. I, on the other hand, was only mildly looking forward to my second straight week of waiting in line for meals, and endless worship services. The week was supposed to be relaxing and, for the most part, it was. That is, unless it was meal time. Sam, our second born son, went into absolute meltdown during each meal. I'm talking a meltdown rivaling the destruction unleashed at Chernobyl…full scale, radioactive material spewing, meltdown. Getting through the line wasn't the problem. We had a pretty good system going. I would fill a plate for myself and Nate. Lori would fill a plate for herself and Sam. I would run and get silverware, drinks and a high chair. Then, as soon as Sam's year and a half old rear end hit the chair things would erupt. Screaming would ensue, forks, peas, plates and anything on them would begin to fly through the air with the greatest of ease. It was utterly frustrating. It didn't feel like we were playing house any more. The fun, delightful world of family life suddenly (not for the first time to be sure) met with the cold harsh reality of being a parent. Hugs and warm fuzzies were replaced by a piece of ham hurled at my forehead and anger. I suspect that one cannot truly be a parent until he or she has experienced moments like these.

The same can be said of the Christian life. David Busic, Pastor of the Bethany First Church of the Nazarene in Oklahoma City, was one of our speakers during Camp. Early in the week he said this, "If you don't do what Jesus says, you aren't his disciple." I think, for a lot of us –including myself at times, we play church. We enjoy going to church, seeing our friends, singing praise and worship songs, getting hugs and warm fuzzies. We like sermons that inspire. We like sermons that instruct us how to be blessed, how to live a better (more successful) life. We even like sermons that deal with sin and God's judgment on sinners, because those buggers are finally going to get what they deserve. But when it comes to doing what Jesus says we pack up and go home. Doing what Jesus says is hard, and we don't like dealing with the cold, harsh reality of being a Christian.

I'm convinced that faithfully living the Christian life is not often like the days I come home to happy children and a clean house. It's more often like meal times with Sam at Pinecrest. It's hard, trying and frustrating. Doing what Jesus says, trying to live as his disciples means I have to confront the nasty behaviors in my life and the lives of others. It means I have to seek to love those who are my enemy. It means I have to confess the selfishness, the greed, the anger, the resentment and the pride. Dealing with these things, in my experience, is like dealing with a disobedient, tantrum throwing child. Playing church relieves us of the obligation to confront our sins and short fallings. It relieves us from doing what Jesus says. At that point we cease being his disciple and become something else.

I want to discipline my children; I want to deal with their tantrums so that some day they will grow up into responsible, well behaved adults. I want to deal with my sin and short comings because I want to grow up into a responsible, mature Christian who doesn't just play church. How about you?