My Own Personal Bible Story

In Acts chapter 19, Luke recorded a story specifically for me. I don’t remember asking him to; then again if it was up to me I probably wouldn’t want it there. Yet there it is.

The story is about people dabbling with things they don’t really understand. There were a number of Jewish exorcists who had found a new weapon in their efforts to cast demons out of those who desperately needed their help. They had heard stories of a man named Paul who was much more than a successful exorcist. While their efforts included a great amount of work and had only so-so results, Paul cast out demons easily and seemingly as a simple means to an end. It was not his main business, just a side effort. Yet, he did it with such ease. He simply spoke a few words and demons fled.

One group of these exorcists, a group of seven brothers, the sons of a high priest named Sceva, decided to employ Paul’s methods. They approached the demon-possessed and cast out demons by invoking, “the name of Jesus, whom Paul preaches.” They saw great success in this method and traveled the land with their newfound powers.

Eventually the brothers encountered a demon that they weren’t ready for. After speaking their “magic words,” contrary to what they had seen before, the demon spoke to them. “Jesus I know, and Paul I have heard of, but who are you?” Uh oh. The brothers were somewhat taken aback, this was the first time they had seen any resistance since they had begun using their new spell. They looked curiously between one another and back to the demon-possessed man. Before they could even consider what to do next, the man, filled with demon-inspired rage and strength, jumped into action, attacking the brothers. The single man pummeled the brothers, leaving them bruised, battered, bleeding. They fled the house, bereft of dignity and most of their clothes.

What had gone wrong? Why had they failed? Up until this point they had been successful. Up until this point they had been okay on their own. They had encountered small problems, weak demons, which they could handle on their own. As they handled these problems on their own, they became more and more confident – in themselves.

They failed to realize that the power of Paul in casting out demons wasn’t in the words that he spoke or the names that he dropped. It was in the man Jesus, not just the name. Paul knew Jesus, he relied on Jesus. Sceva’s sons didn’t know Jesus, they didn’t rely on him; they relied on their own devices and when they faced a problem that required more than what they had to give, they found themselves outmatched.

So, why is this my story? Like the brothers Sceva, I have tendency to overestimate my own abilities, to rely on my talents and gifts to solve a problem or remedy a situation. And, like the Scevas, those problems have been known to fight back. So, God gave me this story to remind me where my strength comes from. When problems mount up and ask me, “but who are you?” I answer that I am a child of God. The talents and gifts I have are from Him. Any success I have is from Him. When facing any problem, large or small, the only way to successfully handle it is to turn it over to Him, in word and in deed.

*Where are all the good men dead; in the heart or in the head?

...don’t know or don’t care.
A solid argument can be made for death in Everyman’s head. In some ways we are spoiled. Anything I want to know I can google - why remember anything? There are thousands of opinions out there, why create and (gasp) defend my own position? Why read, think or debate when I can watch pillow fights on my local news? I know there was a time when the internet didn’t exist (I’m old) and I imagine there was a time when people had to find other things to do besides watch the “boob tube” (not that old). Was there some magical age, before the internet, before TV when people delighted in reading and thinking and debating and writing? A more likely explanation is that there was a time before the internet and TV when people found other distractions to spend their time on that involved as little reading and thinking as possible.

On the other side of this coin, is modern Everyman dead in the heart? Hmm. What does it mean to be dead in the heart? Certainly this is a different condition than having a broken heart, as the implication that a heart is broken leads one to believe that the heart is alive enough to be hurt. It seems likely that a broken heart can lead to a dead heart (I’ll suggest that a broken heart can also resurrect a dead heart, but that discussion is for another time). But the reality is that it is something much more dastardly that leads to a dead heart, something much more sinister.

It’s not an easy thing to kill a heart. It doesn’t happen in an instant or a single moment, it takes days, months, years. You can’t take it out in one shot, it takes many blows, one on top of the other, pounding and pounding and pounding. But even then its not the heart that is heart by these blows, its deeper than that. These blows don’t kill the heart, they weaken the spirit, This is where the real trouble begins. See, the heart can’t be killed from without, only from within. A heart dies when someone decides that they’d rather feel nothing at all than feel that pain anymore. So, the spirit and the deceitful mind get together and beg the heart to give up, to throw in the towel. They come to the soul and argue that they don’t need the heart anymore, they can get by on the shadow of pleasure given by the flesh and the mind. So the heart, hurt and dejected, dutifully slinks into the background, lessening the pain, but taking joy and love with it as well. Eventually the spirit and the mind convince the mind that this is how things should be; calm, peaceful, familiar, and even keeled, running like clockwork - like a machine. Seeing them content, the heart is left in the shadows, to collect dust and rust solid, dead.

A steady onslaught of blows, reigning down in the form of greed, pain, sorrow, mocking, rejection, lust, anger, sloth, idolatry and gluttony. What kills a heart? Sin. From outside and from within. Sin studies it, stalks it, seduces it, surrounds it, and suffocates it. Calm, cool and calculated, it works in such a way that the man doesn’t even know what’s coming, he may even welcome it.

But one day, one day the man realizes that he’s become hollow - he has a solid, protective (tin) exterior but nothing inside.

There are plenty of good men out there in this position, not realizing how they became hollow, not knowing where they lost their chests.** Most horrific of all is that so many don’t know that there is a (THE) way back, that their hearts aren’t dead, just sleeping. The head isn’t dead because of TV or the internet, its dead because of motivation. The mind is reinvigorated when passion is re-ignited. The mind needs the heart like the heart craves relationship with its maker.
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*Shakespeare by way of Grosse Pointe Blank.
** "We make men without chests and expect of them virtue and enterprise. We laugh at honor and are shocked to find traitors in our midst. We castrate and then bid the geldings to be fruitful." -C.S. Lewis

Strength

I used to think that being strong meant never falling down. It meant not needing anything from anyone. It meant doing it on your own. I thought I was strong. I can benchpress more than my body weight. I can rewire a house, fix my car or design nuclear subamrines all by my darn self. Does that make me strong? Nope. If anything, its all of those things (more specifically my knowledge of those things) that keep me from being as strong as I can (should) be. This isn't a new concept, how many cliches try to tell us the same thing? Strength in numbers, two heads, a cord of three strands, and on and on. Yet who are our hearoes? A lone man in a cape or a mask or boxing gloves. Yet more often than not there they are - alone.
A crock, a sham - a cruel, cruel joke.
I know that I'm strong. I don't want to chase after the world's idea of what strength is. I'm tired of that. The strongest people still fall and they have others there to help them up. They don't hide their fall, they reach up from where they are. I want to reach for real strength and find that I can never hold it, just let it hold me.