Would a Human Help a Sister Out?

Near the end of a 3,200 meter race at the Division III girls state high school track meet in Columbus, Ohio, on Saturday,  June 2, last-place runner Meghan Vogel noticed something strange on the track ahead of her: Arden McMath, the only other runner yet to finish the race, had collapsed on the track with only 20 meters to go.  Vogel says that she did what any other runner on the track would have done for her: she picked McMath up and assisted her over the finish line, being careful that she finished behind the girl she was carrying.  As you might imagine, the two girls have become instant celebrities, meeting again a few days later for an interview on “Fox and Friends,” this after speaking to media outlets too numerous to count all weekend.

“It’s been crazy,” said Vogel. “I can’t understand why everyone wants to talk to me, but I guess I’m getting used to it now,” she said. “It’s strange to have people telling me that this was such a powerful act of kindness and using words like ‘humanity.’ It’s weird. When I hear words like that I think of Harriet Tubman and saving people’s lives. I don’t consider myself a hero. I just did what I knew was right and what I was supposed to do.”  It’s ironic, of course, that Vogel is hearing words like “humanity,” because she did something that no human ever does: put herself second.

Humans only ever invoke their humanity when they’ve done something wrong.  When was the last time you heard someone, celebrated for doing a great thing, say, “Well, I am human.”  Never.  Not once. We say “I’m only human” to apologize for our mistakes.  The Human League got it right in 1986: “I’m only human/Of flesh and blood I’m made/Human/Born to make mistakes.”  Jeremiah said that the human heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure (Jer. 17:9). Meghan Vogel should have been hearing about her humanity had she taken the opportunity to pass McMath and avoid finishing last.  That’s what a human would do.  Anything else is a miracle.

Another interesting thing at play here is Vogel’s shock at the public reaction to her story.  Any runner would know the inspirational story of Derek Redmond, the Olympic runner who was helped across the finish line by his father.  Any rational person should have expected to be lionized for such a selfless (read: gloriously inhuman) action.  That Vogel is surprised proves that her actions were completely un-considered.  In other words, her left hand didn’t know what her right hand was doing (Matthew 6:3)!

Vogel was so tuned out to the world that the human ulterior motive machine was turned off completely, and a miracle happened in her: she thought of someone else before herself.  And in so doing, proved that, for a moment at least, she was something much better than human.  Martin Luther talked about sin being humanity curved back in on itself, and that redemption in Christ allowed humans to be what they were created to be: full of true humanity, loving their neighbor as themselves.  Of course, he also said that, even as redeemed, we are, at the same time, justified and sinner, so both “humanities” are ever-present.  Therefore, to invoke Vogel’s “humanity” is doubly fascinating, both as an ironic comment on what most humans would naturally do and as miraculous evidence of the kind of re-creation that Christ makes possible.

Community and the Law of Letter Jackets

Anyone who played sports in high school knows about letter jackets.  It was the thing you always wanted to get, and the thing your wore at every opportunity.  My own relationship with my letter jacket was a complicated one: I was awarded a letter during my sophomore year...for marching band.  As if that wasn't indignity enough, the marching band letter was a totally different style than the sports letters, making it impossible for me to pretend that I was a "real" letterman.  Eventually, though, I was awarded several athletic letters and could wear my letter jacket proudly.  I never got to let a girl wear it, but you can't have everything.

The most interesting thing about letter jackets is what happens to them after graduation.  In other words, where do letter jackets go to die?  If there's one ironclad rule about letter jackets, it's that you can't wear them after you're out of high school.  There's nothing lamer than holding on to past coolness.  Check out the below clip from the show Community, wherein Troy (Donald Glover) tries to make a decision about his letter jacket, because people at the community college that he now attends have been making fun of him for wearing it:

Now, it may be obvious to all of us that Troy's mistake was wearing his letter jacket to college in the first place.  That's not what I'm interested in.  What interests me is the theological insight of his new friend Jeff Winger (Joel McHale):  Whether he takes the jacket off or keeps it on, he's doing it for "them."  That's what's weak.

This is a gorgeous (and when you add Donald Glover's bulging eyeballs, hilarious) illustration of the inescapability of the Law.  Whether we struggle to obey the law or whether we reject it, we are under its power.  Think of your parents: whether you are just like them or are committed to being nothing like them, they are still the ones influencing you.  If we strive to mold ourselves into today's Barbie-doll aesthetic or go the other way into shabby-chic, Barbie is still directing our decisions.  "Do not be fooled," St. Paul writes to the Galatians, "God will not be mocked" (6:7).  In other words, don't think that you can avoid the reach of the Law.  You can run toward it or away from it...but it still controls you.  There is no escape.

Well, except for THIS.

What God is Like

Here is my friend, Jono Linebaugh, talking about what God is like.  Watch; you'll be glad you did.

On The (Im)Possibility of Human Imputation

"Imputation" is a theological word that can be defined as something like "the act of regarding something or someone as having qualities that it or they do not naturally possess."  Imputation is HUGELY important in Christian theology; it is no exaggeration to say that its importance cannot be overstated.  For sinners such as us to stand before the judgment seat of God and be declared righteous, we must be regarded as righteous (via the "imputation" of the righteousness of Christ to us).  God's word, of course, is creative (as in, "Let there be light"), so when he regards someone as righteous, they actually become so.  In this way, imputation can be said to "work," that is, imputation is the mode by which life can come from death.  Imputation, therefore, is so important and so very full of grace that Christians are overwhelmed by the desire to "pay it forward" and "impute" to each other.

That's how we get situations like this:

 

As Joe House said in his piece on Grantland.com

I have watched the "GOOD JOB, GOOD EFFORT" video 391 times since Tuesday night. Because I can't believe the kid is being sincere with that sentiment. Tuesday night's Heat performance was not a "good job" and it was most certainly NOT a "good effort." I know this because I performed a very scientific study (i.e., scanned YouTube for five minutes) of the 10 hustle/effort plays that could have gone either way in the game, and my conclusion is the Celts won Every. Single. One.

So.  Humans generally "impute" when they want it to "work" in the same way it does when God does it.  When we want to encourage, or cajole, or build up, we "impute" in the same way the kid in the video did.  We don't actually think that the Heat did a good job, but we want them to be more likely to do one next time. But it rings hollow, just the way the video kid's words do.  Note the expressions on the faces of the departing Heat.  No new buoyancy, no encouragement.  They know that what the kid is saying just isn't true.

And this is the key: Human words are not creative.

Try it sometime.  Walk outside at 3:30 in the morning (in temperate latitudes...no cheating) and command light to come forth.  See what happens.  The same failure is true when we tell someone that they're successful when they know they're not, that they're thin when they know they're not, or that they're a "good person" when they know they're not.

During a summer that I spent as a hospital chaplain, I came across a dying man.  When I asked him how he was doing, he said that he thought he'd lived a good life.  After a pause, he looked at me and said, "I'm just not sure it was good enough."  Hearing the story later, my supervisor told me that I should have assured the man that his life was good enough; that he didn't have to worry.  In other words, that I should have "imputed" righteousness to him. In the moment, I felt differently.  I told the man that Jesus had come for those of us who hadn't lived lives that were good enough.

That man wouldn't have believed me if I'd told him that his life was good enough; who was I, anyway?  How would I know?  He didn't need faux-imputation...and it wouldn't have worked.  Though humans can't impute (we can only, like the "Good Job" Kid, pretend), we can announce that true imputation, through the creative word of God, has come.