Eclectic Christian

This post is the daily post for March 4th on my blog: Telling the Stories that Matter.

Adrian was a loyal soldier in the Herculean legion under emperor Maximian. The Herculean legion was one of the two veteran legions promoted to the role of Imperial Guard as emperors became increasingly uncomfortable with the loyalty of the Praetorian guard. To be a member of this legion was a great honor that came with a significant number of obligations and responsibilities. One particular role that members of the Herculean legion served was that of torturer of those who dared to resist the Empire. In this way, they were soldiers that fought not only for territory and control but also the minds of the people the emperor hoped to rule over. In the early fourth century, Christians were a common target for the emperor’s wrath and members of the Herculean guard were therefore called upon to torture and kill Christians with regularity.

Once when Adrian was torturing a group of Christians he was stunned with their peace of mind in the face of great pain. As the soldiers he was commanding burned the Christians with hot pokers and beat them savagely, he looked on and had time to marvel at the love and forgiveness they offered their torturers. In Adrian’s mind he must have wondered if he could remain so loyal to the Empire if asked to suffer to this degree for it. As they were being tortured he asked them “What kind of reward could you possibly be expecting from your God that makes you so willing to remain loyal even in the face of Rome’s worst tortures?” The Christians looked at each other through their pain and Adrian must have considered that he had finally stumped them or broken their will.

But then they quoted Paul’s first letter to the Church in Corinth and responded, “For those that love God, God has prepared something that no eye has ever seen, no ear has ever heard, and no human has ever even begun to conceive.” The room was filled with a stunned silence that can only rightfully accompany a sudden and unexpected glimpse of profound and hope filled truth. The soldiers turned to see how Adrian would respond–perhaps they were hoping he would dispel the conviction that tickled their hearts and respond with some witty or equally profound statement to support the Imperial lie they were suddenly aware they were a part of. Adrian responded by dropping to his knees and begging the prayers and forgiveness of the Christians. The soldiers were shocked at this but were further amazed when he proclaimed his faith and trust in the Lord of the Christians whom he had just been persecuting. The men he had been commanding arrested him and turned him over to the brutal hands of the Emperor. He was thrown in prison to await the day he would be executed for his crime of faith.

While in prison his wife, Natalia, heard the story of what had happened to him but wanted to hear it for herself. So, she disguised herself and dressed as a young boy so that she might be admitted to see him in prison. When she arrived, she revealed her identity to her husband and asked him to tell her what had happened. He told the story of the birth of faith within him and she was likewise convicted by the words of the Christians and the faith that had gripped her husband whom she trusted. She, too, was converted and asked that he pray for her once he had attained that glorious reward that now loomed before him a little closer every day. The very next day he was paraded before members of the Herculean legion and Natalia and had his limbs first broken on an anvil and then amputated brutally. As he lie bleeding in Natalia’s arms, they decapitated him and took what remained of his body away from Natalia and to a great fire to be burned along with the bodies of the Christians he had been torturing just two days previous. As they cast the bodies into the flames, Natalia let out a great cry and rushed to throw herself onto the pyre but a great storm that had been building suddenly issued both wind and rain and the fire was put out before Natalia or the bodies could be burned.

A little while later–and under the cover of darkness–Christians came out of hiding to take the bodies of the martyrs and give them a Christian burial. Along with the bodies, they took Natalia with them and cared for her for the rest of her life. She was the widow of a martyr and a Christian herself and so she was honored among the Christians for years to come. Though she was not a martyr herself it was clear that she had given up much for her faith. So, when she died she was buried alongside Adrian in the place where martyrs were buried.

Burlington House

An inquiring reader emailed me to ask why I hadn’t been posting very regularly recently. Well, I have just bought me a house. Not a regular house, mind you, but one that hadn’t been updated in over 50 years. So, over the next six months or so, I am going to be tad busy renovating. I will still keep writing for Eclectic Christian, but my posts will be a little more infrequent. I must also say that I am eternally grateful to Joshua Hearne for the wonderful contribution that he has been making to the site. If anyone else wants to do an occasional guest post, drop me a note. You can reach me at mike_kim_bell[at]hotmail[dot]com.

The picture is of the house next door. Same age, but it has been fixed up. Think of it as our “after” picture.

By Michael Bell

Ok, so this is not my most theological post ever, but one that should save our readers a lot of money. (Particularly the Canadians.)

A Canadian Member of Parliament (American’s think the equivalent of Congressman), Dan McTeague, has a formula which he uses to calculate Gas Prices in Canada. He does this based on the spot price of Gasoline on the New York Mercantile Exchange. He then applies a formula to the price, and presto, he gets the price of Gasoline for each major Canadian city. (Don’t worry we have good news for Americans too!) The neat thing about it, is at roughly 5:00 p.m. EST, he posts what the price of Gasoline is going to be THE NEXT DAY.

Read the rest of this entry »

by Joshua Hearne

Everybody has had “one of those days.” It must just be part of the human condition. I had one such “long day” a while back. It had started when I woke up an hour after my alarm had been set for. There is something uniquely awful about the feeling of looking at the clock when it is telling you that you’ve woken up late. Of course, you never get ready faster than when you have only ten minutes in which to get ready in.

After getting ready quickly, I headed out to the hospital to do my shift in Pastoral Care. On that day, I didn’t sit down. I didn’t even get to sit down to eat my lunch. Actually, I only got to eat half of my lunch and I had to eat that while going from one emergency to another. I was kicked out of a room at 1:30 because I had interrupted some little old lady’s “stories.” I learned, on that day, that visitation during “Days of our Lives” is a mistake. I responded to two heart attacks and one multiple vehicle crash in the ER. None of the families were what you might call nice. It’s hard to hold that against them since they were in the emergency room because of a relative but I’ve seen nicer folks among people in worse straits. I had visited all 6 families that I had previously visited in the ICU. I was present as two older people died and watched over the family and prayed with them. By the end of 8 hours, I was frazzled and emotionally drained. A chaplain may see many deaths,but they never get used to it. Death may become an acquaintance, but never a friend.

After my shift, I went home to get a shower and grab a bite to eat. As I was eating, I noticed that I was late for another activity that I had committed to attending. When I got to the church to spend time with the people, I discovered that they weren’t in a very good mood. Some of them had been talking about a particular theological position that they were against. I, actually, saw some merit in the position. As I, foolishly, tried to defend it to multiple people who had already decided that it was stupid and so were its supporters, I realized that this wouldn’t end well. Several hours later, my Christianity had been questioned. My faith had been doubted. My character had been accused. My integrity had been assaulted.

I was tired. I was frustrated. I was down. I was angry. I was cynical.

I vented to the empty seat in my car and my shifting knob. As it turns out, they’re excellent listeners but terrible talkers. It was another day that I found myself driving around town and looking for some reason to believe in a faith that was surrounded by dying and angry people. Yet another day to question what kind of faith it was that dwelled among the dead, dying, grieving, and suffering and was lampooned on both sides both for having faith and for not having the right faith. I drove for a while and really wondered why it was that I persisted in a faith like this.

I looked out the window and saw a church and shook my head. People going in and out and lauging and talking. They were happy but, surely, they didn’t dwell with the dead. Would their faith hold when they left that building? How many of them were producing some false outward appearance because it just was the thing you were supposed to do. I scoffed and cynically wondered, aloud to myself, “Why do I do this?”

There was a small red neon sign. It read: “Jesus still saves.”

It hit me that I did all this because my faith included an earnest hope in the redemption of all of us. My faith led me to dwell with death because we are being redeemed from the curse that brings our death. Though the corruption of humanity must stink in our noses daily, I was supposed to be offering hope of real and true redemption. Wasn’t this my message?

Yes, you’re dying but Jesus has overcome death. Yes, you’re sick but Jesus has overcome the decay and corruption of your body. Yes, you’re suffering but Jesus is redeeming the world that causes your suffering. Yes, you’re grieving but Jesus is undoing grief and its causes. Yes, you’re broken but Jesus is fixing us.

Yes, you’re cursed but Jesus still saves.

I turned around and headed home. I had to get ready to walk through the valley of the shadow of Death and proclaim the good news of the Kingdom of God: Our corruption is overcome by God’s goodness. Much is broken but all is being set right. I had another shift next morning.

If you are new to Eclectic Christian, we have added a new page to help you find some of our more popular series. Check out what we have to offer in our “Archived Series“.

Mike Bell

By Michael Bell

We had a major melt down of snow today. Unfortunately, one of the downspout runoffs for our house went missing. So the water melting off the roof poured directly on to the ground next to the foundation, and into our basement. No real damage to speak of, but a lot of time cleaning it up.

So, if you were wondering why your comment hadn’t been posted yet, or why I hadn’t responded…. Now you know.

Comments have now been posted, and I am busy responding to some of them.

by Joshua Hearne

There is a certain length that I like to keep my hair. The problem is that, even after all these years, I don’t know what that length is. Sure, I believe that there is a good chance that there is some unknown magical hair-length but I also believe that I will die without knowing what that special length is. I do know, however, that when my hair starts to curl up at the bottom that it’s time for a haircut.

So, a few days ago, my hair was getting curly at the bottom. I deduced, then, that it was time for a haircut. I had felt the curl coming on but I kept putting the haircut off because I had been very busy. I woke up one Wednesday morning and could stand it no longer. I had things to do but I penciled in a little time for a haircut. That day I had been working on a project for the church that I worked at so I was running around town picking up supplies for it. I knew that I needed to go to Kroger and I knew that there was a “Great Clips” by the Kroger. Suddenly, my haircut fit into the schedule.

I like Great Clips. It’s quick. They almost always know what they’re doing. Plus, they don’t make me feel bad when I don’t know what clipper-guard I usually use or how to describe how I like my hair to be cut. Doesn’t that seem unfair, though? A professional asking an amateur to tell them how to do their job? Isn’t this like a cardiologist asking you how you would use a balloon to clean out your arteries? I come to the haircut-place because I have no idea how to cut my hair or, as is often the case, what looks good. But this isn’t the point of my story.

So, I stumble through a poor explanation of how I want my hair cut — “Like this, only shorter…” — and settle in for a quick, fairly-priced, and much-needed haircut. We begin the classic dance of haircutter and haircuttee wherein we make small talk about random things. I like to play with this old routine by asking them questions. So often, the person in the chair answers all the questions but I find that sitting in a chair that can be raised, lowered, and spun around makes me reflective and inquisitive. I could use one for my office.

This time I find out that she has a son named Nathan. Having studied Religion and Philosophy in Undergrad and at Divinity school, I immediately run it through my religion/philosophy filter and determine that I cannot think of any famous philosophers with that name but it is a biblical name and a Hebrew name. I consider that it comes from “Nathaniel” which comes from the hebrew word נתנ (natan) and the hebrew word אל (el). That makes it mean, roughly, “given of God” or “gift of God.” As soon as I’ve deduced this, I ask her why she chose that name.

She replies, “I like the sound of it. It’s pretty…” I’m about to conclude that she hadn’t thought about the meaning of the name and reflect on how nobody considers the meaning of names anymore. But before I could descend into my own little world of spinny-chair-reflection, she continued, “… and it’s biblical. We like the meaning, too. It means ‘Gift of God.’ I think it’s appropriate because all children are gifts from God.” I didn’t know what to say.

“It’s a great name” I responded, wondering why I naturally assumed that because her first comment wasn’t an academic one that she didn’t know what it meant. I guess I assumed that because she worked at Great Clips and because she had told me about her life that I concluded that she didn’t know anything about the meaning of names. It was astonishingly easy to immediately jump the divide of education and secure myself in an ivory tower.

I was more ashamed of my second thought, though. “Of course she knows it, she probably just got it out of a book of names” I thought. This one stung when I realized that I had tried to rationalize away my own insensitivity. Even if she did get the knowledge from a book, that doesn’t make a difference. She picked a beautiful name with a beautiful meaning. Even if she didn’t arrive at it through “proper linguistic analysis” or “thorough Hebrew exegesis,” she did well.

I further realized that I didn’t even know her name. I checked the mirror to read her nametag. It said “Anastasia.” I don’t know if it comes from the greek word αναστασις but that’s the word it makes me think of. What does that word mean? Resurrection. Raised to life. Recovery.

It turns out that there is yet room to change and be raised out of the death of this world and into the life of the Kingdom of God. There is even more room for me to leave the death of insincere words and thoughts in this world for the life of intentional and personal life with others. Even though I might fail to care at times, there is resurrection. I am being raised to life out of a pit of death and corruption.

I told you that the spinny chair makes me reflective.

by Joshua Hearne

This was originally posted on January 3 at my blog: Telling the Stories that Matter.

Many protestants look back upon the reformation gladly and view it as some type of ideological victory. With the passage of many years, those painful times have become a hallowed ground where countless people revel in independence and the power of self-determination. The Pope and the leaders of the Roman Catholic church were slandered and scandalized even beyond what they deserved and lines were drawn in the sand that could not easily be crossed over. Wounds were inflicted that would only be healed by love over time.Some even go so far as to celebrate days in the Church calendar specifically designed to remember the separation and disconnect. Yet, why should the Church celebrate the self-mutilation of the Body of Christ?

Many Roman Catholics look back upon the time and decry the protestant reformation as a time of vile heresy and overreaction. In an attempt to villify those who villified them, some insist that the exodus of protestants from the Roman Catholic church was a purifying and good thing that finally allowed for real and earnest reformation to begin. Martin Luther and the leaders of the reformation were slandered and scandalized even beyond what they deserved and lines were drawn in the sand that could not easily be crossed over. Wounds were inflicted that would only be healed by love over time. Some would celebrate the excommunication of protesting parties–after all, if one removes the protestants then surely those who remain all agree? Yet, why should the Church celebrate the self-mutilation of the Body of Christ?

In 1521, on January 3, Pope Leo X excommunicated Martin Luther in the papal bull Decet Romanum Pontificem. Specifically, it was only one excommunication and only barred one man–a priest of the Church–from the Eucharist because he had refused to fall in line with people he was protesting. Those in power insisted that theological and practical unity were of primary importance to the Church and those who protested should submit themselves to the guidance of the Church. Those who protested insisted that individual faith and commitment to discipleship were of primary importance to the Church and those in power should submit themselves to the guidance of the Church. Through much of it, there was hope to be held out that the Church might come together and show unity even though it was made up of people quick to take and give offense. January 3 was only one day but it was an important day–perhaps it was past the point of no return but hopefully, there is yet still hope for unity among people united by a common bond in the Lordship of Jesus Christ.

Deliver me, O God, and remind me of what is worth delivering about me.
Deliver me from my own crippling insight.

For you are a forgiving God, yet I am crushed under my own accusations.
Why do I remain in my own shadow?

Guide me in your pure and blameless way
Let forgiveness and communion bring me to my feet
to Your feet.

Then I will be free of my oppression
I will rest in the promise of forgiveness
And with my liberation
I will praise you

Knowing I am healed, why do I remain crippled?
Knowing I am alive, why do I continue to dig my own grave?
I must hope in God for God is hope, itself.
God is my forgiveness and my only hope.

~A variation on Psalm 43