More covenants, less contracts
I am curious to know the difference in a covenant and a contract.
In the short time I have thought about this, I wonder if this is a fair assessment of the difference between them.
A contract means that my participation is dependant upon your participation. If you do not participate or uphold your end of the contract, then I am able to also break my end of the deal and the contract no longer exists. It is legal language for a legal situation.
A covenant might mean that I will keep my end of the covenant even if you do not keep your end of the covenant. If you or I break our part of the covenant, the covenant still exists. It is spiritual language for a spiritual situation.
It seems to me that some of the reason it is so much more painful when a covenant is violated is because there is a direct violation of a trust and faith in the other person. It is easy for one person to take advantage of the other person in a covenant because the other party will continue to uphold their end of the covenant even if you fail.
A contract is easily enforced and relies on a third party to mend the broken contract. There is no third party in a covenant. If it is broken, then it is on the participants of the covenant to reconcile themselves.
Perhaps this is why we feel much better with a contract than a covenant. Someone will save us (or side with us) if a contract is broken. A luxury we do not have in a covenant.
I am not sure about any of this and I feel this is difficult to talk about because there are so many victims of covenant violations and have hurt (marriage for example). I am just trying to understand the difference.
Perhaps that is what people of faith are called to to which is different from culture. We are called to be in covenant with others, which is much harder than to establish contracts.
In a covenant I must be vulnerable.
Fear of Curious George
WARNING: This post is not meant to brag, but it may come off that way. The intention is to share the story so that one can see where my mind is going.
A friend of mine, whom I respect greatly, asked me the other day over the phone, “Are you as smart as you let on?”
My response, “I don’t think I am smart. But I do think I am curious. Why do you ask that?”
“I don’t know.” He responded. “But I just wonder if you are that smart or not.”
Not knowing what to say next I tried to explain myself, “I like talking with you because you challenge me to grow and think deeper. But I find myself frustrated when I am in conversations which do not seem to enrich life around me, so I ask questions about what I see in order to change conversation to something that I find enriching. That usually comes off like I am an ass. But that is not my intention. I really am curious to know what people think and believe and so I ask a lot of questions of people. And to be honest I have come to discover many people do not like questions.”
“No kidding!” My friend responded.
*End of relevant part of the conversation*
I was thinking about what he said and how many people (not all) tend to not really like curiosity. Let me say that a different way, people seem to like contained curiosity but are not a fan of unbound curiosity.
I love questions. The harder the better. For instance, I have been asked:
Why do you have a blog instead of journaling?
Why do you not play paintball but are okay with Warhammer?
Why do you cuss?
To be honest, I love these questions because they keep me accountable to my actions. But few people ask such questions to a person about their core beliefs and actions. I do not know why?
I think we are all afraid (myself included) of the unbound curious person who comes into our lives and asks us about the fundamental things we do in our lives for fear we might be exposed as the hypocrites we all are. But lets face it, we all are hypocrites and it might do us all a bit of good if we were all a bit more willing to be open to such questions about our own lives from others.
So I ask you to go out and ask others questions. Usually questions that begin with “why” are great questions, but any old question is good.
On second thought, Jesus asked a lot of questions and he just pissed off a lot of people. So I guess we all need to prepare for the backlash of being Curious George.
Humility + Questions – Absolute Certanity = Discipleship
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I recently heard in a sermon that the fundamental posture of a disciple is humility. A disciple is one who knows that they do not have all the answers or has it all together.
This captivated me because I hear people who are Christian but speak as though they have all the answers. If we had all the answers then we would not be disciples.
We would be the master.
I wanted to remind myself, that I am a disciple of Jesus. I am not Jesus.
And neither is any Christian I have ever met.
If you are looking to have all the answers, I wonder, Christianity might not be the best religion for you. We are a religion built on questions. We are disciples of a teacher who asks some of the most blunt questions I have ever been asked:
“Who do you say I AM?”
“What should I compare the Kingdom of God to?”
“Do you love me?”
“Which is easier: to say, ‘Your sins are forgiven,’ or to say, ‘Get up and walk’?”
“How can Satan drive out Satan?”
“Who are my mother and my brothers?”
“Don’t you understand this parable? How then will you understand any parable?”
“Why are you so afraid? Do you still have no faith?”
Famous 10 Questions
1. What is your favorite word?
2. What is your least favorite word?
3. What turns you on?
4. What turns you off?
5. What sound do you love?
6. What sound do you hate?
7. What is your favorite curse word?
8. What profession other than yours would you like to attempt?
9. What profession would you not like to do?
10. If heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the pearly gates?
Leonard Sweet said in response to “What is your least favorite word?” was ‘center’. His rational was that we idolize the center and in reality a move toward the center is a move away from Jesus.
I thought that was a provocative thought.
Elie Wiesel, From Night
I found a master for myself, Moshe the Beadle.
He had noticed me one day at dusk, when I was praying.
“Why do you weep when you pray?” he asked me, as though he had known me a long time.
“I don’t know why,” I answered, greatly disturbed.
The question had never entered my head. I wept because – Because of something inside me that felt the need for tears. That was all I knew.
“Why do you pray?” he asked me, after a moment.
Why did I pray? A strange question. Why did I live? Why did I breathe?
“I don’t know why,” I said, even more disturbed and ill at east. “I don’t know why.”
After that day I saw him often. He explained to me with great insistence that every question possessed a power that did not lie in the answer.
“Man raises himself toward God by the questions he asks Him,” he was fond of repeating. “That is the true dialogue. Man questions God and God answers. But we don’t understand His answers. We can’t understand them. Because they come from the depths of the soul, and they stay there until death. You will find the true answers, Eliezer, only within yourself!”
“And why do you pray, Moshe?” I asked him.
“I pray to the God within that He will give me the strength to ask Him the right questions.”
