In Defense of Pastors

As I was waiting in my cart to start the afternoon flight of the Wounded Warrior Golf Tournament, I overheard a guy in the cart next to mine going off on pastors.  The man’s partner said he heard that in the morning flight a pastor hit an incredibly long drive.  That’s all it took to set the man off.  “Well, I’m not surprised!” he said.  “Pastors don’t do a d--- thing.  All they have to do is write one little sermon a week, do nothing the rest of the time, and get paid a six-figure salary.  No wonder he hit a good shot, pastors can play all the golf they want.”

Now I can take a joke and we pastors do bring some of this on ourselves.  But this was no joke.  The guy hates pastors (maybe for reasons I don't know). Still, his comments pushed my buttons.  To show how far I have yet to go in my walk with Jesus, I wanted to leap from my cart, look down on this little man, and talk to this man like God talked to Job at the end of the that Bible book.  “You don’t know what the heck you’re talking about!”  (Notice I said “heck.”  I have made some progress, I guess—though “heck” was not the word in my mind.)  And that would just be the first salvo: 

Listen, Jack, do you know any pastors personally?  Have you ever walked in a pastor’s shoes?  Do you know what it’s like to try and come up with something fresh to say to a congregation, not once a week, but at least twice and sometimes three or more times a week in those ‘little’ sermons you rant about?  Does your job keep you up to your neck in death and dying?  Do you know what it’s like to have to tell a mom and dad their wonderful young son with his whole life ahead of him was killed in a car wreck?  Have you ever had to stand over the graves and before the families of people you dearly love and stuff your own grief so you can try to say something meaningful to comfort a family in their grief?  Answer me if you know.  

Have you ever had to lead a large organization that runs primarily on the backs of volunteers?  Have you ever managed an organization that depends on un-coerced giving from willing people to provide the financial resources to run that organization and fund its mission?  Does your family have to live in a fishbowl knowing that people watch your lives intently and knowing that if you ever stray from the path even a little bit, many will call you a hypocrite, and others will recommend that you lose your job?  Have you ever spent so much time trying to rescue the failing marriages of others that you put your own marriage in jeopardy?  How many times have you had to bring your family home too early from a scheduled vacation because duty called?  How do you answer these questions, little man?  

Do you have to deal with being put on a pedestal you do not want and wrestle with the fact that people think you're a better man than you know yourself to be?  Do you ever worry in your job that you will get glory that belongs only to God?  Do you regularly have people ask you life’s most difficult questions, expect you to have definitive answers, and are very disappointed in you when you don’t?  Did you ever work in a situation where hundreds of people think they’re your boss and feel free to criticize you anytime they want?  Is eternity at stake in what you do for a living?  Do you often work for weeks at a time without a full day off?  Well, do you, punk? 

I’m sorry, but stuff like this not only brings out my inner God-to-Job side, it brings out my inner Clint Eastwood too.  That’s what I wanted to say.  But I didn’t say it.  And it’s not because I was afraid to say it.  It’s because it was Monday afternoon, I am a pastor, I make more money than I deserve, and I was on the golf course.  That alone would have confirmed everything the guy thinks about pastors … unless he could have seen me play … or unless he could spend a week or two in my shoes—and not just my shoes, but the shoes of many, many pastors that I know.

So can I just say a good word in defense of pastors today?  Sure, we have our share of jerks and phonies in the pack, and even the best pastors are very human and have their flaws.  But in spite of that, pastors are a pretty good breed all in all.  Most pastors work very hard.  Most pastors and their families love God deeply and love His church sacrificially.  Most pastors put up with long hours, more than their share of cheap shots from their critics, more stress than non-pastors would ever understand, and much less pay than they could get in the business world.  But get this (and this is what really makes a pastor a pastor): these guys and gals wouldn’t give up their work for anything.  They don’t do it for money.  They don’t do it for applause.  They don’t do it for personal advancement.  They do it because God called them to do it.  They do it as a life-offering to God.  They endure the struggles and give thanks for the joys.  They seek to do it hand-in-hand with Jesus.  And in spite of the inherent obstacles and problems involved in being a pastor, they consider it the greatest privilege and the greatest job in the world.      

Of Fish and Taxes

Benjamin Franklin is the one who coined the phrase, "The only two certainties in life are death and taxes."  Later, Will Rogers would play off that statement and say, "The only difference between death and taxes is that death doesn't get worse every time Congress meets."  Death and taxes do go together, I guess.  There are some among us who die a little every April 15 when we have to pay our taxes.  Sure, some get refunds, even large refunds.  Unfortunately, that's rarely me.  A friend of mine once told me that there are two checks he enjoys writing the most: his tithe check to the church and his tax check to the government. Well, I agree with half of his statement.  I enjoy writing checks to the church.  No one forces me to write them. No one threatens me if I don't.  I write tithe and offering checks for the sheer joy of participating in a financial way in the church and the kingdom of God.  The Bible says, "God loves hilarious givers."  Hey, I can laugh all the way to the offering plate.  And the larger the check the louder my laugh.

But I reach for a box of Kleenex when I write my tax check.  I don't chuckle when I say to myself, "After paying you thousands of dollars already, you still demand more?"  No laughter here; get out the crying towel instead.  I think I could enjoy writing that tax check if it wasn't so outrageously high, if I didn't feel a gun in my ribs and hear a voice saying, "Gimme your dough."  Every April 15th I'm reminded of what some joker calls "the new simplified tax form: line 1: What did you make?  Line 2: Send it in."  Don't get me wrong: I love being American and living in America.  I don't mind paying my share of the rent to live in this country.  But, and you may feel the same, it seems like I pay more than my share of the rent.  Thankfully, God provides for me.  I have a good job.  I get paid more than I'm worth.  And when I have to write that tax check, the money is there to do it.  But I'd be lying if I didn't say I resent paying as much as I am required to pay, and that's why I can't join my friend in kicking up his heels with glee every time he pays his taxes.

Maybe every April 15, before I write my check, I should go fishing.  Matthew tells a story about the religious tax-collectors approaching Peter and asking him if Jesus pays the temple tax—which, of course, implies that Jesus hadn't paid it yet.  The temple tax was a small tax Jews were required to pay by religious law for the upkeep of the temple.  This was not a Roman tax.  Jews had to pay that too.  So Peter asked Jesus about it, and Jesus answered Peter's question with a question: "What do you think, Simon?  From whom do kings of the earth take toll or tax?  From their sons or others?"  

Peter said, "From others."

And Jesus replied, "Then the sons are free.  But since we don't want to offend, let's pay the tax."  But instead of writing a check or pulling some coins out of his pocket, Jesus said to Peter, "Go down to the sea, throw in a line, take the first fish you catch, and open its mouth.  When you do, you'll find a silver coin.  Take that coin and go pay the tax for the both of us."

There's a lesson here that has nothing to do with taxes.  This is one more way that Jesus is reminding Peter that the times they-are-a-changing.  In Jesus, the old order is gone and a new order has come.  Those in Christ are sons of the Father and the Father isn't about to charge them tax to be in His house.  I understand the lesson.

But today is tax day, and I sure wouldn't mind reeling in a fish that had my tax payment in its mouth.  How about you?   

Oh well, one day that other certainty along with taxes—death—is going to take me out of this world.  And even though the government will still go for a chunk of whatever I leave behind, I'll be heading to the Father's House.  And in that place beyond time there will be no April 15 and there will be no taxes.  Because of what Jesus did for us in paying our sin "tax" on the cross, God is going to let all those who love and follow Jesus live in His house for free.  That's not just a good deal; that's good news.  And who can't use a little good news on tax day?  Heck, I'm feeling better already.  Happy Tax Day, everyone.

Why It's Great to Be a Papa

Papa, Reese, and Grammy after her basketball game

On August 2, 2001, I became a papa.  Noah Scott McCallum said hello to the world and we said hello to him and hello to grandparenting.  While it was a little shocking to realize that I was suddenly married to a grandmother, it was and is still a very wonderful thing.  Since that day in August of 2001, four more grandchildren have been added to the fold: Reese, Hallie, Macey Jo, and Benjamin.  I fear I'm not near as good a papa as many are.  I still have a demanding job.  I work weekends.  I don't get to see them as often as I'd like.  It doesn't help that I am married to a woman who was born to be a Grammy.  She's so good at being Grammy that even if I was to papas what Joe Montana is to quarterbacks, I'd still fall miserably short.  But while I may not be the best papa in the world, I do have the best grandkids in the world.  And I love being a papa.

It's a great thing, and here are a few reasons why:  

• It means neither you nor your kids died young.
• It means you never killed your kids while they were growing up.
• Dirty diapers?  "Oh Mom … my."  Or if she's not there, "Oh Gram … my."
• No pressure: you mostly get to play with them and rarely have to discipline them.
• As much as you enjoy your grandkids, at the end of the visit or the day or the week or whatever, you get to give them back. 
• You get to tell your old stories and jokes to people who have never heard them before.
• Your kid's college education: paid in full.  Your grandkids' college education: not your responsibility.
• You are wiser.
• You get a second chance to do things with or for your grandkids you wish you'd have done with or for your own kids.
• You get to watch your kids shine as they raise their kids and enjoy in their kids what you got to enjoy in yours.
• You get to teach another generation to love the Razorbacks.
• You get to teach another generation to love and follow God.

Those are good reasons for sure.  But let me tell you about one more—the one that spawned this blog post.  On Monday morning as I was showering, Dayna got a text from the mother of our granddaughter, Reese.  The text included a picture of a little project Reese had to do for school.  Reese never showed it to anyone; her mother found it while looking through her folder, and she figured I'd like to see it.  She figured right.  Since I was in the shower I couldn't see it, so Dayna read it to me.  Talk about bringing a lump to the throat and a tear to the eye.  Reese's words did just that for me.  I had just been telling Dayna that I feel like I fall so short at being a good papa.  And then I get this:  

Reese might have written those words, but I swear I smell the fragrance of God's breath in them too—a little encouragement from Father God to one of His children who never really feels like he measures up when it comes to family.

Thank you, Father.  And thank you, Reese.  While you might have whipped that out in no time at all, I will treasure it forever.  I love you, sweet girl.

Take That, Death!

Still basking in Easter glow, I've been thinking this week about a few of the people I've been privileged to shepherd in their dying days.  Driving to work on roads lined with trees, still in their winter nakedness, I couldn't help but think of Ed McWha.  You'll see the connection in a moment.

Ed was a big man—tall, dark, lean, strong as a bear.  He wore black horn-rimmed glasses which added a kind of a professor look to his size.  I loved Ed.  He and his wife, Irene, loved God. loved the church, and loved their pastor.  They were serious followers of Jesus.  They knew what they believed, and they sought to live what they believed.

I still remember cringing when Ed told me the doctor said he had cancer.  I hate cancer.  But Ed had it and there wasn't a lot they were going to be able to do about it.  They pretty much told him to get ready to die.  Ed took this news like a Christian.  He wanted to live but he was not afraid of death.  He believed with all his heart that Jesus took care of that problem for His people through the cross and resurrection.

Ed and I visited several times over the next many months.  We'd talk about life and faith and Jesus and stuff.  We talked frankly about death.  We talked of muscadines too.  Muscadines are a kind of a grape that is more tree-like than vine-like.  Ed and Irene loved muscadines and muscadine jelly.  I don't know if they liked muscadine wine, and even if they did they probably wouldn't tell their Baptist preacher.  They gave Dayna and I muscadines every year.  I'm pretty sure Ed was convinced that some of those fruit trees along the river of life in heaven are surely loaded with muscadines.  We had good conversations along the way.  And every time we talked, I could see how cancer had taken a little more out of him—turning a strong, lean man into skin and bones.

I still remember when Irene called and said that Ed, on hospice care by then, was probably a day or two out from death.  I headed over to visit with Ed.  I read him some Scriptures like 2 Corinthians 4:16-5:1 …

Therefore we do not lose heart.  Though outwardly we are wasting away, inwardly we are being renewed every day, for our light and momentary trouble is preparing for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.  For we fix our eyes not on what is seen but on what is unseen.  For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.  And we know that if this earthly tent we live in is destroyed, we have a building from God, a house in the heavens, not built by human hands.

He grinned so big I'd have needed a wide angle lens to get a picture of it.  He nodded his head.  "That's right," he said with the weak and breathy voice of one whose body had been pillaged and plundered by a relentless cancer.  "That's right."  I could tell he wanted to say more but had neither the strength nor the concentration to do so.

Then I told him a story from Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress about how Christian and his companion had made it to Living River.  All they had to do was cross the river and they would make it to the City of God.  Christian was frightened of the river's swift and powerful current.  He was a bit hesitant.  His companion was not.  He entered the river and shouted, "Don't be afraid, Christian.  I have felt the bottom and it is sound."  And suddenly, Ed raised his bony, stick-figure arms to the sky and shouted, "Woo-hoo!"  That was Ed's two syllable version of Paul's mocking of death in 1 Corinthians 15—"O grave, where is your sting?  O death, where is your victory?  Death has been swallowed up in victory in Jesus Christ our Lord."  This was Ed's "Na-na-na-na-na-na!" to Death.  It was Ed's sticking out his tongue at Death, poking a finger in Death's eye.  It was Ed laying hold of his faith in the death-killer—the crucified, resurrected Jesus.  It gave me chills that day.  It still does.  I think it gave Death chills too because for just a fleeting second or two, I'd have sworn that death looked emaciated and Ed looked strong as an ox.  Ed died two days later.  Death took Ed's body for now, but it couldn't take Ed.  Ed went on to be with Lord, once again strong and healthy and alive.  And I wouldn't be surprised if he meets me at the gate when it comes my turn to die with a sack full of muscadines to welcome me home.

You know, had Jesus never come out of that tomb, had Friday, instead of Sunday, been the end of the story, Ed would have had to die in fear.  "Woo-hoo" would have been "Uh oh."  But Jesus Christ died for our sins and rose from the grave, and for those who put their trust in Him, all the power of death is dead.

Take that, Death!

The Easter Story Told Through the Titles of Pop Songs

No other day in history carries the import of Easter Sunday.  The resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead is a game-changer, a life-changer, a history-changer.  It's also a day of great rejoicing for all who know Christ.  So let's have some fun with the Easter story as a way of celebrating God's great victory.  I've thought through the story attaching the titles of popular songs to various dimensions of the story.  I hope that rather than finding this sacrilegious, you'll just enjoy a fresh way of hearing the story and have a little fun with it.

God's view of the story — Takin’ Care of Business (Bachman-Turner Overdrive)

Angel and the stone that sealed the tomb — I Like to Move It (Will I. Am)

Residents of Jerusalem — I Feel the Earth Move Under My Feet (Carole King)

Women thinking of Jesus on the way to the tomb — Can’t Get Used to Losing You (Andy Williams)

Jesus to the Father — You Raise Me Up (Josh Groban)

Jesus to Death — Enough’s Enough (Jamie Lidell)

Jesus for His people — Too Legit to Quit (M. C. Hammer)

The guards at the tomb — All Shook Up (Elvis Presley)

The angels to Mary Magdalene at the tomb — Tell Her About It (Billy Joel)

The room where the disciples were hiding out before they got news of the resurrection — Where the Boys Are (Connie Francis)  

Everyone’s reaction to the news of resurrection — Baby, What a Big Surprise (Chicago)

Jesus' followers initial reaction to the resurrected Christ — You Can't Do That (The Beatles)

The two on the road to Emmaus after the resurrected Christ broke the bread and gave it to them — I'm a Believer (The Monkees)

Jesus' mother — Proud Mary (Credence Clearwater Revival)

Jesus' followers as they spent time with Him and the reality of His resurrection began to sink in — Glad All Over (Dave Clark 5)

The religious leaders upon hearing the guard's report of what happened at the tomb — Ain't That A Kick in the Head (Dean Martin)

Religious leaders who told the guards to say that the disciples came in the night and stole Jesus' body — Liar (Three Dog Night)

The tomb — Running on Empty (Jackson Browne)

The resurrection story — Pretty Amazing Grace (Neil Diamond) and The Things We Do for Love (10cc)

Easter's impact on the calendar — Sunday Will Never Be the Same (Spanky and Our Gang)

Kind of fun, huh?  As you can tell, my song title choices reflect something of my age and my musical tastes—I'm pretty much lost in 60s and 70s music with a little bit of more contemporary stuff thrown in.  Your age and tastes may be different.  I imagine country music titles would open up whole new possibilities. Using your favorite music, what song titles would you use to tell the story? Please type your responses in the comment section or on the Facebook status where you're reading this.

Oh, and Happy Easter!  Jesus Christ is risen from the dead!  And that's worth singing about no matter how you do it.

You Were There

Jesus was not alone at the cross.  A whole cast of characters were there.  Every gospel tells us so.  Below are a few that we meet in the Gospel of Luke.

The soldiers who crucified Jesus were there.  Somebody had to do the job.  Somebody had to stretch out His arms, stack His feet, and pound those long spikes through flesh and bone into the rough timber of the cross.  Somebody had keep order and see that things were done just so—you know, the Roman way.  The soldiers were there.

Jesus’ critics were there.  They wanted Him crucified and they got their wish.  But no, they couldn’t leave well enough alone.  They had to heap insult upon injury.  So there they were, mocking Jesus from ground level: “He saved others; let him save himself.  He could do it, you know, if he’s really the Christ of God, really the Chosen One, really the Messiah.”  One insult after another fired like missiles at the suffering Christ.  And they were having such fun mocking Jesus that even some of the soldiers joined in.  Jesus’ critics were there.

Pilate was there … well, not in the flesh but in spirit.  He was there in the sign that hung above Jesus’ head—the sign that read, “THIS IS THE KING OF THE JEWS.”  That was written in three languages.  Jesus’ critics didn’t want that sign.  Pilate did—perhaps to soothe his guilty conscience.  Pilate ordered it.  And it was done.  Pilate was there.

Two criminals were there.  They were hanging on their own crosses.  They had done the crime and now they were doing the time.  Did they deserve crucifixion?  Nobody deserved crucifixion: it was the absolute worst way to die.  Either one of them would have gladly said, “Slit my throat.  Run me through with a sword.  Shoot an arrow in my heart.  Anything but a cross.”  But a cross it was for both of them.  And that was a good thing for one of them.  It takes a long time to die on a cross and one of those criminals used that time to turn from his sins and trust Jesus for his salvation: “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”  Jesus remembered him.  Two criminals were there.

The Centurion was there.  He was ramrodding the whole show.  This was his grisly duty for the day, and like any Roman Centurion he did it by the book and he did it well.  Apparently, he was paying closer attention than his soldiers.  When Jesus died he couldn’t help himself but to say, “Surely this was a righteous man.”  We don’t know the full extent of what he meant by that comment, but we can be sure he meant at least this: “This man is innocent and he did not deserve to die like this.”  The Centurion was there.

Jesus’ followers, including a number of women, were there.  Luke tells us that they “stood at a distance, watching these things.”  Watching what things?  The death of their leader?  The death of their hopes and dreams?  The death of their courage?  Did they whisper among one another, “We should have defended him.  We should have fought for him.  We should have done something to prevent this.”  Jesus’ followers may have stood at a distance, but they were there.

Of course, Jesus was there.  That’s Him on the middle cross, the center of attention.  For the most part He suffers in silence.  Luke records that Jesus said three things altogether: words of forgiveness for those whose schemes and nails affixed Him to the cross, a word of salvation for a penitent criminal who asked for it, and a final word—a little prayer from Psalm 31: “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.”  Many were there that day.  When the show was over they walked away.  Jesus didn’t walk away.  He had to be carried away—carried away to a grave because He was dead.

Jesus was not alone at the cross.  A whole cast of characters were there.  And you know who else was there?  You were there.  Your sins put Jesus on that cross.  You were there in the killing and the mocking.  You were there at a distance, and you were there close enough to get His blood on you.  You were there. 

Make the most of this.  Take note of who is dying there.  Take note that He is dying for your sins, enduring your hell, opening a door for you to God and life and heaven.  Fall down on your face before Him who loves you to the uttermost and to the bitter end.  Cry out to Jesus, “Remember me when you come into your kingdom.”  And give thanks that He does.

At the top of this post you see Rembrandt's painting, The Raising of the Cross.  Notice anything curious about it?  Rembrandt painted himself into the picture.  He even kept himself in his modern clothes to emphasize his personal involvement in the crucifixion.  Even though Rembrandt lived 17 centuries after Christ died on the cross, even though he didn't live anywhere near Jerusalem, the artist knew that he was there.

And whether you paint yourself in a picture, whether you lived in the first century or the twenty-first century, you were at the cross.  You were there at the place where God’s love meets your sin, where God’s grace meets your need, where God’s mercy turns you from a sinner to a saint.

So on this Good Friday, remember Jesus, remember the cross, and remember, thank God, that you were there.  

A More Excellent Way

Last May I posted a blog on the issue of gay marriage in the wake of North Carolina's vote to ban it and President Obama's declaration that he supports it.  In light of the Supreme Court hearing arguments this week about the constitutionality of gay marriage, I thought I'd throw my measly two-cents into the debate.  I am fearful of what the court's approval will do to marriage in America.  I fear that if the court finds gay marriage to be protected by the constitution and make it the law of the land rather than allowing states to make their own decisions, it will become open season on traditional marriage.  Gay marriage will likely not be the end of the devaluing and dismantling of traditional marriage in America.  I'm concerned about what that will mean for the long-term well-being of our culture and society.  Will even churches be compelled to approve or perform marriages for homosexual couples or face consequences for refusing to do so?  This thing could open up Pandora's box.  I'm also concerned about God's further judgments on our nation for embracing behaviors (and not just sexual behaviors either) that are outside His will.  It already seems to me that God has let our nation go our own way for some time now.  Has He given us over to our depraved minds (see Romans 1)?  Are we already reaping the consequences of our nation's moral decay?  Maybe.

But all that aside, with the gay marriage issue fresh in the news, I wanted to share my feeble insights.  They are not just about gay marriage, by the way, but heterosexual marriage as well.  And since I really don't have any newer thoughts on the matter since I posted these thoughts last May, I'm re-posting that same blog today.  So for what its worth, here goes …. 

***********

It’s an issue that won’t go away.  North Carolina votes it down.  The President announces he’s for it.  We’re talking about gay marriage.  Polling indicates a growing acceptance of gay marriage among Americans.  Certain branches of the church (who for 2000 years believed and taught that homosexual behavior was sinful and outside of God’s boundaries for sex) have either endorsed such behavior, sanctioned such marriages, ordained practicing homosexuals to ministry, or are at least arguing about it in heated division at their annual conventions.  A reformed Jewish rabbi asked me if homosexual practice and gay marriage were issues I had to deal with in my congregation.  “Not really,” I told him.  “We Baptists are still fussing over what women can and can’t do in church.  'Gay' issues are barely on our radar.”  Sometimes I wish we Baptists were more cutting-edge on cultural issues, and sometimes I like being the last team in the race.  I like being among the last on the issue of gay marriage.

And here’s why: we can’t make a winnable argument in our culture.  “But what about the Bible?” you ask.  Well, the Bible, in both Old Testament and New, makes no bones about the fact that homosexual behavior is sinful.  Leviticus 18 includes this behavior among a range of sexual sin.  Paul includes homosexual behavior in a list of various sins in Romans 1, 1 Corinthians 6, and 1 Timothy 1.  And in Revelation 21, the Lord told John to write down the fact that along with the cowardly, the faithless, the detestable, murderers, sorcerers, idolaters, and liars, the sexual immoral (which would surely include practicing homosexuals and adulterers and pedophiles and those who practice casual sex with just anybody who’s willing) will be left out of heaven and consigned to hell.  “Case settled!” says the Bible-believer.  Sure, it seems simple enough if we take the texts at their face value and accept the Bible as our moral authority.  But we can’t make a winnable argument from the Bible when those who want to endorse homosexual practice and gay marriage don’t accept the Bible as a moral authority. 

And this is really the crux of the issue: most of us want to be our own authority.  If we don’t believe in God or accept the Bible as our authoritative guide for faith and practice, then we’ll either pitch out the Bible altogether as archaic, irrelevant rules that have no bearing on today, or we’ll twist the Bible to make it say anything we want it to mean.  Really, isn’t that the heart of the matter?  We only want to submit to authority that views something the way we want to view it—which means we want to be our own authority and make up morality as we go along to fit our changing values and views.  So while an argument from the Bible might persuade people who believe the Bible is their authority, it won’t persuade those who think the Bible is mostly a bunch of hooey.

The same goes for the Bible text from Genesis 2, a text Jesus quotes in Matthew 19, that God created them male and female, and that a man should leave his father and mother and unite with his wife and the two should become one flesh.  And then there’s that text in Genesis 1 where God tells the man and the woman to be fruitful and multiply. It seems to me that since God imagined and created marriage, God gets to make the rules.  Psychologists don't get to make the rules.  Marriage therapists don't get to make the rules.  Lawyers, judges and legislatures don't get to make the rules.  You and I don't get to make the rules.  God gets to make the rules.  And this is God's rule, God's plan: one man and one woman for a lifetime.  I like what Frederick Dale Bruner wrote in his Matthew commentary on the Bible's teachings on marriage:

They were, as we say, “made for each other.”  If God had supremely intended solitary life, God would have created humans one by one; if God had intended polygamous life, God would have created one man and several women; if God had intended homosexual life God would have made two men or two women; but that God intended monogamous heterosexual life is shown by God’s creation of one man and one woman.  (The Churchbook: Matthew 13-28, p. 251.)

Again, it seems pretty clear to me and to pretty much every civilization we know about in history, that marriage is a man-woman thing, not a man-man or woman-woman thing.  But if one refuses to accept the Bible’s statements (and the practice of civilizations from the get-go) then no biblical argument opposed to gay marriage will find any traction among those who favor it.

See what I mean?  I’m not sure we can make a winnable argument in our culture against gay marriage.  When there’s no standard of authority beyond an individual’s personal preferences and tastes and what makes a person happy, we can’t even argue from common ground.

So maybe we can make a better argument from our behavior.  In his book Bad Religion, New York Times columnist Ross Douthat, a practicing Catholic, wrote these words:

The Christian case for fidelity and chastity will seem partial and hypocritical if it trains most of its attention on the minority of cases—on homosexual wedlock ….  It is the heterosexual divorce rate, the heterosexual retreat from marriage and the heterosexual out-of-wedlock birthrate that should command the most attention ….  The Christian perspective on gay sex only makes sense in light of the Christian perspective on straight sex, and in a culture that has made heterosexual desire the measure of all things, asking gays alone to conform their lives to a hard teaching will inevitably seem like a form of bigotry.

Douthat is right.  We do seem hypocritical to espouse the virtues of appropriate heterosexual behavior and marriage when plenty of church folks are shacking-up or pursuing divorce simply because one claims to have "fallen out of love."  So many of us don't practice our own ethics; how then we can condemn those who practice theirs—even when we believe their ethics are out of step with God's ways?

I hate to sound pessimistic, but I'm not sure we can make a convincing argument on this issue.  But we can practice a more excellent way.

• We can keep our marriage promises.  Weather the storms, get help if your marriage is struggling, but work to stay together for a lifetime.  That's a more excellent way.

• We can be sexually faithful in our marriage.  We can commit to practice sex only within the boundaries of heterosexual marriage.  Premarital sex, adultery, and same-gender sex are outside of those boundaries.

• We can seek God's help to rid ourselves of hatefulness and malice toward others and season our rhetoric with grace and love.

• We can be as vocal in our opposition to heterosexual sins as we are to homosexual sins.

• We can be as forgiving and loving to hurting homosexuals as we are to hurting heterosexuals.

• We can befriend homosexuals as the opportunity presents itself.

• We can lovingly communicate to all people that life has a higher and nobler purpose than indulging one's sexual fantasies or achieving orgasm.

• We can honor celibacy and singleness as a valid way to live a holy life.

• We can encourage heterosexual and homosexual sinners with the good news that in Jesus Christ we can have victory over our temptations.

• And we can encourage all people, regardless of their sexual sins, that in Jesus Christ, through His death and resurrection and saving power, people can change.

I'm sure there are better ways to address this issue.  I confess that this feels like a rather clumsy attempt to do so.  But I submit these humble proposals in the spirit of the apostle Paul who, after addressing an argument among the Corinthian believers concerning spiritual gifts, offered them a more excellent way: the way of faith, hope, and love—the greatest of which is love.