Choose Life!

 The biblical meaning of “life”

“Choose life and not death!” (2 Kings 18:32).

Yes! This is what God calls us to do. It’s the choice that Moses encouraged the Israelites to make as they prepared to enter the Promised Land (Deuteronomy 30:19).

I’ve always been fascinated by the Bible’s concept of life. Man does not live on bread alone (Deuteronomy 8:3). Life is more important than food (Matthew 6:25). But food is necessary for my survival. How can life be more important than that which sustains it?

There’s a hint here of something bigger, something greater than my literal understanding of the word “life.” In each of these brief sentences, God sweeps away my human view that I need to be thinking every moment about the physical aspects of my existence. Focusing, planning, fretting, anticipating good food, good drink, nice clothes, today’s to-do list, tomorrow’s adventures.

Biblically, “life” means even more than all these things put together. Salvation isn’t just about the perfect bliss of heaven. God is also deeply concerned about my quality of life here on earth. What does that look like when I’m working, when I’m cleaning up after my dog, or when I’m hurting from a painful loss? How do I live as if this is true?

I’ve been trying to figure that out for decades. Don’t know that I’ll ever get there. But I think of the fruit of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control (Galatians 5:22-23). Rather than finding my greatest pleasure in consuming foods that are soon gone, God wants to produce fruit in me that continues to multiply. Fruit that not only nourishes me, but feeds others as well. That’s life.

I also recall the Bible’s reminders to be content (1 Timothy 6:6, Hebrews 13:5). To my human mind, contentment leans toward grudgingly accepting something that I don’t really like. How often have I thought with a sigh, I guess I’ll just have to be content? As if being content is some kind of burden. True contentment lightens my heart with joy and peace. Even when I’m cleaning up after my dog.

Other views

The world around me shouts the same message as the verse above: Choose life! But the biblical meaning is missing here. In this context, life means everything that Jesus said is less important. Eat the tastiest foods. Drink the most intoxicating beverages. Wear the latest styles. Have sex as often as possible, with as many different people as possible. Get high. Put your own needs and desires ahead of everyone else’s. That’s what life is all about.

Sometimes Christian groups urge me to seek the wrong kind of life, too. In our lists of prayer requests, most of them concern physical healing or material needs. They reflect a genuine compassion for those who are suffering, as Jesus displayed. But that emphasis can imply that the physical and the material are the most important aspects of our lives.

We tend to forget the greater blessing that comes with accepting His will in all circumstances, and the truth that affliction can bring bountiful spiritual riches. Comfort takes priority over spiritual growth. The prosperity gospel, with its emphasis on health and wealth, is the most extreme form of this kind of thinking.

A godly response

That desire for worldly goods and pleasures is actually the side of human nature that the “Choose life!” verse is appealing to. The speaker isn’t urging his listeners to reach for a higher goal. He’s using crafty words and references to the God of Israel in an attempt to persuade King Hezekiah and his people to give themselves up to the invaders from Assyria.

A large army is standing outside the walls of Jerusalem, ready to destroy the city. The field commander is taunting its inhabitants, intentionally speaking in their language, trying to turn them against their king, trying to persuade them to surrender. Otherwise, they’ll die.

A group has gathered on the wall. Their backs are turned to God’s temple as they gaze at the threat in front of them and listen to a voice promising a way to safety. They’re frightened and vulnerable and oh-so-tempted to choose the meager physical life that the Assyrians are willing to provide, rather than seeking the true life that consists of more than bread alone.

Isn’t that where I sometimes find myself? Standing on a wall with my back to God. Seeing only the vast army of the enemy. Hearing words in my own language offering me life, not death.

What do the people of Jerusalem do? They obey their king. They remain silent when the Assyrians demand an answer, because that’s what Hezekiah had told them to do. Their faces may be turned away from the temple, but their hearts remain firmly dedicated to their God.

Their leaders respond by tearing their clothes, a symbol of anger and sorrow (BibleGateway.com). They report to Hezekiah, who also rips his robes. He goes to the temple, while sending others to the prophet Isaiah to ask him to pray. Isaiah’s first words to these messengers are, “Do not be afraid.” He then describes how the Lord will miraculously deliver them.

God doesn’t expect me to stay sheltered in His house, protected from the seductive words of an enemy who urges me to choose life, not death. Words that can sound so reasonable and attractive, so much like God’s own words. He puts me up on that wall with my back to His temple, listening to appeals in my own language.

But if I’ve already chosen the life that He offers, I can depend on that life to nourish and grow me over time. I’ll develop the wisdom and the faith to obey my King even in the face of fierce opposition and tempting invitations. I can rely on that life to provide the resources that allow me to go to the King and His prophets and His temple with its torn curtain. I can trust in that life to relieve my fears as I ask for prayer for His guidance and strength.

The Lord doesn’t promise me a miraculous physical deliverance in every situation, but He gives me the ability to choose life—a life that’s far greater than mere food and drink and clothing and all the other pleasures that this world has to offer.

 

 

A Hard Road to Freedom

 Lunch with a friend

Heading for a restaurant to have lunch with a friend. Feeling a little unhappy with her. When I’d contacted Marcia to see if she wanted to get together, the usual issue came up—trying to find a time when we’d both be available.

We’d eventually settled on today, but with one condition: only if her adult son, Ryan, could join us. He’ll be moving to another state soon, and this will be her last opportunity to see him before he leaves. I’d reluctantly agreed. I’d be much more comfortable with just her, but having him there would be better than waiting weeks or months until our schedules line up again.

I hardly know Ryan. As I drive down the road, I’m wondering if I’ll feel like a fifth wheel, watching and listening as they share last-minute thoughts and precious memories.

Our visit starts out that way. Mother and son talking to each other. Me sitting on the outside. Ever since I’d met him two years ago, Ryan had been stiff and awkward around most people, only speaking when someone asked him a question, and then with tight lips and few words.

But as the meal progresses, I can see that an amazing transformation has taken place. Ryan is totally relaxed, to the point of slouching in his seat. He’s actually smiling. And joking. And laughing.

He starts telling funny stories from his school years. Marcia mentions some of her own humorous experiences. Soon I feel comfortable enough to jump in and share mine too. Once the ice has broken, we’re like a bunch of old friends completely at ease with each other. As we're leaving the restaurant, I realize that I’m sorry to have to say good-bye.

Our background

When Marcia and I had first met many years ago, Ryan had been addicted to heroine for about ten years. He’d been through rehab programs, but he’d always returned to his habit. He’d just been arrested and sentenced to six years in prison for crimes he’d committed to pay for his addiction.

My heart had gone out to Marcia as I tried to imagine the trauma and sorrow of knowing that your child will soon be locked up. The sense of failure. The shame. The fear.

During our next visit, Marcia told me about a conversation she’d had with Ryan a few days before his sentence began. A friend who’d done time had given him tips on how to survive behind bars without the relief that drugs would provide.

The dealers on the inside would make every effort to get Ryan back on heroine. After all, he’d be part of their captive audience, living a dull yet stress-filled life. Once he was hooked again, they’d raise their prices to outrageous levels. If he didn’t pay up, they’d kill him.

Marcia had looked me in the eye as she described telling her own son that she wouldn’t give him drug money. No matter what. If Ryan racked up bills that he couldn’t pay (and he had no resources of his own), he would die.

The years passed. Ryan stayed clean. Every time Marcia and I talked, I tried to picture what his life was like.

He’d become a member of a community made up solely of convicted criminals. He couldn’t close the door on them, he couldn’t walk away, he couldn’t find a new group to hang out with. He was stuck in this dangerous and dysfunctional community until his sentence ended. His contact with the outside world, with those who loved him and wanted the best for him, was severely limited.

In a prison, violence always lurks just below the surface. It doesn’t take much to set it off. (There was at least one riot during Ryan’s term.) Those who are being paid to maintain peace and order can let the sense of power go to their heads. They can become as hardened and abusive as the inmates themselves. How does anyone ever come out of prison without a serious case of PTSD?

One day, Ryan was called into the warden’s office, facing a false accusation. He couldn’t prove his innocence at that moment (as he did later). His temper began to rise. But instead of lashing out and causing himself more trouble, he simply said, “I think I need to go back to my cell.”

As Marcia told me this story, those words, “my cell,” made my skin crawl. They conveyed a sense of comfortable belonging, as in my apartment, my condo, or my house. How does a prison cell become a safe space, a retreat, a home? How does a human being ever become accustomed to spending a large part of his time locked in a cage, and still maintain his sanity?

Freedom

Six years passed. Ryan moved back in with Marcia. His addiction had begun in his teens, so he had no post-high-school education or training. His sentence included a hefty fine. He’d be on probation until it was paid in full. If he fell behind, he could be sent back to prison. His expenses were greater than what other single men his age were paying, and he had fewer job options to choose from. How could he ever make ends meet?

The next time I’d stopped by for a visit with Marcia, she introduced me to Ryan. He struck me as cold, hard, detached. About what I’d expect to see in an ex-con. From everything I’ve heard about living behind bars, people usually come out tougher than when they went in. With every encounter, he continued to be distant, stiff, unsmiling.

Then he’d managed to find a job, and I didn’t see him for about a year. Next came my acceptance of lunch with the two of them. I’d walked in the door of the restaurant feeling uneasy, uncertain about whether I really wanted to be there. Now I’m walking out with a happy heart, thankful for our time together.

Ryan’s and my paths might not cross again for many years, but during those years, as I’m praying for him, today’s Ryan is the one that I’ll see in my mind’s eye. I’ll be praying with greater joy and hope—not just for him, but for any other seemingly cold and hard and unreachable people on my list and in my heart.

And I’ll be remembering God’s truth and grace. His truth: We will face the consequences of our sin. Ryan was guilty of the crimes he’d committed in order to feed his habit. Prison is a terrible place to live. Trying to get his life back together afterward is tough. But he’d made the choices that brought him where he is today.

His grace: God wants to use those consequences to bring us to a better life. Punishment is not His end goal. Ryan had tried rehab over and over without success. It seemed so harsh to lock him up in a cell for all that time. But it looks like that was just what he’d needed. From the day of his arrest until today, he’s been off of heroine for about eight years. It may be that he had to go through a hard time behind bars without his crutch in order to learn how to live a life of freedom.