August 2002
The date was printed on the milk carton. I didn’t need to be told what it meant. Milk has a brief shelf-life. After that time it not only tastes bad, it is dangerous. I looked for the latest date I could find. The grocery has all kinds of items like that. Dates are printed on foods to inform shoppers that there is a “window” during which the product must be used—and, after which, what is left must be discarded.
Even though foods may taste good and be nutritious for a season, they do not last forever.
What if “use by xx/xx/xx” were stamped on all the programs, rituals, facilities, resources, organization, staff, etc, etc, in our churches? Then it would be clear that those activities have a useful shelf-life, and afterwards the things that were once good start to taste/smell bad, become dangerous, and should be discarded.
Part of me wants to shout, “YES!” I have a long list of things that have “gone bad” in church, the region, and our denomination. Programs that once nourished now smell bad. Organizations that once tasted great now have an unsettling aftertaste. Activities that once built up are now counter-productive.
Down the sink with the bad milk!
Then my other side kicks in. The notion of “shelf life” is attractive only when it is applied to “foods” that others like. I tend to forget that the things I like also have a useful “shelf life.” I want the program I love to last until Jesus comes (and maybe even after). I want the organization I slave over to have eternal affirmation (we—thanks to my hard work—finally got it right). I want the activity that I enjoy to continue bringing me joy right up until the end (after all, ministry is about me isn’t it?).
Most troubling is the realization that I, and what I do, have a brief window of usefulness.
The desire for permanence—eternity—may be a reflection of the divine image in us. Without a doubt, our inclination to convey permanence on the things we do and like reflects our sinfulness and may become idolatry.
The Psalmist understood the transitory reality of nature, and also understood how we are entangled in it:
Humanity’s days are like grass,
They flourish like a flower of the field;
The wind blows over it and it is gone,
And its place remembers it no more.
The preacher in Hebrews also understood this: Abraham … made his home … in a foreign country … looking forward to the city with foundations, whose architect and builder is God.
While we relish good food, we know that even the best things eventually spoil and rot.
The life of faith, modeled after Abraham, enjoys good food—in its season—but all the time looks for the permanence that resides only in God and revealed in Christ, who is the same, yesterday, today, and forever.
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