Temptation

The internet has really complicated this pesky “temptation” thing, as if it wasn’t bad enough to begin with. I don’t know about you, but temptation’s lure entices me on a consistent basis, albeit taking different shapes and forms at my age. Some lures have lost their power, you get the drift, as does the tempter, believe me. A whole new arsenal is now at his disposal – the internet. It’s like “omnipresent temptation.”

For example, I ordered a text book through Amazon.com for a class I’m taking over the internet, as a prerequisite to becoming an online college instructor. The book was shipped two weeks in advance and, as of this writing (class starts today), no book. In anticipation, I sent an inquiry to the Amazon subcontractor and received a very terse response back, lecturing me on poor decision making when ordering items for shipment to Hawaii.

Hackles up! Snare set. Tempter pounces. I will spare you the details, except to say that Samuel Logan Brengle (Salvation Army Holiness Teacher) would have been disappointed with my Email response. It was brief; no swear words, but lacking in compassion. Guess what? Her return, return response was not only angry, but extremely threatening. Dear reader, this enraged soul accused me of calling her a moron, to which I plead, “Not Guilty!” As God is my witness! Unless, “…do business with a more reputable dealer,” can be construed the same.

Granted, my note wasn’t “sanctified,” in tone, but it was far from vitriolic. Instead of responding again, I swallowed hard and uttered a prayer of repentance, thereby resisting a powerful, compelling and less than sanctimonious urge to do otherwise. I must confess that the tempter is still messing with my thoughts, though. “Get thee behind me, Satan,” doesn’t work; it only increases the volume, like one of those “suped up,” “boom box” laden roadsters pulling up behind you on the highway.

Here’s what I have discovered. Even the most timid amongst us can become like roaring lions when communicating impersonally, like over the internet. In fact, the book I referred to earlier, The Online Teaching Guide: A Handbook of Attitudes, Strategies, and techniques for the Virtual Classroom (White & Weight), makes this very point. The word, coined by onliners, describing this phenomenon is, flaming. To put it in perspective, that heretofore mentioned book dealer was flaming. And I suspect speaking eyeball-to-eyeball with her would have produced dramatically different responses, on both our parts.

As a young officer (pastor), prehistorically (BI: “Before Internet”), I would periodically receive a haughty, dictatorial sounding missal through the mail from the “powers that be,” causing my blood pressure to sky-rocket. This set off an immediate, visceral response, resulting in a flaming chain reaction. What began explosively, ended up implosively. Guess at what end? Fellow travelers, I have self-destructed more times than I care to remember.

I learned early on how to count to ten before responding. Actually, it was to 86,400, figuratively (number of seconds in 24 hours). I would write the letter as prompted by the tempter (for cathartic purposes), then lay it aside for a cooling off period. That’s when the Sanctifier took over and continued His progressive work –In me, anyway.

But remember this-the wrong desires that come into your life aren't anything new and different. Many others have faced exactly the same problems before you. And no temptation is irresistible. You can trust God to keep the temptation from becoming so strong that you can't stand up against it, for he has promised this and will do what he says. He will show you how to escape temptation's power so that you can bear up patiently against it (1 Corinthians 10:13 TLB).

“…bear up patiently” is the operative phrase in this Scripture for me. It’s been 48 hours since receiving that acerbic response from the book dealer and I still feel like punching her lights out, although I must say the feeling is fading. After all, admittedly, I’m not entirely guiltless in this process. Is there any such thing as being “less guilty?”

I still faintly hear the echo of the Boom Box behind me when thinking back to some of those “powers that be” letters received (20-40 years ago). Especially when something occurs to trigger those memories, as it does occasionally through an Email posting or, vicariously, through my kids involvement in ministry. I also keep a “temptation file” that is pulled out once-in-a-while to view copies of those once-upon-a-time trophies within it. I’m reminded how silly it all was… and is (some things never change).

The file is thick, but can you imagine its thickness had the internet been around? You ought to read some of the responses I get to this blog. By some counts, there are 200 million blogs in existence. Think about the amount of omnipresent flaming taking place at this very moment? Mind-boggling! But it’s not nearly as mind-boggling as the “delete (escape) key” promised in First Corinthians 10.

Whoops! Got to go now, more Emails coming in…

Delete… delete… delete!

God-forsaken! ;-)

The travelogue continues as we wind our way through the Napa Valley, across the Sacramento plain, over the majestic, breathtaking Sierras, passing by Squaw Valley, around North Lake Tahoe, following the Truckee River down the slope to our next destination, Reno, Nevada, “The Biggest, Little City in the World,” so they claim. We have senior-discounted reservations (with perks galore) at a local hotel/casino.

Old nemesis, guilt, keeps us away from the slot machines and gaming tables, but there are plenty of non-gambling activities to keep us occupied, people watching being high on the recreational list. Those casino developers and operators are brilliant, you know. The architecture and ambience is designed to camouflage loneliness, defeat and despair with an artificial feeling of glamour, friendliness and hope.

They’re on to something and its paying off big-time. Senior citizens flock to these casinos by the bus-load. It appears as if every other person rides a motorized cart, maneuvering in between the crowded slots with great precision and skill, and/or is pulling an oxygen tank behind, whilst sucking in oxygen and tobacco smoke simultaneously, which takes even greater precision and skill.

They cater to we who are old, senile and invalid with two-for-one dinners, free drinks, upgraded rooms and senior discounts galore. We are pampered religiously and made to feel like Kings and Queens for a day. No wonder we gladly hand over our meager Social Security checks (not just 10%, the whole thing) in exchange for this temporary feeling of camaraderie and a sense of belonging. We are addicted to hope and this “God-forsaken fellowship” supplies it for us, momentarily.

The other thing that strikes my attention is the energy in this place. This, coupled with a feeling of reverence, worship and awe, gives the illusion of being in another realm, almost spiritual in dimension. There is a phantasmagoria of sight and sound meant to rev the emotions and perpetuate our fantasies. Periodically bells ring at the slots, signifying a jackpot won, followed by shouts of acclamation and thanksgiving. Similarly, cheers, applause and praise can be heard around the craps tables from time to time signifying a winning roll of the dice. It may be my imagination, but there are surely distinct “Hallelujah’s, Amen’s and Praise the Lord’s” echoing forth, spontaneously. No disputing the energy, joy, communion and comradeship occurring around these otherwise hallowed tables. Interestingly, the following is a quote out of a novel I am presently reading:

There was a whoop from the casino floor and it was loud enough to break the barrier surrounding them. She looked out and saw some ten-gallon Texan dancing at the end of one of the craps tables, just below the pulpit that reached out over the casino floor... There was a man up there dressed darkly and staring down like a priest on his congregation ("Void Moon," Michael Connelly).

Old nemesis guilt, persistent fellow that he is, sends us out seeking a place of worship on the following morning, Sunday. We find a small church nearby with a glass case marquee outlining the service times. The “S” is missing in the word, “_UNDAY,” but we pay little attention, having witnessed worse during our ecclesiastical leadership wanderings.

Without going into a lot of detail, the congregation is small, aging and friendly in an “arms length” sort of way. The pews (of 18th or 19th Century design) are hard and uncomfortable, but we are no strangers to this. A lulling organ prelude of, “The Old Rugged Cross,” is followed by a long litany of announcements, already carefully laid out in the printed program, typos and all. We sit unfazed.

Then comes twenty minutes of ultramodern 1980’s praise songs, words reflected on the screen, with each verse lagging about ten seconds behind, and everyone coerced to stand, clap and sing spontaneously. Oh, the electricity in that sanctuary is simply spine-tingling.

Well, you get the idea. An offering, two 19th Century hymns and a fifteen-minute too long sermon later (with nary an “amen” or “hallelujah” heard), we are out the door, anxiously making our way back to the energy, joy, communion and comradeship of that “God-forsaken” casino… and, I suspect, the congregation isn’t too far behind, canes, wheelchairs, oxygen tanks and all.

So Paul, standing before them at the Mars Hill forum, addressed them as follows: ‘Men of Athens, I notice that you are very religious, for as I was out walking I saw your many altars, and one of them had this inscription on it - 'To the Unknown God.' You have been worshiping him without knowing who he is, and now I wish to tell you about him.

He made the world and everything in it, and since he is Lord of heaven and earth, he doesn't live in man-made temples…He himself gives life and breath to everything, and satisfies every need there is (Acts 17:22-25 TLB).

Do I hear an “Amen!?”