Whose Life is More Important?

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Back in November 2015, I wrote a post asking, "Is the cost of security and self-preservation worth it?" This seems particularly relevant with the latest executive orders, so I've decided to repost it below. I think it's of significant note that the refugees and immigrants being banned are not those who are threats to us, which seriously undermines any security argument.

Here is a sermon from a guest at our church with first hand experience of having Syrian refugees move into her neighborhood. An audio-only version is also available.

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Security has become a bit of a conversational past time the last couple of weeks. The Syrian refugee crisis and Paris attacks have, of course, brought this to a significant head. But the issue is not new and comes up with various issues, including gun control, police force, just war theory, etc.

My problem is that, like many issues, we have dichotomized the sides, which doesn't help any solution-finding. We need to validate that a sense of security for ourselves is important. But security for other people is important, too.

Assuming refugees pose various dangers to us (on Monday, I talked about my personal experience with Muslim peacemakers), is our safety more important than the safety of the refugees? Should we be putting our needs and (more commonly) comfort about the basic (often life and death-related) needs of others? It's human nature to do so, so it's understandable, but is it what we should strive to do?

When we start denying people asylum in order to protect ourselves from potential (not guaranteed) cultural changes and potential (again, not guaranteed) attacks, we should also not place these as opposites and acknowledge the true costs. Few people want cultural change, and no one wants the safety of their loved ones and themselves to be put at risk.

What we are saying is that maintaining our culture as it is is worth hundreds of thousands of lives of the Other who have no safe place to go. We are willing to let hundreds of thousands of innocent people live in limbo with a horrible quality of life with many likely dying in order to maintain a status quo culture and give us a sense of security. Is that cost worth it?

Let's assume for a moment that denying refugees prevents another 9/11-like attack, so we have saved 3,000 American lives. The cost is hundreds of thousands of refugees' lives. All are innocent victims. All would be tragedies. So are our lives worth more than theirs? What does it say about our value system that we put psychological security above human rights? The problem is the cost of denying refugees isn't ours to pay, at least in the short term and materialistically. It's theirs. But it's ultimately our cost morally.

What is our obligation to our fellow human? When do we put ourselves at risk in order to reduce the risk to someone else?

Should security be pursued at all costs? Is self-preservation or (wise) self-sacrifice for the sake of another the higher goal? 

Is the cost of security and self-preservation worth it?

Security has become a bit of a conversational past time the last couple of weeks. The Syrian refugee crisis and Paris attacks have, of course, brought this to a significant head. But the issue is not new and comes up with various issues, including gun control, police force, just war theory, etc.

My problem is that, like many issues, we have dichotomized the sides, which doesn't help any solution-finding. We need to validate that a sense of security for ourselves is important. But security for other people is important, too.

Assuming refugees pose various dangers to us (on Monday, I talked about my personal experience with Muslim peacemakers), is our safety more important than the safety of the refugees? Should we be putting our needs and (more commonly) comfort about the basic (often life and death-related) needs of others? It's human nature to do so, so it's understandable, but is it what we should strive to do?

When we start denying people asylum in order to protect ourselves from potential (not guaranteed) cultural changes and potential (again, not guaranteed) attacks, we should also not place these as opposites and acknowledge the true costs. Few people want cultural change, and no one wants the safety of their loved ones and themselves to be put at risk.

What we are saying is that maintaining our culture as it is is worth hundreds of thousands of lives of the Other who have no safe place to go. We are willing to let hundreds of thousands of innocent people live in limbo with a horrible quality of life with many likely dying in order to maintain a status quo culture and give us a sense of security. Is that cost worth it?

Let's assume for a moment that denying refugees prevents another 9/11-like attack, so we have saved 3,000 American lives. The cost is hundreds of thousands of refugees' lives. All are innocent victims. All would be tragedies. So are our lives worth more than theirs? What does it say about our value system that we put psychological security above human rights? The problem is the cost of denying refugees isn't ours to pay, at least in the short term and materialistically. It's theirs. But it's ultimately our cost morally.

What is our obligation to our fellow human? When do we put ourselves at risk in order to reduce the risk to someone else?

Should security be pursued at all costs? Is self-preservation or (wise) self-sacrifice for the sake of another the higher goal? 

God is Not at War with Sin, but for Love #sandalschurch @sandalschurch

My church's advent sermon series is an unconventional This is War. The premise is that Jesus' birth was an invasion in God's war on Satan, sin, and death, and we need to remember that we are at war with those things.

This is not a new idea; John Eldredge talked about Christ's birth as an invasion in Waking the Dead. Eldredge agrees that Satan is a enemy we must be aware of. However, he argues that the war is not on Satan, sin, and death, but rather a war for our hearts (Waking the Dead).

Now there is also substantial analysis about whether Satan is an actual being versus a metaphorical term to describe those in opposition to ourselves. Misunderstandings of the Fall, Hell, and Satan can definitely affect our views of spiritual warfare (summary version: most of our ideas of Hell and Satan come from John Milton's Paradise Lost, and we read those ideas back into the Bible).

Regardless, I agree that spiritual warfare exists, be it between literal dueling angels and demons or metaphorical angels and demons.

What I do not believe is that it is a war on sin. As I discussed in my review of The Pursuit of Holiness, the overemphasis on sin is a misrepresentation of the holiness movement. And it gives sin too much power. It also depends on how sin is defined. Really, anything disrupting the relationship between God and humans and God is sin, but more often, the functional definition of sin is misbehavior, which is very much limited. If and when sin is used in the former sense, it could be a war on sin, but as it is used in the latter sense more often, that is how it is defined here.

Does God hate sin? Yes. Is God's main focus sin? No. Can God tolerate sin? Well, he did when he spent 33 years amongst sinners.

Jesus' words did not focus primarily on sin. They focused on love. Remember the Greatest Commandment? It's all about loving God and others; not about avoiding sin. As my wife said after the message this past Sunday, focusing on the removal of sin just treats the symptom, but not the cause. The core problem is not sin. It is separation from God (yes, sin has a part of that, but it's not the whole thing). The only thing that mends a relationship is love. The solution to sin is not spiritual disciplines. It is love--loving God, others, and ourselves.


After the message, we sang Hillsong's Tear Down These Walls to emphasize solidarity in being at war together. Ironically, there is no mention of sin. Rather, they key phrase is "Let love tear down these walls." We need to emphasize love and hope, not the avoidance of sin and death.


In John 10:10, Jesus asserts, "The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full" or "I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly." Focusing our energies on sin and death usually make us feel dead and destroyed. Emphasizing the love and hope Christ gives us helps us remember that we, indeed, do have life and that sin and Satan have no power over us when in Christ.


In contrast to the Sunday messages, this past Monday we had a leaders' meeting. The theme was still spiritual warfare, but it emphasized the power of change and hope. The emphasis was on the power of love and prayer. Rather than only discussing what to avoid and fight against, I find it so much more powerful and important and effective to really preach what we are to do and to fight for. And the answer is love.