Monthly Archives: August 2022

Time and Eternity

Posted on by

It happens every year. I step from summer’s easier pace to the starting gate of autumn. It’s there I see the valley below traced with the winding hills of a forthcoming marathon—a new school year, an overabundance of midweek events, winter’s frigidity and scrooged sunlight, and so many other things that stir an unwelcomed anxiousness. I don’t know about you, but I really struggle this time of year.

“I don’t know about you….”

I suppose that’s a strange phrase because odds are, I do know about you. As different as each of us might be, we’re also very much alike. I’m guessing that, like me, as you travel around the sun on this ever-spinning planet, you meet with those moments in life when time itself feels like an irregular heartbeat, like the world had slowed to a crawl before suddenly launching into lightspeed. It’s enough to give someone emotional whiplash. You know the sayings. Time flies when you’re having fun. A watched pot never boils. Fast or slow, the passage of time often feels relative to the things occurring within it.

I’m probably thinking about these things because of an article by Ronald C. Lasky I happened upon last week in Scientific American. The piece was entitled “Does Time Tick at the Same Rate for Everyone?” While I’m not much of a scientist, I was captured by the idea. It turned out to be a rather interesting examination of Einstein’s general theory of relativity and how it generated other concepts like time dilation and the “Twin Paradox.” Using a narrative of twins (one stationary and the other on a high-velocity, round-trip mission to a distant star) to explain the premise, and then pointing to successful experiments, the answer to the article’s title question was, essentially, no, time does not tick at the same rate for everyone. In fact, if certain factors were true, it’s entirely possible for the oldest in a group of siblings to leave the others and return as the youngest, implying that time could be manipulated. Near the end of the article, Lasky rested the contextual boundaries of his complicated discussion within the words, “The traveler’s actions define the events.” In other words, where the person is and what he is doing ultimately determines the person’s relation to time.

That’s intriguing. For me, it was a reminder of something else entirely. Saint Paul’s words in 2 Corinthians 4:16 came to mind: “So we do not lose heart. Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day.”

As Christians, outwardly—physically—we’re in decay. Inwardly—spiritually—we’re being revitalized and renewed.

The first thing Paul acknowledges here is that we’re all coming undone materially regardless of our scientific theories. We’re wasting away. And he’s right. No one has ever outpaced death. However, secondly, Christ conquered death and rose from its bondage to this decay (v. 14). As a result, by the power of the Holy Spirit for faith in His sacrifice for us, we’re not destined for death but for life. This is Paul’s way of saying that we’re not winding down toward a dreadful end, but instead, with our eyes of faith fixed on Christ, we’re winding up toward the timelessness of eternity (vv. 17-18). Relative to Lasky’s article, Paul just explained where faith puts a person—and what it has that person doing—all in relation to time. Because of our newness in Christ, time moves at a different pace for us. What’s more, we’re inclined to use time differently because we have an altogether different mindset about its purpose, one born from the divine knowledge of the resurrection. Even our decaying bodies will one day be restored! Jesus’ victory reaches into that, too! By this, the unwinding of time can’t ever become something prompting us to live every moment to the fullest in a carnal sense, doing all we can to achieve and gather everything our heart would desire in this life before we pass away. Paul gave a sarcastic wink to this decadent Epicurean philosophy in 1 Corinthians 15:32. Essentially, the Apostle admitted that if the resurrection to eternal life is a hoax, then we might as well eat and drink for tomorrow we die, and beyond that, there’s nothing.

But Paul knows the resurrection to eternal life isn’t a hoax. It’s real. And it’s ours in time right now. This being true, we don’t see our days in this life as self-serving. We already have everything we need—Jesus Christ, the Giver of eternity—the greatest treasure both time and timelessness could ever afford. From this ever-renewing perspective, we’re now found applying each of our moments toward faithfulness to Him, retaining this advantage over time, and trusting that whether we live or die, through faith in Christ, we’re already children of heaven’s eternal glory (2 Corinthians 4:6).

Maybe this is far too complicated a thought for an early morning musing. Well, it is what it is. And to be clear, this analogy breaks from the original intent of Lesky’s comment about the traveler’s actions defining the events when we remember that we’re not the traveler. Jesus is—with a capital “T.” His person and work define our existence in relation to time and eternity. We’d be lost if our actions were to define or determine the events. We don’t have what it takes to break this time barrier. Time would expire, and we’d not only be found undone outwardly but also undone inwardly forever.

And so…

“Behold! I tell you a mystery. We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we shall be changed. For this perishable body must put on the imperishable, and this mortal body must put on immortality. When the perishable puts on the imperishable, and the mortal puts on immortality, then shall come to pass the saying that is written: ‘Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?’ The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ” (1 Corinthians 15:51-56).

A Trojan Horse of Sorts

Posted on by

I was at a conference in San Diego the week before last. Apart from the time I had with my wife in the evenings, I’m not so sure it was the best use of my life’s fast-fleeting hours. I went as a guest of Charlie Kirk. His organization, Turning Point USA, orchestrated the event and paid for our travel and lodging.

I was glad to go. Jen was, too. I learned some things and met a few people. While I did those things, Jen went to a Safari Park and met a rhinoceros, or as the park rangers call the creatures, “chubby unicorns.”

Again, I was glad to go. Admittedly, I was also glad to leave.

Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate Charlie Kirk and his efforts. That’s one reason we’ve partnered with him here at Our Savior in Hartland more than once. He’s sharply intelligent and can readily tap into his intelligence and share it with accessible language. I think I appreciate him most for his grasp on the essential crossovers between Church and State. He knows biblically, historically, and practically where these two estates meet, and he knows why it’s important for Christians to be mindful of these things.

Unfortunately, the folks running his conference and many of the guest presenters proved to have a far lesser grasp on these things than their leader. When Charlie came on stage to introduce the three-day event, he promised a smorgasbord of speakers who would offer help and resources for navigating the turbulent waters of Church and State engagement. Remarkably, he teed up this promise by first commending the Nicene Creed as essential to the gathering. I was glad about that. Next, he expected the speakers and attendees to put their denominational particulars aside to cooperate in the acceptable externals. In these locales, different branches of Christendom are free to unify to accomplish shared goals. I was glad about that, too. Enough, already! The “us against them” mentality in the Church is not helping!

Still, only a handful of speakers did what Charlie described. David Barton, Dr. James Lindsay, Bob McEwen, and Dr. Larry Arnn were a few. The rest of the event was dominated by mega-church pastors giving sermons that did, in fact, insist on acceptance of distinctly theological things—things about God laying this or that unprovable premise on the speaker’s heart, pre/post-tribulation concerns, “deeds, not creeds” dogmatics, and a whole host of other rudderless theological ramblings particular to popular evangelical Christendom. Moreover, these same speakers went out of their way to take jabs at traditional churches. Lutheran, Roman Catholic, old-school Presbyterian, or old-guard Methodist, it didn’t matter. If your church was inclined toward maintaining tradition and creeds, historic rites and ceremonies, you needed to get with the times. You needed to be courageous, to step out of conformity and get radical for Jesus. Courage, courage, courage! Get radical for Jesus!

Every time this happened, as the only one in the crowd wearing a clerical collar, I felt somewhat like a visual representation of what they were belittling—and I’m pretty sure some of the pastors around me betrayed the same discomfort with their glances. That being said, the onstage indictments didn’t miss their mark. I actually do believe that creedal Christianity is the best way to preserve truth and foster the genuine courage required for defending it. I think what they were doing was very near the epitome of nonsense. And not only that, but in my experience, the encroaching world appears utterly unconcerned by their zealousness. And the reason? Well, let me get to that.

Relative to my long-standing opinion on this, the guest speaker I appreciated the most was Dr. James Lindsay, the foremost “Paul Revere” on Critical Theory. To grasp his impact, you should know that when people write books decrying Critical Theory, he’s often their source material, being the one most frequently quoted in the footnotes. Formerly a devout atheist and now a confessed agnostic, Lindsay was the presenter I appreciated the most. He was an objective observer of the Church, making his insight valuably unbiased. In fact, his observations were a “Trojan Horse” of sorts when it came to the overall vibe of the event.

During his presentation, he referred to Brazilian philosopher and educator Paulo Freire, the father of Critical Pedagogy, as one of Critical Theory’s truest originators. As he did, he made a stinging observation that had many in the room pulling back on their amens and alleluias. He said that fundamental to Freire’s position was the deconstruction of the traditional churches. Lest he offend his hosts outrightly, Lindsay implied that Freire didn’t appear concerned in his various writings about the newer, more contemporary churches. These churches were already apart from what could shield their deeper connection to truth. They’d given it up voluntarily in their efforts to be found acceptable to the world rather than distinct from it. He inferred that the framework of contemporary churches (whether they’re willing to admit it or not) is primarily experiential—the manipulation of emotional highs and lows. He explained this as the best platform for replacing hard and fast truth with subjective sensitivity, namely, making what someone “feels” about truth the center of the experience. On the flip side, he sensed Freire’s concern for traditional churches being natural fortresses against this strategy. Freire believed them to be set apart from culture by objective boundaries. Their creeds hold the line on what is and is not true. Their traditions and worship practices are near impenetrable expressions of those truths. It would seem in Freire’s mind, if Critical Pedagogy was going to help usher in a purer era of socialism, the traditional churches needed to be in the reticule of the effort’s heaviest artillery. Tear down the traditional institutions and rebuild new ones. The contemporary churches have already proven themselves willing to follow along in stride, being shaped by their inherent desires for acceptability to the culture rather than expecting the culture to conform to the truths they hold dear.

In summary, one of Critical Theory’s most influential proprietors appeared to believe that traditional churches were society’s last line of defense against its pedagogies.

Strangely, Dr. Lindsay’s presentation was the only one of the many I attended that allowed questions. Of course, I raised my hand. The microphone runner seemed to avoid me with incredible precision at first. But I kept my hand up. Eventually, someone nearby pleaded my case, and I was granted the last question. The runner handed me the microphone just as the moderator announced that only two minutes remained for the final question. Already somewhat familiar with Freire, especially his book Pedagogy of the Oppressed (which I happened to visit with very much in passing last year before giving a speech that compared specific sociopolitical agendas to the creature in the film “The Thing”), I asked him if it would be a good idea for mainstream evangelical churches—many of which seem to epitomize the description of chasing after emotional experiences—to start moving back toward embracing creedal traditions that have proven in history to help shield Christians from deceptive ideologies like Critical Theory. Secondly, I asked what suggestions he might offer to churches that want to begin such a return. Before Dr. Lindsay could answer, another speaker sitting beside him took the microphone (much to Dr. Lindsay’s wide-eyed surprise) and returned to the premise that it’s not about style but rather that pastors just need to be courageous.

“You guys just need to be brave. All we really need from you is to step outside your comfort zones and show some courage.”

That was it. The session was over. But I wasn’t done. I ended up connecting with Dr. Lindsay backstage. We had a wonderfully refreshing conversation. Before concluding, he expressed a willingness to speak at our “The Body of Christ and the Public Square” conference here at Our Savior in 2023. As a side, he mentioned he has close friends in Ann Arbor and that he’s an enjoyer of whisky, which puts him within range of a quiet evening with a Lutheran pastor who owns a rather significant selection of uisge beatha—the water of life. I’ve already sent the details to his scheduler. God willing, things will work out accordingly.

I suppose one of the lessons I learned at this conference is that anyone can prattle on about courage, but in the end, genuine courage is conditional. In other words, the value of any particular belief or effort cannot necessarily be judged by the amount of courage it takes to defend it. Foolishness can very easily be mistaken for courage. Genuine courage can only serve as a natural application for objective truth. It results in a willingness to live and die for truth when living for it will be hard and dying for it will be easy. But it only really associates so viscerally in this way with truth, not lies. Dying for a lie is not courage but foolishness.

Foolishness, not cowardice, is courage’s truest opposite.

Foolishness thinks going against natural law and touting one’s confused sexuality is brave. Foolishness believes disrupting a pro-life rally by shouting “My body, my choice!” takes guts. Foolishness believes that canceling someone for expressing an opposing opinion is valorous. Foolishness thinks that a fifty-year-old man who leaves his wife and children to live as a six-year-old transager/transgender girl is valiantly embracing what he feels is his most authentic identity. On similar fronts, foolishness believes creedal things such as pledges and confessional statements of belief are dangerously divisive. Foolishness considers tradition, whether wearing vestments for worship or favoring marriage between one man and one woman, as blind conformity that suppresses progress. Foolishness believes that historic rites and ceremonies, whether kneeling for prayer with hands folded, eyes closed, and head bowed, or standing for the national anthem with one’s hand over the heart, are all mechanically spiritless and often representative of past oppression.

But in reality, why is foolishness so opposed to these things? Firstly, foolishness cannot tolerate anything that would bind the subjective desires of the radical self to someone or something else’s standards. This intolerance foretells the Last Day’s potential turmoil. As I’ve written before, when the divine lights come on at the Last Day, the radically individualized self will be measured against God’s standards, not its own. Secondly, these things teach. They are ancient conduits for communicating truth from one generation to the next. Freire’s sincerest point is that cultural transformation begins by first tearing down the old and its conduits and erecting the new.

I left the conference with a better view of some things. I hope I’m wrong, but it sure seems as though many of America’s mainstream churches—perhaps more accurately, their pastors—while they might not be holding hands with the Marxist left, seem to be in a pinky-finger relationship with certain Marxist ideologies. In that sense, they have far too much in common, and that’s incredibly troubling.

I’ve already shared all this in a lengthy phone conversation with Charlie’s folks. They need to understand that no small number of clergy and church leaders from some of the largest denominations in the world—many of whom I continue doing my level best to encourage toward engagement in the public square—would be disinclined to show up at such an event. And if they did attend, perhaps worse, they would likely feel validated in their desire toward disunity and disengagement. Again, I don’t want that. We need to be working together.

I don’t know for sure how Charlie will receive my commentary. Nevertheless, I know him to be a Godly and contemplative man, so I’m assuming he’ll at least consider the perspective, taking from it what he feels is helpful toward making next year’s event even better.

Thankfulness in the Middle of Withoutness

Posted on by

Today is a day for appreciation. Well, I suppose every day is such a day, especially for Christians. We know the compassion of the one true God who loves humanity, no matter our wretchedness. This love was most fully expressed through the person and work of Jesus Christ, the Redeemer. If there’s something to appreciate, it’s that. In fact, this Gospel is the lens through which we view our world.

Beyond this, everyday appreciation is a muscle to be flexed. I mean that it takes practice to become something we engage in habitually. And yet, it’s a routine worth forming. Better yet, it’s an economy of sorts with a rather astounding exchange rate. In my own life, I’ve learned the more appreciation I uncover for the blessings I’ve been given, the less concerned I seem to be for what I don’t have. The more appreciation I have for where I am in life, the less time I spend wondering what could have been had I done things differently.

Maybe you know what I mean. Of course, you do. Any honest human being understands it’s impossible to be angry and happy simultaneously, just as it’s impossible to be disparagingly frustrated and appreciative simultaneously. These two passions can’t exist in the same sphere at the same time. One will always outbox the other. Let me give you an example.

Two weeks ago, during a nightmarish layover in Chicago, I found myself standing in a line no less than a football field in length. Indeed, there were hundreds of stranded passengers, and, as a general collective, the emotions were running hot throughout. I stood immersed in that thickly volatile line for three hours before finally reaching the desk and speaking with an American Airlines representative who, through a less-than-four-minute discussion, informed me there was nothing the airline could or would be doing to help or accommodate me.

I was being left helplessly without.

I did not express my rage to the representative. I’m not that kind of person. Besides, it probably wouldn’t have mattered, anyway. She had already endured the same sentiments from hundreds of people before me, and she would continue to suffer them with the same emotional immunity after I wandered off to find food and a place to sleep for the night. Still, I was mad.

I was frustrated.

I was feeling contemptuous.

I wasn’t experiencing any discernible reason for thankfulness—until I saw a particular little boy holding his big sister’s hand.

I told Jennifer and the kids the story when I got back to Michigan. The boy was no more than five or six years old. Both of his legs had been amputated and replaced with prosthetics. He was hobbling along unnaturally, laughing as he attempted to keep up with his sister amid the bustling crowd. Hand in hand, they passed right by me, both giggling. I don’t remember noticing the parents. Instead, I was more caught up in the playful coaxing of the sister. She was poking fun at him for slowing her down. She wasn’t being cruel, but instead big-sisterly. She was speaking as one speaks to a little one while at the same time doing what any typical big sister would do to any typical little brother. Except the boy wasn’t typical—at least not according to the assumed definition of typical. He didn’t have legs. He was forever without. But here he was laughing with his sister. He was tottering along without concern for what he didn’t have while rejoicing in the moment for something he did have, which was an incredibly devoted sibling.

I immediately felt a little sick to my stomach for being so inconvenienced by my travel woes. Combined, they were a relatively insignificant withoutness that I would undoubtedly forget in time. I can’t recall for sure if I did or not, but I likely whispered to myself, as I often sigh in other troubling situations, “In a hundred years, who’s going to care?” I speak this way to reposition my thinking. It’s a deliberate admittance that any moment of struggle, while I might not want to go through it again, will inevitably become laughable upon future reflection. In another sense, it’s also a subtle acknowledgment that past situations of struggle often become memories of having learned something important or discovered a personal strength, or better yet, a vivid depiction of God’s faithful deliverance when I could not self-deliver. In other words, my struggles play a part in God’s broader plan for my completeness.

This sounds familiar (Romans 5:1-5; 8:28). It also takes me back to the big sister.

Her playful pushback—calling him a slowpoke and saying he’d never get to where he was going if he didn’t keep moving—believe it or not, this reminded me of texts like Luke 18:21, Psalm 27, 1 Corinthians 9:24, Galatians 6:9, and others. These texts encourage believers not to give up, to keep pushing onward, to stay the course of faithfulness, always looking to Christ. They remind me that God has made promises and that He’s never One to break them. The sister’s persistent presence brought to mind such texts as Matthew 28:20, Zephaniah 3:17, Hebrews 13:5, Romans 8:38-39, Isaiah 41:10, and countless more. These remind me that God is with me in my struggles. The world would try to convince me that He is present as my enemy. Faith speaks something better. It knows He’s holding tightly to my hand. It knows the crowd is chaotically swirling, but it also admits God knows right where I am. He’s never going to lose sight of me. And all along the way, He’ll be prodding me in ways that lead me to discover proficiencies He is instilling for a faith that can meet with struggle and survive, even becoming thankful right in the middle of the storm.

God employs struggle in this way. Human storms are rarely fun, but they’re not necessarily bad.

Before attempting to fall asleep on the floor at gate E7 in O’Hare’s Terminal 2, I asked the Lord to forgive me for my foolishness. After that, I found myself as I described before: unable to be both angry and grateful simultaneously. At that point, gratefulness took over. I thanked Him for allowing those two children to pass by. That brief intersection in time was a reminder of something essential. I also discovered a quiet appreciation for the woman at the American Airlines desk who was tolerating the ire of countless travelers, doing what she could to at least listen to their concerns. I discovered a measure of thankfulness that I would be sleeping on the ground in an air-conditioned building instead of outside in the heat and humidity. I was thankful for the sandwich I could afford to buy before I got situated at my little campsite. I was thankful for the people who played a part in making it. I relearned what was meant by the old saying that when eating the fruit, be mindful of the one who planted the tree.

The Gospel goes the deepest in this regard.

Christians know God is always the One to whom thanksgiving is due. No matter who planted the tree, the trail of every tree’s planting and subsequent fruit leads to Him. In fact, Jesus encourages His believers in Matthew 6:26-29 to look around for easy reminders of this. A bird flitters around, doing what it can to eat and feed its young. It’s likely the flowers in your garden did not plant themselves, but rather, you did. Still, whether it’s the swooping birds or the well-dressed lilies of the field, God is the Creator, and we can behold His steady care on full display for His world even by looking at them. As we look, Jesus asks rhetorically, “Are you not of more value than they?” Of course, we are. This knowledge can only deliver the believer to the foot of the cross, the Kingdom that Jesus wants us to pursue (v. 33). It’s there we can measure our withouts against the greatest withoutness ever endured—the greatest struggle ever suffered, resulting in the most extraordinary care ever bestowed, all of it unfolding so that He could fill us with what truly satisfies—something that does not rust and thieves cannot steal: the forgiveness of our Sins.

With this as our heading, everything else seems so trivial. Everything else—both the blessings and struggles—seem worthy of appreciation.

But here’s the thing: we’re sinners and saints. We slip in and out of both thanklessness and gratitude. I did last week. I went from despair to hope that Thursday night in the airport, but I became frustrated by the whole thing again when I wrote last Sunday’s eNews message. I’d been on the phone with American Airlines for hours on Saturday, trying to get some financial satisfaction, all to no avail. I was getting angry. Looking back at what I wrote, I can see the nonchalance of thanklessness’s grip at work in the Sinful nature. It’s subtle, but it’s there. It wasn’t until later in the morning that I did find the ability to say, once again, “In a hundred years, who’s gonna care.”

God fed me with His love. He took me by the hand and coaxed me along in my withoutness toward something of far greater value that I’ll never be without: the love of God given through the person and work of Jesus Christ, my Savior.

I pray the same comfort for you.

Emotions Matter, But They Aren’t Reliable

Posted on by

We’ve been studying C.S. Lewis’ volume The Screwtape Letters during the Bible study hour this summer. The most recent letter, number 16, raised an interesting point regarding preaching.

At one point along the way, the demon, Screwtape, encourages his nephew, Wormwood, to steer the Christian in his care toward attending a church where the pastor is more interested in generating emotional responses from the people than the faithful presentation of the Gospel. Through Screwtape’s fictional hand, Lewis describes Father Spike as someone who “cannot bring himself to preach anything which is not calculated” in this way. He describes the simple preaching of God’s Word as insipid, depicting a “sermon people could accept” as far less attractive than the moving words of a French philosopher like Maritain.

Having written this volume in 1942, Lewis proves himself prophetic, especially when considering American Christianity. But before I get into that, let me share something else.

I just returned from a visit to Vermont. Well, let me rephrase that. I almost visited Vermont. It would’ve been my second time traveling to and speaking with the Grassroots GOP this year. Unfortunately, I only made it as far as Chicago. The flight to Burlington was canceled. The first reason given by the woman at the kiosk was mechanical. An hour later, it was announced over the loudspeaker that they needed a pilot. An hour later, it was the weather, which I’m not sure I believe. Flights were backing up, leaving lots of stranded passengers. The airline isn’t required to reimburse or provide hotel accommodations to anyone for weather cancellations. As a result, my only options were to rebook on a flight to Burlington that left two days later or to fly back to Michigan the following afternoon. The first option would’ve put me well past my obligations in Vermont, not to mention requiring that I spend two nights sleeping at the airport. The second only offered one miserable evening. I cut my losses and chose the second.

I slept in the corner of gate E7 in Terminal 2. I’d say I got a solid 30 minutes or so of sleep until I noticed the ants. Then I moved to a different corner.

Anyway, as I said, the point of the trip was to speak to the grassroots GOP in anticipation of their primary elections. My goal in such things, as always, is to communicate the importance of Christian engagement in the public square. To accomplish this, I do what I can to unpack the biblical doctrine of the Two Kingdoms (or what so many today grossly misinterpret as the separation of Church and State), explaining its cruciality. From there, I explore where these two Kingdoms overlap, showing the importance of Christian engagement for the preservation of Religious Liberty, which, believe it or not, God intends by the doctrine.

In other words, the Church and the State can only be divided from one another absolutely when the Scripture’s teachings on the doctrine are abused. But when the doctrine is handled rightly, points of overlap emerge, and we discover that the Church and the State meet in more ways than one.

Thankfully, the trip wasn’t a complete bust. I did manage to visit the conference by Zoom, giving an hour-long presentation followed by questions. I couldn’t see the crowd, but they could see me, and I could hear them. I’m pretty sure I ruffled the theological feathers of another speaker, Dr. Carol Swain. I made an observational point during my speech, offering that, in my experience, most historically orthodox clergy are put off by politicians and public figures who, attempting to connect with American Christians, claim to receive direct communications from God. They make emotional statements like, “God told me I should run for office,” and other such things. I didn’t say it to be critical of Christians who believe Enthusiast theology (which I don’t) but rather to show a genuine divide in the Christian community. And how might a politician who’s genuinely worthy of the Christian vote bridge that divide and attract these voters? By digging deeper into what is objectively true for all biblically conservative Christians rather than what is subjectively true for some, which is that God most certainly speaks to His people through His Word—the Bible—God’s revealed will for all things. Dr. Swain was bothered by that, so she stepped to the microphone to insist that God couldn’t be kept in such a box. Well, whatever. I didn’t dig too deeply into the comment. Had it been a theological conference, I would’ve shown from God’s Word how He actually does put Himself into such boxes, not for His sake but ours. He wants us to be sure that it’s Him who’s speaking. The Scriptures do deal with this concern.

By way of example, after the 2020 election, I read countless posts from people online who repeatedly said how God had told them Trump would be rightly inaugurated as president in this term. And yet, here we are two years later, and no Trump. My guess is that whatever voice those people heard wasn’t God’s voice but someone else’s, most likely the voice of their emotions. If it’s something more, they might consider making an appointment for a CT scan—or an exorcism. My point: you don’t have to wonder about the Bible. It’s God at work communicating. Christians can be certain of this.

Again, I didn’t get into this with Dr. Swain. Maybe one day, we’ll discover an opportunity to discuss the point over coffee. In the meantime, it wasn’t my job to debate anyone’s theological traditions but rather to speak to ways Christians can unite for successful engagement in the public square. I think I did that.

After my presentation, I had a brief online conversation with one of the attendees I knew personally. During our conversation, he encouraged me to consider partnering with a local pastor he believed was “gaining popularity” in Vermont. I took his advice and looked him up. I just finished watching two of his sermons this morning.

I should interrupt whatever I’m about to type by saying the following: anyone who knows me will affirm that when it comes to engagement in the public square, I’m thoroughly exhausted by the “us against them” mentality among many Christians. A Lutheran won’t work alongside a Roman Catholic. A Baptist won’t partner with a Methodist. I think I’ve already made it clear, even this morning, that we need unity in the public square, not division. We’re not seeking altar fellowship. We’re trying to preserve some crucial civic fundamentals that maintain religious liberty, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with doing what’s called “cooperating in the externals” to accomplish this. Any Christian can unite with anyone else to accomplish something fully aligned with God’s will. There’s absolutely nothing theologically perverse in partnering with a Buddhist to fight abortion. Anyone who wants to stop the murder of infants in the womb is a Christian’s friend. As individuals, we may approach the goal differently and for different reasons, but we’re still aimed at the same target.

Having said all of this, of the two sermons I watched this morning (which, if I’m being honest, were really more like TED talks), the pastor mentioned Jesus five times. Not one of them was concerning the Lord’s life, death, and resurrection for the world’s redemption, but instead served more as supplemental to a song, movie, or hobby he enjoyed. He examined the spiritual “closeness of God” found in those favorite things. He referenced the Word of God a whole bunch of times while doing this. In the end, however, while he proof-texted his favorite things, he never preached the forgiveness of sins through the person and work of Jesus Christ. He didn’t preach the Gospel.

Yes, he was engaging. Indeed, he was dynamic. Absolutely, his brimming theater-style church was proof of his ever-growing popularity. All these things were true. And why? Because these were the emotional goals he was trying to achieve.

I’m sharing this as it carries me back around to where I started—which is, my mentioning of C.S. Lewis’ critique of pastors who calculate sermons, gearing them toward specific emotions. I’m willing to admit there’s a place for emotion in relation to theological things. I get choked up often enough while singing certain hymns or studying particular passages in Scripture. I think this is true regarding a pastor’s preaching, too. During last Sunday’s study discussion, I mentioned that a pastor needs to consider the listeners’ emotions when crafting his sermon. Hopefully, I explained that this is true, not because he’s calculating according to his personal preferences (as Lewis described Father Spike), but because he actually cares about the objective truth being revealed by God’s Word. When you care about something, it shows. People know if you genuinely believe what you’re saying. People can tell if it means the world to you, enough so that you’d rather die than see it snatched away from yourself or your listeners. In this vein, the preacher can’t help but do all he can to present the texts of Scripture clearly, having crafted the sermon’s language in ways that help bring the listener into what the texts are communicating. This can happen in lots of ways. Often, these ways will result in emotional exchanges between the preacher and the listeners.

I suppose I’ve gone on long enough this morning. In short, the pastor has to consider emotions while handling the Word of God. It’s not a process completely disassociated from human listeners. The preacher’s genuine love for God’s Word will resonate naturally, evoking particular sentiments in his writing as those same passions are inherent to the texts, and it will play out accordingly in the pews. I guess I’m suggesting that I believe as Robert Frost believed: “No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader.”

On the other hand, if, instead, the chief goal of the preacher is to wow his listeners—to give them a top-dollar emotion-filled worship experience assuring his own popularity and tenure—then he’s already going in the wrong direction. He should know that what he’s doing never lasts, and he may even be setting himself up for failure. Statistics prove that pew-sitters who are accustomed to getting an emotional fix in worship, when they find a different pastor or congregation with a better product, like addicts, leave for the superior pusher. C.S. Lewis explained in letter 16 how such scenarios waft sweetly for the circling demons.

As a pastor, I don’t want to make our time together in worship into a shallow exchange of subjective emotion, doing what I can to entertain you. I want to deal in objective things. I want to preach God’s Law and Gospel—the fullness of His Word—giving you what you need for eternity’s sake. You should want me to do that, too, because anything else would be shaky.