Monthly Archives: April 2023

The Imitation Game

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I recently listened to a new album from a band I’d been introduced to a few years ago. One particular song told the tragic story of a young girl stuck in a life of prostitution and drugs, leading to her eventual death. Along the way, the singer blamed the absent father, reminding the listener that it wasn’t the girl’s fault he wasn’t around to guide her—to teach her right from wrong, protect her, and love her like the precious gift that she was. The song ended. Another of the same band’s songs started. The new song spoke of carefree sex, and it did so in an encouraging way. The singer—a man and father—referred to himself as enjoying the activity with multiple people from various walks of life and in countless places.

Do you get it? If not, how about this?

I don’t watch much TV. But I happened to plop down in my usual chair while one of my kids watched an episode of “Castle.” It’s a typical cop show with a twist. The main character, Richard Castle, is a famous author who collaborates with a hard-nosed detective, Kate Beckett, to solve murder cases. As the seasons unfold, the handsome Castle and the beautiful Beckett become an item. Eventually, she moves in with him, and of course, the two begin engaging in everything you’d expect from such a situation.

I happened to sit in my chair during an episode in which Castle’s teenage daughter, Molly, had met and started dating a young boy. Of course, the episode portrayed Castle as a bumbling father wrestling with how nosey he should be with the relationship, getting all his advice from Beckett. More than once, Castle spoke aloud about how he didn’t want Molly to do anything she shouldn’t do. In other words, he didn’t want her to have premarital sex.

Again, do you get it? Not yet? Well, how about this one?

I’d gotten home late, and as is my custom, no matter the time, I took to the treadmill. Just as I pressed the start button, my cell phone rang. I usually try to avoid taking calls at such a late hour, especially when the person isn’t a member of my congregation—which this caller wasn’t. Still, I’d failed to return the person’s call earlier in the day, so I owed the caller a moment of my time. The heart of the caller’s concern was essentially this: “How do I get my sexually confused child to understand the importance of living biblically?” My first inquiry was, “Where’s your home church, and how often do you attend?” The person couldn’t claim a home church. When pressed for history, the caller admitted to barely a handful of visits to church over the years.

Do you get it? I sure do. In fact, after experiencing the series of comparative examples I described, I understand what the American poet, Amy Lowell, meant when she wrote, “Youth condemns; maturity condones.” She indicated that we often hold different standards for our children than we do for ourselves—double standards that prove our iniquitous nature. In other words, we don’t want promiscuity for our children even as we might practice it. The point: If you don’t want your child to do something, then don’t do it yourself. When you do it, you condone it.

Don’t use swear words if you want your child to avoid and condemn swearing. If you’re going to be crass, they’ll be crass, too. If you smoke weed, it’s likely they will, too. If you act abusively toward others, they will, too. If you gossip about others, it’s expected they will, too. If going to church means very little to you, it’ll also mean very little to them.

The premise really isn’t that hard to understand. In a way, I made the point in a brief social media post I wrote years ago. In fact, I pinned it to the top of my “Rev. Christopher Thoma” Facebook page. I wrote:

Go to church. And take your children. Yes, yes, I know that, in general, children are not very good at listening or sitting still, and this can make worship very challenging. Still, I say go to church—and take your kids—because, for the record, there is something that children do magnificently. They imitate adults.

The Scriptures certainly weigh in on the discussion. Solomon’s child-rearing advice in Proverbs 22:6 lends substance to it. Hebrews 12:11 points out that while it can be challenging for parents to hold the line for godliness, in the end, doing so produces immeasurable blessings for both the parents and children. In 1 Corinthians 15:33, Saint Paul reminds his readers that bad associations (ὁμιλίαι κακαί) result in corrupt habits (φθείρουσιν ἤθη). The word he uses for “habits” is from the root word “ethos.” A person’s ethos is the storehouse of his core beliefs. It supplies his character, which is demonstrated through action. Paul’s point is that a poisoned ethos will produce poisoned behavior. That’s how it works. And lest you doubt him, Paul begins this admonition by urging, “Do not be deceived.” In other words, don’t fool yourself into thinking it could ever be otherwise.

These things said, it’s unfortunate how adults are so often the “bad associations” Paul is describing—the hypocrites we so often accuse others of being. The Scriptures are pretty clear that how a person lives in front of others influences them (Proverbs 12:26, 13:20, Matthew 5:13-16, and others). It’s no secret that parental behavior shapes children. The way a parent lives in front of little ones will impact them, eventually forming how they live in front of their children—good or bad—and so on.

Do what you can to be mindful of this. And when you fail to demonstrate godliness for your children, the best advice? Confess your failing. Do it openly. What does a child learn from a hypocritically impenitent person? They learn to reject Christ. What do they learn from a penitent one? They learn to live within the better sphere of Christ’s mercy, holding fast to His grace.

But there’s another practical benefit to this, which helps make families even stronger, especially when the parents feel like they have no authority to lead the child because they’re guilty of some of the same harmful behaviors they’re trying to prevent.

For example, parents who lived together before marriage instructing their child to avoid doing the same thing presents an apparent contradiction that naturally negates their authority to steer the child in this circumstance. But if the parents admit that what they did was counter to God’s design—that they’ve repented, been forgiven, and are glad to be living in that grace—their parental authority is restored. The child cannot say, “Well, you did it, so why can’t I?”

“Yes, we did,” will be the parents’ answer. “We’ve confessed to this. God has forgiven us fully. Having been lifted from this self-defeating behavior, it’s our job as parents to help you avoid it altogether. We do this because we love our Lord, and because we love you.”

This is the way of things in a Christian family. We labor to help keep ourselves and each other fixed firmly to Christ. Living this way, neither the family’s victories nor defeats can crush it because every situation becomes an opportunity to demonstrate the Gospel of forgiveness. And it’s this same Gospel that, by the strength of the Holy Spirit, stirs an equally powerful desire to demonstrate faithfulness.

Do Not Disbelieve

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I’ve said it before, and I’ll repeat it: when I get to heaven, after reconnecting with my brother, Michael, I want to meet the disciple, Thomas. The people here at Our Savior in Hartland know I think that of all the apostles, he seems to get a bad rap. That being true, there are some things I want to ask him.

Before actually asking any questions, I’d probably commend him first. After the Lord’s resurrection, he really was the only one demanding the evidence the Lord had already promised would be given (Matthew 16:21). In other words, he demanded to see a living Savior who’d recently been crucified. Once again, that’s what Jesus said on multiple occasions they’d see—a formerly dead Jesus now very much alive, wounds and all (Luke 9:22, 24:7; Matthew 17:9,23; 20:19, 26:32; John 10:17, 20:9). Even the angel at the tomb affirmed this, telling the women that Jesus had gone ahead of them into Galilee and that they’d see Him just as He said they would (Matthew 28:7).

Knowing this to be an essential part of the Lord’s regular teaching to His disciples, I suppose I’d ask Thomas what he was thinking when he refused to accept the other disciples’ message. Was he actually doubting, or was he simply unwilling to accept anything other than Jesus’ own words? Of course, Jesus somewhat answers the question when He eventually visits with Thomas in the upper room after the resurrection. It’s there He encourages him, “Put your finger here, and see my hands; and put out your hand, and place it in my side. Do not disbelieve, but believe” (John 20:27).

“Do not disbelieve….”

There’s something in that phrase. In Greek, the Lord’s words are, “μὴ γίνου ἄπιστος”—do not right now become unbelieving. This is to say, “You’re heading in that direction. Don’t go any further.” Personally, that’s all the wiggle room I need for saying Thomas was not underwater in doubt. Moreover, he certainly doesn’t deserve the unfortunate (and absolutist) title “Doubting Thomas.” He had faith. It was just wobbly.

A scene like this isn’t unfamiliar to any of us. Jesus spoke similarly to the terrified disciples during the storm on the sea in Matthew 8:26. He said, “Why are you afraid, O you of little faith?” Again, His words are precise. In Greek, He calls the disciples “ὀλιγόπιστοι”—little faiths. Each of the disciples had faith. But their faiths were just beginning to sprout. They were little. How much faith does one need to be saved? Jesus has already said multiple times that whoever believes will be saved. In these scenarios, perhaps one of the lessons we learn is that focusing on quantity has the potential to be distracting. Again, did they have it or not? Yes, they did. They likely wouldn’t have slipped and slid across the boat to wake the sleeping Jesus for rescue if they didn’t. But they did go to Him. They went to the One they somehow knew could save them. The same goes for Thomas. For whatever human reasons may have been involved, he was back among the disciples (even though it didn’t make much sense to be there), fiercely demanding what Jesus had already promised. These are clues. Jacob did a similar thing in Genesis 32:22-32. He wrestled with God, demanding a blessing before he’d let God go. The Canaanite woman in Matthew 15:21-28 did, too. She nagged and pestered until the seemingly cold Jesus finally relented in the test. These people had faith. Large or small, they were moved to hold God to His promises.

In a way, by demanding the signs, Thomas was doing the same. But still, it goes deeper.

I think faith was more than stirring in Thomas because, by his words and actions, he forced out into the open the Church’s confession that Jesus had risen in bodily form. In other words, for Thomas, it would be one or the other. Jesus was either fully dead in the body or fully alive in the body. As He couldn’t be both, He also couldn’t land in between. He couldn’t be a ghost. He couldn’t have risen only in a spiritual sense. That’s not what Jesus promised. The resurrection would be physical.

Having nowhere near the disciples’ specificity concerning the resurrection, even the Pharisees understood this. For the record, the Lord never once said in the Pharisees’ presence that He’d die and rise again in the flesh. But He did say, “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up” (John 2:19). This was to affirm that they’d kill Him, and yet, He would rise from death three days later. After the Lord’s burial, the Pharisees and Teachers of the Law revealed they knew what He meant. They demanded that Pontius Pilate place guards at the tomb, saying, “Sir, we remember how that impostor said, while he was still alive, ‘After three days I will rise.’ Therefore, order the tomb to be made secure until the third day, lest his disciples go and steal him away and tell the people, ‘He has risen from the dead,’ and the last fraud will be worse than the first” (Matthew 27:63-64). Why a guard? Again, to stop a bodily resurrection. Genuine or fraudulent, that would exist at the heart of the Christian Gospel.

Even the Lord’s enemies knew it could only be one or the other.

So, what’s the difference between Thomas and the Lord’s enemies? Faith. Jesus kept His promise and visited Thomas. The disciple declared, “My Lord and my God!” (John 20:28). Even after countless eyewitness accounts, the Lord’s enemies denied Him, doing all they could to kill the message and the messengers. That’s hardened unbelief. That’s real doubt.

Today the Church retells the Lord’s resurrection, and as it does, it includes Thomas’ important role. As you listen, go easy on him. Remember, he’s a believer like you and me. Times get tough. Things get confusing. We find ourselves calling out things like, “Why are you allowing this to happen?! How can you claim to love me?!” Still, we’re calling out, right? And to whom? The only One who can hear and save us. With that, follow Thomas’ lead. Look for the wounds of Christ. Look to the cross. See the Lord’s passionate display. Look there and, as the Lord said, do not right now become unbelieving. Be empowered to go no further in that direction. And then remember, He actually had you in mind when He said to Thomas, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed” (John 20:29).

That’s you He’s talking about. That’s me, too. We were on His mind. And He called us blessed. His blessed ones are His believers. Big or little faith, believers go to the One with the gifts that strengthen faith. That One is Jesus.

Death Could Not Hold Him

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Alleluia, Christ is risen!

We offer plenty of cheerful statements at various times and for multiple reasons. “Happy birthday” is one. We say that year after year as we recognize the passage of another twelve months in a person’s life. “Congratulations” is another. We’ll use that word for many reasons, never just one thing. We’ll offer it if a person lands a new job, gets engaged, wins at bingo, or any other significant or insignificant occasion.

But then there’s, “Alleluia, Christ is risen!” No other declarative assertion in history compares, and only one event can claim it.

Jesus of Nazareth, the One mocked and physically abused into gross malfiguration, and then spiked to a cross until His body could take no more, He met with the last enemy, Death (1 Corinthians 15:26). And yet, He is beautifully, brilliantly, wonderfully alive! “He has risen,” the angel told the women visiting His tomb, “he is not here. See the place where they laid him” (Mark 16:6).

It’s likely they looked. But they didn’t need to. They already knew the scene well—the terribly dreary place palled by Death’s sights, sounds, and smells. They were sitting across from the tomb’s entrance watching Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea take the Lord’s limp body—battered, hemorrhaging, and likely beginning to stiffen—and wrap it in a linen shroud and place it inside (Luke 23:55). The women saw the Lord’s end—His brutally gruesome end. How could anyone survive such a thing?

They don’t survive it. No one does. Even in Jesus’ case, Death came, bit down hard, and then carried Him away.

At least, Death thought it had a hold on Him.

To call out, “Alleluia, Christ is risen!” is to know that at one particular moment on the timeline, somewhere out of sight, and sometime between Good Friday and Easter Sunday, a cosmic encounter ensued. Death’s trophy opened His eyes and took back His own life (John 10:18). Having never lost His divine authority over all things but only hidden it, He enacted His ambush. He pushed apart Death’s jaws, and in between its now fully realized predicament noted by terrified whimpers, took to His feet. And in the next few moments, as His body was restored, keeping only the scars from the nails and spear (for our sake), He leaned into Death and made it His trophy.

Jesus accomplished and forever sealed the death of eternal Death.

Calling out “Alleluia, Christ is risen!” is so much more than “Happy birthday” or “Congratulations” ever will be. It’s a phrase that genuinely meets with every single moment of life—from one’s birth to one’s final breath. Easter, a singular event, celebrates the defanging and ridding of humanity’s last enemy, the one residing at the center of all human fear: Death. Death has forever lost its power. There is no longer any reason for hopeless concern in this life, no matter how challenging life may be or what the devil or the world might bring our way. Jesus defeated such concern’s master. All who believe this—those who cling by faith to Jesus and His sacrifice on the cross—receive the merits of the same conquering Christ.

And what are these merits?

The forgiveness of sins. And, of course, where there is the forgiveness of sins, there is also life—eternal life—and salvation (John 3:16-17 and 6:40, Hebrews 10:10, 1 Peter 2:24, Matthew 26:28, 1 John 1:7, and so many others).

Indeed, alleluia, Christ is risen! May God continue to bless you by the power of the Holy Spirit for faith in Jesus. May He keep you enveloped by Easter Day throughout every moment of every day.

Good Friday, 2023

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It was a Friday of unimaginable viciousness and cruelty, leading to a horrible death. And yet, the Church has forever named it “good.”

At first, it certainly seems counterintuitive to do so. Referring to such horror as good appears to grant dreadfulness a license. It seems to give a coaxing nod to all that makes for this world’s misery, allowing it a certain measure of liberty to run wild, letting it off the chain to choose and devour its victim.

In a way, there’s an element of truth to these things. I think the Gospel writer, Luke, meant for us to sense it when He recorded the Lord’s words to the ones who’d arrived at Gethsemane to take Him into custody. His words were plain. Before giving Himself over, Jesus said, “Now is your hour and the power of darkness” (22:53). In other words, “You’ve been granted this time. Make the most of it and do your worst.”

We are to know that absolute devilry was let off its chain in those moments. In the truest condition of godforsakeness—the Heavenly Father mysteriously abandoning the Son—absolute ghastliness was granted permission to unleash its most devastating weapons from its cruelest arsenal.

This was the terrible license allowed that unique Friday, a day we call good.

Jesus would have called it good, too. He hints at this during His arrest. When Peter takes his sword to prevent the engagement, Jesus asks him rhetorically, “But how then should the Scriptures be fulfilled, that it must be so?” (Matthew 26:54). He sternly commands Peter to sheath his sword, questioning again rhetorically, “Shall I not drink the cup that the Father has given me?” (John 18:11). Again, this is to say, “Peter, this must happen. If I don’t endure darkness’ fury and drink the cup of wrath owed to those who brought the powers of Sin, Death, and hell into the world, then it will be left to its rightful owners. That’s you and all of humanity. But you cannot meet what’s due. None can endure it. None can defeat it. For your sake, Peter, what’s happening is good. It must be me. It has to be me.”

And so, it was.

Good Friday stands in history’s record as the moment when everything that had every right to consume and destroy everyone for all eternity turned its fullest attention on Jesus. It was a horrific day for the Lord—so horrible that human language can never describe it sufficiently. Knowing this, give the day your attention. Approach it with care. Know that something much deeper is happening to the Lord than what mortal eyes or ears can receive. It isn’t just physical or spiritual cruelty of the worst kind. It’s far more than that. It’s cosmic in proportion and beyond anything anyone could have ever endured.

Embracing this fact with all solemnity, if you feel the need to let out a sigh of relief at some point along the way home from worship, please feel free to do so. Good Friday was a good day for humanity. It was the day the ultimate punishment for Sin was endured, and its eternal price tag was fully met. Jesus did it. He wanted to. Good Friday sees Jesus’ arms stretched on the cross as far apart as they can reach. This is more than His death. It is the image of a world-encompassing embrace from the Divine. He loves you. He gives His life for all.

I mentioned worship a moment ago. Be sure to go. Here at Our Savior in Hartland, Michigan, there will be two services. The first is at 1:00 p.m. This is the Tre Ore service. Tre Ore means “three hours.” It symbolizes the Lord’s three hours of suffering at midday on the cross. The second is the Tenebrae service at 7:00 p.m. Tenebrae means “darkness.” We know the meaning of this title. It’s everything into which the Lord goes for our rescue. These services will lead their visitors into and through the details of the Lord’s work. If you can, immerse yourself in them. I promise you’ll be blessed. You’ll certainly be imbued with a more profound sense of Easter’s acclamation, which, together with the forgiven Church, we’ll sing out two short days later.

The Perfect Law, the Law of Liberty

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As it happens on occasion, I crossed paths this morning with a social media post making the point that a person doesn’t need to go to church to be a Christian. For the record, this is not only a tired statement but also a theologically lazy one. The simple biblical fact is that Christians go to church. God mandates such fellowship. If you disagree, that is, if the Jesus you confess teaches it’s okay to be apart from Him and the gifts He gives in holy worship, then you’re following a false Christ.

I could go further with this, but I don’t want to. As I said, it’s a tired and lazy position. I’d rather steer into something Saint James wrote. It’s somewhat relevant to the way I started. Although, it reaches a lot further into the Christian life than worship attendance. Essentially, it establishes the premise that faith is one thing and faith adorned with deeds is another. Saying this, I mean what Saint James meant when he wrote:

“But be doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving yourselves. For if anyone is a hearer of the word and not a doer, he is like a man who looks intently at his natural face in a mirror. For he looks at himself and goes away and at once forgets what he was like. But the one who looks into the perfect law, the law of liberty, and perseveres, being no hearer who forgets but a doer who acts, he will be blessed in his doing” (1:22-25).

Do you know what the “perfect law, the law of liberty” is? Just know that whatever it is, James is not only insisting that we persevere in it but that such determination is somehow born from hearing it and then results in living according to it.

Maybe the best way to figure out what James means is to begin with the words he uses, namely, the word he employs for “perfect,” which is τέλειον. This word is equally translated as “complete.” In other words, the completed law—the totally accomplished law—establishes a standard for freedom. Variations of the same word are used in other places throughout God’s Word. But there is one crucial instance where it fully intersects with James’ understanding of the Law. It happens in John 19:30. It’s there the Lord announces from the cross the single word τετέλεσται, which is typically rendered as “It is finished.” Although, it’s just as accurately interpreted as “All is complete.”

By “perfect law, the law of liberty,” James has in mind Christ’s absolute fulfillment (completion) of the Law on our behalf. By His work, we have been set free, not only from Sin and Death but from the Law’s crushing burden as the only way of escaping eternal condemnation. In other words, instead of needing to keep the Law for salvation (which all of the Lord’s Apostles affirmed was impossible), we’re free to live in and according to it. It becomes a law of liberty, not one of bondage. James is saying that whoever keeps as one’s heading the Gospel of salvation through faith in Jesus Christ—whoever believes and perseveres in it—will become a “doer,” someone desiring to keep the Ten Commandments, not for salvation but out of love for Christ. These doers will do. And they will be blessed, not because they’re performing the Law, but because they’ve been set free in Jesus. This freedom moves them to desire faithfulness to Him. Faithfulness results in works. This is why James goes on the say:

“What good is it, my brothers, if someone says he has faith but does not have works? Can that faith save him? If a brother or sister is poorly clothed and lacking in daily food, and one of you says to them, “Go in peace, be warmed and filled,” without giving them the things needed for the body, what good is that? So also faith by itself, if it does not have works, is dead” (2:14-18).

Samuel Butler once said, “You can do very little with faith, but you can do nothing without it.” That was a sloppy way to say it, but I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. He attempted to speak alongside James. His point is that a proclaimed faith is not the same as a faith that acts to save the unborn from abortion. Although, from the proper perspective, a proclaimed faith hints at a much bigger picture. The proclamation is itself a deed. And faith made it happen. Faith produces. And why? Martin Luther so famously answered the question relative to justification. He said, “God does not need your good works. Your neighbor does.”

Do you have to go to church to be a Christian? How about this instead: genuine faith moves a Christian to desire to be in worship with his Lord.

On second thought, I did want to go further with my initial concern for worship attendance.

By the way, the people here at Our Savior in Hartland, Michigan, are going to have plenty of opportunities for being in worship this week. Today is Palm Sunday. We’re entering Holy Week. There are services every day, sometimes more than one a day, all the way through to Easter. Should you attend all of them? I’ll simply say, give it your best effort to attend as many as possible. Each plays a role in leading us to the Triduum—Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and the Vigil of Easter. Attending any or all certainly wouldn’t hurt you. It goes without saying that you’ll be blessed. Do you know what else goes without saying? The fact that your faith already knows this, and it’s craving to act on the knowledge.