Monthly Archives: January 2024

State of the State

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I was privileged to attend the State of the State address this past Wednesday in Lansing. Well, perhaps privileged is not the right word. Senator Jim Runestad invited me to be his guest. Therein lies the real privilege. He’s a good man and a faithful servant. It’s too bad he’s in his last term. We need more like him.

Overall, I suppose the event was worthwhile. Even though I crossed paths with people I’d just as soon avoid altogether in the future, I also met others in leadership I now consider friends. I had a chance to hide for a few minutes in Senate Minority Leader Aric Nesbitt’s office with my friend, Jeff Wiggins, and Senator Michele Hoitenga. They were great company. During the address, I sat beside Bridget Dean, the Mayor of Berkley, Michigan. I enjoyed the pre-speech conversation with her. I hope to see her again. Interestingly, my chair was on the House floor beside Representative Matthew Bierline’s desk. Matthew is one of two LCMS Lutherans in the House of Representatives. It was a pleasure visiting with him, too.

On occasion throughout the evening, some conversation partners wanted to hear firsthand why I would engage in the public square the way I do. I gave only the biblical reasons. For the ones asking from a position of genuine honesty, I get the sense their apprehensions were disarmed, even some who are likely to oppose my efforts.

We’ll see what comes of the conversations.

In the meantime, I could probably sit here tapping away at this keyboard all morning and never run out of stories to tell you. During the Pledge of Allegiance, I noticed several Democrat legislators refusing to speak. I asked Representative Bierline if that was normal. He couldn’t recall seeing that happen before.

Governor Whitmer’s speech was as I expected. She boldly opposes everything the Church holds dear. And yet, strangely, no small number of Michigan “Christians” helped choose her for Governor. The pastor she invited to give the invocation illustrated this. His prayer was not to God—not the real God, anyway. Instead, it was a prattling list of high praise for things the Bible would call sin. Worst of all, he prayed for continued blessing upon these warped endeavors. I don’t know if any roaming cameras caught it, but I’m pretty sure I was the only one in the room who turned and faced the other way during the prayer. It was clear the Invocator does not worship the same God I do. Let this be known.

The address was held in the Michigan House Chambers. As I mentioned, I had a floor seat rather than the gallery. I watched Whitmer ascend the rostrum like a determined preacher. While awkward with her colloquialisms, she exuded confidence that her administration was instrumental in recreating Michigan as a winning state.

I agree if she means Michigan is now winning the race toward dreadfulness.

She touted Michigan as a state that lets teachers “do what they do best: teach,” making it the envy of teachers in other states. And yet, U.S. News and World Report just released the state rankings in education. Michigan is number 37. Last year, we were 36. Our trajectory is by no means skyward. I wonder if this is because far too many of our school boards spend more time dividing learning communities with Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion initiatives while, at the same time, the classroom teachers are doing all they can to destroy spectral patriarchies and confuse genders rather than providing students with skills to be productive citizens in a functioning society built on objectively true things. By the way, when you add crime, fiscal stability, and other determiners to the ranking’s equation, Michigan drops to number 41. We’re nine spots short of being the worst state in the Union.

Conversely, there are categories in which we truly excel. I mean, Whitmer is quite proud that since Proposal 3 was passed in 2022, Michigan has become a top travel destination for those seeking an abortion. Proposal 3 memorialized in our state’s Constitution a woman’s right to kill her unborn child up to the very moment of birth.

If these things are what Whitmer means by winning, then she’s right. Relative to everything awful, we’re top-tier. Few can contend with us in the race to irreversibly damage our children physically, emotionally, and intellectually. Even fewer can keep with our pace to become America’s genocidal capital.

I walked away from the before- and after-speech conversations having experienced both optimism and dismay. I was optimistic about conservatism’s potential future. I met a young man with conservative aspirations. But then again, I always have such high hopes for starry-eyed conservatives, only to see those hopes dashed as they’re absorbed into what really is a power-hungry system. Not all can be Jim Runestads and maintain a steady course. Still, some good people are doing some great things. If their efforts are allowed to take root, my chief concern—religious liberty—will remain secure for at least a few days longer.

Unfortunately, the dismay I experienced was relatively familiar. Essentially, far too many of our leaders, once elected, begin demonstrating an inability to sense bare contradictory foolishness. Conservative or liberal, it doesn’t seem to matter. I’ll give you a few examples of what I mean.

Outside of the House Chambers, I happened to be standing very near to someone praising the radical gender ideologies cemented by Governor Whitmer and enforced by Attorney General Dana Nessel. I didn’t speak to her. I just listened. She emphatically announced, in short, that if a man decides he’s a woman, then he is, and for anyone to say otherwise is bigoted. In the same conversation, this person noted Michigan’s wintertime landscape as the best in the country, describing it as stunning. Thirty minutes before this, down in the Heritage Hall Stateroom, I was greeted by another gent who recognized me. I know he supported the vote last spring to redefine the word “sex” in Michigan’s Elliott-Larsen Civil Rights Act to include “gender identity” and “sexual orientation.” Attempting to schmooze, and somehow aware of my whisky endeavors, he asked me which I preferred to drink more, scotches or bourbons.

So, how do these obscure instances demonstrate contradictory foolishness?

Sight is a biological function. A person does not observe Michigan’s snow-covered landscape through one’s clavicle. The eyes are the organs for sight. Drinking is a biological function. A particular clergyman does not decide his Scotch or Bourbon preferences through his elbow. When the body is functioning as it should, the mouth receives whisky.

These two policy influencers go about their lives unquestionably submitting to biological realities while absurdly asserting that gender—the ultimate biological reality that produces humans capable of sensory perception and consumption—isn’t fixed but flexible, that it isn’t biological but rather a social construct. However, to fully realize this ideology (which they’d say can be changed at will) means extreme biological manipulation. And yet, if the mind determines gender, why is there a need for hormone therapy or surgery? Unless, of course, gender is actually rooted in biology.

I mentioned these conversations to Mayor Dean while awaiting the address. I told her the behavior reminded me of George Orwell’s “doublethink” concept, where individuals stake simultaneous claims on conflicting premises. Orwell described doublethinkers as those who will eventually be found telling a man they love him as they’re torturing him.

Governor Whitmer is a doublethinker. She stirred a standing ovation for Proposal 3’s passing. She immediately followed her words by demanding that we care for our “sweet and precious children” by guaranteeing them free school lunches. She added, “When kids are unsafe, they can’t reach their full potential.” Indeed, and amen. And yet, when does the child become precious enough for safety policies? Apparently, this is determined by location measured in centimeters.

Whitmer can tell children she loves them while making it possible to grind them to bits in the womb.

Doublethinkers are very dangerous. But in the end, the real danger is not just that they accommodate untruth. Instead, like Governor Whitmer on the rostrum, they enthusiastically preach untruth’s darkness. A lie gripped by an enthusiastic hand is the worst kind. If that hand also holds power, societies will unravel, and lives will be destroyed.

Following a few of these interactions, I couldn’t help but whisper, “God help us.” When I left the House Chamber following the speech, one person from the Democratic side of the aisle asked me what I thought of Whitmer’s words. I said I felt like I needed a shower.

Still, during the moments of deliberate conversation, I did what I could to convert and convince my discussion partners to something better.

In closing, I must confess I don’t belong in these circles. I said as much to Mayor Dean. I told her that the more I experience them, the less I want to. But I added that this is precisely why I steer into them whenever I’m invited. As a Christian who cares, I have something to offer. You do, too. Therefore, if you can chat with your local, state, or federal leaders face-to-face, do it. But again, only if you care. If you don’t care, stay home and enjoy what winning means to those who would just as soon push the Church into the shadows. If you do care, engage. Find your elected leaders. Ask them questions. Answer theirs. Praise what they’re doing well. Challenge what they’re doing wrong. Do what you can to invalidate untruths in ways that can’t be deleted from an email inbox, thrown into a trash can, or hung up on.

But there is something you should probably keep in mind. When you do this, be ready to be uncomfortable. Be prepared to experience trouble. In my experience, trouble is often the price exacted for faithfulness. And yet, as Christians, rest assured that we’re already built to endure the kind of trouble the world might inflict upon people like us. That’s because we’re not inheritors of this world. We’re inheritors of the world to come. We are set apart as Christ’s holy ones who know they have nothing to lose but Christ, making engagement with the world all the more possible and even more so necessary.

No Need that Anyone Should Teach You

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We’ve been studying Saint John’s first epistle every Tuesday in this year’s seventh and eighth-grade religion class. We started back in August, and yet, we’re only halfway through what is a relatively short book of the Bible. Some would say we’re moving slowly. I would argue we’re plugging along at just the right pace. There’s a lot to be mined from John’s words. And besides, the students remain thoroughly engaged.

We ended this past week’s class at 1 John 2:27, which reads: “But the anointing that you received from him abides in you, and you have no need that anyone should teach you. But as his anointing teaches you about everything, and is true, and is no lie—just as it has taught you, abide in him.” 

This was a challenging but rewarding way to end the class. It consumed the final ten minutes of our time together. In short, John wrote that his readers received an “anointing” (whatever that is), and because they have it, there’s “no need that anyone should teach” them because it “teaches you about everything.” If this is true, what on earth were these seventh and eighth-grade students doing in school, and why was I standing in front of them teaching them? They could be out somewhere doing something else. 

Well, not so fast.

Essentially, John is deeply concerned about keeping his readers secure in the true faith. He does not want them duped into unbelief by false theology, namely, by the Gnostics intent on poisoning Christian doctrine. Occasionally, along the way, John references his readers’ “anointing.”

I can’t even begin to tell you how the word “anointing” is grossly misused in modern Christendom. In the Greek, the word is χρῖσμα. In its simplest form, it means to be assigned a task. Unfortunately, today’s folks apply it to just about every wacky theological idea they have, eventually granting themselves license to massage it apart from God’s Word. “I’ve been anointed to run for office,” or “She’s such a great speaker. She’s definitely anointed.” Well, whatever. John doesn’t use it that way. When he talks about a Christian’s anointing, he means the faith at work by the Holy Spirit through the Gospel (v. 24). He doesn’t consider it a special sanction uniquely given to a select person. The Holy Spirit’s work for faith is the divine “something” that’s been given and is available to all believers.

John goes further in verse 27, explaining that the anointing actively teaches the one it inhabits about everything. This is to say faith handles everything through the lens of the Gospel. It sees, discerns, and interprets the world this way. And to what end? That the believers would always have a heart and mind guarded in Christ. To explain further, I shared with the students the first thing that came to mind. It was a casual example, but an example nonetheless.

I told them how my world is filled with stories. Theirs is, too. Take a look around, and you’ll see. At every turn, even the things we see are speaking. For me, one particular proof is that I’ve been able to write an eNews message like this one every Sunday morning since 2015, having written well over six hundred in total. How can I do this? Because each Sunday morning, I reflect on my week. When I do, there they are—the stories! And they exist in various forms. Carrying the point further, I picked a relatively familiar voice for storytelling: metaphor.

A metaphor is a comparison between two things that are nothing alike. Writers employ metaphors to enliven language. The example I used in class was that instead of saying my daughters’ eyes are beautifully blue, I prefer to call them sapphires. Their eyes are stunning, and all but the colorblind among us will experience just what I mean when these gems are turned in one’s direction.

I use metaphorical language a lot. It’s perfect for narrative communication. Relative to 1 John 2:27, John would say that faith is actively intercepting and interpreting these narratives and, as a result, teaching the viewer lessons. To demonstrate, I shared a recent experience.

Two objects caught my eye before leaving my house early one Sunday morning. The first was the scale-shaped clock sitting atop our refrigerator. Glancing at it while putting on my shoes, I had a thought. Time weighs things differently. Some of what we say and do is relatively weightless and easily forgotten. Others are heavier. Even though it’s only decorative, the scale clock was a consolidated reminder—a metaphor—teaching me to weigh my words and deeds carefully as I go about the next twenty-four hours of my life. As a Christian, I am distinct from the world (1 Peter 1:15), and as such, I demonstrate faith through word and deed (1 John 3:18), and this happens in incredibly weighty ways—the kind that can move people to consider the God I trust (Matthew 5:16).

But the scale clock didn’t teach me this. With faith as its handler, the Gospel did. God’s Word was the curriculum (1 John 2:24). 

I shared another example.

A glass vase holding about fourteen or fifteen lemons is not far from the clock. It sits on the island in our kitchen. As the saying goes, “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.” Looking at the lemon-filled jar while putting on my coat, I had another thought. Actually, I had two thoughts. The first was that everyone makes mistakes, and I’m no exception (1 John 1:8; James 3:2). Still, a Christian can keep the lemons (life’s mistakes and misfortunes) in a separate container apart from everything else (Psalm 103:12). When another lemon comes along, God promises to put it with the rest. As humans, we can sometimes see them—as if our failures are displayed prominently. Still, we know not to dwell on the lemons. Alternatively, we behold them and remember the lessons learned (Philippians 3:12), all the while giving thanks to the Lord for His grace (Psalm 136:1).

The second thought was that making lemonade takes a lot of lemons. That’s not a license to make mistakes; instead, it is a way to remember one’s genuine frailty and the overwhelming need for Christ’s forgiveness. And for the one who knows his need for Christ’s thirst-quenching rescue, His divine forgiveness is the sweetest and most refreshing beverage there is. (Certainly, Lutherans will know that’s not necessarily a metaphor.)

As you can see, before leaving my house one morning, I was already learning from the great professor, Faith. And it really wasn’t all that hard. As believers—as the Lord’s anointed—we are already enrolled in the Holy Spirit’s classroom. We’re anointed to exchange information in ways that accomplish what John set out to preserve: “Beloved, I am writing you no new commandment, but an old commandment that you had from the beginning. The old commandment is the word that you have heard…. I write these things to you about those who are trying to deceive you…. Little children, let no one deceive you” (1 John 2:7, 26; 3:7).

Seated securely in the Lord’s holy Word, faith is a brilliant instructor. Following this lead, indeed, we can and will “abide in [Christ]” (1 John 3:27). I challenged the students to maneuver this way throughout their week, paying attention to faith’s lessons relative to everything they see. I look forward to circling back around to them this Tuesday. I’m sure there will be stories because, as I said, they’re everywhere. One only needs to look around.

Politeness

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To start, be careful out there this morning. The wind is crisp, and the roads are somewhat snowy. Still, you can make it to church.

The weather was a lot worse yesterday, and I spent most of yesterday’s late morning and afternoon at a bustling volleyball tournament in Brighton at the Legacy Sports Arena. I’d never been to such a place or event. When I say bustling, I mean it. It took me thirty minutes to find a place to park. When I finally got inside to see my daughter play, I discovered a packed house.

It would seem that when something is a priority, weather is not really an issue.

Interestingly, I listened to the folks around me (people from places less than twenty miles away) talking about how most had rented hotel rooms near the arena to ensure their kids wouldn’t miss a moment the entire weekend. By the way, the tournament continues today, and Evelyn’s team is scheduled to play this morning at 9:00 am. She won’t be there. Her coach knows it. Evelyn will be in worship. There is no higher priority than being with her Savior.

Well, on to something else I’ve been thinking about all week. It was a rough week in a person-to-person sense. Relative to one-on-one communication, I’ve learned a lot in my half-century of life. I probably don’t need to share two of the most important lessons I’ve learned because you likely already know them. You already know at least two rules that, when applied, can save an eroding relationship and lay the groundwork for repairs.

The first rule is to listen attentively. Attentive listening involves far more than one’s ears. A careful listener hears everything said and a whole lot that’s been left unsaid. Everyone has their “tell”—a unique behavior that pulls back the curtain on the hidden self. I do. You do. Two strangers might not know the tells, but friends will. Among friends, an attentive listener can spot them, and if the friend’s goal is to fix what’s broken, he can use them to steer toward repair. This might sound sneaky, but it isn’t. It’s purposeful for all the right reasons. Either way, giving someone your undivided attention is one of the most important demonstrations of respect. When a person feels heard—and maybe even that the one listening understands what’s been said and what’s hidden beneath the surface—they most often will snuff their own fuse.

The second rule is basic politeness. In any contentious conversation, if at least one participant commits to remaining within the boundaries of civility, the relationship has a far better chance at survival. I don’t just mean that while one is shouting and interrupting, the other is remaining calm. I mean that a polite person is aware of certain things. A genuinely polite person chooses his words carefully. He knows his own tendencies—the countless sin-stained responses (sometimes well-deserved) he’d prefer to give—yet he keeps those to himself. Instead, he dresses his thoughts in courtesy’s clothes. He lets polite civility be his shield against accusation. In all my years as a pastor, each filled with more than its fair share of stinging interactions, I’ve never walked away from one having regretted being polite. How could I? As the saying goes, “Civility costs nothing and buys everything.”

On second thought, as a Christian, I’m not so sure I agree entirely with the saying that civility costs nothing. Being polite requires some sacrifice.

The very definition of politeness is “behavior that is respectful and considerate of other people.” It means giving some space to another person’s immediate context. In the meantime, our 21st-century world appears pierced by the belief that crass impoliteness is the better way. Perhaps worse, we’ve become a society where it’s entirely acceptable for a person’s feelings to govern his manners. In other words, the expectation is that others must adjust their current mood or emotional condition to match yours, no matter what it might be. If you’re mad, then others had better watch out. If you’re sad, then others had better not be happy. And why is this? Because the self is what’s most important.

Looking at what I’ve typed so far, I see I mentioned being polite involves sacrifice. Therein lies a necessary clarification that must be made. Again, to be civil with others means to adjust one’s behavior. In a natural law sense, civility promotes harmony for societal stability. For Christians, it goes further. Civility is the first step toward the kind of service that identifies with someone, thereby becoming an inroad for lifting others from their troubles. Civility is willing to temporarily endure with someone to deliver them to something better (1 Corinthians 13:5-7). Civility’s opposite—rudeness—demands that others come to where it resides and stay there. It is entirely self-seeking. It insists that others rejoice in whatever it deems worthy of praise. It demands that others suffer as it has suffered, eventually multiplying its misery. It makes things worse, not better.

Thinking about these things this morning while simultaneously reflecting on Saint Paul’s words in Romans 12:6-16 (the Epistle lesson appointed for this morning), another aspect needs further clarification.

At first glance, Saint Paul appears to side with the 21st-century’s self-centered demands when he writes in Romans 12:15: “Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep.” Indeed, it sounds like God’s people must indulge others’ emotional frailties entirely and in every circumstance. But he isn’t. Instead, he set the standard for doing these things in verse 9, writing, “Let love be genuine. Abhor what is evil; hold fast to what is good.” With these words in hand, the image becomes that of discernment. It’s the image of someone holding tightly to what is objectively good while reaching down into the darkness to rescue someone else. The one helping doesn’t submit himself into every darkness. And the darkness he does reach into, he doesn’t do so permanently. Paul insists in verse 21, “Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.” Evil must not be coddled nor granted the last word. Instead, identify with the person. Reach to them. As you do, rejoice if rejoicing is appropriate. Weep if weeping is necessary. Do both intending to bring a person trapped in darkness to the light above—to the good you’re holding onto.

Somewhat tangentially, perhaps this is one of the inherent angles to Paul’s encouragement to set our minds on things that are above, not on things below (Colossians 3:1-4). Could this also be meant for believers perpetually stuck in life’s ditches—to look upward for the hands that can help?

Maybe. Maybe not.

Either way, assuming that politeness produces dividends is an uncomplicated axiom. Most regular folks will not be found marveling when someone like Justice Clarence Thomas says that politeness opens doors that education cannot, or as Margaret Walker insists, that good manners can buy what money can’t afford. These things go without saying. The same is true relative to the Gospel. Its glory is dimmed by the poorly mannered and confused by the rude (1 Corinthians 13:4-5). And so, naturally, Paul reminds us, “Be gentle, and show perfect courtesy toward all people” (Titus 3:2), letting our “manner of life be worthy of the gospel of Christ” (Philippians 1:27).

A Hope-filled Sprig

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There’s a tree in a yard just down the street from my home that toppled twice this past year during two separate storms. The first was a windstorm that swept through last spring. By the time the ruckus had passed, one of the three stems ascending from the tree’s primary trunk broke free and crushed a nearby fence. The second gale was a late summer thunderstorm that brought equally powerful wind. When it finally quieted, the other two stems had fallen and destroyed another portion of the same fence. All that remained was a four-foot trunk with a splintered top.

It wasn’t long after either storm that the property owners cut and removed the debris, eventually leaving what is now a grayed and seemingly dead stump. I drive past it every day. For me, even in its obtusely pathetic state, the stump has faded into the neighborhood’s landscape, becoming something I no longer even notice.

But then one day last week, I did notice it. Even in mid-winter, it had a shoot growing from its top. Astounded, I circled back around and stopped to take a picture.

I’m not an arborist. Still, I know most deciduous trees in Michigan hibernate in winter. Essentially, they go to sleep at the end of summer. They slip into their dormancy stage, locating their essential nutrients in their roots. Doing this helps to keep them healthy and ready to bloom again in the spring. That’s why the leaves fall in autumn. The trees are shutting down the supply lines to everything but the roots, starving its skyward limbs and keeping the food where it’s needed most.

But this tree is not sleeping. It’s awake and growing in winter. Wearing only a slightness of green on one of its two leaves, a passerby can see by its sprig that it’s struggling against the elements. Its tiny, outstretched appendages are tinged with shades of autumn’s hues. Still, there it is, pushing up from a seemingly lifeless trunk, attempting to snatch every bit of Michigan’s occasional wintertime sunlight.

While barely anything at all, it’s an inspiring scene. Against the bleakest landscape, while everything else around it has given up and gone to sleep, it is awake, as if reaching up from hope’s nutrients with an unwillingness to forfeit.

Seeing this, as a Christian, I suppose my first inclination was to experience echoes of Isaiah 11:1, which reads, “There shall come forth a shoot from the stump of Jesse, and a branch from his roots shall bear fruit.” Isaiah’s words are forward-looking. They refer to Jesus. He is the One who, even as all mortal muscle for rescue was beyond spent, arrived bearing life. There He is. God did not leave us. He acted. He sent His Son, just as He said He would. Hope against all hope has been fulfilled. The Son has brought new life into what seemed to be Death’s dooming winter. And joy of joys! From His person and work, branches emerge and grow where no one thought they could. And this happens no matter life’s seasons, each shoot bearing extraordinary fruit (John 15:5).

I had a before-worship conversation on New Year’s Day with the chairman of our Board of Elders, Harry. Analyzing the societal landscape, we predicted that the forthcoming year would likely be far bumpier than the previous one. For the record, we weren’t being pessimistic but realistic, and in a sense, we were admitting to our need for the fruits that can only be plucked from Christ’s tree. In the New Year, we’re going to need the fruits of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control (Galatians 5:22-23). We’re going to need fortitude, the kind that wholeheartedly owns the title “Christian” (James 1:2-4; John 16:1-4). We’re going to need endurance (Romans 5:1-5). We’re going to need wisdom, the kind that can’t be duped by evil disguised as good (Ephesians 5:15-17). We’re going to need persevering strength to follow Jesus when doing so might appear to make very little sense (Hebrews 12:1; Luke 5:4).

We’ll need to be hope-filled sprigs against this world’s dismal backdrop (Romans 15:3).

But there’s another thought to be had. As a perpetual watchman for summer, the tree’s lonely sprig was a “consider the lilies of the field” moment (Matthew 6:28). It had me thinking about how God loves and cares for His people. Taking the stump’s picture, I spoke out loud to myself, “Storms will come, people will cut down the lilies, but nothing can stop spring from coming.” Christians will know what I meant.

No matter how the world rages, God’s promises will not be stopped (Romans 8:31-39). He’s caring for us now. As He does, we know the springtime of eternal life is coming. This means that even in the face of persecution and Death, believers have a limitless wellspring of hope. Like the stump’s sprig, what the world might expect from us in the darker moments is not what we’ve been recreated to do. The world will bear down on us with icy impositions, expecting that we’ll shrink into self-preserving hibernation. But instead, we reach up to the heavens as sprigs in winter. We stretch out in stark contrast to the surrounding world, bringing even the littlest bit of color into the sin-sick grays of this passing world.

We endure when enduring seems impossible.

This is my continued prayer for you in the New Year. God grant it.

New Year Encouragement

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Social media is such a dreadful place. We’re only a few days into the New Year, and the resolution-makers are already being shamed by countless memes. Even by fellow Christians, their attempts at habit alteration are very nearly mocked as foolishness.

I have some thoughts about this.

The writer to the Hebrews encouraged, “Let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some…” (Hebrews 10:24). Two things stand out in this short sentence. Its simplest motion is that we’d be one another’s cheerleaders. Quite literally, it calls for us to παροξυσμὸν (intensely encourage) each other toward the victory of Christian goodness. This means that, rather than pot-shotting another person’s efforts toward Christian betterment aimed at Godly living, we should build up and root for each other.

But why do this at all? To steer clear of bad habits that lead away from victory.

Certain habits are called “bad” for a reason. They hurt us in more ways than one. If you are not waging war against these habits, then perhaps you do not fully understand the sin nature. The above text’s immediate aim is precisely, and particularly, a bad habit, namely, falling into the practice of absence from holy worship. If someone’s New Year’s resolution is to reform this bad habit, why would we whip him with discouragement rather than cheer him on?

My advice to the ones who, like me, want to change and do better…

Ignore those who appear to believe their “old self” needs no improvement or that your efforts to change are futile. Those people are shadows. Turn your face to the shadowless sunbeams of God’s grace (James 1:17). By the power of the Holy Spirit at work in the Gospel, be strengthened to examine your life. And then, feel free to make your New Year’s resolutions. Continue making the conscious effort to “put off your old self, which belongs to your former manner of life and is corrupt through deceitful desires, and to be renewed in the spirit of your minds, and to put on the new self, created after the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness” (Ephesians 4:22-24). This “new self” is the self of faith. Even as it knows it can do nothing to add to salvation, it loves the One who saved it and wants to fight the flesh, seeking faithfulness to Him (Galatians 5:19-26).

New Year’s Day, 2024

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Did you make any New Year’s resolutions? I did. I do every year. I decided on this year’s resolution a few days before Christmas, so in a sense, I’ve had the chance to test-drive it here and there.

I don’t know if, how, or why you decided on yours, but two things in particular modeled for mine. The first was Saint Paul’s encouraging words, “Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer” (Romans 12:12). The second was Michigan’s dismal climate. We don’t get much sun from October to March, and so I’m perpetually watching for stray sunbeams piercing the dreary grays. If I’m paying close enough attention, I can usually spot two or three throughout the day. Like atmospheric phantoms, they come and go. On occasion, one descends through a nearby window. When it does, I’ll sit right in the middle of it. It’s a rejuvenating opportunity, even if only for a moment. 

Together, these two things stirred a New Year’s resolution to find at least three positives in any perceived negative situation and, from among those three, if possible, to discover at least one opportunity for making life better. It might sound like a complicated resolution compared to exercising or cutting back on sweets. All I can say is that as I get older, I want to continue being the kind of person who’s happier to see the New Year arrive than to see the current year leave. To do this, I know I need to bring something with me into the New Year, and it can’t be the old self. The old self gets tired. The new self in Christ brings hope, patience, and prayer.

One thing is for sure: my newest resolution was pressure tested days before the clock struck midnight on December 31st.

I woke up this past Wednesday with a whole day of nothing facing me. That’s right. I had nothing to do but rest. The only task owed to the day was to take the artificial palm tree Jennifer bought me for Christmas to my office at the church. I planned to set it just beyond my desk where I could see it daily.

But my restful do-nothing day was foiled.

I started the day plinking away at what would become the sermon for this morning’s Divine Service. I did this awaiting my turn in the shower. Once Jennifer was done, and because I was still typing, she cleaned the bathtub, filling it with hot water before giving it a good scrub. Afterward, it was my turn in the bathroom.

My shower was ice cold.

I thought at first that Jennifer had used up the hot water while cleaning the tub or that perhaps one of the kids was actually awake and had showered, too. Strangely, the urge to visit our water heater in the basement storage closet emerged. And so, I did. Sure enough, it was dead, and its contents were just beginning to leak out onto the floor. I shut off the water supply, and while Jennifer began moving our closet belongings to other locations, I called a local heating and cooling company that we trusted. I learned they could be out by 4:30 p.m. for an estimate but likely couldn’t perform the installation until two or three days later. Still, I scheduled the appointment and then went to work helping Jennifer.

Once done, we sat together in the living room, calculating our fate. We were looking at a post-Christmas expense of about $2,000 and a couple of days of traveling back and forth to Jennifer’s mom’s house for showers.

Sigh.

“How many gallons is our water heater?” Jennifer asked, tapping on her mobile phone.

“Fifty,” I replied.

“How tall is it?”

“Right around fifty-five inches.”

“How wide?”

“About twenty inches.”

“You know, Home Depot has two in stock. They’re a little shorter and wider, but we could get one today. If we buy it and you do the installation, we could save about a thousand dollars.”

A moment passed.

“I’ll get my coat. Call upstairs to Harrison. He’s going with me.”

Harrison and I spent the next few hours removing the old water heater and installing a new one. We were done by 4:30 p.m. Had we kept the appointment, the repair man would’ve been arriving just in time to congratulate us.

What does this story have to do with my New Year’s resolution? For starters, everything about the situation was deflating. Not to mention I didn’t want to spend the entirety of what would be one of my only free days in a year doing what I was about to do. However, I’d already chosen my New Year’s resolution, and as such, I was ready to steer into the effort with hope, patience, and prayer, all the while looking for the moment’s sunbeams. And I found plenty.

The first ray of sunlight was that I actually had an entirely uninterrupted day to do the job. Second, we discovered the problem before it could cause significant damage to our basement. Third, we couldn’t necessarily afford $2,000, but we could afford $1,000. Fourth, a relatively warm day for the end of December, Wednesday was near-perfect for doing the work. The outdoor tasks would’ve been a messy struggle if it had been cold and snowy. I can only imagine having to uncoil and drag a frozen hose inside to drain the water heater; or attempting to dolly the rusted beast out through the basement door, likely struggling to ascend the side yard’s treacherously icy slope to get the appliance to the street, and then do the same in reverse with the new water heater, surely tracking the outside’s elements indoors.

As you can see, at least four sunbeams were streaming through a relatively cloudy scenario. I had resolved to find only three.

But what about the opportunity for rejuvenation? Well, that’s an easy one, too. Harrison and I worked on the job together, spending much-needed father-and-son time accomplishing something beneficial to the family.

In short, it was a struggle, but with my sights set in the right direction, it was a good day.

Ralph Waldo Emerson once wrote that every day can be the best day of the year. As a Christian, I agree. A Christian’s “every day” has Christ. With Christ, there’s always hope, no matter the challenge. Even better, we have access through prayer to the Creator of the cosmos, the One who promises to listen and respond, ultimately ordering all things, good or bad, for the salvific benefit of those who are His own by faith (Romans 8:28).

I already know these things. Still, I intend to be deliberate in my awareness of them in the New Year. I will find these sunbeams in a world intent on shrouding faith’s joy.

Having said all this, if you are yet to make a New Year’s resolution, feel free to steal mine…or the one I mentioned in yesterday’s note. Either way, trust me when I say that the New Year has only just begun, yet the peace that comes with a heart settled in this way is sure to pay dividends all along the way.

God bless and keep you by His grace!