Monthly Archives: February 2025

Truth Always Has Its Day

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The Thoma family wandered into a discussion about President’s Day this past week at dinner. The nerd that I am, I interrupted the conversation with, “Did you know that Presidents’ Day is not the official name of the holiday?” I went on to nerdily explain that since its inception in the 1880s, it’s only ever been officially recognized legislatively as “Washington’s Birthday.” It wasn’t until the 1960s that a bill was introduced to move all federal holidays to Mondays, and one of the discussion points was to combine Abraham Lincoln’s birthday (February 12, which many states were already celebrating) and Washington’s birthday (February 22, which the whole country had long been celebrating) into a standard date. The combination was successful, becoming the third Monday in February. However, the name change for the holiday failed to pass. Officially, it’s still on the books as “Washington’s Birthday.”

I went on to ask, “Do you know why Congress ultimately failed to associate Lincoln’s name with the holiday formally?” I knew the answer to this question because I’d read some of the congressional floor discussions that encapsulated the essential argument.

As expected, there remained a strong ideological and regional opposition to Lincoln from southern Democrats. While the nation’s 16th president was revered by pretty much all of the northern states, he was still controversial throughout most of the South, even a hundred years after the Civil War. Essentially, and almost unanimously among Democrats, there remained a harbored resentment for Lincoln relative to the war and the national reconstruction that followed. In short, he wasn’t as beloved as you’d think, and it was often instinctual for the Democrats to slight his legacy whenever the opportunity presented itself.

As a result, while the bill’s consolidation efforts succeeded, any on-the-books remembrance of Lincoln failed. That said, the nation’s citizens adopted the name “Presidents’ Day” anyway, and when promoting and celebrating it, both Washington and Lincoln are almost always represented in its imagery. Stop by a furniture store that’s having a President’s Day sale. You’ll likely see images of Lincoln and Washington in its promotional posters.

I like that this is true. It speaks volumes. It’s a nod toward history’s eventual disregard for a government’s ideological foolishness, and it’s a defiant wink to the nitwits at the helm.

The Christian Church understands this contentious existence well, especially when it comes to its holidays. It seems the historical revisionists and liberal progressives have forever attempted to forget Christ, doing what they can to reshape or redefine the origins of Christian holidays. One needs only to consider Christmas and the forthcoming Easter celebration. Year after year, the Church anticipates attempts to impose confused narratives that diminish these holidays’ Christian foundations. In the end, the perpetrators only end up betraying their real intentions: an innate hatred for Christ; at least, it’s betrayed to those of us who’ve studied Christian history. That same history displays a pattern. Christ’s opponents either repackage His celebrations as pagan festivals or distract from them with secular innovations, coming up with goofy activist holidays like Kwanza.

And yet, despite these seemingly never-ending efforts, the revisionist interpretations put forth by truth’s opponents never seem to catch on. Human beings continue to celebrate Christmas as the birth of Christ and Easter as His resurrection, just as they have for centuries upon centuries. Across the world, they still say “Merry Christmas” and call to one another with “He is risen!”

While not precisely the same, this tendency is at least somewhat reflected in the Presidents’ Day celebration. No matter how much the overarching goodness inherent in Lincoln’s efforts was deliberately opposed, the American people appeared to know better, and as a nation, we have instinctively maintained a healthier understanding of the holiday, even calling it by its unofficial and ultimately rejected name.

I suppose one particularly worthwhile angle emerging from today’s rambling is that some things, it seems, are too deeply ingrained in the fabric of tradition and truth to be rewritten by ideological trends. Indeed, truth always has its day.

Are we experiencing this right now as a nation? Maybe. It sure seems like President Trump, a man who was accosted by unjust lawfare for years, is having his day. Musk and the Department of Government Efficiency certainly are having their day relative to long-hidden deviance in government. But that’s just it. Truth has a way of resurfacing and pushing back against worldly foolishness. This should be no surprise for Christians. Truth’s strength figures into our hope. Indeed, Jesus already told us, “For nothing is hidden that will not be made manifest, nor is anything secret that will not be known and come to light” (Luke 8:17). And so, whether in the Church’s steadfast preservation of its holy days or in the American people’s instinct to honor history rightly, truth remains a feisty contender. It refuses to be buried beneath the agendas of the moment.

I find this to be somewhat comforting. I know I live in a world bent on obscuring what is good, hoping to reshape reality itself. It calls a man a woman. It prefers workers based on gender (if they can figure out how to define it) and skin color rather than skill. It rewards liars and penalizes honesty. That said, history continues testifying that such efforts eventually fall short.

Again, this doesn’t surprise Christians. We have God’s Word, and so we know the “grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God will stand forever” (Isaiah 40:8). We know we “are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed” (2 Corinthians 4:8-9). In other words, we know God’s Word remains, His truth prevails, and His people endure.

Applying this to life, whether it be the remembrance of faithful leaders, the celebration of our Lord’s birth and resurrection, or the whole of the very Gospel itself, no earthly power can rewrite what God has already written or undo what God has done. Jesus said, “It is finished” (John 19:30). And it is.

First Impressions

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I’m writing this morning’s note from an Airbnb in Morton, Illinois. Rather than rent a hotel room, for barely a fraction more, Jennifer managed to locate a spacious two-bedroom first floor of an early 20th-century home just around the corner and down the street from where I used to live. It has a full kitchen, dining room, and living room to boot. As I said, Jennifer found it. Although, she isn’t here. My daughter, Evelyn, is traveling with me. We’re in town to visit my family.

For starters, I just got back from a quick trip to the local McDonald’s for my usual Sunday morning coffee. You can be pretty sure I’m sipping one while tippity-tapping these Sunday messages. It took a little longer than normal to get the coffee. Usually, I’d just zip through the drive-through and be on my way. However, after sitting for a while unnoticed, I decided to go inside.

It doesn’t matter where you are; there’s something about restaurant dining rooms. They’re either bustling with vigor—people coming and going, conversations echoing from the walls—or they’re eerily quiet, as though the building itself is holding its breath. This morning, it was the latter. It felt as though I was the only one awake in the town—well, besides the three workers I saw behind the counter and one other person who was already inside ordering something, too. Where I am right now, a house on Adams Street, is just as still. Evelyn is still sleeping, and the only noticeable sounds are the taps at my keyboard and a faint machine hum coming from what I’m guessing is the furnace.

I don’t mind the quiet. Stillness has its charm. Because I’m almost always on the move, when I do have a moment like this, especially one that occurs in a relatively unfamiliar location, it becomes an opportunity for a unique kind of reflection. Typically, I’m in my office when I write these notes. I can observe my surroundings—or whatever might be swirling around in my head—without distraction almost every Sunday from my computer chair. But in this particular space—a hardwood chair at a small round table in a unique corner of a much wider world—there’s an exclusive character to its ordinariness. This is to say, while the room’s décor might not win awards, and the coffee I drink ritually is barely up to par, there’s no place like this place right now. If I’m willing to consider that even the simplest things bear a treasure trove of inspiration, then I’m just as blessed to be where I am at this very moment as I would be if I were roaming the gilded halls of the Hermitage.

But to grasp this, I need to pay attention. I need to look around and take notice of what’s happening—what others are doing, what objects are involved in the moment’s stillness as well as its commotions. For example, I mentioned before that I wasn’t the only one who stopped at McDonald’s this morning. Another person was there. Admittedly, he looked rigidly serious in his dark suit. If I’m being completely honest, he reminded me of a funeral director—or maybe a character from the film Men in Black. Had the shadow government sent an agent to Illinois to abduct and mind-wipe me? Who knows. Either way, I wondered further when taking his two bags of food in hand, he followed me out the door. But then I watched him climb into a silver minivan with two bumper stickers on it that made me laugh out loud. One sticker read, “I identify as a toaster,” and the other, “Citizens Against Bumper Stickers.”

For as serious as the man appeared to be, I’m guessing we have a similar sense of humor. Or he’s married to someone who has the same sense. Either way, I’ll bet if we spoke, we’d get along just splendidly. But to know this, I had to let more than first impressions determine our future. I had to give him a little more time and space to be his fuller self.

I suppose the congealing thought this morning is that as Christians intent on bringing the Gospel into a world of countless personalities, this is important to keep in mind. People are complex. They rarely fit neatly into the categories we might initially assign them. I’ve told my own children on occasion that when I first see a homeless person—or anyone who might be relatively off-putting—I try to remember that the person was once someone’s baby, and then eventually a toddler, and then eventually a child, and so on. This person was given life just like the rest of us. That alone deserves reverence. Stepping from there, even as someone’s first impression might communicate a hard and filthy life, or even an all-business and rigidly humorless demeanor, a closer look can reveal a human being with personality and depth, someone with an undiscovered past and an untold future, and among all of it, a human being who bears the fingerprints of the Creator’s artistry in ways we might never expect.

This is just one more example of something I continue to insist among any and all who read the things I write. I’m pretty consistent in encouraging my readers to look at the world through the lens of the Gospel. When the Gospel becomes a way of seeing, our surroundings become more than things, and people become more than strangers, acquaintances, or friends. Saint Paul knew this. He at least winked at it when he wrote, “From now on, therefore, we regard no one according to the flesh…. Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.” (2 Corinthians 5:16-17). He knew that observing the world and its inhabitants through the lens of Christ’s life, death, and resurrection was to see beyond humanity’s exterior to its divine value. To do otherwise is the old way—sin’s way. In Jesus, the new way has come.

Of course, and once again, Jesus is the ultimate demonstration of this perspective. The first example that comes to mind this morning is Zacchaeus, a despised tax collector in the sycamore tree (Luke 19:1-10). The Lord saw him for all that he was in his sinful past and present, and yet, He called to him, fully intent on giving him a better future. Why? Because Zacchaeus was innately valuable. Another example is the woman at the well in John 4:7-26. He knew her past. In fact, He proved it by telling her things about her life that no stranger would ever know, not even from a first impression’s hints. And yet, His goal was not to harness her to that past. It was to give her a new future. Again, why? Because she was His divine creation, and she was valuable.

In the end, my point is one of encouragement. I’ve written before that I have no problem finding plenty to write about every Sunday morning. That’s because there’s plenty around me to observe and investigate through the Gospel’s lens. And so, again, be encouraged to do the same, especially when it comes to people. Pay attention. Do so, remembering that each is a unique creation of God. I mentioned before that Saint Paul knew this. Truth is, the whole Bible knows it. The Psalmist certainly did, reminding us, “For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made” (Psalm 139:13-14). Every individual carries this intrinsic worth. With that as the starting gate to any first impression, no one should be dismissed offhand, but rather, there’s always room for second, third, and fourth impressions.

Active vs. Passive Learning

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As you may already know, the Life Team here at Our Savior in Hartland, Michigan, (along with some help from “The Body of Christ and the Public Square”) orchestrated a substantial event entitled “An Evening for Life” featuring Seth Gruber. If you know anything about Seth, then you know he’s a caffeinated firehose of valuable information. That’s why it only took a little more than three weeks of promotion to get 206 attendees from all around the state on a cold Thursday evening, some willing to drive a few hours to be with us. However, referring to these visitors as “attendees” seems insufficient. “Active learners” is more appropriate. Craving information, they actually got into their cars and drove to an event.

Conversely, if there’s one thing that bothers me about typical information exchanges, it’s the tendency some folks have toward spoon-feeding. For example, I wrote and shared something on Facebook a few weeks back in which I discussed a somewhat controversial theological topic. Sometime afterward, I received a private message from someone asking me to explain some unfamiliar terms I used in the post. First, the person wasn’t on my friend list, so I elected not to reply. If you know anything about Facebook Messenger, then you know that if you reply to someone outside your network, you are granting him full Messenger access. I try not to do that. Ever. The times I have, I’ve inevitably needed to block the person.

Second, and putting the best construction on things, my guess is that the person asking for the explanations must live in a place without adequate internet time or resources. Perhaps he lives in a Kath Kuni in the Himalayas or a cave in Afghanistan? However, if neither of these describes his actual plight, then I assume he can research the terms for himself. With a few taps at the computer, followed by a click or two with the mouse, he’d be on his way to learning anything and everything he’d ever hoped to know about the terms he’d never heard before. Instead, he wanted me to spend time writing it all out for him.

He wanted to be spoon-fed.

Now, before I go any further, I’ll admit to doing the same thing on occasion. The Thoma family has a family calendar. It’s synced to my phone. Still, rather than looking at the calendar, I’ll ask my wife, Jennifer, “Is there anything on tonight’s schedule that I should know about?” When I do this, I’m demonstrating passive learning. I have access to the information, but rather than doing my own investigating, I make the mistake of expecting her just to tell me. It’s lazy practice. I admit it.

Genuine learning isn’t lazy. It’s an active process. It takes work. Sure, there are things we learn passively, which is to say, we learn them without active engagement. Infants learn many things that way. They’re human sponges. I suppose there’s an element of passive learning for infants relative to language. They learn to speak as language is brought to them. But it doesn’t take long for the infant to become an active learner in the process, eventually engaging in language exploration. They begin making noises and sounding out words. Indeed, any parent will tell you that infants are the epitome of active learning in almost everything. They see something and, no matter what it is, reach out to explore it in every way they can. And none of their five senses is off limits, not even taste. My grandson, Preston, when he discovered his toes, guess where he eventually decided to put them?

Thinkers are active learners. There’s a chance I’m not dealing with an active learner when, let’s say, I post on Facebook, “William Federer will be one of the speakers at our upcoming conference,” and someone replies, “I’ve never heard of him? Who is he?” A reply like this irritates me because it expects me to present a detailed biography. I certainly could have provided a link to one in the post. However, not every hand needs to be held.

This leads me to something else.

Relative to intellectual lethargy, could it be that we’ve arrived at a time in history where it’s no longer possible to actually convince or convert anyone to a position other than the ones they already hold? What I’m saying is that, for virtue’s sake, I get the sense that most people consider themselves open-minded. And yet, are they passively or actively open-minded?

A passively open-minded person listens to whatever is being said but is only willing to consider and embrace those parts that align with what they already believe is true. They don’t want to do any thinking work. They don’t want to get up from their mental couch to answer another perspective’s knocks at the door. An actively open-minded person knows what they believe, and yet, while listening, searches for breakdowns, loopholes, or contradictions in not only the speaker’s argument but also their own belief system relative to the argument. In other words, they get up from the couch, open the door, and let the perspective into the house for a conversation. As they do, they put in the interrogative work. They ask questions. They offer content and counterpoints. They examine the topic from more than just their perspective, giving and taking along the way.

I think active learning also insists on active open-mindedness.

I guess what I’m wondering out loud right now is why so many seem to lean so heavily on passive learning styles, especially at a time in history when having a grasp on what’s going on is not only incredibly important but, at the same time, we have instant access to so much information. A few weeks back, I shared some of these thoughts with the teachers in our congregation’s school during our regular study of the Book of Concord. One teacher supposed part of the problem could be the overwhelming flood of content we encounter daily. With so many things happening at once and so much content to process, it’s easy to choose the spoon-fed route, preferring extracts from trusted sources rather than taking the time to do a deeper dive. Considering the person I mentioned at the beginning of this particular meandering, perhaps he wanted me to feed him the information because he trusts me. If so, I’m flattered. But my gut tells me it’s more likely that because social media is so overrun with memes, news snippets, and soundbites, he’s been trained to skim rather than study. But therein lies part of the problem.

Dependency on others to think for you—to distill complex ideas into more easily digestible pieces—robs a person of genuine growth.

Most often, controversial or challenging topics are not easily digestible. They take a little extra work, especially if the intent is to understand the argument and then formulate a barrier of truth relative to it. Sure, you can have a sense that transgenderism is weird. You can even know that the Bible stands against it as a perversion. But do you know where the Bible says this, and can you provide a convincing argument for why the Bible might speak this way? Do you know the topic’s relation to natural law, essential societal structures, the nature of male and female, terms like Imago Dei, or the fertile imagery of the mystery of Christ, the Groom, and the Church, His bride? There’s a lot more to the discussion than saying, “I think it’s weird, and I’m against it.”

I know my writings are longer than most you’d find on the internet. But regardless of the “less is more” inclination, I prefer a thorough wrestling with most topics. Snippets are fun, but they rarely close the loopholes.

Again, passivity in learning can be problematic. It’s happy enough to pursue the “tell me what to think” approach rather than investigating and thinking through something for oneself. The first results in echo chambers that never go anywhere. The second is intent on locating truth while buffeted with a firmer grasp on what makes it true.

The distinction between these two approaches has a blast radius that ripples out into the broader cultural landscape. I’m sure, like me, you’ve experienced those conversations with people that have devolved into name-calling, mainly because the debaters couldn’t get any deeper than their emotions. For example, as soon as I mentioned that James Lindsay would be a speaker at this year’s conference, I had someone essentially calling me a rotten pastor for “platforming” someone he deemed an enemy of Christ. But James isn’t an enemy of Christ. Of course, snippets won’t teach this. A deeper dive will. Even better, an interrogative conversation with the man reveals his person. That said, I’ve eaten meals and consumed whisky with the man in my own home. We’ve talked about lots of things, many of which were faith-related. If anything, he’s more open to an introduction to Christ than most. Passive learning is self-centered, and it won’t learn this about James Lindsay.

By contrast, it seems to me that active learning is born from a sense of humility. It approaches others from the perspective, “I’m not perfect, and I don’t know everything. What can I learn from you?” It begins with knowing that objective truth is real, but to truly discover it means admitting oneself is flawed. From there, it’s willing to hear from others. In James’ case, formerly atheistic but now more so agnostic, he’s willing to sit at a clergy friend’s bar in his basement and entertain things of God, while simultaneously, that same friend is willing to hear from his expertise relative to various topics of interest. I’ve learned a lot from James Lindsay about how mainstream Christianity got to a condition in which rock shows are considered worship and lesbian bishops are ordained. If I’d written him off as merely an enemy of Christ, I’d never have learned these things, and my theological prowess would be far lesser.

Of course, as with most things, Christians always have the upper hand on humble learning. We know by faith that objective truth exists. We understand that every human being is terminally flawed in sin, and as a result, objective truth will never be discovered from within. From there, we can say that active learning is fundamental to the Christian life. It’s not like the Bible rarely encourages believers to seek wisdom and understanding. It does so throughout its pages. For example, a ready text is Proverbs 2:2-5. Here, Solomon actually emphasizes active learning, urging us to incline our ears to wisdom and seek it as one searches for hidden treasure. Treasure hunting requires effort. It requires digging deep into the strata. Relative to God’s Word, when we dig deeply, we are not only better equipped to defend the faith (1 Peter 3:15), but there’s something else that happens. Speaking only for myself, the more I dig into the Word of God, the more I sense my mind is attuned to the mind of Christ that Saint Paul talks about in Philippians 2:5.

Circling back to where I started, you need to know the Bible warns against intellectual laziness and the dangers of relying solely on others for understanding. Another prime example is found in Saint Paul’s commendation of the Bereans in Acts 17:11. He praises them for examining and measuring the Scriptures against everything they’ve been taught. By doing so, they were successful in verifying what was true and avoiding what was false. This is a demonstration of active learning, which is in sharp contrast with the passive learners who risk falling into deception or shallow thinking (Ephesians 4:14).

Don’t be a passive learner. Instead, with diligence, embrace your responsibility to think deeply, both for the sake of personal growth and, more importantly, for carrying the Gospel to the world around you in thoughtful, persuasive, and respectful ways, just as the Bible portrays the Apostles and Evangelists before us (1 Peter 3:15-16, 2 Timothy 2:24-25, Colossians 4:5-6, Acts 17:2-3, Jude 1:22-23, Proverbs 16:21, and so many more).