Summer is Coming

In case you were wondering, at the time of this writing, there are 184 days until the first official day of summer. You might think I’m saying this because I’m already exhausted by winter. The only problem with your assumption is that winter doesn’t officially begin for two more days. Technically, we’re still in the fall.

Interestingly, to say “still in the fall” is to speak a phrase with more than one connotation, and no matter which you mean, the evidence of its actuality is there in support.

Take a look outside. The trees are bare. The leaves are scattered and damp beneath a recent layer of snow. The air is frigid. The sky is palled with clouds. There’s no arguing that the earth’s current position in relation to the sun is more than a few spins on the planet’s axis away from summer—half a year, to be exact. For me, this is a tiresome knowledge that can only be moderated through artificial means or by deliberate distraction. I keep a sun light in my office. Its light is weirdly simulated, but in the middle of a soul-dampening season that sees the sun disappearing completely sometimes as early as 5:00pm, it helps, even if only a little. In tandem, I stay busily distracted. I find that if I’m not thinking about the sky’s blue potential, I’m not necessarily missing it, and I’m less affected by its current grays.

Of course, there’s another meaning to “still in the fall” that we shouldn’t overlook. It hearkens back to the terminally unfortunate moment recorded in Genesis 3; that swift instant when, through self-inflicted grievousness, Mankind destroyed God’s perfect creation and positioned himself as far from God as physically and spiritually possible. The evidence mirroring this fall is plentiful. It’s all around us, sometimes subtly, and other times obviously. But either way, it is as discoverable as the seasonal image I described before.

It was subtly visible to me a few nights ago while working on a puzzle with Jennifer and the kids. We’d finished a 1,000-piece puzzle, and after a day or so of admiring the fruits of our long-suffering work, within a few minutes, we’d taken it apart and put it back in the box. In other words, what took days to complete was destroyed in seconds. Similarly, it was obvious to all of us by what happened in Mayfield, Kentucky, a town founded in 1824 and home to countless generations of families. In only a few minutes, the town was all but wiped from the map by a tornado.

To be “still in the fall” means that we exist in a world that continues to prove, not only that it is horribly infected by the destructive powers of Sin and Death, but that both it and its inhabitants are completely impotent against being consumed by them. It’s a place where this often plays out in subtle, but sinister, reversals. It’s a place in which one can claim Christianity, but be perfectly fine with cohabitation. Or perhaps cohabitation is admittedly offensive, but so is telling a Christian he or she is a walking contradiction for claiming Christ but only attending worship at Christmas and Easter. This same world is a place in which the bad we hear about someone is easily believed and the good is suspicious. It’s a place where lies easily outpace what’s objectively true. It’s a place where devout self-interest outguns concern for the neighbor. It’s a place in which one little disagreement can cause long term relationships and everything that goes with them to fall like leaves from an autumnal tree, having become completely disposable. It’s a place in which so many things unfold before us as reminders that this world exists in darkness, and no matter how hard we try, there’s no man-made light that can pierce its blanketing madness. There’s no artificial distraction vivid enough to keep its dreary sorrows apart and contained.

Only the real summer sun will do.

The official season of fall will end in a few days. When it does, we’ll cross over into the deathly hibernation of winter. It’s appropriate for Christmas to arrive at this precipice. Right in the middle of a downward dismalness anticipating and becoming Death, a Son is born. And not just any son, but rather the One God promised to send who would free Mankind from Sin, Death, and the devil’s ghastly grip (Genesis 3:16). Only this Son will do. He is God in the flesh. He is the incarnational invasion of God’s summertime love for a dying world filled with inert sinners. His presence is the incontestable assurance of a springtime restoration leading to eternal life—which He intends to be fully realized in the summer-like joy of paradise.

Jesus of Nazareth is this Gospel Son.

I suppose I should end by pointing out that our lives are not absent these wonderful Gospel images during the fall and winter. Sometimes obvious, and sometimes subtle, they’re there. An evergreen is a perfect example. Something that has become an emblem of Christmas, evergreen trees and bushes are subtle reminders accessible to us no matter the season. They remain thickly verdant with life all year long—just like a Christian’s hope born from the promise fulfilled in the Christ-child of Bethlehem. But then there are the obvious snapshots of the Gospel, too: the Word taught and proclaimed, the Absolution of Sins, Holy Baptism, the Lord’s Supper. Although, “snapshot” is probably not the best word to explain these things. These wonderful gifts of God are far more than images. They are tangible invasions of the most holy God—moments He has instituted, moments doused in the divine forgiveness that not only serves us while we are “still in the fall,” but also in place to prepare and then tie us to the promise of an eternal future in God’s heavenly summer.

I pray you will remember these things as you make your way into the Christmas celebration—and the rest of the Church Year, for that matter. Know that God loves you. Know that the Savior born of Mary is the proof. Know by this wonderful celebration that the winter of Sin and Death is not permanent. Summer is coming.

Contradiction

There are plenty of lessons to be learned with age. I know this, as I’m sure you do, too. Perhaps like me, I’m guessing that if you sat and flipped through the pages of a photo album, one containing images chronicling the expanse of your life, you’d be able to reach into each grainy portrait to retrieve a lesson, perhaps something you know and understand now that you didn’t before that particular moment. Some of the lessons were hard-learned through trial, error, or struggle. Others were simple realizations born from the natural circumstances of an ever-unfolding life.

I have a picture on my shelf that includes me, Dinesh D’Souza, and Michael Shermer. Most folks know who Dinesh D’Souza is. Michael Shermer is the founding publisher of “Skeptic” magazine. I have to say, when it comes to critical analysis, he’s no slouch. Before the debate, I read his book “Giving the Devil His Due.” I figured I’d better have some sort of grasp on the fiber of his being before attempting to engage in conversation with him. I’m glad I did. Not only did it make our time together much more gratifying—and I think, in the end, helped forge a genuine friendship—but I discovered the book wasn’t completely unenjoyable. In fact, it tested the fences of my own understanding of God—who He is and how He operates. I wouldn’t recommend giving it to an unchurched (or de-churched) high school or college student. Although, having learned rather recently that many high school students are entering universities in need of serious remedial reading assistance, unless they can dig deeper than emojis and SMS language, they might not get past the first few pages before feeling the urge to give up and watch gamer videos on YouTube. The book doesn’t spoon-feed the reader. It requires some effort.

Anyway, the picture I mentioned before was taken in my office after the debate between D’Souza and Shermer we hosted here at Our Savior in 2020. In the photo, we’re raising whisky-filled glasses in a toast. I remember the moment very well. I remember the evening’s discussion. When I look at the photo, I remember a lesson learned. Actually, I should say I learned several lessons, but the one I remember when I look at the picture is this: Humans are definitely skilled at reconciling the most glaring of contradictions. In other words, we can find ourselves trapped by inconsistencies, whether that be our behavior, words, or whatever, and yet we always seem to find a way to legitimize them, to justify them, to make them fit seamlessly together.

I won’t go into the details of the conversation that nurtured this discovery. I’ll just say it was definitely demonstrated. It was subtle, but also very apparent. Having experienced this indirect instance against the backdrop of two men of incredible intellect, I’ve learned to be much more observant, to listen more closely, and to respond more cautiously in most situations—more so than ever before. Doing so, I’m better able to see when I (or anyone I’m conversing with) have left the land of objective truth and entered into the realm of subjectivity. To flesh this out a little, I’ll give you a less cryptic example from current events.

Kyle Rittenhouse—the teen acquitted in Kenosha, Wisconsin for killing two attackers, one of whom had a handgun—had the charge leveled against him by the prosecutors (and countless onlookers) that he shouldn’t even have been in the situation to begin with, let alone armed. With that, it’s been the crux of so many that he provoked the incident. For the sake of clarity, Rittenhouse’s father lives in Kenosha, which helps make sense of his involvement; and the judge dismissed the charge that he was carrying his weapon illegally. Still, even without these things being said, a glaring contradiction emerges from the prosecutors’ charge. While they ask what reasons Rittenhouse had for being where he was—which, objectively speaking, it appears there were a several—they appear completely disinterested in the reason for the attackers being there, all three of whom had serious criminal histories. I’ve seen little discussion on this issue. Perhaps worse, it was established early on that the man who aimed the pistol at Rittenhouse was a convicted felon, namely, a pedophile. What’s a convicted felon doing with a gun—and in a city being burned to the ground, no less?

It seems the concern for one but not the other uncovers a rather glaring contradiction.

Another example I’ve been thinking about a lot lately is the visceral anger being expressed by parents in relation to local school districts around the country. I read an article in “The Federalist” last week that sorted out what’s been troubling me. Yes, parents are mad that they’re being excluded from participating in their children’s education, and now they’re fighting back. Admittedly, they should be mad. Even better, I’m glad parents are finally leaning into these radical agendizing institutions. The ideologues at their helms need to be reminded that if anyone is to be considered sovereign in the parent/school relationship, it’s the parents. But what’s bothered me for so long is that these same parents have already been more than willing to relinquish so many of their parental responsibilities to the state. Long before feeding them into all-consuming sports, so many already served their kids up to “before care” and “after care” programs that pretty much handle all of the basic food, medical, and educational needs children require from the time they wake up to when they go to bed. Parents don’t need to feed them breakfast or dinner. They don’t have to help them with homework. They don’t have to help them navigate sexual or social concerns. The schools have programs for all of it.

Parents gave their kids to the state a long time ago, and now they’re mad when the state assumes the supreme role of parent? The contradiction here is piercing.

And lest we lose a molecule of honesty we have in this regard, this stuff isn’t just happening in the world around us. We see these contradictions in the Church, too. A person gossips, and when confronted, demands the benefit of the doubt. Another person complains after a long work week about Sunday morning worship being too early, only to be found standing in line at Walmart at 4:00am on Black Friday. Another person takes offense that his church didn’t reach out often enough over the years he was absent, saying he expected more from Christians. Another claims strict faithfulness to the Bible while heralding women’s ordination, the right to abortion, or defending his or her child’s homosexual disposition.

Before I go any further, I suppose I should at least give a nod to Aristotle’s Law of Contradiction (or Non-Contradiction, as it’s sometimes called). The Law of Contradiction is a relatively simple principle, but for as simple as it is, it’s necessary to logic and foundational to basic communication between individuals. In its most elementary sense, it establishes that two antithetical premises cannot both be true. In other words, red cannot be blue—or to use the philosopher’s language, “red” cannot simultaneously be “not red.” Perhaps more interestingly, no small number of philosophers in history worried that a society found abandoning this very simple law would have poisoned itself in a way leading to certain death. I wonder what that means for America, a country where science is no longer science, where a man can menstruate and an unborn human child is not, in fact, a human life.

As you can see, glaring contradictions abound in every aspect of our lives, and the fact that human beings have the uncanny ability to reconcile them in their favor proves something innately dark to humanity. The Bible knows what it is. For starters, take a trip through texts like Ephesians 2:3, 1 Corinthians 2:14, Psalm 51:5, Genesis 8:21, Romans 5:19, Romans 8:7 and you’ll likely figure out what it is. It’s Sin. Even further, God’s Word establishes the necessary boundaries for identifying Sin, not only by revealing and then measuring the specifics of God’s holy law (the Ten Commandments) against our lives, but also by confirming the Law of Contradiction as a very real thing at work in Natural Law. The Scriptures do this when the Apostle John announces so succinctly, “No lie is of the truth” (1 John 2:21); or when Saint Paul describes God by declaring, “He cannot deny himself” (2 Timothy 2:13). Of course, there are countless others, and by all of them, the Bible is not only affirming the existence of truth, but also reminding us that when we make excuses that justify our contradictions, it’s likely we’re on a dangerous trajectory aimed away from truth.

The fact that humans are so easily inclined to do this once again proves that the Sin-nature goes much deeper than we could have ever expected. We learn that Sin has burrowed comfortably into our souls and does not want to let go.

So what do we do?

Once I finish typing this note, I’m going to finish the sermon for this morning, which in its current course, spends a lot of time in the epistle appointed for today from 1 Thessalonians 5:1-11. It’s there that Saint Paul says pretty straightforwardly, “For you yourselves are fully aware…”

Indeed, God has not left us ignorant of the predicament. His holy Word answers the question. To deliver us from the darkness, He has given His Son, Jesus Christ (John 3:16-17). Trusting in Him and the Gospel Word of His wonderful work, we are different. We are attuned. We are aware. It’s from this that Saint Paul can assume there remains very little left in this world to surprise us like a thief (v. 4). We are no longer children of the darkness, but rather “children of light, children of the day” (v. 5). We can see what’s going on and not be duped. We can watch what’s happening and not be startled. In this particular text, Paul makes the case that not even the sudden return of Christ in glory at the Last Day will catch us unaware. We cling to truth. Truth keeps us prepared.

The text ends with Paul urging the reader to “encourage one another and build one another up” (v. 11). Consider this morning’s eNews message an encouragement to you to continue holding fast to the Word of God for discerning the world around you. Let it teach the lessons you’ll learn along the timeline of your life, many of which will be camera-captured and preserved as memories to be revisited. Let it be the ultimate source of revealed truth to you. Let it bring you to the knowledge of your sinfulness—to the seriousness of your devout commitment to “self” and the sinful contradictions we so often try to justify. From there, follow its lead as it tells you of the One who took your place in Sin on the cross, giving to you a new heart and a willing spirit that has more than enough muscle for arising from contradiction’s trap and aligning with faithfulness (Psalm 51:10-12).