Tag Archives: evelyn

It’s A Good Thing God Is In Charge

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This past Friday was somewhat chilly and yet beautifully sunny. Even if only for a moment, it was as if spring welcomed summer to the podium for a few words of encouragement. Smiling brightly, he comforted his onlookers, promising eventual warmth.

“It’s nice to see all of you,” he said to his winter-worn Michigan audience. “Not to worry,” he continued. “I’ll be back soon, and I intend to stay for a while.”

Evelyn and I smiled at summer’s joyful appearance, the sun beaming brightly as we made our way to the church and school. I would spend my Friday as I usually do, catching up on the previous week’s unfinished business. Evelyn would enjoy the fast-fleeting days of her eighth-grade school year.

Thankful to the Lord for the lovely day, we cued an appropriate song for the morning’s travel: “Mr. Blue Sky” by Electric Light Orchestra. Singing along, the morning’s joy was seemingly impenetrable. I smiled. Evelyn smiled. Another song played. It was “Brown Eyed Girl” by Van Morrison. Still, nothing changed. We sang and smiled and enjoyed the sun-filled landscapes passing along beside us.

But then, near the end of our journey, as is our way, we took a moment to listen to the news.

The first and only story we could stomach was about a man on trial for beating his five-year-old daughter to death. Living in their car, it seems she soiled herself one time too many in her sleep. In a rage, he pummeled her brutally. After a few moments of gurgling moans, the little girl went quiet.

“I think I really hurt her this time,” he said nonchalantly to his wife before taking a bite from a sandwich. Unaware that he’d killed her, he shot up with heroin and then continued along his way.

For as effortlessly happy as the morning had begun, suddenly, the sun’s rays annoyed my eyes, and the sky wasn’t as cloudless and blue as before. It was motionless and empty. The passing trees no longer adorned but loomed. There were more shadows than sunlit spaces.

While just as dreadful as so many other atrocities available to this devolving world, child abuse is the one crime that cooks my arteries more than most. It’s the epitomized juxtaposition of powerful and powerless, strong and weak, predator and prey. Evelyn’s first words were that the man should pay dearly for his crimes. I agreed. However, I didn’t interpret my agreement for her. The newscaster noted he’d been sentenced to 56 years in prison. Prison wasn’t a part of my initial calculation. I had something much, much worse in mind. And so, my initial words to Evelyn were, “It’s a good thing God is in charge.” Evelyn

Why am I sharing this with you? I suppose partly because today is Mother’s Day, and I’ll while driving to the church this morning, I was thinking about all the ways my wife, Jennifer, is such a wonderful parent to our children—how she loves them with all that she is. Anyone thinking this way will make comparisons, whether they realize it or not. The newscast, still fresh in my mind, interrupted my thoughts. I couldn’t imagine a parent doing what that man did.

I suppose another reason I’m sharing this is because there’s a better point to be made. Friday morning’s happenings coalesced as a reminder relative to faith’s presence.

I described a beautiful day unexpectedly charred by tragedy’s flame. And yet, our initial inclination to rejoice in God’s beautiful creation, even as it turned dark, remained steady into and through the tragic news. We had a choice of proverbial replies in that shocking moment. Our shared response could’ve been, “How could God let this happen?” But it wasn’t. We didn’t blame Him. Intuitively, we both knew better than to think we could manage this world and its inevitable dreadfulnesses more skillfully than God. Instead, we gathered around the position, “It’s a good thing God is in charge.” In a way, this was both confession and thanksgiving. It confessed darker inclinations toward another human being while showing gratitude for God’s gracious hand in all things. It admitted that while we may not know what’s going on, God knows, and with that, we can rest assured. 

Now, I’m not going to examine the problem of suffering. Indeed, the girl’s death is terrible. Again, it’s a good thing I was not in charge of the universe when it happened. In the meantime, I’ll simply say that such tragedies should not surprise us in this fallen world. Sin enjoys many capable hands, and each perpetrated awfulness is just one more fingerprint proving sin’s infectious reach. God told us it would be this way (Romans 5:12; 1 Corinthians 15:21). Following the fall into sin, He said to Adam, “Cursed is the ground because of you” (Genesis 3:17). Regardless of what you may have learned, this is not God cursing the earth. It was resultant. בַּֽעֲבוּרֶ֔ךָ is the word God used. “Because of you” is its translation. Adam was to blame. His action (or, more precisely, his inaction during Satan’s interaction and allure with Eve) injected the fatal poison. Still, we know that two short verses before in Genesis 3:15, God promised He would reach into and fix what was broken. The Messiah would come, and the curse would be turned back.

Having said these things, I’ll aim toward a conclusion by offering two quick observations. First, and similar to something I already said, when Christians don’t know what’s going on, not only can we trust in God’s perfect awareness and care, but we are empowered by the Holy Spirit for recalling what we do know, which is that God is by no means distant from this world. The most extraordinary proof is the cross. Behold the fulfillment of Genesis 3:15. Behold the suffering and death of God’s Son. Behold His intimate and inreaching love for a humanity mired in sin and destined for eternal condemnation.

Second, by the power of the Holy Spirit, Christians are equipped to endure this world’s bipolar mess. And it’s just that, a bipolar mess. No matter the road before you, life has sharp ups and downs. It swings back and forth suddenly. Still, by the Spirit’s power, a Christian can navigate both. In the good times, a Christian holds tightly to God, giving thanks for His kindliness. During the upheavals, a Christian holds tightly to God, too, assured that we are never left to our own devices and glad for His gracious care in all things, especially the care He showed by sacrificing His Son to save us from this temporary world for the unending world to come.

Let this be an encouragement to you today.

I Think It’s Gonna Be a Long, Long Time

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Here in Michigan, with the summer weather comes the bluer skies—the endlessly deeper sapphire skies. They’re beautiful, and they’re more than worth one’s staring. It’s supposed to rain today. That’s okay. We more than need it.

I installed a new stereo in my Jeep. The previous stereo had become somewhat rebellious. For example, it preferred to pause the music when I pressed the mute button. Also, it tended to begin its life anew at every stop. Five minutes at the gas station, and it would reset its clock, lose all the stations, and so much more. Sometimes, it wouldn’t even acknowledge me. I’d press a button, and it wouldn’t do anything. It’s now in a box in my basement.

The new stereo connects to my phone and its music applications, one of which is Spotify. On the way to school one day last week, Evelyn and I listened to whatever Spotify sent us. Elton John’s “Rocket Man” was one of its suggestions. Listening to that song beneath what was gradually becoming a clear blue sky stirred a particular memory for me. I described it to Evelyn. I told her that I heard that song while driving a week or so after my brother Michael died. It was in July 1995. The sky was a seamless blue. I remember leaning a little bit into the steering wheel of my truck to look upward through the windshield for a better view. I did this as Elton sang, “And I think it’s gonna be a long, long time….”

I was 22 years old at the time. My brother—my only brother—was 24 when he died. I remember looking into that infinitely vast sky and thinking it would be a very long time until I’d see him again.

After sharing that memory, I’m pretty sure I noticed Evelyn moving as inconspicuously as she could to wipe away some tears. She’s truly a lovely girl, empathetic in every way. Of course, I didn’t end the story without the Gospel truth, which I’d already shared in a simpler way. Yes, it would be a long time before I saw Michael again. It’s already been almost three decades since we were last together. Still, I will see him. That’s the promise. And I believe it.

My oldest daughter, Madeline, just graduated from high school. Her graduation party was yesterday. What a joy it was to spend time with so many friends. Naturally, as it is with many events in my life—my wedding, the births of my children, my ordination, and so many others—I’ve looked around each event’s scene and wished Michael could’ve been there. That happened at Madeline’s party. Certainly, I’ve always wished my children could’ve known him. And yet, I wasn’t thinking that way yesterday. Instead, more than once while visiting with so many people I cherish, I thought, I wish Michael could’ve been here to meet you. I know he’d have liked you as much as I do.

As the saying goes, each day, a day goes by. But when you love someone, the person’s absence hurts, and each day apart seems to have a thousand hours instead of only twenty-four.

I suppose for many of you, I’m not describing something unfamiliar. You know the sensation. You’ve experienced those moments when you’ve heard a song, taken in a scent, or seen a sight that swept you backward to a time with someone who right now is permanently out of reach.

Having just used the word “permanently,” I realize how strange that word is for Christians. Even with synonyms like “perpetually” and “forever,” for Christians, the truth is that these terms have an expiration date when paired with the out-of-reach nature Death seems to bring. For Christians, Death isn’t permanent. It isn’t forever.

There’s another saying that Death has a thousand doors, and we all find one. There’s truth in that statement. However, no matter its form, because Christ conquered Death, it becomes just another event in a believer’s mortal life—an entryway to a timeless unending with Christ so beautifully described as the shelter of His glorious presence, a place where believers “shall hunger no more, neither thirst anymore; the sun shall not strike them, nor any scorching heat. For the Lamb in the midst of the throne will be their shepherd, and he will guide them to springs of living water, and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes” (Revelation 7:16-17).

And by the way, this wonderful reality will occur among what Saint John called “a great multitude that no one could number” (v. 9). All believers in Christ will fill that multitude’s ranks. Michael is already there, along with all who’ve gone before us in the faith. I’ll be there one day. Someday my wife and children will be there. By faith in Christ, you’ll be there, too.

Until then, in a mortal sense, I think it’s gonna be a long, long time. But that’s okay. Time will end. But eternal life won’t. Knowing this, I can hear a song that prompts a glance toward the heavens and have a different longing as I do it, realizing that for every hour we’re apart from those who’ve died in the faith, there will be a limitless cadence of eternal hours together with them in our Savior’s presence. That same Savior, Jesus Christ, gives this to us because, in perhaps the simplest way, He knows the feeling. Believers are a part of His family. By His relationship to the Heavenly Father, He calls us His brothers and sisters (Mark 3:34-35, Romans 8:29, Philippians 2:8-11, Hebrews 2:11, 2 Corinthians 5:21). He loves us more than anything—enough to shed His blood—and He doesn’t want to be without us.

One last thing.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mean to make Death out to be no big deal. It is. That’s why, as I’ve said countless times before, I always give Death a capital “D.” Death is not our friend. It isn’t our helper. But also, it isn’t something we must fear because it isn’t our master. The real Master, Jesus, has declawed, defanged, and defeated it. That’s why Paul can recite rhetorically, “O death, where is your victory? O death, where is your sting?” (1 Corinthians 15:55).

Again, Christ loves us more than anything. Not even Death can keep Christ’s brothers and sisters from Him. Instead, Death must hand them over to the Lord every single time. That’s something worth pondering, no matter the sky’s demeanor.

Family Matters Most

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Yesterday was my daughter Evelyn’s 13th birthday, and I’m not kidding when I say she has been looking forward to the day for quite some time. Becoming a teenager is a memorable thing. It’s an even bigger deal for a girl who dearly loves her family and wants so much for them to share the moment with her.

Evelyn really is that kind of girl. If she is experiencing joy, she wants that same joy to be experienced by others. I think that’s one reason why she is so invested in her church family. She loves the Lord. He has blessed her through some pretty incredible challenges, and He’s done it in ways that have brought her tremendous joy. As a result, and firstly, she’s drawn toward being in worship with others in her church. What I mean is that even though she’s already in worship every Sunday, she also attends on Wednesdays—even though she doesn’t have to. When she was in midweek catechesis, she attended Wednesday evening worship by default because I brought her to school in the mornings, and then she’d stay through for her class, which happens right after evening worship. She’s confirmed now and no longer in midweek catechesis. But she still insists on staying with me all day to attend Wednesday evening worship. Secondly, she’s drawn toward making sure the place where worship happens is in good order—that the processional cross is in place, that the hymnals are straightened, that any scrap of out-of-place paper is removed. She wants the sacred spaces to be kept in a way that prevents others from being distracted from the joy God intends to give.

She’s also the kind of girl, as I said, who loves her immediate family—a family that, as the youngest in the bunch, she can see is beginning to spread its wings and fly in multiple directions, often making it difficult for everyone to be together. But she wants that togetherness. She so often wants nothing more than to have all of us in the same place at the same time. It bothers her when even one of us is missing. And rightfully so. Who wants to be apart from the ones they love the most? Not Evelyn. And her 13th birthday celebration all but guaranteed it. We’d all be there. And not only that, but we were all relatively commitment-free. She’d be able to spend the whole day at home with her family doing whatever she wanted, having set her sights on time with her siblings, the consumption of chili dogs (her requested meal), opening presents, and then plunging into some pie and ice cream a little later.

But then I got a call that threatened to jeopardize this greatest wish and a long-anticipated day.

The call came in on Thursday morning. I was asked to give the opening prayer at the Trump rally in Warren, Michigan, on Saturday afternoon. It was an honor to be asked, to be sure. It’s something that, if you say no, you never get asked again. I had a choice to make. I told the caller that I couldn’t say yes without checking on something else first, and I assured her I’d call her right back. As soon as I hung up, I called Jennifer. Like me, she knew the day belonged to Evelyn. With that, our conversation was brief. We agreed that while this was an incredible honor, whatever Evelyn preferred would determine my answer. She was most important to both of us, and quite simply, that was that.

I walked down to the school, peeked into Evelyn’s classroom, and motioned for her to join me in the hallway. Reminding her of something that needed no reminder—the arrival of her birthday in two days—I started to tell her about what I’d just been invited to do that same day. Before I could even begin to explain that she would have the final word and that I would be absolutely fine with saying no to the request, her eyes lit up, and she burst into, “Can I go with you?! Can I go?! Can I go?!” She took a quick breath and then, true to form, added, “Can we all go?! Can the whole family go?!”

“Of course, we can all go,” I said. “But it’s your birthday—and it’s an extra-special one. You’ve been looking forward to being home with the whole family and having an easy day. I want that to be what happens if that’s what you want. Whatever you want to do is what we’ll all do. Just know I intend to be with you on your 13th birthday. There’s absolutely no way I’d miss it.”

“Will I get to meet President Trump if I go?” she asked. “Can we all meet him together?” she continued, making sure the prospect of a unique birthday joy would be her family’s, too.

“Absolutely,” I said. “We’ll all meet the President together.”

“Really?!” she replied, sounding even more excited than before.

“Yes, really,” I said. “They’ll give our whole family special seats right up front. When it’s time, they’ll call me on stage to offer the prayer, and then sometime afterward, when President Trump arrives, they’ll come and get us and take us back to meet him before he goes up to speak. We’ll get to talk with him and take some pictures.”

“Oh, this is going to be the best birthday ever!” she exclaimed. “And we’ll all be together!”

And that’s pretty much where it ended. Evelyn gave me an incredibly tight hug, and then I shepherded her back to class. The rest is what it is. Walking back to my office, I called and said yes, even though I was fully prepared to say no and never to be asked again. With that, we all went together—sadly, except for Harrison. He had a very sore throat on Friday and felt terrible when he awoke on Saturday. He preferred to stay home and sleep. We all missed him, that’s for sure. Each of us said that more than once throughout the evening. Still, it was quite an eventful night. While waiting in the Green Room before my time on stage, I met and visited with a number of folks many of us only know from a distance—such as Mike Lindell and Margorie Taylor Green. One notable moment was spent with Dick Morris. Before the family and I were ushered back to meet the President, he leaned over to ask if I’d read Erik Metaxas’ book on Luther. I had. And so we talked somewhat superficially about its contents. Along the way, I mentioned Luther’s theology of the Two Kingdoms, and that led him to ask me to explain it. I did, and he seemed convinced. And why wouldn’t he? It is the best, most precise handling of biblical Church and State theology.

Still, and as Evelyn is likely to tell you with glee, the best moment for all of us is when she got a cheerful and welcoming “Happy Birthday, Evelyn!” from President Trump followed by a warm handshake and a few pictures together with her family.

Now, I suppose I felt moved to tell you about my initial interaction with Evelyn during school because it shaped what I would eventually say during the prayer before the more than 20,000 people in attendance. If you watched the broadcast, you’d remember that I prayed for many things—religious liberty and protection from unjust laws, courage among citizens, preservation of objective truth, an unraveling of the wickedness of abortion, and God’s mighty hand for crushing Proposal 3. I asked God for these things and more. But smack dab in the middle of visiting with these requests on paper, I was first moved to scribble that our gracious Lord would restore admiration for family. In essence, I asked that we, as a nation, would be reminded of just how wonderful the bond between a father, mother, and children truly is. I did this not only because I know very well the blessings that come from having a family of my own but because God is the generous architect of the human household, and He has put the estate of family in place as a fundamental underpinning for all societies of all time. When families break, communities get weaker. When families are redefined, institutions lose more of their grip on what is sure.

If a society is to endure, it must preserve families.

I’ve also written in other places that the human family forms the quintessential transmission lines for passing this knowledge along from one generation to the next. When families come undone, when these lines are torn down, again, societies lose touch with their very identities. Families are essential to a nation’s identity. Knowing this, if I can’t first choose my family over myself, I harm the ones I love and do my country and its future generations a terrible disservice. The decision to say yes or no to a request like this might not appear to be that impactful, but in the end, its blast radius reaches further into a future than any of us could ever know. The funny thing is, the love I have for my daughter and the love she has for me made it incredibly easy to see. The love my whole family has for each other made it even more apparent.

Remember that.

Wives, love your husbands. No matter what, choose them first. Husbands, love your wives. Prefer them above everything else. Parents, love your children. Embrace them before embracing the things you think might be most beneficial to you personally. Do these things and enjoy a sturdy family, a gift of the Lord well-protected from a culture seeking to divide it. Our floundering 21st-century society needs you to do this, now more than ever.

[To view the prayer, click here.]

There’s Someone I’d Like You to Meet

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I had an interesting thought that came to me during the Elders meeting yesterday morning. It happened while leading the group through a portion of Article IV of the Apology of the Augsburg Confession. Essentially, I was reminded of something that happened a few weeks back while watching my daughter, Evelyn, during her horseback riding lessons.

At one point during her lesson, I could tell just by looking at her that her blood sugar was getting low, and so as she lapped the place where I was observing, I asked her how she was feeling. She confirmed that she was a bit tired and feeling a little woozy. Of course, the last thing you want to be doing with low blood sugar is riding a horse, and so I asked her to come back around to me so I could give her a juice bottle. I knew after a few big gulps, she’d start to feel better and be able to keep going. Besides, she wanted to keep riding. It bothers her when her Type 1 diabetes gets in the way of her abilities to just be a normal kid. With that, she turned her steed (whose name is Moe) in a circle and trotted up beside the platform where I was sitting. I gave her the juice bottle. She took a few big gulps, gave it back to me, and then gave Moe the cue to proceed.

Strangely, Moe was slow to move.

When he finally did—and I know this is going to sound weird—he seemed to be acting judiciously, as if he knew Evelyn needed him to be a little more careful with her. The more I watched, the more I noticed his apparent awareness. For example, when Evelyn gives him the cue for cantering, which is a relatively swifter pace of travel somewhere between and trot and a gallop, usually Moe hops right into it. But not this time. Evelyn gave the cue and Moe was slower to engage, taking a few extra paces to transition into it rather than taking off abruptly.

Again, the more I watched, the more I noticed these things. He didn’t take the turns as roughly as before. He added a few extra paces to his stops.

Intrigued, I grabbed my phone and did a search online to see what I could find out about the intellectual abilities of horses. I wanted to know whether or not they actually had the capacity for caring all that much about the welfare of the rider. I was surprised to learn that the so-called science is up in the air on the subject. For every article that said horses form emotional bonds with their riders or caregivers, another would frame their behavior as more animalistic and instinctual. In other words, they could be trained to act in ways that make it look like they care.

I can’t say for sure. Although, I’d say for my part, I believe the former analysis rather than the latter. I say this not only because of what I observed over the course of Evelyn’s thirty-minute lesson, but because of one article that suggested horses actually do have the cognitive ability for communicating with humans. Essentially, a study was performed proving horses are more than capable of telling their trainers when they are too hot or too cold. The horses in the study, if they were too hot, they would touch their noses to a certain placard indicating they didn’t want to wear a blanket. If they were cold, they’d do the same thing with a different placard, indicating they wanted a blanket. In my mind, if horses can think certain things through and ultimately tell us what they want, then I think it’s likely they can take in what we’re communicating and reply through deliberate action. Just watching Moe with Evelyn, I think he knew something wasn’t quite right with her, and he was watching out for her. He was one way, and then when she changed, he changed, and not in a mindless way, but in a measured way.

As you might expect, this sent me into the realm of theology.

I don’t know who said it, but there is the quote which goes something like, “Horse sense is the thing a horse has which keeps it from betting on people.” In other words, even a horse knows better than to expect goodness in people, let alone count on them for much anything at all. A jesting proverb, and yet a truthful one acknowledging the innate sinfulness of Man. Just by watching Moe with my daughter, I couldn’t help but recall past and present interactions with certain people who’ve proven themselves far less capable of the simple kindnesses being shown even by this horse. Admittedly, however, in that same moment I felt shame nudging me for being just as capable of reckless unkindness. There’ve been times when I was annoyed and short-tempered. There have been times when someone else’s need was of little consequence to me and I cantered along to other things unconcerned for their wellbeing.

But here was Moe, a creature designed and given by God, showing me a better way.

I don’t know what it is about moments like this, but when I experience them, I almost always discover some sort of lesson ready and waiting in the motion-filled details. And each one usually involves being neck-deep in silent confession with my Lord, which, I’d say, is a good thing. Through the combined lens of repentance and faith, I’m forever being reminded of just how undeserving I am of every ounce of concern God gives. And yet, He continues to give it (1 John 1:8-9). He doesn’t want me to fall. He wants to carry me through to the end of my days securely in His care. Thankful for His grace, I become more aware of the opportunities faith reveals for a humble approach in my dealings with others as I wrestle to put aside the “self” in order to show Christ-like care to others—even those I’d consider to be my enemies.

To come at it from another angle, without genuine Christian humility, it’s very possible that the wrongs we exact in the lives of others, in comparison to the wrongs they measure against us, will never be weighed by the same scales. When this is true, nothing ever becomes reconcilable. Our deeds will always be justified and theirs will always be condemnable. You know, I should probably just go ahead and be blunt in this regard: If you’re someone who rarely sees the guilt of his or her own sin in any given situation, but rather is forever innocent, always being on the receiving end of the offensive actions of others, I know a horse you should meet. His name is Moe, and I’d be glad to arrange an introduction.

Dying to Meet You

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Do you have time for a quick story? Since you’re here, I’ll go ahead and share it.

We took a phone call here at Our Savior this past Friday. I didn’t answer it. Nikki, our Parish Administrator, did. It was someone calling to chat with me. Even though I wasn’t necessarily steeped in anything crucial, Nikki took a message for me. She does this because she knows that while technically Friday is my day off—and I probably shouldn’t tell you this—but I’m always in the office on Fridays. I have a few regularly scheduled appointments in the morning, and then after that, I use the rest of the day to catch up on things I didn’t have time for during the week. She runs block for me to let me do my thing.

Anyway, a woman called to let me know she didn’t appreciate the comparison I’d made in a recent radio bit equating Christians who justify skipping worship on a regular basis to so-called believers who justify voting for a candidate who favors abortion.

To be fair, the woman wasn’t rude with her critique—which was a welcomed difference in comparison to so many other calls or email messages I’ve received from metro-Detroit listeners. Instead, Nikki described her as someone who, with a conversational tone, was troubled “by likening someone absent from church to a Christian who’d support abortion,” and her hope was that I’d reconsider broadcasting the particular segment in its current form.

I’ll admit the association is a brutal one. And I’m more than willing to reconsider my words. The problem is, I didn’t write the script on this particular radio bit. My daughter did. Evelyn’s the one who made the observation and ultimately formed the comparative conclusion. I was so inspired by her insight, I wrote down what was spoken between us and together we recorded the 60-second radio spot right then and there. Again, I put into the microphone what I said. Evelyn put into it what she said. The brief conversation fit perfectly between the 15-second intro and the 15-second outro of my one-minute-and-thirty-seconds of airtime.

The context was simple. While waiting in my office before school, Evelyn was scanning the images from one of our previous church pictorial directories. Turning the pages, she stumbled upon the picture of someone she didn’t recognize. Second only to her dad, Evelyn practically lives here at Our Savior. She knows everyone’s name. And if she doesn’t know a member’s name, she certainly knows all the faces. Looking at a pictorial directory of people officially labeled as “members,” one holding the kindly faces of countless people she considers as members of her Christian family, it was natural for her to ask about someone she didn’t recognize. I didn’t say much at first, but I was careful not to be deceptive. Had I dodged her question, she would’ve known. Remember, like me, she’s here every Sunday. If she doesn’t recognize you, it’s probably because you don’t attend. That being the case in this particular instance, when she asked for the identity of the person, I said very nonchalantly, “She’s a member of the congregation, but she just doesn’t come to church very often.”

“Well, I’ve never seen her before in my life,” she replied, sounding somewhat concerned—just as I’d expect from this little girl with such a huge heart for her church family. “Does she work on Sundays?”

“No,” I answered, again trying not to give her any more information than she required.

“So, she could be here on Sundays?”

“I suppose.”

Evelyn thought for a moment, and then she laid the situation out unembellished. “How can she consider herself a member of a church she doesn’t even want to attend?”

My answer: “That’s a really good question, honey.”

Her next uninhibited reply, being the ardent pro-life girl that she is: “That’s kind of like people who call themselves Christian but support abortion. It just doesn’t make any sense.”

First of all, can you tell Evelyn is in tune with what’s going on around her, both in her church and her world? Second, there you have it. Even a child understands the inconsistency. How can we claim to be a devoted follower of someone we want nothing to do with? Using the same logic, how can we claim faith in Christ who is the Word made flesh (John 1:14), and yet be in opposition to the Word of God when it comes to topics like abortion?

It just doesn’t make any sense, and my little girl knew it.

Of course as adults, there will always be plenty of unknown angles to Evelyn’s observation that we’ll discover. COVID-19 has made things a little crazier these days. However, rest assured that the person in the picture was MIA long before COVID-19. That being said, be careful not to square the angles for escape from her scrutiny’s sting with whatever illegitimate excuses at whatever moment work best for you. And be sure to take even greater care not to overcomplicate or find offense in what’s been laid bare. If you do, you’re sure to miss a simple truth revealed by way of a simple faith, the same kind of child-like faith described by the Lord in Matthew 18:3 and now being demonstrated by a little girl who sees time with her Savior, concern for the members of her church family, and doing everything humanly possible to protect the lives of unborn children as essential and non-negotiable to the Christian life.

Her evaluation was simple, but it was a good one. I suppose in essence, it reminds us that even as our God cannot be in contradiction with Himself, He does not grant us space for being in contradiction with Him, either. This is built into the Lord’s announcement, “Whoever is not with me is against me, and whoever does not gather with me scatters” (Matthew 12:30).

Now, to begin wrapping all of this up, right after Nikki told me about the call on Friday, I posted on Facebook the very first thing that came to mind:

“I’m beginning to think that for some Christians, worship and Bible study are so precious they feel they need to ration them. Go to church.”

Yes, it was a sarcastic play on words.

“Well, I don’t support abortion, so don’t put my skipping church into the same category.”

But they are in the same category. Don’t have other gods. Don’t misuse God’s name. Don’t skip church. Don’t kill. Don’t lie. Don’t steal. These are all a part of the same list of things we do to thumb our noses at God, and ultimately, they’re things that keep us separated from Him. And yet, our Lord reaches to us by His Gospel. He empowers us there by His Holy Spirit for acknowledging our dreadful disobedience. Only by the power of the Gospel can we know to repent of these Sins and be changed to desire faithfulness (Romans 1:16).

I don’t necessarily know what many of the other churches around us are doing, but opportunities for holy worship are plentiful here at Our Savior. We have two Divine Services on Sunday. We enjoy the Office of Matins on Monday, another Divine Service on Wednesday, and an abbreviated Responsive Prayer (liturgics) service on Thursday.

And God is continually blessing all of our time together during these occasions for worship.

Dear Christians, there’s no need to ration your time with Christ. There’s an abundance! Indeed, the Lord is here, and His merciful gifts are overflowing all week long. Surely you can make it to one of those services to receive from the bounty that belongs to those who are His own? Wear your mask if you want to. Or don’t. No one is judging anyone in this regard. And why would we? The goal is simply to gather with the Lord and receive His care just as He desires to give it.

Quite honestly, I say all of this with a rather sizable concern in mind. For me personally, it’s one thing to be unrecognizable to Evelyn. Truthfully, if you are yet to meet her, you are missing out. But it’s a thing of far greater terror—the greatest terror there is—to be unrecognizable to Christ; to be one to hear Him say at one’s last hour, “I never knew you. Away from me…” (Matthew 7:23).

Go to church. You belong there. And even if you don’t feel like you belong just yet, go anyway. Christ is dying to meet you. Well, “died” to be more precise. And I know a church full of people who are eager to make the introduction.