Tag Archives: faith

Wisdom and Greatness

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What makes a person wise?

The default answer for many Christians (and it’s a good answer) is to recite Proverbs 9:10: “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom…” Although, take care to notice King Solomon refers to faith (the fear of the Lord) as wisdom’s beginning. A beginning, by nature, leads to other things. And so, what comes in the second half of the verse makes sense: “and the knowledge of the Holy One is insight.”

Insight is born from faith. Insight discerns and then acts along life’s way.

Just so you know, my question was prompted by the text of Job 32:9. I crossed paths with it this morning during my short devotion. The text reads:

“It is not the great that are wise, nor the aged that understand judgment.”

I explored the context of the words, and as it would go, Elihu is the one who spoke them. It seems to me that from among Job’s so-called friends, Elihu was the only one who really tried to help Job as God would desire, which explains why neither Job nor God rebuked him in the final analysis. It’s from that angle we can learn from Elihu’s words. They resonate with Godly authenticity. Essentially, he speaks them to dispel some of the foolishness of Job’s critics. The first point he makes for Job is that just because someone is considered great does not mean wisdom inhabits his or her innards. And Elihu’s right. You and I both know people who’ve attained the title of greatness in this world, and yet have done so in ways that were not all that wise or virtuous. Look at Hollywood and pick a celebrity. Consider Washington DC and choose a politician.

Taking that point a little further, Elihu adds that age isn’t necessarily relevant to one’s ability to wield wise discernment. This is definitely true. While I know plenty of older folks I’d consider wise, I know plenty more undeserving of the descriptor. The man in the White House is an example. I’d trust a salamander to better understand the difference between right and wrong before trusting Joe Biden. On the flip side, I also know people well beneath my age who have firm grips on insight’s steering wheel and understanding’s chrome gear-shifter. Charlie Kirk is one of those people. He’s hard to outthink, and when it comes to discernment, he’s pretty solid. When he hits the gas pedal, my first inclination is to get in the backseat and simply enjoy the ride.

Still, I suppose the question remains: What makes a person wise?

Or perhaps thinking from another angle—since Elihu brought it up—maybe I should also be asking, “What makes a person great?”

Interestingly, and perhaps paradoxically, the people in my life I’d label as great are usually the ones who don’t see themselves as being all that spectacular to begin with. What’s more, no matter what they do, their labors always seem to be aimed at faithfulness to Christ. Again, paradoxically, this most often results in them being counted as lesser to their friends, family, and co-workers in an onlooking world. The world may appreciate them as people, but they don’t necessarily consider them among the greats.

The first example that comes to mind in this regard are the parents who do what they can to protect their children from cultural influences—namely monitoring their video game and internet access, having absolutely no tolerance for foul language, forbidding clothing that promotes inappropriate sexuality, and so many other things—these folks are great people in my book, even though they’re often interpreted by others around them as backwater itinerants with unrealistic expectations. Another example is a person who prefers anonymity when giving a sizable gift to the Church. In most cases, the world considers this a wasted opportunity among peers for recognition. Other examples of greatness are the Christian business owners who stand their ground while the cancel-culture attacks; or the pastors who hold to the Word of God rather than bending a little here and there to fill the pews. It might seem foolish not to embrace woke ideologies that all but guarantee a business’ success, or as a small church struggling financially to bend one’s theology a little in order to see more money received through the collection plate.

In summary, I think maintaining a steady course of faithfulness to Christ and His Word when everyone and everything around you is moving in the opposite direction indicates greatness.

Of course, these are just random examples that come to mind, and I could go on describing similar people and contexts. Still, I imagine what I’ve shared already sounds somewhat familiar to another group of people I consider great: the ones who observe, interpret, and respond to the world around them through biblical lenses. Those are the folks who read the descriptions above and made mental comparisons to our Lord’s interactions in the Gospels. For example, when a woman cries out regarding the greatness of Jesus’ mother, He is quick to reply that those who hear the Word of God and keep it are even greater—nay, blessed (Luke 11:28). When the disciples want to know who’s the greatest in the Kingdom of heaven, the Lord sets before them a toddler—someone of simple faith, a little one who trusts Him no matter what (Matthew 18:1-5). When the disciples are again found wrestling with the issue of greatness, the Lord so crisply reminds them that whoever is to be counted as great among them must be a servant (Matthew 20:26).

Again, I could share so much more in this regard. The Scriptures are full of this stuff. Suffice it to say that to be great in a way that actually matters doesn’t mean being powerful or popular. It certainly doesn’t mean being the oldest and most experienced. It almost certainly doesn’t mean being the most eloquent, smartest, wealthiest, or best looking. Instead, it starts from faith, and then it moves forward with a desire for steady and ongoing alignment with the will of Christ. And this is only possible by the power of the Holy Spirit through the Gospel. Apart from this, there’s no beginning.

By the way, it sure seems like this could be what’s behind Elihu’s less-than-direct communication to Job in the verse right before the one I originally shared. It certainly seems like he’s insinuating that the real measures of both wisdom and greatness have more to do with God’s gracious in-reaching than it does the nature of man.

“It is the spirit in man, the breath of the Almighty, that makes him understand” (v. 8).

If this is true, whether or not Elihu could articulate it precisely, it means that parents can continue to fight the arduous fight of faith for their children confident they bear wisdom and greatness that are not their own, but rather, were established in them by God. They can be sure these things have replaced their flimsy desires for worldly prominence with a sturdy determination aimed at faithfulness. Likewise, a person can give generously in support of the Church’s efforts without needing to be recognized. A Christian business owner can stand his or her ground, and a pastor can hold fast to the Word, come what may, because of this wonderful truth, too.

It was Ralph Waldo Emerson who said, “To be great is to be misunderstood.” Thinking on what happened to Scott Smith recently in Loudon County, Virginia, or what’s happening to Jack Philips, or the struggles of Barronelle Stutzman, or my new friend Artur Pawlowski in Canada, I can’t help but think just how right Emerson was. The world doesn’t get it. It just doesn’t understand real wisdom. It just can’t identify true greatness. This is true because the world’s definitions are completely out of step with the Lord’s definitions (1 Corinthians 1:20-25). On the other hand, believers know there’s only one kind of wisdom born from a singular form of greatness that can and will carry a human being from this life to the next, and this wisdom and greatness has nothing to do with anything this world might try to set on a pedestal.

Sometime, Just Sometimes

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Considering that today is Reformation Day—a day marked by actions resulting in events that changed the course of the entire world—I suppose I’ll just go ahead and put this out there to see what happens.

I sure am glad that Martin Luther didn’t just pray for his enemies, but that he actually fought back, having engaged them in ways that eventually stopped the wheels of a dreadful machine intent on stripping humanity completely clean of the Gospel of salvation through faith in Christ alone.

Thanks, Martin, for reminding us that there’s more to Christian faithfulness than prayers, pious intentions, and potlucks. Thanks for showing us that sometimes—just sometimes—blades need to be sharpened and armor needs to be fastened as battle lines are drawn against the cosmic powers aligned in opposition to Christ and His Church.

Allow me to keep going.

I suppose while I’m sharing these things, I’ll add that I’m glad David went toe to toe with Goliath instead of staying home and figuring that God would sort it all out in His own way (1 Samuel 17). And speaking of this same future monarch, I’m glad the prophet Nathan was willing to risk his own life to confront King David regarding his murderous affair with Bathsheba. I imagine a prophet facing off with a king would be quite the sight.

I should say I appreciate the trifecta of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. When King Nebuchadnezzar imposed mandates that stripped away their religious liberty, they stood against him. Indeed, rather than simply—and much more easily—excusing themselves from faithfulness by saying it was their duty to obey the governing authorities, they demonstrated a better sense, one proving that sometimes the government is genuinely honored when it is resisted (Daniel 3:1-30).

I’m sincerely thankful for John the Baptist’s exemplary stand before King Herod, namely his unequivocal devotion to God’s moral and natural law in relation to marriage. Too many clergy believe it isn’t their place to deal in such things. Sure, they give their theological reasons. And they sound really smart, too. Personally, I think it’s because they’re scared. And why wouldn’t they be? They know, just as John knew, that their actions might spell their end (Mark 6:17–29).

Oh, what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul (Matthew 16:26)? I’ll say this can start when a person gets over his or herself.

Let’s keep going.

I’m grateful that Saint Peter finally put his often misplaced boldness to a better use, having told the Sanhedrin to go fly a kite when they attempted to strip the Apostles of their freedom to preach and teach the Gospel. “We must obey God rather than men,” Peter said, so dryly, and yet so robustly by faith (Acts 5:29).

I really appreciate Saint Paul. For example, right after Saint Paul and his fellow missionary, Silas, had been unjustly beaten and thrown into prison, once the treachery to their rights as Roman citizens was discovered, rather than letting their persecutors off the hook, Paul demanded they be paraded through the city in their shame (Acts 16:35-37). I don’t know if such scenes in the Scriptures are supposed to make me smile, but admittedly, this one does.

Even better, while standing before Festus, instead of accepting what seemed to be the inevitable fate of the “little man,” Paul refused to go quietly into the night, as the poets would say. He worked the system, appealing his rights as a citizen before Caesar, rather than sheepishly shrinking into the easier assumption that he was outclassed and done for, relegating his fate to the simpler hope that God would just have to handle it (Acts 25:9-12).

I suppose lastly, I’m also quite fond of the fact that Paul wasn’t beyond calling out the Church’s enemies by name in his Epistles, effectively neutralizing particular characters’ attempts to corrupt or destroy the Gospel both in public and private (1 Timothy 1:19-20). In other words, move in ways that hinder or pervert the people of God and the Gospel for faith and Paul won’t hesitate to make you famous.

I’m not sure if it’s a good thing, but that, too, has the potential for making me grin.

Now, please don’t misunderstand. You should pray for those who are enemies of the Church, offering regular petitions to God that He would change their hearts. This means laboring in love for them, not only trusting that God will keep His promises to work things for the benefit of salvation, but also bearing in mind that you, too, were once at enmity with your Creator, and yet He loved you enough to redeem you by the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. It’s by His sacrifice that Christians have real peace, and as a result, they’ve been recreated to desire peace with their foes. Still, having said all of this, I sure do appreciate Amelia Earhart’s practical observation, which offered, “Courage is the price that life exacts for granting peace.” I think she was right by these words. And the examples from God’s Word I described above are proof. They remind us we shouldn’t step from the Gospel assuming that the postures of a bowed head or a turned cheek will be all that’s required when engaging with the world around us. There may be times God shows His love for the world through you by putting you out in front of a giant. It may be that He expects you to take an uncompromising, and quite possibly a personally damaging, position against a bully. He may expect you to be a shield for Christian liberty. He may lead you into an unexpected fray to speak a firm word to a liar, or expose a shameful parade of fools, or publicly decry false theology, or call someone out by name who must be marked and avoided by others.

He may require that you demonstrate genuine honor for the government by resisting it.

In short, faithfulness to Christ may mean stepping up. It may actually mean getting in the way of the Gospel’s enemies and doing what you can to crush them. Yes, crush them. It may mean warring against them, not only to bring their godless ways to a halt, but to do so through deliberate actions that confuse their efforts, threaten their power, and eventually retake the fields they’ve seemingly conquered.

As a side note, clergy who preach against this—or do what they can to get in the way of Christians engaging in these ways—are wrong, and they should be told as much. Perhaps at a minimum, they need to read Saint James’ Epistle in its entirety, being sure not to skip over the more uncomfortable portions describing the loveless spirit that would say to a person in need, “Be warm and well fed” (James 2:16). After that, they might give Luther a quick perusal. They’ll find more than enough content relaying something similar to:

“Our works are God’s masks, behind which He remains hidden, although He does all things. If Gideon had not obeyed and gone to battle with Midian, the Midianites would never have been conquered, even though God could, of course, have conquered them without Gideon. He could also give you corn and fruit without your plowing and planting, but that is not His will” (Exposition of Psalm 138, W.A. 31. I. 435 f.).

Finally, after a little light reading from Luther, may I be so bold as to suggest listening to what I said at our recent conference? Click here to view the video.

Remember, the opposite of Biblical love is not hate. It’s apathy. It’s inaction. For God to have lacked love means for Him to have forsaken us in our condition of Sin. But He didn’t. He reached to us. He acted. Even better, God recreated us by His Gospel to be people who are ready to respond when things are out of kilter. Some of the required actions sting. Some of the required actions are very hard to do. No one wants to be wrong. No one enjoys being told they’re out of line. No one prefers to be told “no.” But God’s holy Law reminds us of just how wrong we are in ways that reach into our very cores. In a sense, the discipline God shows us in this regard is an emanation of His love. It is a warning given to those He’d rather not to lose to eternal condemnation. Because we’ve been recreated by that same love, this is our desire, too. If it isn’t, then we need to check our faith.

And so, to bring this morning’s thoughts to a close, Christians love through action, whether that be by rebuking and correcting, or through gentleness and care. Either way, through the Word of God, the Holy Spirit provides discernment, all the while reminding us that such love will take different forms in different contexts. And part of my point: sometimes—just sometimes—this love must roll up its sleeves and get dirt under its fingernails.

It’s Really Not That Complicated

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I pray all is well with you and your family as we dive deeper into the darker and colder months of the year here in Michigan. Those who know me best will agree that the further we go toward the seemingly sunless frigidity of winter, the more I’ll long for the clear blue skies and richly warm sunshine of summer. For me, summertime is not only a period for physical and mental rejuvenation, but it carries in its streaming rays a much simpler mode of life. Winter brings snow, extra layers of clothing, scraping windshields, shoveling and salting walkways—all of this just to go from one place to the next. For many, it means doing all of it in the dark, only to return home later that day in the same pitched shadows, with barely an opportunity in between to enjoy unobstructed sunshine.

Summer, on the other hand, is simpler. It means waking with the sun already nudging you with its warmth. It means walking directly to the car unhindered, driving to work in the sunlight, and returning home again with the same gleams of wellbeing caressing your face. It means after-dinner hours enjoying that same heavenly light and the beautiful landscape that light so effortlessly highlights for our viewing pleasure.

Winter has a sense of complication. Summer feels much easier.

Speaking of complicated versus easy, while at the same time still thinking about the events of our recent “The Body of Christ and the Public Square” conference, I’ve noticed from conversations with folks in attendance that no small number come to the event expecting the extraordinary woes of our day to be met with extraordinary solutions. And yet, when the emotion that’s almost always mixed in gets stripped away, it’s discovered that the problems themselves are often less complicated than we expected. In truth, the answers to the concerns are usually just as simple, requiring only the stamina of living every day according to one’s values, as opposed to formulating complex strategies that will, at some point, require brute force muscle.

In other words, our hearts and minds expect the astonishing when what we need is usually quite ordinary.

I more than hinted to this in my speech. I noticed Abby Johnson, Candace Owens, and Charlie Kirk all said more or less the same thing in theirs. And why? Because it’s true. While we like to complicate things, more often than not, the solutions we need are usually very simple.

That logic applies to salvation, too.

For starters, it’s not beyond us to complicate what God has done to win our forgiveness. Perhaps we find ourselves making deals with Him, promising to do this or that, all the while hoping that He’s figuring into His calculations our good deeds against our bad. Or maybe we try to avoid Him altogether, figuring we’ll never measure up to His expectations, ultimately finding ourselves in despair. But God’s simple reply to all of this is that His Son’s sacrifice on the cross was enough. No deals are necessary. No calculations are required. No need to avoid His presence. All is well between God and Man through the person and work of Jesus Christ. Believe this and all will be well with your eternity.

On the other hand, perhaps we look to our God expecting fantastical displays and magical deliverances. We ask to hear His voice. We pray for a sign. We expect a miracle. But in the end, His reaching to us occurs by way of very ordinary things. He gives us a book filled with the promises of His love (Hebrews 4:12; 2 Timothy 3:16-17; Psalm 119:105). He sends us the Good News of our rescue through the preaching of a less-than-spectacular servant—a pastor (Romans 10:14-15). He claims us as His own by combining His Word with water to wash us clean in the blood of the Savior (Matthew 28:19; Romans 6:3-10; Galatians 3:27), and He attaches a promise to what He does there, saying, “And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age” (Matthew 28:20). He makes His presence among us, bringing even more of His wonderful love by means of commonplace food items—bread and wine (Matthew 26:17–29; Mark 14:12–25; Luke 22:7–38; 1 Corinthians 11:23-29).

I could go on and on, but I think you get the idea, which in the end, is that your God doesn’t want you wrestling with the complication of uncertainty. He wants to assure you of His love through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. He wants you to be uncomplicated by the fetters of sinful human tendency, which as I said, bears the potential for making something very easy into something very hard.

My advice: Look to the cross. Be reminded of the holy One who hung there. Rest assured that what He did on that cross was the most extraordinary act of God wrapped up in the unsettling usualness of a common criminal’s death. But there amid the agony and bloody sweat, among the excruciating sighs, and finally, by His dying breath, your complicated account was settled with God. Through faith in His sacrifice on your behalf, your eternal balance reads, “Amount due: $0.00.”

Believe this. It really is that simple.

Through to the End

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What an amazing “The Body of Christ and the Public Square” conference we experienced yesterday! And the people of God here at Our Savior in Hartland who were responsible for making it happen should take Godly pride in its success. Not only did people come from all around the country to be with us—which means that what was provided will influence more than just our local community—but the guest speakers could not stop glowing about what this congregation has stepped up to do for the sake of the Gospel. Charlie, Candace, and Abby all said almost uncomfortably more than once how wonderful it is that Our Savior provides a tuition free opportunity to the public schools, that we’re doing what we can to unquestionably be the Church in the world around us, and that circling both of these things, is the desire to remain faithful to the Head of the Church—Jesus Christ—and to His Word. Those are their words, not mine. But, of course, I knew this about us already.

Those who were in attendance yesterday will know I’ve already taken aim at next year’s event. In fact, I’ve already confirmed most of the line-up. How is that possible? Well, for starters, I’m no procrastinator.

To be frank, I’ve never been a procrastinator. I have too much to do. As a result, and by way of observing procrastinators, I’ve found myself in agreement with folks like Lord Chesterfield, which is to say how strangely convenient it is that “the less one has to do, the less time one finds to do it in. One yawns, one procrastinates, one can do it when one will, and therefore one seldom does it at all.”

Be sure to share that bit of wisdom with the supposedly over-stressed, and yet chore-less, video gamer who can’t seem to get his or her room cleaned, or homework turned in on time. My guess is there’s very little in the way of their success.

On the other hand, and perhaps from another angle, it was Thomas Jefferson who said something about how delay is preferable to error. Of course, contemplative delay is far from procrastination. In my humble opinion, procrastination is a paramount form of immaturity, and the purest demonstration of irresponsibility. A project with a procrastinator at the helm will rarely result in producing anything that can be tagged as much more than “acceptable.”

But enough about that. There are other things to think about this morning.

I just finished reading a brief portion from Luther, and at one point in between his wit and wisdom, he wrote so plainly, “Life apart from Christ is a wretched business.” Someone should put that on a t-shirt. I know I’d wear it.

Indeed, a life that’s disconnected from the only One capable of bringing hope into this fallen world is a life lived in wretched despair. It’s not uncommon for me to hear Christians say, “I don’t know how people get by in this life without Christ.” I hear this most often at funerals, and in reply, I’ll say, “They don’t. At least, not with any real meaning.” I should add that the people I hear using this particular phrase are not doing so half-heartedly, as if to fill conversational space. They say it because they really believe it. They’re people who know life’s heavier difficulties. They’ve been neck deep in them. They’ve faced off with the monsters of this world—beasts that have consumed massive pieces of their lives—and yet they’ve somehow found a way through to the peace that surpasses all understanding that keeps the Christian heart and mind settled—the kind of peace described by Saint Paul in Philippians 4:6. In other words, when things didn’t make sense to them, when they didn’t know what was going on, they were able to go to what they did know, which is that Christ is the final word for everything between and after our first and last breaths; or as Saint Paul says in Romans 14:8:

“For if we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord. So then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s.”

That makes little sense to the world. It makes every bit of sense to believers.

I suppose I’m sharing this with you for two reasons. The first is that our “The Body of Christ and the Public Square” conference this past weekend was not only filled with some really great speakers, collegial fellowship, and helpful information, but it also didn’t do much tiptoeing through the more troubling topics plaguing our nation, some of which seem almost insurmountable. It uncovered them, and it put them on plain display, leaving many people wondering how on earth any of it could be happening. The second reason I share this is because you need to know that what we’re facing as Christians isn’t insurmountable. We have Christ.

Now, I am by no means going to do what so many others do, which is to take the text of Philippians 4:13 out of context, claiming that nothing is impossible to the one who believes in Christ. There are plenty of impossible things we face as Christians. If they weren’t impossible, we wouldn’t actually need Jesus. And that’s precisely the point of that so-often misquoted text, which really needs verses 11 and 12 to complete it. The point is that while there are plenty of things we’ll experience in this life that we won’t be able to overcome, the promise is given that through faith in Christ, they won’t overcome us. Even when we’re in want, we can trust and be content. Even when we are facing our end, we have a hope that extends beyond this life’s mortal boundaries.

If you are at all like me, then you may be feeling a bit helpless by the fact that in response to the National School Boards Association referring to conservative parents as “domestic terrorists,” Joe Biden has weaponized the FBI for cracking down on parents who, out of concern for their children, are confronting their local school boards regarding the plague of indoctrinating curriculums pushing gender fluidity, Critical Race Theory, and so many other dumpster ideologies supported by the Democrat party. In other words, if you come to a meeting prepared to call them out, your president is happy to see you arrested, and ultimately, put on a watch list.

But that’s not the only sense of abandonment you may be feeling. Again, if you’re like me, you may be overwhelmed by the prospect of people losing their jobs unless they allow themselves to be injected with something they’d prefer not to put into their bodies, no matter the reason. And as if that weren’t enough, they feel helpless to do anything about the growing number of grocery stores and medical facilities denying services to anyone who can’t produce proof of vaccination. In other words, those who are currently at the helm of the federal government are pushing the standard of “comply or else,” even to the point of threatening the citizenry’s ability to care for their families.

These are terrifying things. And by the way, anyone who voted for this should be ashamed. The Word of God clearly stands against you.

Still, the Lord is with His people, and He will see all of this through to the end. And as He does, He promises to continue to equip the faithful by Word and Sacrament with the stamina for making it through. Whether that means the persecution that’s likely to come for open resistance, or it means existing in suffering in the shadows, either way, hope remains.

Remember that. And then go to church.

Sunhat

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Being the lurker that I sometimes am on news media outlets, I read a comment beneath an article on the topic of transgenderism that said, essentially, all things have a hidden meaning, and it’s our duty as humans to discover those meanings.

My first thought was, “No, everything does not have a hidden meaning.” And then with my guts irritated, I reached toward the keyboard and typed, “What a remarkably Marxist thing to say.”

Truth be told, I didn’t post the reply. Instead, I held the backspace button down until I could replace the previous sentence with, “Sometimes a sunhat is just a sunhat,” which is a line from an episode of Mystery Science Theater 3000 that Jennifer and I use with one another on occasion. Essentially, it communicates that nothing other than what was said was intended, and that the other person should just stick with the clear meaning of the words.

I know it’s a bit of a tangent, but I should probably tell you why I called the comment on the post “Marxist.” I did this because the starry-eyed notion of looking for utopian societal order beyond what can be readily observed and discerned through natural and moral law was something Karl Marx claimed as central to his own philosophy. As one would suspect, it became natural for him to see sinister ghosts behind most everything in the West. By the way, this is just a sliver-sized hint from the forest of reasons Critical Race Theory, namely Black Lives Matter, fits its Marxist label. It seeks to fundamentally transform society in order to fix problems that don’t exist.

But, anyway.

Sometimes I think that if everything in creation actually did have a hidden meaning hovering somewhere between its molecules, it’s likely the meanings would be written in some sort of unintelligible gibberish only interpretable to the kind of philosophers who struggle most of the time to communicate anything of value to the rest of us, anyway. And who might be considered a philosopher of this sort? Well, you know. They’re the kind who sit in coffee shops talking with one another about how to unweave rainbows—folks like Karl Marx. In a mindful society, the only people who’d take them seriously are themselves.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against philosophy as a discipline. Curiosity is the instigator of genuine philosophy, and by nature, I’m a fairly inquisitive guy. But still, sometimes there’s nothing to philosophize. As a proven system for lifting people from poverty, Capitalism works the best. Marxism—which in theory involves a society stair-stepping into Socialism that it would ultimately become Communist—does not. Marxism’s greatest historical achievement appears to be its mastery for filling graves in large quantities and in short periods of time.

To that end, and to come back around to where I began, sometimes the thoughts, words, and deeds comprising a particular circumstance require simple human-to-human skills of observation and listening, with little to no deeper interpretation.

Sometimes a sunhat is just a sunhat.

Having somehow wandered into this stuff, you might be wondering what any of it has to do with anything else. Well, I did have one thought while tapping away this morning.

I was reading the Epistle appointed for this morning from 1 Corinthians 1:1-9. In particular, I appreciate verse 9, which reads: “God is faithful, by whom you were called into the fellowship of his Son, Jesus Christ, our Lord.”

God is faithful. How? Look to Jesus Christ and you’ll see. Listen to Him say he loves you—that you are precious to Him; that He went to the cross for you. It’s valuable to study the depths of this truth, and yet at the same time, don’t necessarily try to grasp at every strand of this divine mystery of unfathomable love, perhaps wondering what it is about you that might stir His affections. You’ll go off the deep end of uncertainty with that nonsense. Besides, the short answer to your wondering is, well, nothing. There’s nothing loveable about you. In Sin, we’re all pretty worthless.

But again, we’re not talking about us. We’re talking about God.

The Gospel is not about our abilities to engage Him, but rather His innate desire to engage us. He is faithful. It’s His nature to be this way. This means that even though you’re prone to letting Him down, He won’t let you down. He is reliable in every circumstance. This leaves little interpretation to His promises. When He promises to work all things for the good of those who love Him, you can rest assured that He will. When He promises that no matter what His Word brings to you, it will be something you can trust, you can know this is true. When He tells you He loves you, you can believe it.

Again, don’t try to complicate any of these things by inserting some sort of hidden meaning into the mix. Take the Gospel of His faithfulness for what it is: He loves you so much that He sacrificed His own Son to save you, and now, through faith in Him, eternal condemnation is not a part of your future, but rather eternal life (John 3:16). Those are pretty simple words that are very easy to understand. Sometimes a sunhat is just a sunhat.

A Beeline to Faithfulness

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That was quite the wind and rain we experienced last week, wouldn’t you say? I think it’s safe to say that autumn has arrived.

Being unable to move very quickly because of my injury, the normally simple inconvenience rain causes became a bit more concerning. At one point on Tuesday, my daughter, Evelyn, and I were standing beneath the canopy near the church’s main entrance trying to decide how we would go about making our way to the car in what had suddenly become a torrential downpour. Thankfully, I had already moved the car into the circle drive near the entrance, so it was only about fifty feet away from us. Still, she was concerned that at my pace, I would be drenched by the time I made it, and so she offered to run to the car to fetch my umbrella and then come right back, and then together we’d make our way over.

What a sweetie.

In the end, we decided just to make a run for it. Well, she ran. I hobbled with fierce determination. Although, we only did this after first calculating another option and its possible outcomes. Essentially, we measured a simple dash to the car against Evelyn running to the vehicle, opening the hatch to retrieve the umbrella, and then running back to me, only for the two of us to then return to the car holding the sail-like device amid the blustering rainstorm, stopping at one door to allow one of us to climb inside as the other then circled around to the other to get in, being sure to first close and shake the umbrella. In the end, a beeline to the car seemed the better plan. Taking a hint from Longfellow, sometimes the best thing any of us can do when it’s raining is to let it rain. In other words, sometimes things are what they are and there’s nothing we can do to change them.

I suppose another lesson to be learned by this artless scenario is that our over-contemplated attempts at avoiding the discomforting things in life often result in making things worse rather than better. Digging even deeper into the moment, I’d say we sorted through the distinction between simply talking about doing and actually doing. As Evelyn and I negotiated, the rain only seemed to get worse. Had we made straight for the car when we first came out, we’d have been a lot less wet. But we didn’t. We stood there trying to decide what we were going to do, which involved a second option involving excessive details that, the more we talked about them, the more cumbersome and toll-exacting they seemed to become. I don’t know if it relates completely, but as I type this, I’m remembering the way Saint Paul often spends time in his epistles dealing with the contours of the Christian life.

I’m guessing there are plenty of folks who, when they visit with those portions of Paul’s writings in which he speaks about genuine Godliness, figure he’s being prescriptive, that is, he’s telling his readers how to live their lives in the world. That may be true some of the time, but not always. Occasionally he’s being descriptive, which means he’s simply describing what Christians have become by the power of the Holy Spirit through the Gospel for faith in Christ. When he does this, there’s an accompanying sense that enough time has already been spent talking about what it all means and now it’s time to just go and be it. I suppose in a practical sense, the more time we spend being unnecessarily cerebral about all of it, the more allowance for devastation our inaction seems to prove.

Think about it in a localized sense. There’s a reason why Saint Paul urges Christians not to let the sun go down on their anger (Ephesians 4:26). He knows the tendencies of Man. He knows that the longer we wait to reconcile, the more likely it is that the rainstorm of hatred will intensify. Of course, as the hatred grows fiercer, the worse things become and the less likely it will be that the two people will ever truly dry off in peace. On a larger scale, the more sedentary Christians remain, prattling away on social media about our troubled world without ever lifting a finger to change anything, the worse things are likely to become. One only needs to look around to see the necessity of Christian action. A glance will reveal the spin-rate of this world’s undoneness is continually picking up speed. School Boards across the country are often unopposed when they introduce sexually explicit materials and Critical Race Theory curriculums in their districts, often beginning as early as preschool. Christian business owners are taken to court and oftentimes fined out of existence simply for holding to the tenets of their faith and the basic science of Natural Law. What was once the quieter, but nonetheless satanic, mantra of “safe but rare” has become the full-throated cry of “Shout your abortion!” and the call for legalized slaughter of full term infants.

The rain is falling, folks. Sure, you can take some time to examine the best way through it, but one way or the other, you’re going to have to get wet. So, stop talking about it and get going. Make a beeline for faithfulness. Of course, the best place to start is by going to church. There’s not much use in trying to weather the storms if you haven’t been equipped accordingly to do so. You need what Christ gives by His Word and Sacrament gifts. Strengthened by these, may I suggest your next few steps for steering into the downpour be ones of faithfulness in your vocation as parent, child, friend, or worker? A lot can be accomplished simply by teaching your little ones while standing true to Christian conviction before family, friends, and co-workers. As you pick up speed in this, think about getting involved with your local Pro-life organization. Or perhaps you might help register Christian voters before the next election. Heck, I say if the Spirit is carrying you along with a brisk enough stride, take a chance at running for office. I already hinted at how holding a seat on your local School Board could make all the difference in the world to the next generation of citizens.

Whatever you’re thinking about doing, don’t think too long. Get out there and be who God has already made you to be. Yes, you’re going to get wet. That comes with the territory. But no matter the outcomes, the calculations for a beeline to your eternal life were already made by Christ through His life, death, and resurrection. By His victory, the courage you need for the first few steps has already been delivered. The words “It is finished!” (John 19:30) are the clarion call.

Autumn through a Christian Lens

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As is always the case, when I arrive at the church early on Sunday mornings, I dive into my usual routine. The first part of that routine is to do a little bit of reading from a smattering of sources. Of course, I always start by visiting God’s Word, but after that, I take a few minutes with the news, maybe a short portion from a book, perhaps a quick dip into email, but always a scan of social media. As those who know me best might guess, it’s from any or all these moments a morning epistle to all of you emerges.

I am, for the most part, disinterested in talking about the first thing I stumbled across on social media this morning, which was a back-and-forth between two mostly like-minded people throttling one another’s individual views on the Afghanistan withdrawal. But I will briefly confess to having observed and learned something about human character, and strangely, it’s something we can actually thank social media for uncovering. Having met these people in person, I learned by their online exchange that perhaps you don’t really absorb as much as you might think of a person’s character through face-to-face conversations. However, it seems you may be able to tell a lot more from his or her swiftly typed responses threaded together with misspelled words and doled out during a sketchy online argument. These remarks seem to be written in a hurry, and most likely, reflect a person’s first thoughts, making them an unobstructed window of sorts.

Still, I don’t really feel like going any further with that lesson, and so, take from the observation what you will. I’d rather talk about what I see through a different window.

Apart from the unusually summer-like warmth of the early morning air, it would appear that a handful of leaves on the bush just outside my office window are beginning to tinge with red. You know what that means, right? It means the changing of seasons is once again upon us.

For all my talk of love for the summertime sun, I’ll admit there remains in my heart a secret compartment devoted to autumn. A minute or two examining its landscapes are all that’s needed for understanding why. Every year it’s an ensemble of visual delights—abundant greens having turned to variations of bright yellows through to deep scarlets, flowers that were once reaching skyward now bent and hidden beneath leaves being kissed by a cooler autumn sun, those same leaves often being stirred up suddenly in a swirl by a wailing wind, as if following along on the tail of an invisible kite. For anyone willing to consider the beauty of God’s well-ordered world, even in its tiniest parts, autumn’s scenes are moving.

There’s an emotional richness to autumn, too. It carries in its frosty breezes a strange combination of melancholy and gladness. It bears the crisply hollow feeling of something’s absence. Take a stroll through one of fall’s naked forests and you’ll see. Life itself seems to be sleeping so deeply that nothing can wake it, and all around is damp and dying. And yet, visit that same scene wearing your favorite hat and your coziest coat. Be ready to sense the child-like urge to kick through a leaf pile before leaving to visit the nearby orchard for cider, cinnamon doughnuts, and a chance at picking the best pumpkin for carving.

Autumn is made paradoxically thick by these competing portraits. Through the lens of the Christian faith, perhaps more so than any other season, I’d say autumn silently communicates some of the most important things about life in this world.

For example, autumn more than presents the fall into Sin and the cruel nakedness of regret. It brings the indisputable reminder that our shame is uncovered. It tells us everything has changed and it’s completely beyond our capacity for returning things to what they once were. It whispers the sweeping reality of Death—the inescapability of its laying all things bare before the Creator, its far-reaching aim toward an oncoming winter of eternal condemnation, its frosty residue of guilt that covers everything it touches along the way, the penetrating chill of its finality that can shiver any and all of us to tears.

These are the stanzas of autumn’s dirge-like song. That is, unless you have Jesus. Again, through the lens of faith in Christ, autumn’s singing can turn to something altogether different.

By the power of the Holy Spirit through the Gospel, believers know they are not without Jesus in these autumnal-like moments of bleakness. He’s with them (Matthew 28:20; Psalm 23:4; Joshua 1:9; Hebrews 13:5; Romans 8:38-39). He’s strolling alongside, countering gloom with hope, drawing Christian eyes to His glorious purposes nestled and germinating among the leaves, clothing His people in a thickly warm baptismal robe of righteousness that covers Sin and repels the wrath that Sin deserves, exchanging their melancholy for joy, and promising the certainty of a heavenly spring—the resurrection from Death.

Side by side with Christ, trusting in His life, death, and resurrection for our transgressions, we know in all of our naked forests and rotting leaf piles the same thing we know while drinking cider, eating cinnamon doughnuts, and carving pumpkins: Spring is coming. It cannot be stopped. It’s approaching like a juggernaut from another sphere and it will break through winter’s borders, consuming the entirety of its kingdom. It’s only a matter of time.

While the world keeps spinning, and the people in it continue to reveal the disappointing character of Sin’s nature, isn’t it wonderful how the Gospel for faith can bring a reminder of Christian hope simply by way of a few tinted leaves outside an office window? Indeed, the Bible rings true regarding the assertion of God’s love ever-resonating even among His well-ordered creation (Matthew 6:25-33; Psalm 19:1; Psalm 96:11-12; Romans 8:19).

May God grant you comfort by these words.

Settling in with Christ

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Glancing around my office while sitting here, if you were to ever stop by for a visit, apart from the books on my shelves, you’d also discover a strange variety of things scattered across the space, eye-candy type things I keep on display that make me smile.

Of course, I have things you’d expect—crucifixes and various Christian images, both on the walls and on the shelves. But I also have a few full-sized Star Wars helmets. These are accompanied by statuettes of Winston Churchill, the Ark of the Covenant, R2D2, and other things sharing space with matryoshka dolls, wood carvings, and Russian military hats. I have a replica of a 9th century Teutonic knight’s helmet serving as a bookend to my books on the liturgy. A few paces away and perched beside my computer printer is a Yautja’s bio mask from the film “Predator.” A few feet from that is a disposable M72 shoulder-fired rocket launcher from the Vietnam era—no longer usable, of course. Strewn among all these things are watercolor portraits my wife has painted, pictures of my family, photos with friends, and greeting cards from so many people I cherish.

Let it be said, there’s a lot in my office besides books to explore and enjoy. And while it might all appear somewhat out of place and weirdly disconnected, together it forms a comfortable matrix for me—a peaceful asylum, of sorts—a physical context apart from the world’s swirling spaces where it so often feels like everything is coming undone. It’s a place where I can settle in and get my bearings for keeping my head about me.

Amusingly, it was Jean Kerr who wrote in her splendid little book Please Don’t Eat the Daisies, “If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs, it’s possible you haven’t grasped the situation.” I find Kerr’s words so funny because in their context, they’re spoken by someone who just can’t understand how certain people can be so calm during times of crisis. Her satirical answer: They must not fully comprehend what’s going on around them. Her words are even funnier when you realize their broader insinuation, which is that unless you have a frantically unsettled mind like everyone else, you’re weird.

By this definition, Christians are noticeably weird. At least we’re supposed to be. On one hand, God calls for us to be fully aware of the world’s treacheries—to be actively engaged, and in some circumstances, found steering right into the heart of its tempests. We are not to be ignorant of the seriousness of it all. And yet at the same time, God promises we will know and exhibit a peace that surpasses all understanding, no matter what we are facing or what our mortal futures may hold.

Saint Paul says the axis of this peace is Jesus (Philippians 4:6-7). But that’s just one item among many on the Biblical shelf.

Looking around, we see it was Jesus who so gently encouraged believers not to be anxious about life in this world (Matthew 6:25; John 16:33). He did this by reminding us of the Heavenly Father’s careful concern for those who are His by faith in the life, death, and resurrection of His Son on their behalf. With Jesus Himself not only being the actual embodiment of God’s Word, but also its absolute centerpiece, it makes sense, then, that we’d continue to find this same comforting reminder taking various shapes and sizes, and being scattered across the bookshelves of the entire Bible. Every single book of the Bible, though each may be unique in its details and style, will at some point along the way bring the light of divine encouragement to the darkness of concern. Together, these reassurances make a space for us to settle in, get the proper bearings, and keep our heads about us.

If I could be certain that you’d take time to read a longer than usual note from me, I’d provide an illustration from every single book. That being said, I can at least provide a few samples.

Starting with Genesis, we’re barely into the Bible before the comforting promise of a Savior is given (Genesis 3:15). Further in, Moses records God’s heart-strengthening pledge that He will not abandon His people (Deuteronomy 31:8). Randomly glancing from shelf to shelf, we see Isaiah proclaiming peace to all whose minds are fixed on the Lord (Isaiah 26:3). Jeremiah delivers the promise that, like a green leaf in the middle of drought, God will calm the anxious hearts of His believers (Jeremiah 17:7-8). The Book of Proverbs is absolutely brimming with the same assurances (Proverbs 3:5-6; 29:25). The Psalms are, too, with so many of them being in place to lift and sustain the fearful (Psalm 23, 27, 34, 46, 56, and others). Of course, the Gospel writers never fail to keep this same comfort before us (Matthew 11:28-30; Mark 13:11; Luke 10:41-42; John 14:27). How could they not, since they bring to us the very narrative of salvation through the person and work of Jesus Christ. Saint Paul continues this powerful cadence by his epistles (Romans 8:38-39; Hebrews 13:6; Colossians 3:15; 1 Corinthians 10:13; 2 Thessalonians 3:16). Saint Peter and Saint John do the same (1 Peter 5:7; 1 John 4:18; Revelation 21 and 22).

As I said, I could list countless more, venturing from cover to cover, but I think you get the idea.

In the end, and I suppose as it was sparked by observing the various smile-inducing knick-knacks I keep in my office, the promises of God’s ever-present care given in various circumstances throughout His Word join to form the only sure place we can go to truly get our bearings and keep our wits about us in this world’s turbulence. Without God’s Word of comfort in Christ, we would be without hope.

But we’re not without hope. For Christians, hope is the key ingredient for keeping a level head in any situation of concern. It’s something that will forever be a species of divine confidence that can exist in any environment, no matter the climate or terrain. My prayer for you today is that this same hope born from faith in Christ will be yours in the days ahead.

Do We Have What It Takes?

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The world appears to be burning, doesn’t it? I read a statement this morning in which NATO officials called Biden’s abrupt and chaotic withdrawal of the United States presence in Afghanistan the biggest, most tragic debacle by a U.S. president since the organization’s founding in 1949. German Chancellor Merkel’s administration released a statement clarifying that the U.S., and the U.S. alone, owns the horrors of the situation. A nearly unanimous British Parliament made clear that the United States has lost significant credibility in the international community. I could go on, but I think you get the idea.

The situation in Afghanistan is bad.

Despite the news media’s reluctance to share the information, it looks as though the first real reports of Afghani Christians being brutalized and killed by the Taliban after the withdrawal are making their way to us here in America. I read that Glenn Beck’s organization raised more than $22 million in two days to help fund evacuation efforts. I read that David Barton and the WallBuilders organization is raising significant funding, too. Praise God for their efforts.

Curiously, the reports I’ve read, mostly by way of texts and emails from pastors and missionaries to partner churches in the United States, have not necessarily portrayed the concerns of Afghani Christians as fearful cries to foreign agencies to do whatever they can to rescue them from the gory dreadfulness. Rather, their petitions have been of a far different character, and noticeably two-fold in nature.

First, their hope is that their partner churches around the world would join them in praying that all Afghani Christians would remain faithful to Christ as they face imminent torture and death; and second, that God would use the Gospel witness of their martyrdom as a means for softening the hearts of their bloodthirsty persecutors, so that they, too, would turn to and believe in Christ for salvation.

Read that again.

The Christians in Afghanistan are facing the all-consuming storm clouds of a merciless evil. Not only do the forthcoming gales promise unthinkable forms of mortal suffering, but they also pledge by their waves a vicious temptation to renounce Christ in exchange for safety, which in the end, can only result in a believer’s eternal doom. I find it astounding, then, that these Christians are not asking for deliverance from these terrors. They’re asking for us to pray that God would continue to give them the will to steer into and endure them until the end. Even more strangely, while we might expect to hear them ask us to pray for a way of escape for themselves, instead, they’re asking us to pray that by the Gospel witness of their own deaths, their persecutors would discover Christ as the way of escape from unbelief leading to eternal Death.

Go ahead and read that again, too.

Having re-read my own words, I wonder if these are foolish prayer requests being made of the churches in America by the Afghani Christians. I mean, does American Christianity really even have what it takes to comprehend the substance of their pleas? The Afghani Christians are enduring apocalyptic-like onslaughts of misery. And yet, knowing full well that Taliban squads are going door to door sniffing for the slightest hints of Christianity—looking for bibles, devotional apps on phones, Christian symbols, and the like—still, and perhaps most astoundingly, the Afghani Christians refuse to abandon the most visible (and now most dangerous) sign of Christianity: gathering together for worship.

They refuse to forsake Christ’s mandate for gathering in fellowship to receive the preaching of the Gospel for forgiveness and the administration of the Sacraments for the same.

Is it really possible for any of their requests to make sense to American Christians who were so quick to close churches for fear of a virus that had a casualty rate of less than 1% at its peak? Considering only Michigan, the last I heard, around 15% of Michigan churches are still completely closed even as the state currently tracks at 21,344 deaths among 1.03 million cases. Doing the math, that’s around a 2% casualty rate. Will the Afghani Christians’ requests be intelligible for those who, even post-vaccine rollout, still refuse to attend worship for fear of this minuscule threat to personal safety? Will the phrase “faithful to the end” resonate among churches that have forsaken God’s Word and succumbed to cultural pressures just to avoid the woke attack squads? Will anything the Afghani Christians have asked for be translatable to a generation of families who’ve become so accustomed to prioritizing sports and leisure over faithfulness in worship with Christ?

Sadly, I don’t think so.

I suppose some church communities will get it. I’m guessing that for the most part, the Lutheran Church—Missouri Synod has a grip on it, although I haven’t seen much written in this regard, just yet. I’m confident that most here at Our Savior in Hartland are equipped to translate the Afghani’s requests. I know various individuals beyond our borders who are more than capable of interpreting them rightly. My friend, Jack Philips, will know what they mean. Barronelle Stutzman will get it. My Canadian friend, Pastor Artur Pawlowski, will understand. Reverend Dr. Juhana Pohjola, Bishop of the Evangelical Lutheran Mission Diocese of Finland, will get it, too.

Nevertheless, beyond the ever-increasing ranks of persecuted folks like these, I’m concerned that the mainstream Christian churches in America just don’t have the spiritual wherewithal for understanding anything the Afghani Christians are asking. And while I certainly agree we should be praying for them, I’m hoping in secret that they’re praying for us. I get the feeling we need their prayers far more than they need ours.

With all of this in mind, I suppose I’ll conclude as the Afghani Christians began, which is by offering a two-fold request.

Firstly, I’d urge all Christians to take heed of Christ’s clarion call not to choose the comforts of safety and security in this life over faithfulness to Him. Then I’d urge you to continue past the Lord’s gracious warning to His sweeter encouragement to trust Him—to take heart in His victory over Sin, Death, and the grave, knowing by this Gospel the peace that only He can provide.

“And calling the crowd to him with his disciples, he said to them, ‘If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake and the gospel’s will save it. For what does it profit a man to gain the whole world and forfeit his soul? For what can a man give in return for his soul? For whoever is ashamed of me and of my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, of him will the Son of Man also be ashamed when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels’” (Mark 8:34-38).

“I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world” (John 16:33).

Secondly, there is the saying that goes something like, “A ship in harbor is safe, but that’s not what ships are built for.” Pray for the Christians in Afghanistan. Do this remembering that the Church on earth—or the Church Militant as it’s commonly referred to throughout history—was not built to remain safely in harbor, but rather to set sail, no matter the temperament of the seas. She does this knowing Christ as the steady Captain at her helm. She goes into the winds and waves knowing that He’s steering the vessel toward the final shore of eternal life. As He does, it’s all hands on deck. We come up and out of the vessel’s innards to gather. We swab the decks and repair the masts. We hoist sails and mend tackle. We batten hatches and secure riggings. In other words, we come together to pray for one another and our world, to labor faithfully, to endure, to love as Christ first loved us, all the while being strengthened by the bountiful provisions of forgiveness—Word and Sacrament—being doled out in worship from our trustworthy Captain’s very own galley.

Know that I’m praying for the Afghani Christians and their persecutors. I hope you are, too. But know I’m also praying for the Church here on American soil just as fervently. Again, I hope you are, too.

Mud and Stars

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God sure is good, isn’t He? I’m sure if you looked back over the years of your life, you’d agree. I’m certain you’d find plenty of moments acknowledging His gracious hand in both the good times and the bad.

I would imagine that like me, there are a number of things that have happened in your life that took a few years to make sense, even if only in part. You struggled to understand why God managed them the way He did. I’m guessing there are just as many bygone happenings on your timeline you still don’t understand, and it’s likely you never will, at least not until you meet the Lord face to face. Either way, until each of us breathes our last, each new day arrives at our doorstep, and God willing, we ripen with wisdom and are found capable of saying, “Each day is a new day in the Lord.”

Only Christians can say that. It’s a vocalized fruit of faith budding on the vine of Jesus. Its flower takes in both the sunshine and the rain, the joys and the hardships, knowing three things in particular. First, we are guaranteed to experience trouble (John 16:33a). Second, we can take heart in the fact that Jesus has overcome them all by His life, death, and resurrection for us (John 16:33b). And third, we can steer into each new day knowing that both the good and the bad are being used by God for the benefit of our salvation—for our final future in heaven with Him (Romans 8:28-39).

Imagine if this clarity of faith were hidden from us. Imagine if we didn’t know to expect both joy and sadness in this life. Imagine if we didn’t know that beneath the wing of our Savior, all these things were already well in hand and being worked in a way that gives the upper hand to the Gospel in our lives. Imagine if, when peering out toward any future, hopeless gloom was our only windowpane.

I say this knowing everybody is different, that everyone has various perspectives on things. When it comes to human outlooks, I’m one who believes the world can be divided into optimists and pessimists, with realists locating themselves in one category or the other depending on the situation. Thinking about this, I don’t know who said it, but I learned a rhyme many years ago about two men in prison. It goes something like, “Two men are looking through the same bars. One sees the mud and the other the stars.” For me, when the feeling of imprisonment sets in, and it sometimes does, I prefer to look at the stars. The more shackled I feel, the more I strive, the more I reach upward from the window of my cell looking for and anticipating a way to change my current situation. But I say this knowing that for some, the bars are often physiological or psychological in nature. In other words, no matter how hard they try, they just can’t seem to see anything but mud, and as a result, they have little energy for grasping at anything beyond their cell.

So, where am I going with all of this? I don’t know. I guess I’m sitting here listening to an early morning thunderstorm, thinking about the current bars of my cell, and having an unusually difficult time seeing anything but the mud.

I’ll be having surgery tomorrow at 2:30pm. It’ll be to repair the torn Achilles tendon on my right leg—my driving leg. Forget the fact it’s already been over a week since the tear. Disregard the doctor’s promise of two weeks of post-op pain. I’m imprisoned by something else. For a guy like me who’s relatively self-sufficient and always on the move, the prospect of countless weeks of immobility entangled with the impending need to rely on so many folks for so much help for so many things is tantamount to a prison sentence. At a minimum, it is a very hard lesson for me to learn. Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful for the help. Truly. It’s just that it goes against the grains of my personality in the most visceral ways, and this being true, I can all but guarantee I’m going to experience guilt for burdening others with my needs.

Again, sitting here observing the cast on my leg while considering the months-long recovery ahead, I must admit that regardless of my usual capabilities and feelings of general optimism, it’s always possible for something to come along and kick these props from beneath me. This moment has challenged me once again to keep my heart and mind fixed in the right place. It has reminded me that whether one is inclined to see the mud or the stars in any situation, spiritually speaking we’re all in the same cell. We’re all imprisoned by Sin and Death, and no matter what we do, we cannot save ourselves. We need help from the outside. We need a rescuer who’s cosmically more than what we might be inclined by perspective or ability to see or reach for in this life. We need someone who can actually melt away the steely bars for all time, ultimately shattering the very real chains that refuse to let us go.

Christians can say each day is a new day in the Lord because they know that “someone” is the Son of God, Jesus Christ. He’s the One who meets us in the mud, submitting himself to the unrelenting murk of hopelessness in our place. He’s the One who gives His life for ours, and by His sacrifice, is found outshining even the brightest, most optimistic stars, and bringing life and light to the darkest prison cells. In moments like the one I’m experiencing right now, He proves the recalibrating power of this Gospel through His people as they brighten the lives of others around them.

I suppose that’s one reason why I began by saying just how good God is. Optimist, pessimist… whichever. Faith brings a completely different perspective, and from all the messages and help I’ve received from so many of you, I’m relearning just how over the top God can be with His goodness (1 Peter 4:10; John 13:35). This alone cuts through my sinful inhibitions and serves as a glimmering star beyond my cell window. It reminds me of a much bigger and better reality at work behind what I think I’m experiencing.

With this perspective, I assure you I’m ready to go into the forthcoming days—both the good ones and the bad ones—with gratefulness and hope, staking the claim that each day is a new day in the Lord. I’ll have my ups and downs. Still, through daily Word and prayer, I’m certain I’ll be strengthened for planting the flag of confidence every morning, trusting that God had a very good reason for not preventing my current situation, and being content to know that whatever His reason was, it was for the good of my salvation.

I pray the same confidence and contentment for you in whatever you may be enduring at this very moment.