Tag Archives: lcms

Will the Modern American Church Survive?

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It’s becoming harder to pretend that things out there aren’t coming apart at the seams. I mean, people are no longer joking about civil war. Some commentators and podcasters have already jumped ahead to predicting how such a war would end. Of course, the media continues doing its part to up the ante.

CNN admitted last week that it adjusted Alex Pretti’s image to make him look more attractive in order to stir sympathy for his death. CNN also had to backtrack after leaving out that Pretti had initiated a violent interaction with ICE a week earlier, resulting in broken ribs. In other words, federal agents already knew Pretti. They knew he was dangerous. And so, when he leaned into the officers that day, when he pushed into them, when he spit on them as they tried to get away from him and into their vehicles (as the videos show), and when he ultimately died in the scuffle, which was unfortunate—but it was no surprise to the agents that he was carrying a loaded weapon with two additional magazines. But the thing is, CNN knew all this stuff, too. And yet, they reported everything but these details. And CNN’s original narrative is still out there, gaining traction. All wars have their martyrs.

Other media outlets carried the “ICE is detaining children” headline as far as they could before eventually retracting it. And yet, it turns out the child in the widely circulated image had been abandoned by his illegal father, and his mother refused to claim him. Rather than simply sending the child back into the world alone—a world in which kids like him are almost always trafficked—he was kept in federal custody. He wasn’t locked in a cage. He was being protected, which is most certainly the government’s job when it comes to little ones left to a world of wolves. But again, the thing is, the news outlets knew this, and yet they elected to foster a completely different narrative, stoking embers and adding kindling to an already blue-hot climate. Add to this the irony of a progressive left that would butcher children in the womb while weeping over a child rescued from the wolves, but only because the rescuer wore an ICE uniform rather than an abortionist’s surgical gown.

And so, again, “civil war” is a term showing up in my feed more than I’d prefer. But what should any of us expect? So many are actively laboring to make the climate perfect for one.

Having said all this, civil war is not necessarily my chief concern. Yes, what’s happening culturally and politically is troubling. Still, I’m thinking ecclesially. I’m wondering if American Christianity would even survive such a thing, especially a conflict in which Christianity is a primary target for the opposition. The progressive left is already doing everything it can to snuff the faith (John 15:18-19). What would happen if that side were to win an armed conflict? I guess I’m just wondering out loud if anything in the modern faith is still fixed enough to be confessed in a way that would survive through such an event.

For the record, this weekly message goes out in various forms to about 7,000 folks worldwide. I don’t pretend to have a comprehensive map of global Christianity, and so, I don’t necessarily know the liturgical practices of most of the churches and people who may be reading this. But I do know my own church. And I know what kind of Christianity formed it.

Our Savior Evangelical Lutheran Church in Hartland, Michigan, and the Lutheran Church-Missouri Synod with which we maintain fellowship, is creedal in nature. Creedal Christianity did not emerge from comfort. It was forged under pressure. It survived being surrounded by hostile empires, wars, internal heresies, and, most importantly, competing visions of who Jesus was allowed to be. Creedal Christianity is a faith maintained by precise statements—what we believe and what we don’t, why we do what we do, why we’re distinctly different from the world around us. Regardless of what the more fashionable Christian influencers may have told you, these things are not relics of an overly philosophical age. They are the Church’s collective memory, crystallized at the very points in history where the fires were hottest, where the culture was hell-bent on consuming and assimilating us, and where losing our identity would have meant losing Christ altogether.

While studying the Church’s creeds with the kids in confirmation over the years, I’ve often told them that confessional statements like the ecumenical creeds (the Apostles’, Nicene, and Athanasian Creeds) are very important guardrails that protect our inheritance. What I mean is that by these confessional statements, the Church was essentially saying to the world, “We heard what you’ve said about Jesus, and we’re banning that interpretation from our midst forever.” They didn’t do that because the Church is allergic to questions, but because some interpretations—some answers to very important questions about God—can kill the faith (Galatians 1:6-9). The creeds exist precisely because the Church learned, often through blood, that not every version of Jesus is compatible with the Gospel.

For example, Arius, a bishop in Alexandria, came along offering a Jesus who was inspirational but not eternal. He insisted that Jesus was not God from eternity, but rather the first and greatest of God’s created beings. To be exalted, yes. But by no means divine in the sense that He is of the same substance as the Father. In reply, the Council of Nicaea (A.D. 325) gave birth to the Nicene Creed, which said, essentially, “Um, no. He is the only-begotten Son of God, begotten of His Father before all worlds, God of God, Light of Light, very God of very God, begotten, not made, being of one substance with the Father, by whom all things were made….”

This response was not a modern branding exercise. It certainly didn’t come from thin air. It came from God’s Word (John 1:1-3, Colossians 2:9, and countless others). It was an important clarification made to preserve the one true faith that saves. I mean, what’s the point of confessing faith in Jesus—even being willing to die for Him—if the Jesus you confess is false? Creeds are in place precisely for this reason—to preserve a right confession of faith (1 John 2:22-23).

Even better, creedal Christianity never just remained on paper. Creedal Christianity was always ritualized Christianity. What the Church confessed with her mouth, she inevitably enacted with her body. I should pause here for a moment and admit that resistance to rites and ceremonies has always struck me as weird. Enacting what we believe is natural. We already do this instinctively in ordinary life. When people love one another, they don’t merely say it. They demonstrate it. They show up, they make vows, they give gifts, they mark anniversaries. When a nation believes in its sovereignty, it doesn’t just write a constitution, and then that’s it. It raises flags, sings anthems, swears oaths, and builds monuments that enshrine it. Belief naturally seeks embodiment. It inevitably embraces postures and practices that make the invisible visible. In the same way, the rites and ceremonies that emerged were the Church’s way of training the faithful to live inside the truth they confessed, week after week, year after year. It was a very natural way for the body and mind to remain in stride with what the heart confessed to be true (James 2:17).

When this kind of synchronization happens, the Christian faith becomes incredibly resistant to drift. Without them, almost anything can influence direction.

I suppose the thrust of my concern is that this is precisely what much of contemporary church culture has abandoned. Mainstream American Christendom seems to thrive on elasticity—on keeping Jesus just vague enough not to offend anyone and flexible enough to serve every demographic.

The irony in this is that it’s meant to promote growth. And yet, the American Church has been in free fall for decades. This free-floating, syrupy, confessionless, “deeds not creeds” landscape has not resulted in growth. It has resulted in massive erosion. But that’s what happens when your Jesus is more life coach than the eternal Son of God who comes again in glory to judge both the living and the dead (Acts 17:31).

Interestingly, even as creedal Christianity isn’t so much about growth as it is continuity, the early Church did grow—and quite rapidly. Why? Could it be because it refused what American Christianity is all too eager to embrace? The early Church did not survive persecution by becoming more appealing to Roman tastes. It survived by becoming more precise—more dogmatic, more confessional, and in my humble opinion, more liturgical. By its faith, life, and practices, it told the surrounding empires in no uncertain terms, in effect, “We will not adjust Christ to fit your world. You will have to adjust your world to Christ.”

Creedal Christianity can speak this way because it’s anchored in otherworldly things. It is, therefore, by design, capable of surviving this world’s storms. It doesn’t roll over when the challenges come. It can and does remain fixed in place even as everything else tries to pull it apart.

I know I’ve already gone on long enough. I’m guessing the skimmers left five minutes ago. For those who stayed to the end, I suppose I’ll circle back to where I started.

I’ll just say, again, that civil war is not my chief concern. Empires rise and fall. Cultures always burn themselves out eventually. Still, the real danger is not whether America fractures entirely. I’m just wondering if the American Church still possesses a faith sturdy enough to remain standing through it.

I don’t have this concern for creedal Christianity. It’ll survive. History has already more than proven that when and where the pressure mounted, a Church built on crisp confession remained immovable. Our Savior in Hartland is an heir to this hope-filled reality, and so, we enjoy that future. This is true because Christ did not promise His Church an easy path, but He did promise that the gates of hell would not prevail against the fixed Gospel confession that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the living God (Matthew 16:16-18). That’s a creedal statement, and where such confessions remain, so does the Church and the Lord who preserves her.

No Room For Public Relations Language

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Things are messy out there. I just read some news that, for me, is the grossest kind of all.

I just learned that Rev. Michael Mohr, the Central Illinois District President of the LCMS, has been arrested by federal agents on allegations involving the production of child pornography. At this stage, the facts are still coming out, and, of course, allegations are not convictions. Due process will occur. I have no doubt. The courts will do their work.

Still, an allegation like this, true or untrue, is profoundly dreadful. All I can say is that there are some sins that strike at the very heart of trust itself. And this, my friends, is one of them. If you’ve read my new novel, then you’ll know my darker senses in this regard. In other words, when it comes to anyone hurting the vulnerable while wearing a disguise of righteousness… well… “there’s a man goin’ ’round takin’ names.” The character Rev. Daniel Michaels is a conjured cry for someone to do something, anything… please.

But beyond the emotional response, it must be said plainly that the Church exists to protect and serve the vulnerable, not to exploit them, not to engage in their destruction. And so, when accusations like this surface, especially involving a man entrusted with spiritual oversight, the scandal is way more than institutional. It is so incredibly pastoral. It runs a blade through real people. And perhaps worst of all, it shakes the confidence of ordinary Christians who assume, rightly, that their pastors are safe—that they do in fact stand in the stead and by the command of Christ for their good, not their harm. Things like this can make that wobbly for many.

With this in mind, let there be no question among LCMS leadership concerning the path forward. For one, God’s Word does not permit the Church to respond with public relations language. There is no managing the optics of evil. There is only truth, repentance, and ultimately, justice (Ephesians 5:11, Proverbs 28:13). If these allegations are proven, then the man must be removed, disciplined, and held fully accountable under both Church and civil authority (1 Corinthians 5:11-13, 1 Timothy 5:19-20, Romans 13:1-14). The Church does not exist to shield predators. We turn on the lights. We expose darkness with the light of truth, calling things what they are, regardless of the worldly consequences (John 3:20-21).

For those watching from the sidelines with broken hearts, this isn’t a moment for panic. It’s a moment calling for sober-mindedness. People will prop up their excuses for staying away from the Church because of things like this. And yet, Christianity doesn’t collapse when a leader falls. It never has. That’s because the Christian Faith rests on Jesus, not on people. That said, let’s be very clear. God’s Word does demand that leaders in the Church be judged more strictly, not less (James 3:1, Hebrews 13:17). In a practical sense, the higher the office, the more severe the breach. Let the reader understand. If the allegations are true, there is no spin that’ll make this better. There is no framing that’ll make this “understandably regrettable,” as some will be inclined to say from a position of sensitivity. If the charges are true, this is, quite simply, wickedness. And wickedness must be named as such and then thoroughly punished (Romans 12:9).

Thoroughly.

On the other hand, if innocence is proven, then we must serve and protect in ways that shield an unjustly accused man from an unforgiving world (Isaiah 50:8-9). The Church cannot leave him to suffer alone.

But until and after any of these things are known with certainty, we follow the way of truth, and we petition our God to have mercy on us all.

*Update: The formal charges are found at the link below.

https://www.justice.gov/usao-edmo/pr/illinois-reverend-arrested-accused-producing-child-pornography

Hypocrisy

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Charlie Kirk’s death is still very raw for me. I can’t even begin to describe the strange mixture of anger and sadness I’ve experienced over the last few days. I’ve known Charlie for a long time. I keep making it clear to folks that it’s not like we were besties. Lots of people all over the world called him a friend. Still, he read and endorsed my books, called when he needed my help, flew Jennifer and me to his conferences, spoke at our “The Body of Christ and the Public Square” (BOCPS) conference pretty much any time I asked—all things that friends do for each other.

I remember at his “People’s Convention” in Detroit last summer, Charlie hosted a clergy gathering the night before the main event. Of course, I went. I was already in the room when he arrived. When he walked in, he saw me a few rows away and waved, mouthing, “How are you?” I nodded and mouthed back, “Well. You?” He gave me a thumbs up and then turned to give his respectful attention to the person on stage. When he finally took the microphone, of all the local pastors and leaders in the room—and there were many—he pointed only to me, calling me out by name and telling everyone in the room how thankful he was for what I was doing in Michigan and how glad he was to call me a friend.

Admittedly, it was a proud moment. And yet, I was also somewhat embarrassed. I’m just doing what pastors are supposed to do. I’m engaged in the world around me—representing the Church’s concerns in the realm of Caesar.

Before I go further, I should admit that Charlie’s death has torn open old wounds. For years, I’ve endured sneers from fellow LCMS pastors and laypeople who were critical of my partnership with him. Their jabs—sometimes private, sometimes very public—still sting. I’m sore from it. They made my friendship with Charlie into a liability, as though being friends with a brother in Christ who wasn’t Lutheran was somehow scandalous. Even now, as I wrestle with my own sadness, I feel the old irritation rising. It’s not the grief alone that’s raw. It’s the hypocrisy and the sanctimony of those who should know better, but don’t.

I wrote a few weeks ago about a cardinal I’ve heard singing outside my office window. Well, he was back this morning. At least, I think it was him. Either way, his song was familiar, and as before, he was unwaveringly defiant against the noise of the world as he welcomed the dawn. And yet, I also imagined how strange it would be for that crimson bird’s song to shift midstream suddenly—how hypocritical it would be for his melody to change from one that welcomed the sunrise to one that condemned it.

The day before Charlie’s death, I received an unfriendly email—much like the jabs I’ve been getting this year for re-inviting Dr. James Lindsay to BOCPS.  I shouldn’t have been surprised by these things. Every year, in the month leading up to BOCPS, the usual suspects emerge from the shadows to criticize my efforts in the public square. For example, a few years ago, a fellow LCMS pastor blasted me for my friendship with Dinesh D’Souza. When I pushed back, he unfriended me. Another called to complain about my partnership with Ben Shapiro—because he’s Jewish—then unfriended and blocked me. Three years ago, an LCMS district president attempted to cancel me after I highlighted CRT’s presence in our own Lutheran circles, including a BLM rally hosted at Concordia University in Ann Arbor, where the school’s chief administrator spoke. Two years ago, a group of conservative pastors launched a vicious series of online threads criticizing me for working with Tim Ballard, a Mormon, to address child sex trafficking.

Now, before I light the fuse on what I really want to say, let’s get something straight. What I do with BOCPS is not complicated. It is well within the boundaries of “Two Kingdoms” theology. Essentially, I engage in what the Church has long called “cooperation in the externals.” In short, Christians may share a stage, or even a cause, with unbelievers in matters of the public square that affect both Church and society. What we may not do is share an altar or pulpit with a foreign confession. That line has always been clear. What I am doing belongs to the first category, not the second.

And so, the cardinal. I think of that bird and how strange it would be if his song welcoming the morning suddenly turned against it. This is to say, I behold such dissonance in much of what I’ve described so far.

One pertinent example: I find it perplexing that several of those expressing concern also openly support organizations like 1517 or the Institute of Lutheran Theology (ILT)—institutions that trade directly in theology, and in ways far more concerning than anything connected to someone like James Lindsay, who is not even attempting to speak as a theologian. One of my most vicious critics touts his confessional Lutheran authorship and professor status at ILT.

By the way, the distinction between cooperation in externals and fellowship in theology is not without precedent. The Scriptures give us several examples. God used Cyrus, a pagan king, to send His people back to Jerusalem to rebuild the temple (Isaiah 45:1; Ezra 1:1–4). Nehemiah appealed to Artaxerxes, another unbelieving ruler, for letters of safe passage and timber to reconstruct Jerusalem’s walls (Nehemiah 2:1–8). Paul himself claimed the rights of his Roman citizenship to preserve his ministry (Acts 22:25–29). In each case, God’s people worked with unbelievers in outward matters to accomplish the concerns of the Church. They did this without ever inviting them to share in the altar or the pulpit. That line was never blurred.

The difference must be made plain. BOCPS is a cooperation in the externals. James and I share a stage and its microphone to address matters in the public square that impact both Church and society, but we do not share an altar, pulpit, or confession, which makes what I’m doing with James far more appropriate than those in fellowship with 1517 or ILT. Supporting those groups does not constitute cooperation in external matters. It is a fellowship in theology. That is a different thing altogether.

Yet the line is equally clear in another critical direction. To say that a flawed or unbelieving voice can still reflect truth in the public square is not to say that a disqualified pastor should be preaching or teaching in the Church. Not only have 1517 and ILT wandered into dangerous theologies, but they also platform voices who should no longer be preaching or teaching God’s Word. The Church has its own God-given standards for those who do these things. Those standards are not negotiable (1 Timothy 3:1–7; Titus 1:5–9). Any man removed from office because of, let’s say, adultery, or perhaps embezzlement or sexual abuse, or some other extraordinary public sin, is no longer fit for that office, regardless of his eloquence or credentials. And yet, he cannot be barred from speaking in the marketplace of ideas.

This is not complicated.

And so, it is entirely appropriate to work with someone like James Lindsay in the public square. James is an agnostic and does not claim Christian faith, let alone to the office of preacher or teacher in Christ’s Church. He does not stand in our pulpit or at our altar. He stands at a microphone—and then afterward, is welcomed into my home to enjoy dinner with my Christian family, and then he and I head to the bar in my basement, where I share the best whiskies I can offer—while our conversation, of course, steers into matters that include the Christian faith. In every instance, he analyzes and exposes the corrosive ideologies of our time, and I do, too. Together, we offer one another insights that can be applied in defense of both the Church and society. To receive that help is no more a compromise of faith than Paul quoting pagan poets in Athens. And yet, as it was for Saint Paul, so also for me. My words are Gospel-infused, making them the most potent in the discussion.

In the end, all of this reveals that the issue for some of my critics is not really about partnerships or purity. The problem is selective condemnation. When the alliances are their own, they are sanctified. When the alliances are mine, they are scandalous.

I genuinely wonder why that is. Knowing most of these men personally, I’m more inclined to think it’s because they believe they are gatekeepers. If you are not one of the boys in their group, not tethered to the right circle of approved voices, then your work is immediately suspect.

In the meantime, I mentioned in my sermon last Sunday a quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson. He said, “We do what we do, and we call it by the best names.” The point was to highlight how easy it is for us to justify our own behavior with noble labels while condemning the same behaviors in others.

Uh-oh. I quoted from Emerson, a poet who, like Lindsay, was unwilling to accept the deity of Christ. In fact, also like James, he rejected the authority of Scripture altogether. Still, when Emerson described the frustrating dissonance that sometimes exists between what humans allow for themselves compared to what they allow for others—what they defend and what they condemn—he was absolutely right. And the Scriptures agree with him (Romans 2:1; Matthew 7:3–5; Matthew 23:27–28; James 1:22–24; Isaiah 29:13).

Since I’ve referenced Emerson, a man of ungodly belief and yet capable of, on occasion, reflecting certain sunbeams of truth through his cracked window pane, remember that the Apostle Paul argued that truth can flicker even in unlikely places, and to reject every beam of light just because the window is cracked is foolish.

But again, the real soreness of this moment is the more striking inconsistency of those who once condemned me for my friendship with Charlie, and who now, in the wake of his death, are posting tributes that call him a martyr. How could a man they kept at arm’s length suddenly be worthy of such a holy title? How could the same men who derided me for walking beside him in life be so eager to claim him in death?

The public square will always be noisy and unpredictable. The Church will be, too. But there is no license in either for hypocrisy.

It seems even a cardinal has this figured out. His song is consistent. He would never think to condemn in one moment what he welcomed in another. Instead, he chirps the truth of the one true God who made the morning. He may even do it while sharing a branch with a very different bird. That bird may not sing the same notes, or even understand the sunrise in the same way, but natural law’s branch still holds them both. And natural law’s dawn still comes, unconcerned by their theological differences.

Things Are Not Always As They Seem

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Grab your coffee. I have a lot to say.

I’m guessing you’ve heard the saying, “Things are not always as they seem.” Truer statements have been made throughout history. Still, this is one worth remembering, especially now that artificial intelligence (AI) has become so prominent.

Relative to images of people, to gauge their authenticity, I’ve learned to look at the hands. It seems AI has difficulty creating human hands. There was an image of Trump going around not that long ago that seemed quite real. He was on his knees in prayer in a dimly lit church. It was defended as authentic and promoted with the byline, “This is what we want in a president.” Agreed, a praying president would be nice. The only problem is that the man in the picture had twelve fingers. I’ve shaken hands with President Trump. If he had such alien-like hands, I’m sure I would’ve noticed. Although a twelve-fingered, non-woke, pro-life extraterrestrial that affirms two genders, believes in secure borders, promotes religious liberty, and understands Critical Race Theory and Socialism as the devilish ideas they are, well, I might actually vote for such a creature.

I read an article several months ago about how 20 million of the 200 million writing assignments submitted in schools last year were as much as 80% AI-generated. That’s not good, especially since many of the assignments were university and research-level work. With this as education’s trajectory, could it be that, as a society, we’re not progressing but regressing? I wonder how many of those assignments were submitted in Michigan. U.S. News & World Report shared that Michigan is currently number 41 in education in the United States. Florida is number 1. Go figure.

Within the last year, I’ve seen occasional Facebook advertisements for sermon-generating software from a company called SermonAI. I’ve started reporting it to the Facebook overlords as sexually offensive. Why? Because there isn’t a “perverse” option, and when it comes to perverted behavior, a pastor preaching a sermon written by a machine seems pretty weird. Even if the resulting sermon’s content is good, it certainly stirs concerns relative to a pastor’s call. I mean, Jesus didn’t call ChatGPT to stand in His stead and by His command. He called a human man. He called a pastor.

A few weeks back, Elon Musk shared an AI-generated video of Kamala Harris. I half-laughed and half-cried through the whole thing. With a near-perfectly generated voice, the machine said things most already knew to be true. It confessed to knowing about Biden’s cognitive decline for many years, admitting the debate in June as proof the charade was over. It admitted to being a woke DEI candidate, which, technically, Harris already admitted during a sit-down conference conversation in 2017, saying, “We have to stay woke. Like, everybody needs to be woke. And you can talk about if you’re the wokest or woker, but just stay more woke than less woke.”

For clarification, woke means things like accepting that men can get pregnant, that the only way to conquer racism is with more racism, and that it’s reasonable to put people in jail for thought crimes. If you don’t know what thought crimes are, you should look up the term, especially if you have plans to travel to England.

The AI software even mimicked Harris’ word salad tendencies, which are the rambling go-nowhere speech patterns she often falls into during unscripted Q and A sessions. I looked up “word salad” to see if it had any clinical references. It does. It’s sometimes referred to as jargon aphasia, and across multiple sources, it appears to happen for one of three reasons. First, it’s an actual disorder, and the person speaking cannot communicate sensibly. Second, it can result from anxiety medication usage. Third, it’s a narcissistic defense mechanism. People in positions of authority who don’t know what they’re talking about will do it to make their listeners think they do. There’s no question Harris is a top chef when it comes to word salads. I’ll leave it to you to decide which of the three reasons fits.

While you’re deciding, one of my favorite Harris word salads involved an attempt at off-script intellectualism during a speech at Howard University. After some toothy cackling, Harris turned solemn, attempting intellectual eloquence, “So, I think it’s very important, as you have heard from so many incredible leaders, for us at every moment in time, and certainly this one, to see the moment in time in which we exist and are present, and to be able to contextualize it, to understand where we exist in the history and in the moment as it relates not only to the past but the future.”

What? That demonstrated genuine cognitive depth akin to a twelve-fingered Trump.

I could go on, showing how this message’s first premise haunts us. Indeed, things are not always as they seem. Knowing this, discernment is necessary. However, to get there, study is required. For example, did Trump really say that there’d be a bloodbath if he didn’t win the forthcoming election in November? Yes, he did. But what did he mean by it? Was he talking about a violent uprising, as the Democrats and media keep insisting, or was he referring specifically to the economy and the effects of certain trade agreements relative to American auto manufacturers? For the proper context, skip the baiting headlines and find the actual speech. You’ll have everything you need to decide.

How about the plot to kidnap Michigan’s Governor Whitmer? Was it really the brainchild of right-wing extremists? Look into it. Having graduated from the FBI Citizen’s Academy in June and experienced first-hand the Bureau’s prejudice against conservatives, I found it interesting that many in the extremist group were actually FBI informants or agents. The others were mostly exonerated. Those who weren’t—the handful who pled guilty—also pled entrapment, insisting they never would have come up with the idea, let alone acted on it, had it not been for the government’s influence. In other words, they were set up. Considering the timeline and its significance, the notably stalwart-against-right-wing extremism, Gretchen Whitmer, was handily re-elected, and both legislative chambers flipped from Republican to Democrat. A massive shift like that hasn’t happened in Michigan since 1983. It seems awfully Reichstag-like. What do I mean by that? Search “Reichstag Fire.” Even the first few paragraphs of the Wikipedia article will tell you everything you need to know.

How about the inconceivable idea that Planned Parenthood, as a commercial gimmick, might provide free abortions during the Democratic National Convention in Chicago next week? “That’s blatantly untrue,” were one friend’s stern online words. “That’s spreading misinformation!” Except, it isn’t. A Planned Parenthood branch—Green Rivers in Saint Louis—announced they’re taking their mobile clinic to Chicago, where they’ll park during the convention. “Here we come, Chicago!” they tweeted joyfully. “Our mobile health clinic will be in the West Loop… Aug 19-20, providing FREE vasectomies & medication abortion. EC [emergency contraception] will also be available for free without an appointment.” The post included a link for online reservations.

How about an easier one—a question that requires no investigation but instead begins with mere sensibility?

Should I trust the science? Should I get this vaccine and take that pill and wear this mask and have that procedure performed simply because the doctors and scientists—the experts—said I should? I wouldn’t even buy shoes without doing some research. I certainly wouldn’t do it simply because the shoe salesman—the product expert—said so.

In all things, investigate, discern, and then act. For Christians, the ultimate motivation for this is faithfulness to and alignment with God’s will. That’s the Bible’s uncomplicated direction. And why? Well, for one, only God truly has our best interest at heart. Therefore, we ought not to prefer above God those who can kill the body but cannot kill the soul (Matthew 10:28). We ought not to live in alignment with the world in ways that contradict His Word and trade away our eternal future (Mark 8:34-38). We must be “wise as to what is good and innocent as to what is evil” (Romans 16:19). Indeed, in all things, “we must obey God rather than men” (Acts 5:29).

Knowing this, we dig deeper. Inspired by the Holy Spirit, King Solomon urged, “The heart of him who has understanding seeks knowledge, but the mouths of fools feed on folly” (Proverbs 15:14). Fools post images of 12-fingered Trumps, vehemently arguing the image is real. Hosea insisted, “Whoever is wise, let him understand these things; whoever is discerning, let him know them; for the ways of the Lord are right, and the upright walk in them, but transgressors stumble in them” (Hosea 14:9). Saint John warned that Christians ought to test each spirit before believing it (1 John 4:1). Still, people blanketly believe that as an ELCA Lutheran, Tim Walz is a genuine Lutheran Christian. ELCA Lutheranism is more cult than Christian. It is in no way Lutheran. Genuine Lutheranism does not deny God’s Word is inspired, inerrant, and immutable. Genuine Lutheranism does not support nor promote abortion, transgenderism, social causes that fundamentally reject the Gospel while allowing cities to burn, and all the other leftist ideologies Walz and his beloved ELCA endorse.

The writer to the Hebrews described mature Christianity as the kind with “powers of discernment trained by constant practice to distinguish good from evil” (Hebrews 5:14). Saint Paul reminded the Church in Philippi to pursue the kind of love for God and one another that abounds in “knowledge and all discernment, so that you may approve what is excellent, and so be pure and blameless for the day of Christ” (Philippians 1:9-10). He said the same thing with fewer words in 1 Thessalonians 5:21, writing, “But test everything; hold fast what is good.”

I’ve already gone on long enough, and I think you get the point. So, how about I close with this?

Things are not always as they seem. Therefore, investigate. Become familiar with the characters’ names and the mechanisms’ histories. Read a transcript on occasion. Watch a congressional hearing. Read a little about the actual differences between LCMS and ELCA Lutheranism. Consider the various details you just can’t get in a two-paragraph article or a 30-second news clip. Finally, make sure you’ve answered your own nagging questions about whatever it is you’re investigating. Those questions may actually be unspoken warnings to keep digging.

When you’re finally ready, act. Put your knowledge to work. I’ve heard it said that knowledge must be put where people will trip over it. The Bible speaks similarly, noting that those who have the Word of God and the knowledge it gives will practice it. Those who do not ultimately deceive themselves in ways that could result in their unfortunate judgment (James 1:22, 2 Peter 2:21-22, Hebrews 10:26-30).

Investigate, discern, and then put your knowledge to work. Start tripping people with knowledge. And not only the identifiable (and beneficial) boundaries of right and wrong, truth and untruth, but also the better facts of sin and grace—namely, the life, death, and resurrection of Christ for the world’s rescue. As a Christian who knows stuff, you may only be working part-time if that’s missing from your efforts.

Absurdity

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One thing I appreciate about summer is that the time I spend writing tends to occur more so in the sunlight than in the darkness. It may sound absurd, but there’s a very real sense of invigoration I get during moments when the sun is streaming through my office window, not necessarily directly, but still enough to cause the glossier book covers on my shelves to glisten.

It’s even better when it’s shining directly on me as I tap away at the keyboard. It’s an easy feeling; a restorative feeling.

I just used the word “absurd” in the text above to describe your possible reaction to the scene. I did this because I’ve learned that what is sensible to one may be completely inane to another. I described something I enjoy doing in the sunshine. For you, the thought of typing on a keyboard in the sunshine is absurd. You’d rather work in the garden, or ride your bike, or swim in your pool. The funny thing is, for as sublime as either of our preferred moments in the sunshine might be, we’re both only a step from absurdity.

Here’s what I mean.

I’m a writer at heart. I could spin verbal yarns about almost anything. Just ask my kids. This is true because creativity with language has always been something I loved to explore. But the thing about writing (especially in this day and age) is that you don’t have to be all that good at it to be successful. For the most part, you only need two things. Firstly, you need to be irrational enough to put your thoughts into the public realm. I say “irrational” because, these days, willingly writing for public consumption is like volunteering to be a fox for the hounds.

Secondly, what you write needs to be reasonably intelligible. If what you say makes little sense to the reader, your efforts will have been in vain.

In short, without these two ingredients, a writer is destined for absurdity.

The same goes for your gardening or bike riding or swimming. One misplaced element and the activity becomes absurd. Planting seeds but not watering them is ridiculous. Riding a bicycle with no chain on the gears is senseless. Paddling around in a waterless pool wearing water wings is a sign you may need psychiatric help.

Christians exist at the edge of absurdity, too.

In one sense, this is true because the Gospel is already nonsensical to the observing world. It makes very little sense that the innocent would die for the guilty, that the One opposed and dejected would first be moved to forgive His dejectors and “love them to the end” (John 13:1). Indeed, this is the absurdly wonderful image of our rescuing God.

In another sense, Christians exist at the edge of absurdity’s shadowlands because as we still retain the Sin-nature, we are more than capable of claiming faith while doing so apart from faith’s key ingredients.

For example, how is it possible for faith to assert absolute devotion to Christ while only moving the person in which it dwells to attend worship three or four times a year, sometimes far less? Frankly, that’s absurd. How can faith stake a genuine claim in the Savior as the Lover of all nations and the Redeemer of the world while partitioning particular races into permanently unforgivable categories of “victim” and “oppressor” as Black Lives Matter and Critical Race Theory does? That doesn’t make any sense. How can faith claim to abide in Christ and yet be so distant from the truths of the Lord’s holy Word by embracing the murder of unborn children or dysphoric gender ideologies that confuse Natural Law and destroy the family? That’s farcical.

Seeds with no water won’t grow. A bike with no chain won’t go anywhere. Dive into a pool with no water and you’re likely to be maimed or killed. Exist as a Christian apart from Christ and His Word and Sacrament gifts and your faith will starve and die. A dead faith is no faith, and such a condition is guaranteed to lead into the mouth of destructive falsehoods resulting in eternal Death.

Pastors are charged with bringing this warning. Interestingly, pastors have been offering this kindly advice born from the Holy Scriptures since, well, forever. There are plenty of reasons for this. I think Luigi Pirandello, the Italian playwright and poet summed up one of them when he said, “Life is full of infinite absurdities, which, strangely enough, do not need to appear plausible, since they are true.”

Sinful humanity will do absurd things. That’s the rule, not the exception. Christians are by no means hovering outside of this tendency. I can assure you I’ve been on the giving and receiving end of this verity countless times just in the last week. Nevertheless, by genuine faith in Jesus Christ—by humble repentance and faith given by the Holy Spirit through the Gospel—we are free from sinful absurdity’s eternal consequences and empowered for waging a deliberate war against it. This is true because in contrast to the unbelieving world, even in the midst of our own insanity, we have something the world does not: the Word of God. It’s there that we learn to identify our absurdities, coming face to face with just how deeply terrible they are. But it’s also by that same Word—namely, the Gospel—we are introduced and grafted to the One who has rescued us from perpetual bondage to them (John 15:5-8), and are changed into people who love truth.

I suppose I’m sharing these things because just outside my window is a clear blue sky promising a beautiful day of sunshine. This brings to mind the forthcoming summer. Every year at this time, I want to do what I can to encourage you to be faithful during the summer months. Don’t stay away from worship and study. Be authentic. Know that you need what the Lord gives by these things. You’re already aware that you need moisture in your garden, a chain on your bike, and water in your pool. Admit your need for the key ingredients for faith delivered by way of Word and Sacrament ministry. As a Christian, measuring their value as worthy of deliberate ongoing absence just doesn’t make sense. In fact, it’s just plain absurd.