Tag Archives: thoma

In the Shadows

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Mark Zuckerberg, the CEO of Facebook, has announced he’s ridding the platform of third-party fact-checkers. In his own words, he wants to prioritize free speech. Interestingly, I was finally able to reclaim my Instagram account just last night. It was suspended a few years ago, so I eventually gave up on it. Maybe that’s a sign that Zuckerberg’s intentions are genuine. However, my New Year’s Day post was just removed from Facebook. Apparently, it offended someone and was reported. It seems that as 2025 begins, there’s something offensive about encouraging people to trust Christ rather than the world around them. It appears that Facebook still has some sinister, agenda-driven people keeping users’ speech from truly being free.

The post is in appeal. But truth be told, I’m yet ever to win a Facebook appeal.

In the meantime, California is on fire. Of course, we pray for everyone’s safety. Still, anyone familiar with the state’s politics will know this is only partly nature’s fault. An honest observer will agree that what’s happening was entirely preventable. However, those in leadership at the state level and those at the helm in these incinerated communities had other priorities. Water reservoirs that would typically be full were deliberately drained for negligible repairs, conservation, or climate change reasons. Never mind winter’s Santa Ana winds and the threat of wildfires. In addition, fire and rescue units were unprepared and understaffed, losing funding or being penalized because they weren’t diverse enough.

By the way, and I suppose unfortunately for the climate change religion and its elitist Hollywood priesthood, the current size and content of these residential fires have already released a hundred times more CO2 into the atmosphere in a few days than all of North America’s collective fossil fuel consumption in a typical year. But then again, I learned that a typical woodland wildfire, depending on the forest’s density, can release as much as three hundred times more than all the world’s industrialized countries combined.

As one would expect, the militant left is saying these things aren’t true. I already read two articles this morning in which various local leaders in Los Angeles essentially confirmed these details and yet diverted the discussion with irrelevant information, finally insisting that playing the blame game during tragedies is not helpful. However, these are the same folks who stand at the ready to blame conservatives within minutes of a school shooting. The irony so far is as thick as the flames devouring Palisades and Hollywood Hills.

Here’s another bit of irony. Joe Biden promised the Federal government would cover 100% of the California disaster’s expenses for the next six months. Estimates suggest that equates to as much as $150 billion. But aren’t there still people displaced and living in tents and campers in Western North Carolina following Hurricane Helene, many of whom barely received a dime? Why the massive pledge to Hollywood and not Appalachian America? In addition to this, Biden just authorized another $500 million for Ukraine. He ordered it sent before Trump takes office. Again, he’s done this even as people in various communities on the East Coast are still sleeping in tents in the middle of winter four months later. Several billions of dollars somehow swerved to miss them. Things get worse when you consider the Federal government’s wasteful spending. For example, it just gave a $12 million grant for pickleball courts in Nevada and $300,000 to help establish and promote “affinity groups” (more DEI garbage) among bird-watching communities. Did a flock of starlings complain to someone in Washington that there isn’t enough transgender representation among those watching them?

I say forget about the hundreds of billions of dollars for a moment. I wonder what even the pickleball and bird-watching grants could do to at least alleviate the suffering of Americans forced to live in tents during winter.

While I’ll admit I was hoping for a better start to 2025, I’m not surprised by any of these happenings. I suppose the only real surprise so far is that, somehow, President Trump hasn’t been blamed for all of it. Although, the nation took a noticeable turn on November 5, 2024, didn’t it? In fact, that’s what moved Zuckerberg to make changes at Facebook. He called the election a “national tipping point” away from current social and political trajectories.

That’s good. Still, we’ll see. Do I have hope that there’ll be a turnaround, that all the woke garbage that’s smothering so much of what makes America great will eventually dissipate? Well, first of all, anyone who knows me best will confirm that I’m always looking to the horizon with hope. In that sense, yes, I’m hoping for a turnaround.

On the other hand, while I hope for a national course correction, I don’t expect anything to change much for Christianity. For the most part, the Christian Church already exists in the shadows. This is in part by our own doing. I say this because we’ve allowed ourselves to be relegated to the sidelines. A generation ago, it wasn’t uncommon for the local pastor to give an invocation and prayer in the name of Jesus before the high school’s graduation ceremony. But those days are long gone. In the meantime, rather than holding the line on these things and engaging the culture, too many Christians have opted for comfortable security, leading to cultural conformity. And among such folks, we have pastors who insist on and actually preach disengagement—that it’s not in a Christian’s job description to engage in ways that preserve the Church’s ability to preach and teach the Gospel freely. In this, we’ve abandoned the public square and silenced the Church’s voice in so many arenas. What has been the result? A society that has lost its ability to see, let alone understand, that Christianity was and remains fundamental to Western civilization’s rise and success. Perhaps worse, society has given birth to its own version of Christianity, which is little more than secularism wearing a thin Christian veneer. Such Christianity claims God’s Word is only as true as the individual wants it to be. It exchanges the meat and potatoes of tradition for syrupy and saccharined religiosity—and people are hooked on it. Why? Because, again, it can be whatever you want it to be. It’s never about absolute faithfulness to Christ. It’s never about the Christian community of past, present, or future. It’s about what you prefer right now.

Until this monstrosity dies, the shadows will be home to genuine Christianity. The funny thing is that a light is best seen in the darkness. In that sense, while times might remain tough for creedal and confessionally minded Christians, there’s a sense that the Gospel will be better visible through them to those who need it most. When you get a chance, take a listen to Wesley Huff’s recent interview with Joe Rogan. I’ve been hoping for years that someone would end up on Joe’s show who could iterate genuine Christianity to and for Joe and his listeners. Personally, I think Huff did just that, especially concerning the authenticity and reliability of God’s Word. Convincing someone of the Word’s reliability matters when you’re laboring to introduce them to the Word made flesh, Jesus. Interestingly, Huff only made it onto Joe’s show because of a debate he had with a popular esoteric spiritualist named Billy Carson. Essentially, Huff proved Carson a fraud—and he did so in a gentlemanly way. Rogan, an incredibly open-minded man, heard about it, watched the debate, and invited Huff on his podcast.

I suppose as it relates to Huff and Carson, the real Gospel will always remain crisp in its definition from the shadows, not blurred or confused by quasi-spiritual nonsense swirling in its surroundings. Saying that, I guess the hope that genuine Christianity might emerge from the shadows could be misplaced. It really doesn’t matter where it is. It only matters that it is. From there, our task becomes one of faithful readiness. Whether it’s Joe Rogan or our neighbor next door asking us about the Gospel, the goal is not to retreat but to speak boldly, trusting that God will keep His promise to illumine those in desperate need of hope and redemption.

It’s Okay to Say No

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We’re five days into the new year. I hope you had an opportunity to rest somewhat after Christmas. I kind of did. Well, it was more like a few idling moments in between the typical full-throttle busyness. Of course, I fool myself every year into thinking I’m going to get a break after Christmas to just hang around the house and do absolutely nothing for a few days. It seems those plans are forever foiled. The first day or two is usually spent being sick. After that, I get pockets of time—a few hours here and there in between needing to be somewhere doing something for someone. I’m not necessarily complaining. But I’m also looking at 2025 and admitting I’m not Superman.

I had a phone conversation with a friend in California before our New Year’s Eve worship service last Tuesday. He asked what my resolutions were for the new year. I shared one of them. He laughed when I told him. The humor prompted a related question. He asked, “If you were forced to give something up in the New Year—something you could never have or use again—what would it be?” I didn’t even hesitate.

“My mobile phone,” I said. “Although, ‘forced’ is not the right word. I’m tempted daily to throw it out the window at 70 miles per hour and let the highway do the rest. I absolutely despise my phone, if only for the texts and private messages I get all day long.”

He laughed again because of the conspicuous irony. He had reached out to me that afternoon by text to see if I had a minute to chat.

Acknowledging mobile phones and texting as society’s preferred forms of communication, arrangements that won’t be going away any time soon, I asked him the same question.

“I’d give up spicy food,” he replied. “I love it, but as I get older, there’s a terrible price to pay for a date with Sriracha.” He shared a brief description of the unfortunate results. I agree. He needs to give up spicy food.

Overall, the conversation had me thinking about how each new year brings opportunities for doing things differently, usually for the sake of betterment. But it also had me thinking about how personal betterment sometimes means there are things we shouldn’t be doing at all. In other words, we need to be able to say “no.”

But from where I sit, doling out yes’s and no’s is tricky business. I say this because I know how easily people are offended by the word “no,” especially when it comes from a pastor. I could sit here and type for hours about how telling someone “no” usually ends up being interpreted as me not caring about them, even when it’s as simple as not replying to a text or private message. Of course, that’s not true. I do care. Still, that’s the era in which we live. It’s very centripetal.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t change the fact that when I say “yes” to everything, it means I’m saying “no” to an awful lot of somethings. Usually, it’s my family. Additionally, it means I’m saying “no” to self-care, the kind that makes it possible for any normal person actually to give a darn about almost anything they’re doing. Interestingly, even as Jesus was completely outward-focused in every way, having never given up on His monumental task to save the world, he still set boundaries. Even when the crowds were clamoring, many among them calling for His immediate attention, He still took opportunities to step away for rest.

That’s one of my resolutions for the year—to say “no” more often. It’s not the resolution I shared with my friend that made him laugh. Although, as I mentioned, it is somewhat related.

I suppose what I’ve shared here isn’t necessarily for me alone. It’s a lesson for all of us. Whether it’s putting down the phone, giving up spicy food, or simply saying “no” when needed, we should take stock of what truly matters. As I look at just the forthcoming month of January, I can see it’s already brimming. Saying “no” will be a necessity, not a luxury.

For some, hearing the word “no” will sting, and I’ll suddenly be the worst pastor in the world. For others, they’ll be bothered because the “no” will mean “not right now,” and they’ll have to wait a few days for whatever it is they want. And yet, for plenty of others, they’ll understand. They’ll instinctively recognize that saying “no” isn’t a sign of failure but rather an act of stewardship. It’s to admit that you, me—all of us—are human, and we are limited in time, energy, and ability. That means we must be mindful of how we use the resources God has given.

When I think about the people who are counting on me, from my family to the people both inside and outside of my congregation, I realize that saying “no” at the right times is actually saying “yes” to being the kind of pastor God has called me to be. I’m by no means perfect at this. Nevertheless, as the new year unfolds, I’ll start each day as I always do—praying for the wisdom that only the Holy Spirit can provide. In particular, I’ll pray for the wisdom to know when to say “no” and the courage to let that be enough. I’ll do this remembering that even as Christ drives His sheep along from one place to the next, He doesn’t do so endlessly. He also delights in leading His flock to green pastures beside still waters.

New Year’s Day 2025

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Welcome to the first day of 2025. On the way into the church office this morning to get ready for today’s New Year’s Day worship, I listened to a podcast interview with an executive from an artificial intelligence (AI) company. He said more than once he believes the new year holds much potential. My first thought was, “The potential for what?”

Of course, as someone betting on AI’s success, he noted only positives. He talked about its monumental efficiency relative to almost anything it does. He spoke about how it can reduce human error and increase safety. He mentioned its already incredible strides in the fields of medicine and education.

Frankly, he lost me at education. Actually, he’d already lost me with “much potential.”

It seems to me that the more AI does for us, the lazier we’re likely to become. As this meets with education, why bother learning the essential mechanics of a crucial calculation or digging deep within oneself for the best words in the best order when, in the end, AI can do the mathematics without your understanding or write one’s final paper without your grammatical skill? I know I’ve written in the past that Turnitin, a plagiarism and AI detecting tool, reported that of the two hundred million papers submitted in 2024, twenty-two million were at least 20% AI-created. Six million were over 80% AI-generated. That’s not good. Are we getting dumber and lazier? Maybe. Concerning “much potential,” we could be putting ourselves out of work. With AI’s increased capabilities, human potential may even become irrelevant entirely.

In a more profound sense, everything has potential. But is it good or bad? It was Winston Churchill who said, “Continuous effort—not strength or intelligence—is the key to unlocking our potential.” Churchill said things like that to inspire and unite his nation for what would be a long and dreadful war against the Nazis. Interestingly, Adolph Hitler said parallel things about potential, ultimately rallying the German people with fiery speeches geared toward similar resilience.

But these were two very different forms of potential being provoked.

I’m sure everyone has an opinion about this kind of stuff. However, it seems Churchill labored to preserve liberty as a universal principle. It may sound somewhat nerdy, but I’ve memorized several of Churchill’s speeches. From what I can tell, he wanted to awaken the nation’s potential for positive moral courage leading to action. He desired to enlist and then prove that potential’s limits during a time when he believed it was needed most. Hitler’s efforts were far different. He tapped into sinister potentials born from entirely different principles, ones that bolstered tyranny’s capacity and fostered unity around a national entitlement fixed on an assumed inherent racial superiority. Overall, his goal wasn’t to defend individual freedoms or lift Germany’s citizens to something better. His goal was to unite in the persecution of others while subjugating everyone and everything else.

I can already tell I’m about to wander into a much longer conversation. I don’t want to do that. And so, to get back on track, I guess what I’m pondering out loud is that 2025, like every year before it, has potential. But as Christians, there’s something fundamental that we already know about potential.

Christians know the world’s potential cannot be separated from human sinfulness. Saint Paul reminds us in Romans 3:23 that “all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” Aware of this, as long as we remain in this fallen world, every pursuit—technological, social, political, or even moral—will carry the burden of imperfection. This means that human achievements, no matter how grand or well-intentioned, always bear the possibility of ruin. Human or AI, it doesn’t matter. Humans are sinful. AI was created and is being developed by humans. It may streamline processes and expand our reach, but as a tool held by sin-stained fingers, like everything else, it is forever susceptible to misuse.

In short, Christians know that human potential untethered from godliness goes nowhere. They also know something else Saint Paul said about humans who’ve been grafted to Jesus. By divine inspiration, he assured us that “he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus” (Philippians 1:6). Unlike the fleeting ambitions of this world, Christian potential is anchored in something other than the human will. It’s not fixed to our abilities, efficiency, or productivity. It’s fixed to something—to someone—eternal.

Christians step into every new year, knowing their greatest potential is found in Christ. They know that to be shaped by His Word and aimed toward all circumstances sustained by His ceaseless love is to rest in His powerful potential. His potential offers a very different answer to the somewhat cynical question, “The potential for what?” The Lord’s potential is strength in the face of adversity, hope when hope appears nowhere to be found, joy amid sadness, and light in a darkened world in need of rescue.

I don’t know about you, but I prefer to start 2025 fixed on Christ’s potential, not my own. Doing so, I expect 2025 will be an outstanding year. Now, as I already mentioned, there’s a New Year’s Day Divine Service this morning at 10:00 AM here at Our Savior. What better way to begin a new year than by receiving from Christ through His Word and Sacrament everything I just described? I hope to see you here. You certainly have the potential.

New Year’s Eve 2024

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Truth be told, it’s been years since Jennifer and I have stayed up until midnight on New Year’s Eve. I’ll take the blame for that. I’m usually spent by 9 PM, no matter what day it is. Although, on New Year’s Eve, I have been known to survive until 10:00 PM, but that’s only because I practiced the week before with the 10:00 PM Christmas Eve service. Either way, the hours I’m actually awake on New Year’s Eve are well spent. Once we get home from evening worship, like most folks, we spend precious time together as a family. Among other things, we play games and eat snacks. And, wow, do we eat! I love those crisply baked bacon-wrapped chestnuts and the miniature sausages slathered in sweetened barbeque sauce. Jennifer usually makes both. I am blessed. Of course, the snacks are nice, but the better blessing is our togetherness.

The days before Christmas, Madeline asked me more than once what I wanted as a gift. She wanted to make sure to get just the right thing for her dad. I was no help. Each time she asked, I told her I didn’t know. But actually, I did. It’s just that my answer would’ve sounded syrupy. Really, the only thing I want, no matter what day of the year it might be, is to be with them—to sit back and listen to them talking and laughing and enjoying one another’s company. That’s a gift enough for me. And to unwrap it, no matter when during the year it’s happening, is to mingle a silent prayer of thanksgiving to God, the gift’s true giver.

New Year’s Eve has the potential for a similar prayer.

Tonight, the world races toward the year’s final chime. I suppose for many, the hours before midnight form a unique crossroad. We stand, one foot planted firmly in the closing chapters of the past while the other steps into the uncertain expanse of tomorrow. This can be a precarious, almost bipolar, place to stand. When I say this, I speak from experience.

At the edge of one year becoming the next, there is the temptation to think backward to bygone days. The older I get, the more I think about when Jennifer and I were younger, and our kids were little. Those days seem so far away, and the in-between space is so easily filled with thoughts that the best days have passed. Simultaneously, New Year’s Eve nudges me onto my tiptoes. I look up and over its horizon toward the unknown. As I do, my sin-nature prompts concern. What’s coming my way? What does the future hold for me, for my family, for you, for our nation, for our world?

If left to myself, in a sense, the New Year’s Eve countdown can sometimes feel a little more like the moments before a ticking time bomb reaches 0:00.

But I’m a Christian, and there’s something I know. While the surrounding world counts down to midnight, for me, time begins to blur a little at the new year, especially if I’m observing it as I should—which is through a Gospel lens. Yes, the calendar is changing. Yes, a new year is beginning. However, I know by faith in Christ that God has already gathered up my past, present, and future into the arms of His love. The death of Jesus Christ was the hour of hours. Paul said as much in Romans 13:11 when he wrote, “Besides this, you know the time, that the hour has come for you to wake from sleep. For salvation is nearer to us now than when we first believed.” The word he uses for “time” is καιρόν (kairon). That’s not the word for sequential time. It’s a word referring to a season marked by a moment of critical importance.

We know what that critical moment was. It was the death of God’s Son for sinners. Born from that moment, Christians exist in faith’s season leading toward salvation—eternal life. Now, standing at every New Year’s crossroads, there is the confidence that sequential time and all its happenings are held by the One who is eternal. Jesus Christ—the same yesterday, today, and forever—is the anchor of a Christian’s life story, and we know He can be trusted to write every forthcoming chapter.

My prayer for you tonight is that New Year’s Eve will be an opportunity, not for wishing for days past or fearing what lies ahead, but for resting in the steadfastness of God’s continued love. I hope that it’ll be a chance for you to remember that each new year, like each new day, is a gift wrapped in His mercies, which are new every morning (Lamentations 3:22-23).

With that, don’t forget about our New Year’s Eve service today at 4:30 PM. If your church is not offering a worship service, feel free to stop by and join us here at Our Savior. One attendee or two hundred, we wouldn’t think of starting a new year any other way. (By the way, we offer a service tomorrow, too. That one is at 10:00 AM.) Again, we’re located at 13667 Highland Road, Hartland, MI 48353. I hope you can make it. God will certainly make it worth your while, being sure to situate you with the timeless assurance that in Christ, all things are made new—not just at the turning of a calendar page, but every remaining moment of your mortal life until the life to come.

Christmas Day 2024

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You should have figured I’d sit down to write something to you this morning. How could I not? You’re family, and if there’s anything that families almost certainly do together at Christmas, it’s sit and remember, finding joy in familiar things and the memories they stir. Indeed, familiar things are often comforting things. We know them well. We know their sounds and scents. We know how they feel in our hands. And when we interact with them, we are strangely at ease. Christmas has a way of introducing and reintroducing this sensation every year. It did so for me last week. Let me tell you how, and in the best way I know how—by telling you a story.

My Grandma Thoma had a small candy bin on a side table near her couch that she kept filled with the chalky pink mints you might find at a bank or funeral home. Of course, as kids, we didn’t care. Candy was candy. Anyway, the round bin, about as big as a coffee mug, was by no means an extravagant vessel. Rough and unpainted, its old metal was worn. Its hinged top was challenging to open. Even worse, it screeched like a haunted mansion’s front door, assuring that any would-be candy thieves were swiftly apprehended. Still, whenever the grandchildren came for a visit, we were allowed to pass it between us, each taking a piece of its contents for ourselves.

One year at Christmas, having received the required wink of approval from Grandma, my brother and I opened the bin and found striped peppermints instead of the usual chalky pastels. We smiled. She smiled. I still remember that relatively insignificant Christmas moment.

I haven’t seen the candy bin in decades. I don’t know what happened to it after she died. My guess is that someone in the family—an aunt, uncle, or cousin—took it home and has it sitting somewhere on a shelf. At least, I hope it is. Either way, why am I telling you this? Because for some strange reason, this Christmas memory of my Grandma and her candy bin returned during last week’s Children’s Christmas service here at Our Savior. The recollection started just as the children began singing the familiar Christmas hymn “The Angel Gabriel from Heaven Came.”

Somehow, the hymn’s beautiful familiarity triggered the equally familiar scene with my Grandma. It’s as if the image swept in with Gabriel’s grand entrance in stanza one, his “wings as drifted snow, with eyes as flame.” There, on the lectern side of the chancel, somewhat hidden behind our congregation’s glistening Christmas tree, the setting itself conjured an intersection of comfort, familiarity, and ease—a thread of reminiscence resonating through the sacred spaces and carried on the voices of children.

But that’s not all. Throughout the rest of the midweek service’s “Lessons and Carols” portion, more memories arrived. I started thinking about the snow forts my brother and I built in our side yard near the neighboring tavern. Then, suddenly, I was transported to the hospital room the day my brother died. But I didn’t stay there for long. My thoughts turned to something else.

I recalled hooking my childhood dog, an Alaskan Malamute named “Pandy,” to a sled to pull my little sister, Shelley, around the yard. I remembered Pandy wasn’t too interested. I thought of summer days on my bike, cruising the neighborhood with friends. I remember jumping a ramp we set up. It did not end well. I crashed and was pretty skinned up. But still, there was more.

I could see as clearly as if it were yesterday, a wintry evening with my son, Joshua. We built a snowman that managed to remain upright and smiling for several weeks. I also remember how concerned I was as we struggled to keep our house warm.

Flickering like candles in my mind, I recalled summertime basketball with the kids in the driveway. I remembered lifting Madeline from the ground to get her as close to the rim as possible so she could finally make a basket. I remembered doing this while Harrison and Evelyn tooled through and around on tricycles or scooters. I recalled how concerned I was when Harrison ended up in the hospital with a staph infection that nearly took his life and how Jennifer and I essentially lived in the hospital with him until, after several surgeries, he could finally go home. I remembered the same when Evelyn was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes. I remembered sitting with Jennifer on our front porch, admiring the hostas she worked so hard to cultivate. I recalled coming out the following day to discover that the deer had eaten all of them.

In all, I thought of good times and harder times, joy-filled and terrifying.

Now, someone might be tempted to say, “It sure sounds like your mind was wandering during the carols and hymns. Shouldn’t you have been listening to the words? Shouldn’t you have been thinking of Jesus?”

I was listening to the words. In fact, anyone watching would’ve seen I was singing along. And I was definitely thinking of Jesus. More importantly, I was thinking of how He is forever thinking of me. Immersed in the Christmas hymnody’s glorious familiarity, more than once that night, it was so easy to whisper things like, “Thank you, Lord. You’ve been so good to me.”

Still, what would prompt the memories and whispers? Well, singing “What Child Is This” certainly played a part. If done right, it’s a moving hymn. I preached as much at last night’s Christmas Eve service, reminding the listeners of that particular moment in the lullaby that requires us to confront the reason for the divine Child’s birth. We sing, “Nails, spear shall pierce Him through, the cross be borne for me, for you.”

There were other moments wafting on the children’s glad Christmas sounds with the same potency. In “Of the Father’s Love Begotten,” when the congregation joined the children to exclaim, “Pow’rs, dominions, bow before Him, and extol our God and King. Let no tongue on earth be silent, every voice in concert ring, evermore and evermore!” Even better, the hymn’s final Trinitarian verse! Listen for yourself to the recording: https://www.oursaviorhartland.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/12/REC12-18-24.wav. It’s not the best audio capture. But still, did the angels suddenly decide to join us? Was the recorder clipping at the end, or was that divine applause?

I don’t know about anyone else, but those moments pulled me like a tractor beam into times that mattered—both good and bad—all wrapped in God’s unmistakable grace. My thoughts weren’t wandering. They were enslaved by the thrilling joy of Christ’s incarnation—Immanuel, God with us!—and what that means for my past, present, and future.

So, where am I going with all of this? Well, as always, I’m thinking it through on my keyboard.

Looking back at what I’ve written so far, I suppose there’s a basic nature to what I’ve described. In other words, familiar things have a way of anchoring us—an innate way of reminding us who we are and where we’ve been. A Christmas hymn sung by children reminded me of being a child and visiting my Grandma at Christmas. Along with it came an object any child would remember: a candy bin. But as the hymns continued, more moments came into view. Admittedly, Christmas is already second to none when it comes to sentimentality’s sense and the basic nature I described. And yet, for Christians, there’s still more to this.

As the secular world is moved by pristinely wrapped presents, evergreen and cinnamon smells, and Frosty the Snowman, I suppose I’m also saying that for Christians experiencing the same sentimentality, we can actually reach Christmas’s truest destination. We know its purpose: the incarnation of God’s Son to rescue us from Sin, Death, and hell. With that in sentimentality’s hand, we can grasp at the fragments of our lives, assured that the moments of joy, sorrow, struggle, and triumph form a tapestry of God’s grace. They’re not bygone moments. They all bear reminders that God, in His infinite love, came into our world not only to save us but to walk with us through every season of life—that all along the way, and still to this day, Jesus is thinking of us.

I guess I’ll just leave it at that. I need to start preparing for this morning’s service.

That said, may today’s Christmas celebration and all its comforting familiarities be more for you than holiday jingles and opening presents. May the festival of Christ’s birth be an anchor fixed to God’s wonderful promises. Indeed, unto us, a child is born! Unto us, a son is given! It’s Jesus! O come let us adore Him, Christ the Lord! Merry Christmas to you and yours!

Christmas Eve 2024

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The story of our redemption begins in quiet simplicity tonight. While the world expects fanfare before a king’s arrival, the Son of God—the King of kings and the Lord of lords—enters our world wrapped in humility. He takes a feeding trough as His throne. His attendants are a young virgin and an adoptive father. His courtiers are whatever creatures that live in the stalls. His reverent nobles are backwater shepherds.  

Saint John, the inspired author of the Christmas Day Gospel, writes of the Child, “The true light, which gives light to everyone, was coming into the world. He was in the world, and the world was made through him, yet the world did not know him. He came to his own, and his own people did not receive him” (John 1:9-11).

Tonight, another inspired author, Saint Luke, tells us that, regardless of His humble beginning, the residents of heaven know who He is. The newborn is their Lord. Like Saint John, they know “all things were made through him, and without him was not anything made that was made” (John 1:2). And they say as much that first Christmas evening, piercing its pitch-black sky with celestial luminescence and an otherworldly song heralding God’s magnificent inbreaking (Luke 2:8-14). I suppose, in one sense, their knowledge and song are essential. If heaven did not claim Him, ultimately announcing His identity as the perfect Son of God, then He’d be just another human being who was equally incapable of saving us.

But He isn’t just another human being. He’s God in the flesh. And it’s here, in this tender scene, that heaven’s greatest gift is revealed—Immanuel, God with us—which is to say, the manger serves a profound role. God rests in it. It doesn’t seem possible. And yet, there He is. He is not distant. He is near, very near, right there in the manger. He has stepped into our brokenness, our struggles, and our longing. He is not above us. He is us.

Still, the manger hints further to His trajectory. Who among us was born and then placed where animals feed? See, He’s willing to go even lower. He does not shy away from the mess of life but enters into it fully, becoming all that we are and worse in the most incomprehensible way. Indeed, Saint Paul writes, “For our sake [God] made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God” (2 Corinthians 5:21).

What the Christian Church across the world celebrates tonight is by no means a mere Hallmark holiday or theological abstraction prompting tinseled gift-giving and goodwill for a few days of the year. It celebrates something extraordinary—a person—the divine Person, Jesus, a gift of the Heavenly Father, who left the realms of His eternal glory to exact what the angels declared: peace between God and mankind. That’s no ordinary act of goodwill they’re proclaiming. That’s no ordinary gift-giving. Jesus is the end of all that divides mankind from God. The angels direct the shepherds to find His beginning wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger. As we follow, the Lord’s humble lowliness resonates. We know what the hymn writer means when he scribbles, “Sacred Infant, all divine, what a tender love was Thine, thus to come from highest bliss, down to such a world as this” (LSB 373, “See Amid the Winter’s Snow,” stanza 3).

Behold, the passion of Good Friday and the weight of the cross are not far off.

Until then, tonight, we glorify Christ, knowing that His birth, even as it lacks all fanfare, is the greatest the world will ever know. This is true because, by the incarnation, the world received the only One who could save it.

With that, and by all means, I hope the genuine wonder of this night and everything it gives is revitalizing. I pray you’ll contemplate God’s Word proclaimed and the Gospel preached so that by the Nativity’s powerful message, the flames of an already pyre-like faith are fueled to burn even brighter for all in this desperate world to see.

God bless and keep you by His grace. And Merry Christmas!

Almost Winning

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Ask my family, and they’ll tell you I don’t like to lose. I’m a “go big or go home” kind of guy. When I endeavor to do something, I expect to pursue and achieve it in a top-tier fashion. When an A is possible, a C is not an option. If my potential is not A-worthy, I’ll go sleepless until it is.

In a way, I demonstrated this personal boundary several Sundays ago during worship. My voice was struggling because of a lingering (but not contagious) cough. During the sacramental liturgy, when I arrived at the Words of Institution (which I usually chant), for the first time in a while, I elected to speak them. Why? Because I could feel the itch in my throat getting worse, and I knew it wouldn’t go well. Second-rate chanting is not edifying. It’s a distraction. I knew if I couldn’t do it well, I’d wait until I could.

Good or bad, this stickler mentality is one reason why the game of Monopoly is also relatively off-limits in our home. I’ve shared with you before that it can get pretty brutal. When it’s possible to buy every property on the Monopoly board and fill all but the utilities and railroads with hotels, why not do it? And while we’re at it, win big. Drain each player of every dime. Do not win some. Win all. Is there a strategy that accomplishes this? Yes? Then use it. Go big or go home.

But for as driven as any among us might be, a lesson I learned early in life is that losing is incredibly important. In other words, winning is nice, but almost winning is sometimes better. This is true because it often prompts self-analysis leading toward the determination needed to improve. Sure, hitting a home run may be the batter’s ultimate goal. Nevertheless, the road to home run hitting is one of insight and opportunity for actual betterment. Babe Ruth, a champion home run hitter, insisted that there was nothing so motivating as a bunch of strikes. In his words, every strike is one swing closer to a home run.

I watched a video last week while walking on the treadmill. It was a compilation of youthful progressives tearfully complaining about Trump’s victory. It was clear they simply could not process the loss. They just didn’t have the skills. As a result, one by one, they droned toward and over illogic’s cliff. For example, one insisted that anyone who opposed Trump was destined for a concentration camp. Another mentioned she was fearful she might have to spend time in prison for the multiple abortions she’s had. Still, another chimed in with Oprah Winfrey’s ridiculously obsolete warning that because Trump won, all future elections would cease. Humorously, some of the video’s teary-eyed characters threw their faces into pillows and screamed as loudly as they could. Honestly, I felt like I was watching a documentary about the participation-trophy generation—or a research study of toddlers who’ve only ever been told they’re the best of the best and can never lose.

As I watched, I was also reminded of something else.

An artificial victory is no victory. While occasionally playing a video game in “god mode” might be fun, there’s no invulnerability in real competition. In other words, the video game “Call of Duty” in no way compares to actual combat. I was listening to Joe Rogan interview a former CIA operative who executed countless missions in the Middle East. He told Rogan that when he had to go to the bathroom in a firefight, he went in his pants. That’s it. He didn’t say it, but I’m guessing he knew well enough that there’s no pressing pause in a firefight. There’s certainly no game reset button when you die.  Real victory is dangerous, and it is sometimes unpleasant. In all, it takes effort. It takes perseverance through struggle. It requires diligence even when diligence seems foolish.

Victory takes a whole lot of almost winning to reach.

People who somehow avoid second place’s more arduous road—whether it’s because they’ve insulated themselves against loss or because what they have was given to them without any effort or personal risk—are missing out on growth’s genuine joys. I suppose relative to faith, this leads me to something else.

For starters, don’t get me wrong. Salvation has nothing to do with our efforts. We do not earn it. Through the person and work of Jesus Christ, we actually do receive a magnificent “get out of jail free” card. However, after faith (or perhaps better said, because we’ve been grafted to Jesus [John 15:5, Romans 6:3-6]), some pretty unearthly struggles will likely come (Matthew 5:11-12, John 15:20, Mark 10:29-30, 2 Timothy 3:12, and countless more). Jesus did not hide this prospect from us. And yet, Saint Paul offers an intriguing perspective concerning these struggles. He writes in Romans 5:1-5:

“Therefore, since we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ. Through him we have also obtained access by faith into this grace in which we stand, and we rejoice in hope of the glory of God. Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.”

His first point is to make sure we understand that when bad things happen, we are not to think we’re somehow at war with God. He clearly states that we have been justified by faith in Jesus Christ and are at peace with God. His very next point is a crisp reminder that we exist now by God’s grace. This grace brings about something extraordinary.

First, we’re found capable of finding hope in the glory of God. Do you know what the “glory of God” is? It’s the gruesome death of Jesus for the sins of the world (John 12:23-28, Mark 10:35-38). It’s the absolutely dreadful cup of suffering that Jesus tipped back and gulped down in its entirety. Saint Paul insists we can rejoice in this glory primarily because Jesus endured it. The cup’s contents were ours to consume, but the Lord took them for us. However, even as Jesus made it clear that we could not endure absolute suffering’s cup—the kind that wins salvation—He did say we’d at least sip from it on occasion (Mark 10:39). That’s where Paul goes next. However, his tone remains constant. His mood is joyful. With a grammatical smile, he describes faith as having the ability to rejoice when rejoicing seems ridiculous.

Who can rejoice during suffering? Christians can. And this is where my previous thoughts about winning and losing come back into view.

Paul describes an essential process of spiritual maturation that can only occur through suffering. He describes suffering for Christ as a seed that produces endurance, character, and, ultimately, hope. But not just any hope. It’s the kind of hope that genuinely knows the value of the Lord’s work to save us. It’s a hope that knows the Lord’s road was not easy. It’s a hope that gathers more and more strength as our own roads become seemingly less and less navigable. It kind of reminds me of another video I happened upon demonstrating the properties of a substance called Oobleck. It’s a non-Newtonian fluid that, when pressure is applied, gets stronger. In the video, a person dips his hand into it like water. But then he punches it, and suddenly, the substance is like a rock. Oobleck might just be Christian hope’s best mascot. It steers through and meets the mortal journey’s end, and no matter how hard the world beats on it, the Lord continues bolstering it to stand victorious above shame, eventually receiving the gold medal of triumph gifted entirely by the love of God through the Holy Spirit for faith.

In short, God had no intention of making us earn our salvation. He did all of it. However, He does train us to embrace and live in its value. Before we receive Christ’s first-place prize, we should expect to spend a lot of time almost winning—or, in other words, enduring struggle. But again, the struggle is good for us. And we can rejoice through it. We keep our eyes on the prize, equipped with faith’s otherworldly tenacity for knowing that a home run is fewer strikeouts away today than it was yesterday.

Perspective Is A Tricky Thing

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Perspective is a tricky thing. What you see or hear is only sometimes the whole of something. There is a saying that people who are dancing are considered crazy by people who cannot hear the music. In other words, there are layers of information necessary for communication. When they don’t match up, things go sideways. Add to this that everyone transmits and receives information through filters. These filters affect perspective. Some are easier than others to discern. A person who says, with a kindly smile, “I love you” communicates something far different than another person using the exact words while rolling their eyes. But you only know this from the perspective of sight. A text or email can hide it. If it weren’t for the intuitive clues inherent to tone, a phone call could potentially conceal it, too.

In the end, when perspectives differ in ways resulting in conflict, one-on-one conversation is always best. Admittedly, when face-to-face interaction is not possible, a phone call is the next best thing. Allow me to show you how this is true.

I received an early morning email last week from Amber Roseboom, the president of Right to Life of Michigan. It pinged on my phone just as I was putting my coat on to leave for a visitation. Pausing for a moment to skim the first few lines, I could see she was somewhat unhappy with me. With that, I read the message thoroughly. I won’t go into the email’s finer details. Just know that I took my coat off, sat back down at my desk, and called her. We talked for quite some time.

To start, she was surprised that I called so quickly. Nevertheless, my immediate return call and her willingness to put aside what she may have been working on fostered a shared perspective that the other person’s concerns mattered to us.

Amber began the discussion. I listened. In short, an eNews message I wrote in October was making its rounds. In it, I expressed specific concerns for the newest advertising and online commercial campaign effort (“Life: The Other Choice”) from RTL of Michigan. Amber read the eNews message and, as she mentioned both in her note and on the phone, felt somewhat betrayed. The betrayal was two-fold.

First, she believed the message was harmful to an organization I’d proven myself so incredibly devoted to for so long. Indeed, I have been and remain devoted to RTL of Michigan. Plenty know I’ve gone to the furthest reaches in Michigan to iterate life’s message at rallies, conferences, or evening dinners, only to drive hours through the night to get home in time for my usual church and school duties the following day. I’ve done this countless times, often resulting in maximum exhaustion. But I do it because life is important to me.

Second, and perhaps more intimately, Amber was saddened that I didn’t express my concerns to her first.

For the record, I did not broach either of these first concerns directly. In context, they seemed rhetorical. My fidelity to the cause needs no defense. Beyond that, had I defended the appropriateness of a public response to a public campaign, Amber and I would’ve likely ended up in some rabbit holes that didn’t lead to what we both already knew was true: We were not opponents. We were teammates with different perspectives who, having already proven ready to preserve the comradery, were willing to explore those perspectives and adjust our thinking if necessary. So, instead of a defense, I continued listening. She continued to explain the rationale behind the campaign.

Initially, I interjected on occasion where appropriate. For example, I made a passing comment that doing anything for public consumption, whether writing or creating commercials, is risky. I didn’t take the time to explain the comment, but what I meant was that we both know the external dangers we face out there. I get my share of hate mail, as I’m sure Amber does, too.  Beyond that, what we do is risky internally, too. Sometimes, the team doesn’t agree. In this particular situation, we were experiencing the downside of the internal risk.

I also recall saying that I don’t remember half of what I write, especially when it comes to my eNews messages. I write them on the fly. Whatever comes out of my nine-volt brain is what ends up on my computer screen, most often with minimal editing. Of course, I pray before the first finger hits the keyboard, asking that my words would be faithful. That said, I actually had to search for what I wrote. I found it, took a moment to skim it, and found I remained comfortable with what I’d written. We went on from there.

Along the way, we more than cemented our collegiality. We acknowledged the importance of maintaining creedal boundaries, especially for the sake of protecting organizational identity. We discussed the cruciality of shaping the culture rather than allowing the culture to shape us. Together, we agreed that RTL of Michigan must remain immovably fixed to its North Star—life—and that no room can be given to anyone or anything that would distract from life’s heading. In tandem, we confessed a common faith in Christ, one that desires faithfulness to Him as we search for the best ways to bring the message of life into a world fostering death as a viable choice during pregnancy. That angle of discussion led us to momentary examinations of our Lord’s ways of bringing His listeners from point A to point B. It led us to consider the way Saint Paul interacted with people he met along the way of his ministry. It led us to these and more. By the time we were done, we had landed at a fundamental realization, which I had already mentioned.

We are not opponents. We are teammates with different perspectives. However, these perspectives turned out to be similar after all. They were just in a different order and being considered with varying prominence. I did my best to frame it for both of us.

Essentially, I’m an incrementalist. I’ve learned that very rarely can anyone be carried from one perspective to another without taking a whole lot of deliberate steps in between. Yes, my goal is always a touchdown. However, a touchdown is rarely available at kickoff. Most often, plays are needed to get the ball down the field. I work that way in pretty much everything I do. That said, the forward motion happens within absolutist boundaries. A football game occurs on a field and is governed by rules. The steps I’m willing to take—the things I will or will not do or say, the plays I’m willing to make during the game—are influenced by absolutist principles. Relative to these two perspectives, my October eNews focused more so on the absolutist nature of the effort—the language I believe we must use, the North Star heading, what protects the organization’s position relative to culture and objective truth—rather than the incrementalism involved in the plays themselves. I did make it plain that any play resulting in lost yardage is a foolish one. But beyond that, the absolutist position—the boundaries—was my precise perspective. If we don’t hold the line on certain things, the game is lost before it even begins. Amber was reading what I wrote from a purely incrementalist perspective, and as such, she felt that one RTL of Michigan’s worthwhile plays was being misjudged.

In the end, we realized we did not disagree on much of anything. Instead, our opposing perspectives were, as I already said, just differing measures of emphasis applied to different aspects of the work. Perhaps best of all, we understood one another better, and as a result, we rejoiced in continued fellowship. In fact, I told her I’d write something saying as much. You’re reading it right now.

Amber Roseboom and Right to Life of Michigan have my full support.

Also, I asked Amber if she’d be willing to speak at Our Savior’s upcoming event with Seth Gruber on January 30, 2025. I thought it would be an opportunity for anyone in the RTL community who may be thinking we’re opponents to see us together on stage as friends—because we are. Serving alongside one another would provide this far better perspective.

In closing, I think there’s a lesson to be learned.

W.B. Yeats once wrote, “The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.” In a way, he’s talking about untapped perspectives. As it relates to what I’ve shared, I think the key to sharpening perspectives is being humble enough to listen and patient enough to process what we hear in a way that doesn’t lose sight of the goal. It’s both incremental and absolutist. That said, the key to this hangs on the hook of bravery. Unless we’re daring enough to reconcile while at the same time being willing to search our own thinking for error, there’s no chance of seeing through to something better. But when we take the time to do this, blessings emerge. Perspectives can shift, relationships are strengthened, unique skills each player brings to the game come into sharper focus, and efforts toward the goal line endure.

I think that happened. I’m pretty sure Amber believes it happened, too. And so, we go forward. We know the boundaries. We see the goal line. We understand the fundamentals. With the playbook in hand, we’ve come to execute. We take the field, grab the ball, and move it relentlessly down the field as a team, no matter how the world might try to stop us.

Amber and I are in it. Are you?

The Thanksgiving Day Nudge

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There is something I’m very much looking forward to tomorrow. It’s something for which I am incredibly thankful. Without simply telling you what it is, I think the best way to describe it is to consider its comparisons.

Have you ever been going about your day and stumbled upon something that made you chuckle? I have. Has someone ever told you something that was so intuitively funny that you couldn’t help but laugh out loud? That has happened to me. Have you ever watched a comedy and found yourself in stitches at the outlandish interactions between characters? I have.

All of these are patterns of happiness resulting in happiness’s chief expression: laughter. That said, none of the examples I shared can compare to what will be happening at the Thoma family Thanksgiving Day table. We’ll be laughing. However, the laughter’s source will be far different than the prompts I previously described. It won’t need a joke to coax it. It won’t necessarily be prompted by comedic behavior or a funny story. It’ll just be there. That’s because its prompt is genuine joy, the kind that not only understands the Thanksgiving feast on the dinner table as a gift from the Lord but also because it knows the people gathered at the table as gifts, too.

I’m thankful for this, and I’m looking forward to experiencing it tomorrow after worship. But still, there’s something else.

Whether it’s a holiday feast or just any ordinary day, our family dinners are always very lively. We laugh a lot. Jennifer will sometimes pester me for remaining strangely quiet when it’s happening. For the record, it’s not that I’m disinterested or disengaged from what’s happening. It’s just that I’m often overwhelmed by a profound awareness of God’s goodness to me unfolding in real-time. When this happens, I become very nearly entranced. To snap me out of it, Jennifer abruptly says my name or nudges me with a look. It’s good that she does. If she didn’t, I’d remain fixed in my distant pondering, ultimately missing out on priceless opportunities to actually participate—to interact with these walking, talking gifts of God. Missing out would mean forfeiting the blessings God intends to bestow upon me through them.

I suppose I’m sharing this with you today because the Thanksgiving Day holiday has a way of being a pestering nudge, too, making it worth our attention. Personally, I find it strange that some in the Christian Church would be bothered by a National Day of Thanksgiving being treated by some congregations with the same reverence and devotion that other Christian holidays receive. Here at Our Savior in Hartland, we gather on Thursday, Thanksgiving Day, for a Divine Service at 10:00 AM. We have done so since 1955. And why wouldn’t we? Yes, it’s a civil holiday. Still, for us, it’s just one more opportunity to consider and express gratitude for the many gifts God has given us. We recognize it for the pestering nudge it is—a moment to remember Christian gratitude’s trajectory. In other words, being thankful for God’s gifts (family, togetherness, food, vocation, home, and everything else we have) is not apart from the source of the gifts: God. We don’t sit back and thank Him while forgetting to actually interact with Him. And so, Christians go to church on Thanksgiving Day. Who cares if it’s a civil holiday? It just seems right.

In the Bible, the greatest gift is Christ and His Gospel. God has established a way of distributing the Gospel. Referring to one of the avenues, Saint Paul described the heart of his own preaching by saying it was “to bring to light for everyone what is the plan of the mystery hidden for ages in God who created all things, so that through the church the manifold wisdom of God might now be made known… (Ephesians 3:9-10). What Paul means by “the plan of the mystery” and “the manifold wisdom of God” is not complicated. He means the Good News of the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of our sins. Here in Ephesians 3, he makes sure to tell us who has been officially tasked with making sure this Gospel gets into the world. Paul wrote plainly that the manifold wisdom of God is made known through the Church.

This is more than just an abstract point of awareness. It’s an actual point on a map. It’s a place with a table. It’s a place where God promises to be present. You’ve been invited to join God at that place. Certainly, we can take a day devoted to giving thanks, sit back, and marvel at His gifts. But even better, we are called to come and get them, thereby receiving the blessings God intends.

God has invited us to His feast. And so, we go to church (Hebrews 10:24-25). We go to His house. We encourage one another to go. We join Him at His table. We do so surrounded by our Christian family—fellow baptized believers we know and love and cherish. Except at this table, we experience so much more than a holiday meal. We sit with our Lord. He’s there by His verbal and visible Word—the Gospel preached and proclaimed, and the Sacraments administered. We participate in a foretaste of the heavenly feast to come, where fellowship is unbroken and joy is everlasting.

I encourage you to consider joining your Christian family for worship tomorrow morning. Don’t just sit by pondering your thankfulness. Go to the Lord’s house. Engage in the feast. Receive the blessings. Regardless of what some might say, for Christians, the National Day of Thanksgiving can be so much more than a few days off from work or school. It can be assumed into the posture of faith, becoming one more opportunity to taste and see that the Lord is good (Psalm 34:8) and that His mercy endures forever (Psalm 107:1).

Destiny

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Some of you may recall that I received a glitter bomb in the mail about ten days ago. I mentioned in a Facebook post that I sensed the letter’s unusual heft, and with that, I opened it carefully. Thankfully, it didn’t explode all over me. Instead, the exceptionally fine glitter remained in the greeting card’s internal pouch. Only a tiny bit spilled into the card’s crease. For the record, it was a hate mail prank. The card’s cover said, “Just because.” But inside, just below the glitter pouch, was the image of a hand extending to me the middle finger. No words. Nothing else. Just that and a potential mess.

In passing, someone mentioned that the Fates had smiled upon me that day. I don’t believe in fate. Well, not as the ancient mythological perspectives that birthed the term mean. The idea comes from the Graeco-Roman belief that three Fates—the goddesses Clotho, Atropos, and Lachesis—control each person’s conception and birth and that an individual’s life is essentially a thread being spun, measured, and eventually cut by one of the three.

I don’t believe in fate, but from a biblical perspective, I suppose I could say I believe in destiny. In a broad sense, without Christ, all of humanity was inherently destined for eternal death. However, that destiny was altered on Calvary’s cross. Faith in Christ receives the merits of that alteration. Apart from faith, a person’s destiny is set.

Beyond that, the scriptures are plush with texts describing one’s temporal destiny, both good and bad. Typically, this happens in terms of behavioral consequences. In fact, the Bible begins this way. God told Adam, “You may surely eat of every tree of the garden, but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall surely die” (Genesis 2:16-17). God tells Cain something similar, speaking of the good and bad relative to wrestling with sin, saying, “If you do well, will you not be accepted? And if you do not do well, sin is crouching at the door” (Genesis 4:7). He goes on to say that sin’s desire is to control Cain, and as such, Cain should fight against it.

I suppose if you don’t appreciate what I’ve suggested so far, take a quick trip through the Book of Proverbs. You’ll get a consolidated glimpse of the premise, running into texts that say things like, “Whoever sows injustice will reap calamity” (22:8), and “A man ‘s folly brings his way to ruin” (19:3). There’s plenty more in the New Testament. The first one that comes to mind (especially as it meets with the greeting card I received in the mail) is Paul’s reminder to those who pit themselves against the Gospel. He describes their inevitable destiny, writing, “For many, of whom I have often told you and now tell you even with tears, walk as enemies of the cross of Christ. Their end is their destruction” (Philippians 3:18-19). The word used for “end” is τέλος. It means the purpose of an event or process has reached its inevitable consequence.

The insulting greeting card I received—spun in cowardly anonymity—was likely sent because of what I’m willing to say openly, which is that Christ crucified and risen is the only way of salvation, and empowered by the Holy Spirit for faith in the Lord’s wonderful sacrifice, Christians can and should live their lives in open faithfulness in the public square. Unlike the card’s sender, I bear a message born from light, not darkness. It doesn’t belong in the spineless shadows of anonymity. But there’s a reason for this.

Because of Jesus’s work to save me, temporal consequences are by no means holistically representative of my eternal destiny. Good and bad consequences will come and go. I speak in faithfulness to Christ, and as you can see, bad things can still happen. Conversely, I also know that when I fall short in sin, God forgives me, sometimes even recrafting my sin’s consequences for my good. In all of this, there’s something I know without doubt. My baptismal destiny in faith is tied to the Savior’s destiny (Romans 6:3-6, Galatians 3:27). We see the Lord’s fate unfolding on Good Friday. It is, therefore, no coincidence that Jesus used the same word from the cross that I mentioned before. When humanity’s salvation was accomplished, which Christ was destined from all eternity to achieve (1 Peter 2:18-21), He announced it, crying, “τετέλεσται,” or, “It is finished” (John 19:30). This word is the perfect indicative form of τέλος.

My spiraling fate toward separation from God was reversed at that moment, and as a result, this world’s treacheries have no hold on my future. I speak openly from that platform.

G. K. Chesterton once wrote, “I do not believe in fate that falls on men however they act.” I appreciate those words, especially as they relate to the all-surpassing knowledge and power of the Gospel of forgiveness in Christ. But that’s not all Chesterton said. He continued, “But I do believe in a fate that falls on men unless they act.” This takes me back to why I received the glitter bomb in the mail. Regardless of the micro-consequences, unless people of faith engage in the opportunities before them—whether it’s speaking up in the public square or serving the precise needs of our neighbor—destinies will occur that could have otherwise been prevented. Concerning one’s neighbor, Saint James takes rhetorical aim at this, writing, “If a brother or sister is poorly clothed and lacking in daily food, and one of you says to them, ‘Go in peace, be warmed and filled,’ without giving them the things needed for the body, what good is that?” (James 2:15-16). His point is that your action-less well-wishes are, for the most part, like a finely wrapped Christmas gift with nothing in it.

Jesus widens the lens. In a general sense, He declares to His Christians that faithfulness has consequences. In Matthew 5:11-12, He said, “Blessed are you when others revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for so they persecuted the prophets who were before you.” That doesn’t sound so nice. However, in the very next breath, He said:

“You are the salt of the earth…. You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden. Nor do people light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a stand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven” (vv. 13-16).

In other words, whether the earthly consequences are good or bad, our destiny is sealed. Knowing this, we can endure a glitter bomb or two (or, heaven forbid, something worse) and be just fine. Standing firmly upon the Gospel’s platform, we can live unshakably against the world around us. We can even do it in the more challenging spheres that exist beyond anonymity’s gutless borders.

Now, before I end, I should mention that I got another “glitter bomb” of sorts in the mail this past Friday. Like the previous one, the envelope was heftier than usual. However, I employed less caution this time because I recognized the return address. Indeed, it was a smile-inducing message. Lacy, a 12-year-old member here at Our Savior, learned about what her pastor received in the mail and asked her mom if she could send him something. Inside was a round and glistening Pop Socket (at least I think it’s a Pop Socket) stuck to the page, along with a heart sticker, a thumbs-up sticker, and a message that read, “You’re the best!” Lacy wanted me to know there’s an altogether different kind of concern out there for what her pastor says and does.

Thanks, Lacy. You’re awesome. You made your pastor’s day. For the record, I don’t know how it is for other pastors, but it’s been my experience that we’re more likely to be sent negative comments before receiving positive ones. That’s not a complaint. It’s just the way people work. Folks are more often silent when they agree but vocal when they don’t, and because much of what pastors do is out in front of people, if they aren’t ready to endure this unbalanced dynamic, then they should reconsider the calling altogether. That said, I’ll admit it’s a breath of fresh air when the criticism table gets turned. You did that. Once again, you’re awesome, and you made your pastor’s day.

Now, forward we go in faithfulness, good criticism or bad, knowing God has us well in hand and that we are destined for something far greater than the venom this world intends to spew.