On Revelation and Humility

 I wrote a post inspired by teaching Foundations of Theology at Notre Dame, and it got posted on my church blog. Key points: The mere act of God revealing himself shows humility on God's part. It also is a manifestation of grace. You can read it here. 

On the Meaning of Life

“Nothing like cooking on a freshly cleaned stove to make you contemplate the futility of all human endeavors.” Some of you may recognize this as a Facebook status I posted a while ago. It was a joke. But it was also deadly serious.

I could blame it on the lockdown. Not seeing anyone in person has this way of making relationships less satisfying. Or maybe I just have too much time to myself to think.

On a pretty regular basis lately, I’ve been feeling like everything is pointless. I cook. I eat. I run out of food and need to cook again. I clean. Dirt piles up. I exercise. It makes no discernible difference in my health, unless I do it again and again and again. In the short term, the exercise might even make me sore. And in the long term, I’m still going to die.

Yes, but what about those things that only need to be done once? My knitting and writing, for example. Each of these produces a thing that wasn’t there before. But does the world really need another baby blanket? And my dissertation … will be read by exactly four people in the form I’m working on right now. If I’m lucky, I’ll publish it after significant revisions. Maybe someone will read it in that form, too. Maybe someone will be convinced to look at the Bible closer to the way I do. I think that will be a good thing? But my confidence in my ability to come to the truth right now is very low.

And then there are relationships. Normally, I tell myself that if I can make life better for one other person, then my life counts. But is that happening? “Making life better” is a vague goal, and it’s harder to convince myself I’m reaching it when I can’t see people in person. My presence in a room feels significant in a way that silently lurking on a zoom call isn’t. Talking on a zoom call feels more like a contribution, but sometimes I don’t have anything to say. And in the long term, other people are going to die, too.

Fun is … fun. But it doesn’t really matter if I have fun. Work is always there afterward. And does anyone other than me care if I enjoy myself? Maybe because they’re kind, but not because it actually helps them in any way.

But writing this has been somewhat artificial. I was feeling life’s pointlessness at the beginning, but as I wrote, I kept thinking about other things. Things that go beyond the futility I was describing. Like how making something that wasn’t there before is me exercising the image of God. Like how other people are made in the image of God, and that’s why improving their lives is a good thing. Like how even though we’re all gonna die, that’s not the end of the story.

I guess what I’m writing is a paraphrase of Ecclesiastes. There is nothing new under the sun, including this blog post. Ecclesiastes talks about life under the sun, in a world without God. It concludes that everything is meaningless. But then, the implication is, we must turn our eyes to something greater than the sun. We live under heaven, under God, and that is what makes this life significant. We do good things, even if we’re just going to have to do them again, because he made us to do them. Our relationships matter because people are walking pictures of God, and they’re going to exist forever. What we create is valuable not because the world desperately needs another baby blanket or even another dissertation, but because by making, we are acting out the image of our Maker, and that brings Him pleasure(!). Even fun matters as we enjoy the good world He made or good things made by his “sub-creators” (a term I shamelessly borrow from Tolkien).

In some ways, it’s good for us to “contemplate the futility of all human endeavors.” We tend to make the good things in life more than they are, as though we can make our own meaning. But that’s impossible, for meaning has to connect to something outside of us to count as meaning. We need to be humbled, to recognize that what we work for and worry about isn’t as big as it seems.

And yet, right now, we also need to be elevated. We need to look up and see beyond the sun to the heaven that makes our lives matter. We need this both for our own sanity and because it helps us focus on what truly matters. Yes, fun is valuable if received as a gift and rejoiced in, but using it to numb ourselves to pain is a misuse of it. The same goes for work, and relationships and everything else. We must relate them to the Creator for only in Him do they find their meaning.

By the Dead Sea

This poem was inspired by a trip I recently took to Masada. The beauty of the landscape amazed me and made the architecture of the fortress far more impressive.

I stand upon Earth’s deepest height,

My spirit yearning to take wing,

To leap up toward the greater light.

The craggy cliffs in silence sing

To me of beauty brave and bare,

Of solid sculpted forms that stand,

That, crowned by solar beauty, bear

The fingerprints of Heaven’s hand,

And distantly I think I see

An echo of the closer song,

A blue-gray ridge, its melody

More faint from distance, yet as strong.

Its cliffs cascade down toward the sea

That scatters salt upon the shore

In crystals that plant poetry

In me. I stand. I adore.

Chaos and Pentecost

The first time we meet the Holy Spirit in the Bible is in Genesis 1, where the earth is formless and empty and God’s Spirit hovers over the water. In the ancient Near East, water was a common symbol for chaos as it has no regular shape and can be both a source of life and a terrifying force of destruction (think of a storm at sea). Many ancient creation stories spoke of a deity associated with water being defeated by the god who would become head of the pantheon. But in Genesis, the water is not a god; it’s just the state of disorder that exists before God forms the world. The first chapter of Genesis is the story of God’s spirit bringing order out of disorder.

The formless, surging waters return a few chapters later in the story of Noah’s flood. Once again, the water is not a deity but a tool in the hand of God. It’s also a consequence of human sin; God sends the flood in response to the moral chaos of a world of violence and bloodshed. But the Holy Spirit, though not mentioned in the text, still hovers over the waters, which we know because God plans to bring new life into this world of formlessness. That new life is Noah, his family and the animals aboard the ark.

Skip ahead another few chapters. Once again humanity is sinning against God, this time by building a tower designed to reach heaven. God responds by once again returning the world to chaos. But this time the chaos isn’t water (since God promised not to do that again). This time the chaos is the babble of thousands of languages, which the people now speak. Unable to understand one another, the people scatter over the face of the earth. This time there is no Noah who escapes the judgment. But in the next chapter, God calls a man named Abram, who will become the ancestor of a nation through which all families of the earth will be blessed.

Thousands of years later, people from all over the world gather in Jerusalem to celebrate the feast of Pentecost. These are descendants of Abram (now called Abraham), but they speak the languages of a myriad of nations. Suddenly the sound of a wind begins to blow. The Spirit is once again hovering over the chaos. A group of men stand up and begin speaking about Jesus, the one who fulfilled the entirety of the promise to Abram. And everyone hears them speaking in their own language. The chaos of Babel is finally brought to order. A new community is created. And the mark of that new community is water – the water of baptism.

Autumn Poems

Autumn Wonders

Why are dead leaves so lovely?

Why is the sky so blue?

Why does the starlight reach into our night

And whisper that hope is true?

Our world is infused with blessing

That my logic cannot explain

And it whispers “rejoice” in a still, small, voice

Beyond the clamor of pain.

So I’ll dance as the leaves are dying,

I’ll look up at the bright blue sky

I’ll let starlight into my heart’s dark night

And trust that hope does not lie.

For love makes the dead leaves lovely

And soon buds will burst forth new

Love colors the sky and makes the stars cry,

“In the night, hope still is true.”

Flames unfurling in the cold

Paint the landscape red and gold.

Drained of green, yet vibrant still,

Waiting for the winter’s chill.

The wind picks up; they tumble down

And in falling gild the ground.

Thus they whisper without breath,

“Beauty blossoms out of death”

Years spent in New England and the Upper Midwest have taught me to love autumn. The leaves are so beautiful, and yet they only change color because they’re in the process of dying. Here are two poems I wrote this year meditating on this paradox. Looking at the poems, I see the beaten-down paths depression has left on my soul, but in my better moments I know that this death, too, is giving way to beauty.

The Tabernacle: God in Our Midst

The first few times I tried reading the Bible through from start to finish, the place where I ran into trouble was the section on the Tabernacle. I could get through the genealogies in Genesis, which only lasted a chapter or so at most, but the tabernacle account contains six chapters (Exod. 25-31) of building instructions and lists of materials, dimensions, parts of pieces of furniture, and so on. These chapters are followed by the story of the Golden Calf, which lasts about three chapters, and then five more chapters (Exod. 35-40) of descriptions of the building instructions being carried out. This raises the question of why the text places so much emphasis on how the Tabernacle was constructed.


Read more at https://michianacovenant.org/the-tabernacle-god-in-our-midst/ 

News and the Kingdom

The world is in turmoil. Last week it looked like the U.S. was on the brink of nuclear war with North Korea. This week the news is buzzing with reports of white supremacists marching and violence that flows from that. If you come across this post a few weeks from now, there will probably be some new disaster in the news that has people worried. There is a lot of genuine evil in the world, and it can get overwhelming.

Two days in a row, my devotions have pointed me to verses that seem particularly relevant to all the nonsense that's happening in the world.* Yesterday was Isaiah 9:6-7 "To us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on His shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of peace. Of the increase of His government and peace there will be no end. He will reign on the throne of David and over His kingdom, establishing and upholding it with justice and righteousness from that time on and forever. The zeal of the Lord of hosts will accomplish this.”

Now that you, my readers, all have Handel’s Messiah going through your heads, let me point out the themes that he overlooked. We’re talking about a king who establishes a just, righteous government that is never overthrown and establishes peace. The Hebrew concept of peace is much broader than just a cessation of fighting. It refers to wellbeing, flourishing, a state where all is, generally speaking, well.

Today I read Daniel 7:13-14: “The Son of Man will come with the clouds of heaven. In the presence of the Ancient of Days, He will be given dominion and glory and a kingdom, so that all peoples, nations, and men of every language will worship Him. His dominion is an everlasting dominion that will not pass away, and His kingdom is one that will never be destroyed.”

This verse isn’t about events that will happen in the future. It’s about Jesus coming into the presence of the Ancient of Days (God the Father) after His ascension to receive authority. Already we see people from all peoples, nations and languages worshipping Him.

Jesus already reigns over our broken world. On a cosmic level, all is well. That doesn’t mean we just sit around and wait for him to act. It means that as we do the work of advancing justice and righteousness, we can be confident that in the end good will triumph.

*The verses were collected by Ken Boa in his book A Journal of Sacred Readings, which I highly recommend.

Welcoming Audrey

I recently had the opportunity to translate at the baptism of a beautiful little girl from China. It was a moving experience, and I wrote about it for our church blog.

God of Harmony: A Song for David (Spicer)

A song for David, the choirmaster. To “Dives and Lazarus.”*

Sing praises to the Three in One, the God of harmony,

Who makes the universe ring out in varied unity

Join with the music of the stars, the earth, the sea, the air,

For everywhere that beauty shines, His handiwork is there.

Sing praises to our saving Lord who led us through the sea

When waves of sin and hatred raged in dark cacophony.

We sing to Him who split the waves and led us on dry land,

And feeds us in this wilderness with manna from His hand.

Sing praises to the God of love who died our lives to save,

Who tasted all death’s bitterness, lay cold within the grave.

Who shattered death, burst from the tomb. No pow’r could hold him there.

We shout with joy, “He is alive!” The glad news we declare.

Sing praises to the Lamb who rules the universe in might.

Who will return, restore His world, set all creation right.

Though flesh may fail and life may flee and death may close our eyes,

He will breathe life into dead bones; our song again shall rise.

* David Spicer, the choir director at the church I grew up in, passed away last week. He was a genius, the musical equivalent of the architect of a Gothic cathedral in Europe. He crafted the accompaniments of every hymn he played to convey the message of the lyrics. On many Sundays he improvised incredible, intricate medleys of every hymn and anthem we sang during the service, often using these as an introduction to the Doxology. He conducted choirs with professionally trained singers but also children’s choirs. In addition to teaching me music theory and singing techniques, he encouraged me in my faith profoundly. He was also the first person to ask me to write a hymn. He asked for words that could be sung to a tune called “Dives and Lazarus.” I wrote a hymn to that tune then, and he praised the result so much that I just kept writing hymns. Even after I had moved away, he often asked me if I was still writing them. I can think of no better way to honor Mr. Spicer than to write a hymn in his memory to the first and only specific tune he requested lyrics for. 

Thanksgiving Reflections

This year, like many others, I feel tempted to skip over Thanksgiving and go right to Advent. Not Christmas, Advent. The time of waiting for Christmas, when we sing the only lament most Evangelicals know ("O come, O come Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel that mourns in lonely exile here …") and look out from our troubled world to the hope of something better. (Who? Me? Depressive?)

But that’s why I need to give thanks. I need to remember that there is good in the world I’m in right now. My ultimate hope is in the future, but that’s not the only hope. And God has already given me many tremendous blessings.

This year in particular, I have much to be grateful for. I was accepted into a PhD program, so I know what I’ll be doing for the next five years or so. In the words of Tevye from Fiddler on the Roof, I get to “discuss the ancient books with the learned men seven hours every day.” It’s a cool job and one that I really enjoy when I stop to think about it. This also means I get five more years with the wonderful community I’ve grown so fond of over the last two years. I’m thankful for my great friends here and the spectacular, generous hospitality I’ve received from them. I also have a contract on a really cute house 2 miles from campus. I’m so thankful that things have worked out so well for me.

And then there are all the universal blessings, things I’ve enjoyed for most of my life. My incredible family, old friends who I can still stay in touch with through the marvels of modern technology (even when they’re on the other side of the world), heat and air conditioning, modern medical care, the beauty of the natural world and so much more. God has been really good to us.

This year has also been hard for me in one major way. My beloved grandmother passed away in February. Now it feels like there is a hole in the world, a place where she should be but isn’t. I can turn in a moment from smiling at a compliment someone gave me to feeling deep sorrow when I realize that the compliment was on a piece of jewelry I inherited from her. And yet, this, too, is something to be grateful for. I’m grateful that my grandmother was such a sweet, generous woman. I’m thankful for all the things she taught me, for the good memories I have and that I was able to spend so many years with her. I’m also thankful that I was able to see her and say goodbye a month or so before she died. I miss her, but I’m glad for the time I had with her and that she is now no longer suffering but rejoicing before the throne of her beloved Savior.

And this leads me to the last and greatest reason why I give thanks. During my devotions this morning I read Colossians 3:1-4:

If then you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth. For you have died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God. When Christ who is your life appears, then you also will appear with him in glory.

I’m thankful that Christ died for me, that I died with him, and now I, like him, have been raised up and received new life. None of the troubles of this world can touch me because the source of my life is beyond this world. I have the hope of sharing in His glory when He returns.

So now, as I wait for that time, I will try to give thanks, to rejoice, to enjoy all the good things God has given me while holding them loosely, knowing that my true treasure is in Christ.

On Remembering We Are Dust

As a father shows compassion to his children, so the Lord shows compassion to those who fear him. For he knows our frame; he remembers that we are dust. – Psalm 103:13-14

Three months ago, the summer stretched in front of me, weeks and weeks with no fixed schedule where I could devote myself to everything I wanted to get done. I planned to learn German read both fiction and nonfiction, whip my mom’s garden into shape, reconnect with old friends, write a large part of a novel, compose several blog, practice my flute regularly and shop for a house. I wish I was exaggerating. Classes start tomorrow, and not all of that got done. Not even close. My summer is just like life in general: so much to do, so little time.

If someone walked up to you and said, “You are dust,” you’d probably be very confused and a little offended. If they explained that in the Bible, comparing people to dust is a way of emphasizing mortality, you’d be less confused, but probably still offended. Our culture does everything it can to forget about death. We encourage our kids to reach for the stars and promise that if they work hard they can be anything they want to be. We spend hours exercising and go on all kinds of diets so that we look young and attractive. Even our meat comes in pristine shrink-wrapped packages with all the icky organs removed, so it doesn’t remind us of the animals it came from.

It’s tempting to think that reminding people of their mortality – or any limit – is unkind. People want to be encouraged, to have people build up their self-esteem. But actually, recognizing our limitations is far kinder than denying them.

Psalm 103 associates God’s compassion for humanity with His remembering that they are dust. Often, we are least compassionate when we forget human limits. It’s easy to get impatient when you think someone should be able to do something for you, but they don’t. And if you’re in a position of authority, expecting people to do more than they’re capable of can make their lives miserable. New professors, for example, are infamous for giving unreasonable amounts of work because they don’t know what students can handle.

The same goes for my attitude toward myself. Too often, I forget that I am dust. When I think about everything I tried and failed to do this summer, frustration and discouragement threaten to overwhelm me. There are so many good things to do, and one lifetime is far too short to get them done. But I don’t have to do everything. I am dust, and creatures of dust need time to rest. And God knows I am dust. He will not be disappointed that I can’t do everything. He knows my weakness and has compassion. Paradoxically, God extends compassion and mercy precisely because He knows we are dust. He loves us not because we can do so much but because we need His love so desperately.

Friend, when (not if) people fall short of your expectations, remember that they are dust. And when (not if) you disappoint yourself, remember that you are dust. And rejoice that God also remembers we are dust, forgives our sins and comforts us in our weaknesses.

Grace in the Law

The distinction between law and grace has been part of Christianity practically since it first began. The heart of the gospel is that it is God’s grace, and not the Law, that saves us. We can’t establish a right relationship with God by keeping His commands because none of us keeps those commands perfectly. So God chose to act, becoming human in the person of Jesus and dying for us so that our sins could be forgiven and we could become children of God.

Some Christians have an unfortunate tendency to associate the Law that cannot save us with the Old Testament and grace with the New Testament. This makes the Old Testament little more than an obsolete relic of an age without grace when people struggled to be obedient enough to save themselves, proof of the problem Christ came to solve. Or it becomes a collection of inspiring stories about heroes who can serve as models for faith and good behavior. Now, the Old Testament does show us humanity’s desperate need, and it does give us role models and moral instruction, but it’s more than that. It’s the oldest record we have of God’s grace.

Yes, I said the Old Testament records grace. And to illustrate this I’m going to turn to Exodus20, the chapter that contains the Ten Commandments. This chapter is one of the clearest, most concise statements of God’s law. But notice the first thing God says in it: “I am the LORD your God who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery” (Ex 20:2). Before God commands the Israelites to do anything, He points out what He has already done. The Exodus was the defining event of Israel’s history. It made Israel a nation, brought liberty to its people and demonstrated dramatically that God had chosen them and was willing and able to overcome anything that opposed them. It was the moment that fulfilled God’s promise to Abraham, when He swore to make Abraham’s descendants a great nation. And God did all this when Israel was helpless. They had done nothing to deserve God’s favor, nothing to merit being rescued. The Exodus was pure grace.

And so, God begins the Law with a reminder of grace. It is because the LORD is their God and has established a unique relationship with them through the Exodus, that they are to worship no other gods, to refrain from making idols, to respect God’s name and so on. Even the laws relating to relationships with other people reflect the fact that these are people made in God’s image, so the way they relate to each other reveals their attitude toward God.

The Law is rooted and grounded in grace. Even at the beginning, when God first revealed it to Israel, He began by pointing out the grace they had already received. And so it is with us. The New Testament has much to say about how we ought to live, and the moral laws within the Old Testament are still binding on Christians (though ceremonial laws and stipulations about Israel’s government are not). If we have truly received God’s grace, we must obey God’s law, and if we appreciate God’s grace we will want to. But we must never let law become prior to grace. As with Israel, so with us: God saves first, and obedience is a response to that.

How Not to Defend a Castle

When I was 10, my father taught me how to attack a castle. Dad was teaching at a university in Germany for four months. My whole family went with him, and we spent much of the time traveling around Europe and exploring historical sites.

Shortly after we arrived, my parents, my 7-year-old brother and I visited a castle in the nearby town of Wurzburg. It was a hot day in early September. To get to the castle, we had to climb a hill turning back and forth along switchbacks through a vineyard. My brother and I were getting hot and uncomfortable, so my mom said to my dad, “We need to do something to distract the kids.”

My dad called us over and said, “Let’s pretend we’re Vikings, and we’re attacking this castle. We have to walk up this hill wearing armor and carrying metal weapons. And you see those little holes in the wall? People are standing behind those holes shooting at us.”

And so he continued. When we finally made it up the hill, he pointed out bastions jutting out from the wall on either side of the gate so that archers or gunmen could attack us from three sides. He showed us the draw bridge, the portcullis, and the murder holes in the ceiling through which the castle’s defenders would drop rocks and boiling oil on our heads. There were two walls with gatehouses whose corridors turned to make it difficult to push cannons through. After looking at the defenses for a while, I asked my dad, “Why are we attacking this castle, again?” It seemed like a poor life choice.

But during the Thirty Years War, that castle did fall. The story of its fall is a textbook example of how not to defend a castle.

The young lieutenant in charge of Wurzburg Castle heard that the army of Gustavus Adolphus, the king of Sweden, was coming to attack his castle. The normal procedure at this point would be to stock up on supplies, hide in the fortress and wait for your enemy to get close enough to shoot them through those arrow slits I saw. But this young lieutenant had a better idea: why not send a line of men with guns outside the gate? They could shoot one volley at the incoming army and then retreat inside the gate and pull up the drawbridge.

Unfortunately for him, the attacking army arrived quicker than expected. The defending troops panicked and fled before they had a chance to shoot. They ran inside the gate and slammed it shut, but not before the other army was on the drawbridge. So, they couldn’t pull the drawbridge up, which meant that the moat was useless.

The lieutenant was disappointed, but he was not ready to give up. There was still a second wall with a gatehouse. So, the defenders wheeled a cannon out between the gatehouses. They planned to fire it at the attackers when they broke through the gate, and then wheel the cannon in through the second gate while the attackers were stunned. What could go wrong?

But the Lieutenant hadn’t counted on the attackers’ secret weapon. They had a group of crazy Scottish engineers who approached their general and said something to the effect of, “Ooh! Can we blow up the gate? Pretty please?” The general agreed, so the engineers put together a bomb called a petard and hung it on the gate.

The defenders stood around the cannon waiting to hear the sound of a battering ram. Then the gate exploded. The defenders panicked and fled through the second gate, leaving the loaded cannon behind them.

The attackers entered the courtyard between the gates and said, “Hey, cool! It’s a loaded cannon!” Then they turned it around and used it to blast open the second gate.

Thus, Wurzburg Castle fell.

Why am I telling this story? First, because it’s funny. Second, because of a tendency I see in my own life to make a similar mistake.

Several psalms compare God to a fortress, a place of defense to whom people can go for help. Martin Luther’s great hymn “A Mighty Fortress is our God” was based on Psalm 46. It was also written in Germany, possibly in a castle similar to the one in Wurzburg. Psalm 18:2 says, “The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer, my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.”

The young Lieutenant’s big mistake was failing to trust his fortress. Instead of relying on the built-in defenses that so impressed me when I was 10, he relied on his own strength and planning. He sent his men outside the fortress’s protection, foolishly thinking that their strength could defend the castle better than the castle could defend them.

But how often do I do the same? When anxiety presses in on me, when something goes wrong in my life, or the lives of my friends, my country, or the world, I tend to ask, “What can I do to fix this?” And sometimes, the answer is, “nothing.” But instead of accepting my helplessness and trusting in God, I try to find my own ways of making things work out. Or I panic and abandon the things I can do, leaving a loaded cannon for my enemies to use.

Defending a castle does require effort, and God graciously chooses to use us to make a difference. But we cannot rely on our own power. We must take refuge in our Fortress, trusting Him to protect us.

On Empathy and Race

In a previous post, I discussed the importance of empathy in communication, especially when it comes to issues of sexuality. But there’s another hot-button issue where empathy is just as important, or more so: race.

I grew up in a white family, where my parents almost never mentioned race. I had Black, Hispanic and Asian friends, and I don’t think I reacted differently to them because of their race. I just thought of them as friends. But what I didn’t understand was that my friends of different races have very different life experiences than I did.

Race is not a biological category. There is no “gene” for race. It’s a social construct based on certain physical characteristics that are common in people whose ancestors lived in certain parts of the world. But the fact that it’s a social construct doesn’t mean it’s not real. It’s real enough to be one of the first things people notice when they look at someone. It’s real enough to have been the source of tremendous amounts of conflict in history and today. It’s real enough to affect people’s lives profoundly and even to cut those lives short.

I attended a celebration for a mime group’s anniversary at a mostly Black church in South Bend. One of the men who led the group stood up and talked about how miming had affected his life. He announced with pride that of the young men who started the mime group with him years before, all of them were still alive, except for one who had died of a disease. There was a murmur of surprise and a few shouts of “Amen!” It took me a minute to realize what he was talking about. This man was amazed that none of the teenage boys who started the group had been shot! I’ve never had to worry about one of my friends being killed. He was living in a whole different world than I was. 

Of course, that's not to say that all African-Americans have the same experiences either. It just means that we should be cautious  in thinking we know what life in America is like. Life for us can be very  different from what life is like for others.

I’m really not qualified to write about anyone’s experiences other than my own. I did get a taste of what being a racial minority was like when I lived in Taiwan. But that doesn’t tell me much about what it’s like to be an African American, for example. The only way to understand others’ experiences is to listen to them. Ask questions. Resist the urge to interrupt and change the subject to your own experiences. Recent events have shown just how much racial tension is present in America. There’s a lot that needs to be done to fix it. But the first, most basic step is to listen and empathize.

On Empathy and Sexuality

“You don’t understand! You don’t know what it’s like!”

I looked across the table and saw the frustration in her eyes. I didn’t want to lose this friendship. I took a deep breath.

“You know, you’re right. I don’t know what it’s like. So tell me. Help me understand.”

And she did. She told me all about how she had never fit in, how vicious pre-teen girls had teased her, calling her a lesbian among other things, how she’d never felt the passion for boys that the other girls did. She explained how coming out a few weeks before had given her an accepting community and reassured her that she wasn’t a freak.

“I’m sorry those girls treated you like that,” I said. “I was bullied in middle school, too. And I’m sorry you have to worry about whether your family and friends will still like you. I still like you, and I want to keep being your friend. I wish I could say I agree with your coming out, but …”

“But you can’t.” She finished the sentence for me.

“But I can’t,” I said, nodding.

We left with our friendship intact, agreeing to disagree. There’s room for improvement in how I handled that conversation, but one thing I think I did right was listening and showing empathy.

My generation has been encouraged to make decisions based on emotion, not on reason. I distinctly remember believing in middle school that “I feel…” meant more or less the same as “I think,” only “I feel” was stronger. Since feelings hold the place of honor, the best way to treat others with kindness is to understand and appreciate their emotions. In other words, empathy is a significant virtue in the minds of my peers. This is why so many millennials support LGBTQ rights. They see people in pain and seek to legitimize them, legally and socially, so that pain will go away.

To communicate with anyone, but especially those whose worldview differs from our own, we must seek to understand where they’re coming from. And if we want them to understand us, we need to show that we care about them. For Christians talking to non-Christians in America, that means listening to where they’re coming from, asking questions and even apologizing for ways Christians have sinned against them.

But empathy doesn’t require us to agree with all their positions. Feelings are real and powerful, but they also can be misleading. It’s always loving to try to understand what someone is feeling, but it’s not always loving to encourage people to act on how they feel. All of us go against our feelings on a regular basis. We get up when we don’t feel like it, we eat healthy foods rather than just junk food, and we try to be kind to people even when we’re angry. Now, these feelings are usually less strong and less permanent than sexual attraction to your own sex or than feeling like your gender is wrong. But the principle is the same: acting on your feelings isn’t always wise or right.

God doesn’t give commands arbitrarily. When He gives a moral law, it’s because the act in question damages us or other people. In the case of homosexuality, it’s a bit of both. Same-sex relationships can’t provide society with the stability of families with two biological parents But even more harm is done to the people involved, who objectify and misuse their bodies, looking for happiness in relationships that can’t ultimately provide it. These are often people who have suffered greatly and are looking to ease the pain but are going about it all wrong.

So please, Christians, let’s treat the LGBTQ people in our lives with respect as image-bearers of God. (Many of us do this already, so let’s continue.) Let’s ask them questions about their lives and really listen to them, genuinely trying to understand how they feel. Let’s give them the benefit of the doubt when we’re not sure what their motives are. And let’s call them to a life of faith in and obedience to Christ, the only place where they can find perfect love, hope and healing. 

The Lynn Family

Edit: The Both Hands fundraiser was completed on June 11, 2016. You can watch a video of it here. But the Lynns are still working to raise funds, so you can still contribute as described below.

One of the best things about living in the South Bend area over the last two years has been getting to know the families at Michiana Covenant Presbyterian Church. They are some of the friendliest, kindest and most interesting people I’ve met. While I have a tendency to feel overwhelmed by the problems in the world, they remind me that there is hope and that in many cases the most important thing we can do is love the people around us, family neighbors and friends.

One family I’ve grown particularly attached to is the Lynn family. Hugh and Rachael Lynn are very kind, hospitable people and have four lovely children. Three of them are Hugh and Rachael’s biological children. The fourth, Ava, was adopted from China. The Lynns brought Ava home shortly after I arrived in South Bend, in November of 2014. They had her baptized the first Sunday she was in the U.S., and I sat by her and explained what was happening, since I spoke some Chinese. Since then, it has been a joy to watch Ava blossom, making friends and learning English. Ava has cerebral palsy, and I’ve enjoyed watching her slowly begin to use her left hand more and more.

Now the Lynns are looking to adopt again, another girl from China with cerebral palsy named Audrey. (All their children have names that start with A.) They hope to go to China to get her in December, but in the meantime, they have to raise a lot of money for the international adoption. To do this, they’re working with an organization called Both Hands.

Both Hands sets up workdays where people go to a widow’s home to do various home improvement jobs. Others sponsor them, and all the money goes to a family that is looking to adopt an orphan. The Lynns are setting up a day to do home repairs for a widow in our church named Kandy. The organization’s name comes from its mission of helping two groups, widows and orphans. Throughout the Bible people are urged to care for these groups, as their lack of certain key family members makes them vulnerable.

I’m at a stage in life when I’m very concerned with making a difference in the world. As a Christian, I believe that love for God and love for others are the most important parts of life. That means that people are more important than technology, money, pleasure or even knowledge. And no earthly thing has a greater effect on a person than the family they grow up in. The Lynns are bringing Audrey into a loving family and therefore doing one of the most significant things anyone can do. And I’d like to ask you, my readers, to help them. Please consider donating to Both Hands to help finance the Lynns’ adoption. Go to https://bothhands.org/project/lynn-282 to learn more about the Lynns, Audrey and Kandy and to donate to their cause. If you donate online, there will be a 3% credit card processing fee, but you can avoid that by instead mailing a check to:

Both Hands
Attn: Lynn #282
P.O. Box 2713
Brentwood, TN 37024

If you send a check, make sure you write “Lynn #282” in the memo line so the organization knows which family it’s for. Donations are tax deductible, and the full amount goes to the Lynns.

Please consider helping out this family bring their daughter home. And next time you’re with your family remember that loving them is one of your highest callings.

Eternal Love: A Poem for my Grandmother

A little over a week ago, my beloved grandmother Kathleen Elsner passed away. I wrote this poem in memory of her. It is a hymn, but it is infused with her influence. It reflects my memories of watching the cardinals in her backyard and her love of tea and my assurance that in Christ, she is now in glory, and I remain connected to her.

Eternal Love

O Father God, You are Eternal Love.

Your love is manifest in all we see:

A flash of scarlet wings against white snow,

A flower bed, a smile, a cup of tea

Sweet daily blessings printed with Your name

But sweeter still the love that makes them shine,

Infusing every memory we share

With precious glimmers of Your love divine.

O Son of God to human parents born

You shared our joys and felt our pain and grief.

You bled and died for sins of those You love.

By death, from death You brought us our relief

And rising, You have conquered every wrong.

Relationships we broke You have restored,

Temporal image of Eternal Love,

We thank and praise you, Savior and our Lord.

O Holy Spirit, Comforter and Strength,

You breathe, and sin-crushed spirits come alive

You make our lives reflect the risen Christ,

You lift us to the goal toward which we strive.

You bind in unity all those You touch,

Through space and time and into heav’n above,

Where those who’ve gone before wait till we join

Their perfect union with Eternal Love.

Why Theology?

Last Friday I stood in front of a classroom leading a discussion section for an undergraduate intro to theology class. I was well aware that many of them had signed up for the course because it is a university requirement, not because they have any interest in theology whatsoever. As such, my goal for the first section was to persuade them that theology is actually worth studying, certainly for those who believe it but also for those who don’t. So, why should one study theology?

First, theology helps us know God. It teaches us both what God is like and what God has done throughout history. But these ideas are more than abstract ideas or historical facts. I didn’t say only that theology helps us know about God. Information can be the gateway into a relationship. To develop a real friendship with another person, you must know things about them: where they’re from, who their family is, what they like and dislike. The same goes for God. Knowing about God is a necessary step on the way to knowing God, and those who already have faith can deepen their knowledge of God through academic study.

Second, theology helps us know ourselves. It addresses all the big questions everyone must face. What does it mean to be human? What is the purpose of life? Why is there suffering? What happens after death? While many of these central questions are also addressed by philosophy, sometimes we simply can’t reason our way to answers. It is then that we must turn to revelation, a resource that can only be accessed through theology, to guide us as we reason toward answers.

So theology is deeply important for those who believe it. But what about those who don’t? Can my non-Christian students gain anything from a required theology course? I would love my students to believe Christianity’s answers to the deep questions of life because I think those answers are true. But even if they don’t, they can still profit from studying another’s viewpoint in depth.

In our culture, it’s easy to think of religion as merely culturally engrained habits at best or superstition at worst. But when we think this way, we often fail to grasp the ways that religious beliefs affect other people’s actions and thoughts. How can an atheist and a Christian have a productive discussion without understanding what the other person actually believes? Studying theology can help even unbelieving students understand the depth and intellectual rigor that comes from religious beliefs, the content of some of those beliefs and the way that affects believers’ thoughts and behavior. This will be very valuable as students go out into the world and meet people from different backgrounds.

On a related note, much of Western art, literature and film draws on the Bible, directly or indirectly. Developing a familiarity with the basics of Christian theology can help my students understand European and American culture more deeply.

Last, studying theology helps us develop skills we use in understanding other areas. It helps us think carefully about large questions, listen to and assess various viewpoints, discuss ideas clearly and respectfully and write about these issues. Each of these takes practice, and the course I’m teaching will help my students develop skills that they will use throughout college and for the rest of their lives.

Did I convince my students that this course isn’t a waste of time? I have no idea. I suppose the more important questions are: Did I convince you that learning about and discussing theology is important? And did I convince myself not to shy away from talking about it?

Learning From Stories

Last Saturday I was invited to speak at my church’s women’s tea on the theme of “books.” I asked my dad for suggestions, and he pointed me to Ecclesiastes 12:12. “My son, beware of anything beyond these. Of making many books there is no end, and much study is a weariness of the flesh.” As a grad student, I can confirm that the verse is very true. In fact, I’d consider putting it on t-shirts for my classmates. But I didn’t think that’s what the event’s organizers had in mind, so instead I focused on the ways books in general and fiction in particular have influenced my life. I chose this because the value of reading non-fiction for spiritual growth can be relatively obvious. The influence of stories is more subtle but no less real.

We get a hint of the importance of stories in the structure of the Bible. Though we think of it as one book, the Bible is actually many books in many different genres. It contains theological treatises (such as Romans), law codes, also poetry, prophecy (in both prose and poetry) and lots of narratives. Stories take up a large percentage the Bible, and while many of them are history, Jesus’ parables are a kind of fiction. God uses this huge variety of forms to communicate to us because different types of writing speak to our experiences in different ways and affect us differently. And if God considers stories a helpful way of communicating truth, so should we.

One of the first things the Bible tells us about human beings is that we’re made in the image of God. We find this out in the first chapter of the first book of the Bible. At that point, all we’ve been told about God is that He created everything and did it by speaking. Authors, like their Creator create using words. So every time we pick up a book we should recognize that God’s image is being expressed. Of course, that doesn’t mean that everything in every book is good. Authors are also fallen, so we need to read any book with discernment. But we should give thanks to God for the amazing privilege of being made in His image and for the joy we gain from seeing the ways authors intentionally or unintentionally reveal His image in them.

Stories can aid our spiritual growth by helping us develop empathy. They let us get inside the head of someone different from us and understand the world as they experience it. This in turn can help us understand the real people who have had similar experiences. When you meet someone on the street, you don’t know what they’re thinking or their backstory. But when you read a book, the author often tells you that, which makes it easier to understand and relate to the characters.

Fiction is also a huge source of encouragement for me, something my parents taught me at a young age. When I was 10, my parents took my family to Europe for several months, and we traveled to Hungary. We took a night train into Budapest and transferred to another train that would eventually take us to the town where we would be staying. The schedule said the train would have a snack car, so my parents planned on eating breakfast on the train. As the train left the station, a blizzard hit our area. It was then that we discovered the train had little to no heat. My brother and my father walked along the train looking for the snack car. Snow blew upward between holes in the floor of the passages connecting different cars. One bicycle car was covered with ice because the door was opened. My dad tried to close it, but it was jammed. To quote my father, “the bathrooms looked like they hadn’t been cleaned since the fall of Communism” (this was 1999). My father and brother reached the end of the train, but there was no snack car. So my brother and I sat in the compartment bundled up in our coats while my mom fed us gummy bears that she had found in her purse. We had been reading The Hobbit as a family, so my dad said, “Bilbo Baggins describes adventures as ‘nasty, unpleasant things that make you late for breakfast.’ That means we’re having an adventure.” Suddenly, I was excited because I was on an adventure. I was still cold and hungry, but I wasn’t miserable because I saw my predicament differently.

I still draw on Tolkien for encouragement and inspiration, especially when life seems overwhelming. Tolkien does a great job depicting both genuine good and genuine evil and helping us recognize the difference. He also shows us ordinary people, like the Hobbits, standing up against this evil and making a difference. Good stories aren’t just a way to escape from the evil in the world. They’re a picture of what we can do, and they can provide motivation to take risks and do things that may be frightening. G.K. Chesterton once said, “Fairy tales do not tell children the dragons exist. Children already know that dragons exist. Fairy tales tell children the dragons can be killed.” The problems that face the heroes in fairy tales are symbols of the evil in the world. And when we see characters in stories slaying their dragons, it can encourage us to stand up and face our dragons.

We’re all busy, so I’m sure many of you don’t have much time for reading. But when you do encounter stories, either in books or in movies, I think it’s helpful to think about them and draw lessons or encouragement from them. I’d also like to encourage you to give thanks to God for the gift of books and the way He can use books of all kinds to make us more like Christ.

Continuing Christmas in the New Year

Christmas isn’t over yet.

Most people think of the Christmas season as stretching from the end of November until December 25, possibly followed by some time celebrating New Year’s Eve. Then on January 1 (or maybe 2), we all go back to our ordinary lives, staggering from the quantity of food we’ve consumed and resolving to lose weight of save money or do something else we know we should do but haven’t actually done.

But traditionally, Christmas didn’t even start until December 25. The weeks leading up to Christmas are actually Advent, a time of waiting and preparation for Christmas, like Lent is for Easter. Then came Christmas day, followed by 12 days of celebration stretching to January 6, which is Epiphany, the day that celebrates the arrival of the Magi. Hence, the song “The Twelve Days of Christmas.”

What this means is that even as we go back to work or school, Christmas is still going on. Although my inner Hobbit would love to use that as an excuse to continue stuffing my face with cheese, returning to work and/or taking steps to improve our lives is actually a perfectly appropriate way to celebrate the last few days of Christmas. Christmas is about the Incarnation, the moment when God became human and began to experience all the pleasures and frustrations of a normal human life. No area of life is outside His concern, whether it be health or finances or anything else. And therefore, whatever area of life we choose to focus on has a touch of holiness, and whatever actions we take can be done for God’s glory.

Lately, I’ve realized that I have a dangerous tendency to focus on my mind while neglecting my body. I’m trying to fight that by remembering that my body is a good (although not perfect) creation of God; it is part of what Christ came to redeem, and I will have it in some form for all eternity. My body has a part to play in my ultimate purpose of serving and glorifying God. I expect this will be a far more powerful motivator to live a healthy lifestyle than disgust or shame over how I look. In other words, the concern for all of life demonstrated in the Incarnation means that my health matters and is worth attending to. And whether you’re making a resolution or just continuing life as you have been, your daily concerns matter for the same reason.

I write this post mostly for myself, but I hope it will also help you to see the glory in whatever you are doing this week, whether you’re starting a new resolution or just going back to normal life. Everything has value because of the Incarnation. Christmas isn’t over yet.