Category: Hope

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Reflections on 9/11

My guess is that you know exactly where you were when the news broke on that dark day in 2001. I know I do. 

I was starting my day in my office of the church building in Kentucky when one of my members, a parent whose child was in our church’s preschool, burst into my office declaring, “I just heard on the news that a plane has flown into one of the Twin Towers.” Bewildered, denial set in as I knew those buildings were too tall for such a foolish mistake. That someone might intentionally fly a plane into the buildings was beyond the scope of believability. My guess is that it was for you, too. I checked numerous online news websites and discovered headlines confirming the report, but since the articles were being written in real time, I was unable to access any of the details.

My memory of the following days is a blur. Stories of heroism were overshadowed by stories of despair. Since Cile and I did not own a television set at the time, it would be two weeks before I saw actual footage of the planes flying into the buildings. We were visiting her mother when I saw the video; my heart sank, and my gut felt sucker-punched. I was two weeks behind the emotional trauma everyone else experienced.

On the immediate Wednesday night following 9/11, our church held a prayer service. The three elders and I reflected on both the events and Scripture, trying to shed some light on this dark event. On Sunday morning our church prayed for those directly and indirectly impacted by this terroristic act of war. Drawing from a shared empathy, I relayed to the church that somewhere in the surrounding New York City area lies a church with a vacant pew. The previous week someone(s) was part of the visible community of believers, while this week they are forever part of the unseen worshiping community. That church has an open wound that will not heal easily or quickly.

I also thanked a Canadian family who moved to the States years earlier and were members of our church. While I had no official authority to speak on behalf of our nation – and they had no official authority to offer any response – I did speak. I thanked them for the Canadian government clearing air space and opening their airports so that American planes, who could divert their course, could find a safe harbor. Canada, like the rest of us, did not know what dangers lurked by such a gracious move. They authorized the move anyway. Our congregation of 200 applauded our Canadian family.

Twenty-three years have passed since that dreadful day changed our lives. In some ways the hole has not been filled. We’ve had plenty of time to process the events while much water has rushed under the bridge or over the dam.

As I reflect on the nightmare of that day, I find at least three things worth sharing, all of which is rooted in Scripture. First, “Let your light shine” (Mt. 5:16). A year after 9/11, I took my first doctoral course. One of my fellow students had been in the grocery store getting food and snack supplies for the nine days we’d be on campus. He happened to have picked up a magazine from the checkout line. As he stood before the class holding the magazine he started sharing with us his 9/11 experience. He was in the Denver airport when the planes hit the towers. The terminal shut down cancelling all flights. He spent the next few days waiting for air space to open, flights to be rebooked, and opportunities to return home. The magazine in his hand was a one-year commemorative magazine of 9/11. As he was in the check-out line, he said, he picked up the magazine and started flipping through the pages to find that a photographer had shot a candid picture of himself with a group of people sitting against the wall. He showed us the magazine and said, “This is me.”

People are watching. People are always watching. They notice the deeds we do and the words we say. They witness the acts of kindness or our darker deeds. They observe how our talk harmonizes with our walk or creates dissonance. Jesus wants us to capitalize on that dynamic. Since people are watching, then, he encourages us to let our lights shine in those dark places to brighten the way home, and where God gets the glory due him.

Secondly, “As far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone” (Rom. 12:18). Following 9/11 voices emerged expressing concerned that fear and distrust might create an unrepairable “us against them“ mentality. Until 9/11 Americans perceived itself as secure, invincible, and that war carnage happened elsewhere. After 9/11 America’s perception began to shift. Suddenly, our nation’s security was breached, we felt vulnerable, and war’s carnage was not hidden in our backyard but hanging on our clothesline for all the world to see.

With the internet unleashed, the world immediately shrunk. As a mobile society, we found connecting to each other a great blessing. Facebook and Twitter meant we could communicate with friends all over the world. But social media came with a dark side. A very dark side. Instead of unity and community, people began spouting hard core beliefs without any concern for the hurtful words attached to them. No one had to look into the eyes of the people as they hid behind a computer screen. Those without a voice or venue found a place to express themselves, almost priding themselves on promoting hateful or divisive ideologies and themes. Adding to the mess has been the bad faith people and “bots” whose singular purpose is to stir up conflict, turning people against each other. The chasm continued to widen.

How COVID played in the division of society will be studied for years on end. Suffice to say, social distancing came with a relational price tag.  

Hear this warning: from politicians to preachers to practitioners, too much messaging has been divisive and has fueled the “us against them” perception. Words matter, and shrouding the words beneath ideology or religion never justifies divisive rhetoric. Instead of hiding behind a computer screen, we need to look into the eyes of our neighbors and recognize that we are all Imago Dei, made in the image of God. Instead of hanging onto our pet peeve issues or political rhetoric or ideological individuality, we need to hold onto each other. Instead of looking for a reason to divide, we need to passionately pursue the reason to unite. Or as Paul might say, if there is going to be unrest and conflict between people, make sure you are not the cause.

Finally, if “the end is near,” then make it a glorious end (1 Pet. 4:7-11). Peter entertains the possibility that the world’s story is about to close, though I suspect he probably has Jerusalem’s fall in mind (C.E. 70). Any catastrophic event feels like the world coming to its end, from the Stock Market crashing in 1929, to the bombing of Pearl Habor in 1941, to 9/11. With such a terrorizing end in sight, Peter refuses to prey on people’s fears. He doesn’t go into how bad it will get, nor does he exploit people’s anxieties by dangling hell over them. Instead, he tells his church to keep doing what they have always done, and what they have always done best.

Peter highlights some of the core tenants of the Christian faith.* He tells them to be clear-minded and to keep praying (v. 7). Someone, like Chicken Little running around stirring up the pot because he fears the sky is falling, is not clear-minded, and I doubt that person is praying. In the next chapter Peter will exhort his readers in prayer to “Cast all your anxiety on (God) because he cares for you” (5:7). God really does care for you. Secondly, he tells his readers to love deeply (v. 8), a love that stretches a person to the limits. Some people are easier to love than others, and everyone is hard to love at some point. When we throw ourselves into love, the multitude of sins gets covered because love leads to forgiveness. Thirdly, he says to continue practicing hospitality (v. 9). Opening one’s home in the first century not only provided a place where the church could meet, but ongoing lodging for those passing through the area. Opening one’s home, though, is hard work so Peter takes the grumbling part off the table. Finally, he says to use your gifts to serve others (v. 10). The center of the universe is not you, but you can use your gifts to minister to others, and through that action serve the true Center of the Universe.

Not a lot of excitement in this list and I doubt that it will be very marketable. But in a world where fear drives conversations, the everyday mundane Christian service keeps us well-grounded. The result is that fear is kept at bay.

As we bring closure to this reflection on 9/11, I am reminded that in the spring of 1870, the Connecticut Legislation was in session. During the meetings, dark ominous clouds formed and closed in over the Capital in Hartford. With many legislators still rooted in a pre-modern era world-view, they believed the end was upon them. A call for adjournment was made and it looked as if everyone was going home. However, one man, Abraham Davenport, opposed the motion to adjourn. Addressing the legislators he said,

“I am against adjournment. The Day of Judgment is either approaching or it is not. If it is not, then there is no cause for an adjournment. If it is, I choose to be found doing my duty. I wish therefore candles be brought.”*

Davenport wanted “to be found doing his duty.” Whether we are in a time of peace or in a time of war; whether we live in a context of fear or a context of faith; whether we are living in an abundance of freedom or the freedoms have been stripped away; whether we are flourishing in a time of unity or in the splinter of division; whether we are reaping another Great Awakening or sowing in spiritual apathy; or whether we are basting in the brightness of light or the ones bringing light to the darkened world, we chose to be found doing our duty. Therefore, let’s call for the candles, and then go light this world by being found doing our duty.

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

* See my book, The Lord of All Things (published through Amazon.com, 2024), 182-185.

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Unveiled Hope

No moment showing such promise and potential turned so quickly leaving nothing but despair and despondency in its wake, then the golden calf story recorded in Exodus 32. Israel had gathered at the Mountain of God. They had been slaves in Egypt, now they were liberated, freed, and headed to the Promised Land. Oh, the sound of freedom is music to the ear. Like a cookout on Memorial Day with summer just around the corner, what could go wrong? In a word, everything.

Moses was engaged in deep negotiations with God, while Israel was encamped at the base of Mt. Sinai. With the Covenant established and the Testimony* engraved by God’s finger on two tablets of stone held by Moses, the prophet began his trek down the mountain. But something was wrong. Something was really wrong. The sound of freedom morphed into the cries of war. Except it wasn’t war, just the shattering of the very covenant God founded with his people. On the ground were the pieces of the tablets, fragmented, a poignant representation of what Israel did, not only to the Testimony,* but also to the Covenant established by God.

All was lost. Like mist burned off from the hot sun, hope had dissipated. Wanting to wipe out the entire nation, God was willing to start over, only this time with Moses (Ex. 32:9-10). Moses, on the other hand, pleaded with God for mercy. God relented as mercy prevailed. But things had changed. Trust was broken. And in the balance was a damaged relationship between God and Israel.

Something else happened too. Moses changed. Physically. His encounter with God made his face glow (Ex. 34:29-35). The radiance was bright and frightened the people who saw him. Each time he met with God, his face radiated like the sun on a bright blue cloudless day. After communicating with Israel what God revealed to him, he wore a veil, which he removed before meeting with God again (Ex. 34:33-35).

Paul picks up Moses’ veil image in 2 Corinthians 3:12-18 to restore the hope lost so many centuries earlier. Unfortunately, before hope is restored, Paul says the veil is still in play, blinding the hearts of those who wear it (v. 14-15). Two points of interest are worth highlighting before we pursue further. First, whatever Paul says in these verses, he is confronting the antagonists infiltrating Corinth to undermine his ministry. We know they are Judaizers, but they are not the same ones or kind that demanded the Galatians be circumcised. Circumcision is not mentioned in 2 Corinthians, but a love for the Covenant at Sinai seems important to the antagonists. Secondly, Paul may either be relying on a tradition or taking liberties with the Exodus 34 veil story. Exodus says nothing about the reason Moses wore the veil, only that he did (Ex. 34:33,35). He met with the Lord unveiled, then spoke to Israel unveiled. After speaking with Israel, he donned the veil until he met with the Lord again, and the cycle repeated itself. Paul, on the other hand, says the reason Moses donned the veil was to hide the fact that his radiant face was fading (v. 13), a foreshadow of the Sinai Covenant reality with Israel.

Paul tells us that the glory of the Sinai Covenant, or in this case ministry, is fading and fading fast. Moses donned a veil to hide how that glory is diminishing. In the meantime, Israel themselves wore their own veil blinding them from seeing the real glory. The more they wore the veil, the duller their minds became (v. 14). They stopped thinking. They quit processing. They ceased hoping. They discontinued dreaming. They were so blinded by their own theology and understanding of Scripture that they failed to see Christ holding it all together. While it’s true that “. . . when Moses is read, a veil covers their hearts” (v. 15), Paul is not only addressing Jews who reject Jesus, but he’s also addressing the antagonistic Jewish Christians bent against him and his gospel. They are either veiled to the Jesus they claim to follow, or they are veiled to conceal that Jesus is not in them. Remember, Paul is addressing this letter to people who are already Christians, who have given their lives to Christ. So, something is ironically wrong when Christians cannot see Christ because their own hearts are veiled.

I come from a tribe of believers who, probably like you, wear their own blinders preventing them from seeing or showing Jesus. We hold a high view of Scripture with clearly marked doctrinal lines. While I hold much of our doctrines close to the heart, I do so knowing the questionable approach we’ve taken Scripture to reach those doctrinal beliefs. Sometimes, those questionable approaches and conclusions have hurt the very people we are called to love and to serve. Those who have not walked the line have either been black-balled or given enough cold shoulders to show how much they are no longer welcomed. Others, who dared to remove the box holding God, found their character maligned and were shamed for “coloring” outside the doctrinal lines.

I share this because my tribe is just like your tribe, and my people are just like your people, and my story is probably your story, too. On our best days the blinders are removed and it’s like seeing Jesus in HD. On our worst days, our blinders keep us from seeing anything, trampling on the people we’re called to love the most. Or the veil is in play to hide the fact that we care nothing for Jesus only for ourselves.

So we fight every day to shed the blinders and remove the veil keeping us from being the very Jesus we proclaim to being. We have our theology lined out and our doctrine clean and simple. We tend to keep everything neat and clean to avoid messy conclusions, reading the Bible only to confirm what we already believe, forgetting that the very Bible we cherish is written by messy people engaging with messy people who are radically loved by a very un-messy God. We prefer clearly drawn lines of right and wrong, of left and right, of true and false, as it helps us know who is in and who is out, so that we know who is going to heaven and who isn’t. But when we do that, we have a veil over our hearts and we’re living with blinders on. Truth be known, if we were to remove our blinders, we’d see that we and our churches are far messier than we care to admit.

Along the way we’ve failed remove the veil to reveal that the transformation of unveiled faces is the goal of the gospel (v. 18). We’ve failed to remove the veil and to take a good long look in the mirror, while standing in finger-pointing judgment at those whose sin seems greater than ours. We’ve failed to remove the veil that distinguishes our culture of acceptability against the culture of being accepted by Jesus. We’ve failed to remove the veil to discern between our national politics and the politics of God’s Kingdom, assuming that they are one and the same. They’re not. We’ve failed to remove the veil showing the compassion of God extended to us to provide our comfort is intended for us to extend that compassion to others while comforting them. We’ve failed to remove the veil exposing the perceived enemy before us is clearly our neighbor. We’ve failed to remove the veil that feeds our selfish narcissism so that we can sacrifice for the good of others. We’ve failed to remove the veil that underscoring the needless point of suffering is how God is able to comfort his people. We’ve failed to remove the veil so that we can still clutch the stone held in our hands ignoring the voice saying, “he who is without sin, may cast the first stone.” We’ve failed to remove the veil, in part, because we like the darkness and have embraced the darkness while claiming to walk in light. We’ve failed to remove the veil because the hopelessness seems more familiar than offering hope.

I remember my sophomore year of college. I was in Bible class when the professor talked about his weekend. He mowed his lawn. Actually, he said he was in the middle of mowing his lawn when he noticed that his five-year-old son had retrieved his toy lawnmower and was “helping him” mow the lawn. Immediately, a veil was removed as he saw with clarity. His son was mimicking his every movement, following his father’s example. My professor said he thought he could be self-absorbed and continue to mow the lawn. Instead, he loaded his mower onto his truck and invited his son to do the same. With his son sitting next to him, he drove across town to an elderly widow’s home whose lawn was in extreme need of care. For the rest of the afternoon, he and his son served the widow.

By removing the veil, my professor saw a means by which to serve. By removing the veil, he not only saw Jesus clearly, but he was able to be Jesus to his son. When that happened, they experienced an unveiled hope.

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

* See Exodus 32:15. While known as the Ten Commandments today, that phrase is a late development and was often known as Ten Words.

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We Make It Our Goal to Please Him

On the edge of settling in the land of Canaan, some of the land has been conquered, while much was still a wild territory still needing tamed. Joshua will not be with them during the next phase of their journey as he will soon age-out. He will not leave them, though, without a final message. After rehearsing Israel’s story, he offers an altar call, challenging the people of God to make a choice. They can either serve the gods their forefathers served, including the ones in Egypt, Mesopotamia, and the ones now in Canaan. Or, they can serve the One True God who led them from bondage through the wilderness and found victory during the early days of the conquest. Joshua’s conclusion is succinctly focused: who will they decide to serve?

Joshua touches on a theme relevant to life. We will serve something. History has proven this point time and time again. Humanity will serve gods created in the imagination of the human mind. Dark things always emerge from humanity’s mind, especially when tied to religion. For instance, who thought that such dark deep debauchery, like offering children as live sacrifices to Molech, was a good idea?

If Joshua were speaking to today, he might assess our culture differently and add a different god we tend to serve: ourselves. We can be so self-absorbed that we think of no one else but ourselves. Our rugged individualism drives our personal decisions so often that we hurt those around us, or most dear to us. We are not an island in and of ourselves, but we act like it, without ever realizing how our lives are so interconnected like a jigsaw puzzle. We can serve God, but it’s almost like we make it our goal to please ourselves.

Paul may not have Joshua in mind when he writes, “So we make it our goal to please him” (2 Cor. 5:9), but there may be a connection. While Joshua speaks of choosing to serve someone or something, Paul assumes we are choosing to serve God. Indeed, he ups the ante from simply serving to our goal of pleasing God. From our part we want God to experience great pleasure through our serving him. Let’s switch that narrative: from God’s part he wants to take great pleasure in our serving him.

Can you let that wash over you a bit? God takes great pleasure from our service to him. Like a child who draws you a picture and it gets mounted to your refrigerator; like a teenager who voluntarily busses the table and washes the dishes without being asked (at least more than once) and your heart is warmed; or when a patience receives foot care from a nurse or an aide and an amazing sense of relief comes over the patient.

Unlike the gods created in the minds of humanity where one never knows how to please their deities, or where they stand with them, or how the rules change from year-to-year or mood-to-mood. Our God is a god who not only takes pleasure in us but wants to take pleasure in his people. And our God is consistent with what pleases him.

When we extend the comfort received from God to others,
                God takes great pleasure in us.
When we forgive those who have trespassed against us,
                God takes great pleasure in us.
When we are paraded before the public as a stench,
                God smells a fragrant aroma and takes great pleasure in us.
When we check our motives and agendas at the door,
              God takes great pleasure in us.
When we experience the transformation power of the gospel so our lives conform to his
will,
                God takes great pleasure in us.
When we feel our fragile brokenness and refuse to lose heart,
                God takes great pleasure in the gospel planted in our lives.
When we endure suffering as a mark of an act of following in Jesus’ footsteps,
                God takes great pleasure in us.
When we no longer burn bridges but take steps toward reconciliation,
                God takes great pleasure in us.
When we operate out of generosity for others who are suffering,
                God takes great pleasure in us.
When we finally see the shallowness of the celebrity glitz and glamor side of ministry,
                God takes great pleasure in us.
God takes great pleasure in us,
                Because God wants to take great pleasure in us.
So indeed, we make it our goal to please God.*

For eight years of my life I gave myself to competitive running. I know something of goals and motivation. Through high school and college I set my goals and worked toward them. I sacrificed and prioritized my life around running. I gave up sleeping-in or skipped parties that went late into the night. At the same time I made a list and set to accomplish them from running varsity, to school records, to conference championships, to State and National recognition. Some goals I achieved, others I never quite reached. Goals are important, but motivation to achieve those goals are as well. Looking back on those years, sometimes I lacked the motivation of the daily grind of running.

Paul offers the incentive for us to step out as we work to please God. While we find encouragement knowing that God takes pleasure in us, Paul, none-the-less, heightens our desire to achieve our goal of pleasing him. In 2 Corinthians 5 Paul offers us two motivations: a positive one and a not-so-negative one.

The Positive Motivation is from verse 8 when he says, “We are confident, I say, and would prefer to be away from the body and at home with the Lord.” This is not the only time Paul makes this claim, he makes it three times. In verse 6 he says, “. . . that as long as we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord,” and then after stating our goal is to please him, he adds, “. . . whether we are at home in the body or away from it” (v.9). All three times he alludes to our “bodies” being the physical barrier that prevents us from reaching God. In some ways we’re trapped as the physical body limits us. We cannot see God, except by faith. We cannot touch God, apart from faith. We cannot stand in his presence, but through faith. The body we inhabit, in many ways, keeps us away from God. No wonder we feel times of drought, believing God is so far away from us.

Paul is acknowledging the limited reality of our physical bodies, though he knows that one day we will be with the Lord. This thought is the positive motivation for pleasing God. We will see him and be with him and stand in his presence. All the pain will be gone. All the comfort we long for will be given. The scars of Jesus will permanently heal our scars. No more sin. No more remorse. No more shame. Pure joy and love will surround us. We make it our goal to please God because the payoff will be, not now, but then. The payoff will come when we are with the Lord. Think of it like this, God will return us to innocence of Eden where he will walk with us in the cool of the day. What a powerful image for motivation!

Do you remember that challenge about choosing either a million dollars up front or a penny a day doubled for a month? I’m not a math mathematician, but apparently if you take the million dollars up front you forfeit some four million dollars due to compound interest. Here’s the point, our pleasing God to encounter him later is the long road, not the short cut. We long for and believe in the later payoff, even willing to sacrifice a seemingly short term windfall. Our pleasing God may not pay off now, but it will then. And it will pay big.

The Not-So-Negative Motivation comes from verse 10 where he says, “We must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, that each of us may receive what is due him, for things done while in the body, whether good or bad.” Paul is creating a somber moment where he describes Judgment Day like the tribunal he experienced when was brought before Gallio while ministering in Corinth (Acts 18:12-17). To be held accountable for (words and) actions while in our bodies is sobering for sure. I feel the bite as I have done and said plenty in my life I regret which still haunt me today. That said, Paul is not trying to scare us, but to motivate us to use our lives to please God, something he assumes we want to do.

More importantly, Paul does not mention “condemnation” nor “hell,” as we should be slow to insert those words here. The issue is not saved versus unsaved, but the quality of service rendered to God. Christ will be assessing our deeds done in the body, not our destiny. To be clear, Paul may be seeing this moment as his own personal vindication for the trials and suffering he has experienced while in the body during which the Corinthians have rejected his leadership for the antagonists who lured them away from Paul. The apostle looks on that particular day with hope that Jesus will say to him before the Corinthians and the antagonists, “I took great pleasure in the work you have done.”

The motivation is that God will be assessing our own goals of pleasing him, not our eternal destiny, as that is already settled. The question is, “Will God take great pride in our service, or will he expose us as nothing more than a fraudulent sham?

The “Not-So-Negative Motivation” leads us to purge our motives from all our false pretenses and agendas. We care for our patients and endure difficult environments, not because our job demands it. No. We work out of hope that one day we get to be with our Lord as he evaluates our service to him. I can see him saying, “I really enjoyed that time when you . . ..” So in the meantime, we make it our goal to please him.

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

* The list is comprised of themes found within Paul’s Second Letter to the Corinthians.

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The Final Word

They say that up to 90% of effective communication is created through non-verbal expressions. What you don’t say is as important as what you do say or how you say it. True or not, body language, verbal tone, mannerisms, and gestures play a huge role in conversing with one another. Anyone who has sent a text that created unintentional conflict understands “I was only joking,” or “It came off harsher than I intended.” Non-verbal expressions, especially tone, are important.

Once, a little old woman walked into the Post Office to get her mail. The Post Master handed her a letter from her son who was deployed. The woman was excited to receive the letter, except for one small detail; she was illiterate. She could not read. In her excitement, she asked a man who happened to be walking past her to read the letter to her. The man was in a hurry and uninterested in taking the time to read the letter, though he grudgingly complied. The woman’s anticipation melted into despair as the man read the letter in almost hateful tones. The woman snatched the letter out of the man’s hands and said, “That’s not my son! My son has never talked to me like that!”

As the woman made her way down the street she met another man. She asked him to read the letter from her son, to which the man eagerly and graciously agreed. He read the letter with joy and enthusiasm. The more he read, the more the woman relaxed and smiled. Even a tear gently crawled down her cheek. When he finished the letter, the woman said, “That’s exactly how my son speaks to me.”

How you say something is just as important as what you say.

Paul has come to the end of his letter with the Corinthians (2 Cor. 13:11-14). Usually, we overlook “Final Greetings” of the epistles, thinking they are throw-a-way statements without much substance. I do the same thing. “Say hi to George! Greet one another. I’m coming to visit. Jeremy says hi. And God be with you till we meet again.” Yea, pretty basic, simple stuff that does not deserve much study or sermon time. But then again, Paul has been through the ringer with the Corinthians. They’ve rejected his leadership and according to 2 Corinthians 2:1-2, he made a visit to them that ended badly. And I mean badly! Like they ran him out of town on a rail. Just a few verses earlier (13:1-4), he’s promising to make a visit and he expects certain behavioral changes. Too much is at stake for Paul to end 2 Corinthians on throw-a-way words. How he ends his letter to the Corinthians, including the tone he chooses, will be the last thing the Church hears. Honestly, what I believe Paul is doing in 2 Corinthians 13:11-14 is summarizing his message.

As we unpack Paul’s words we note that he calls them “brothers,” a term he has used twice before (1:8; 8:1). “Brothers” conveys family, warmth, affection and underlies his approach to them has been relational, as opposed to being transactional. Paul is not their enemy nor their boss, and he is more than just a friend or their pastor. He’s their brother who has invested in them and is hoping for real change in their lives.

At this point Paul pops off five imperative statements. These are quick reminders of themes he’s covered throughout the letter. The first one is “goodbye,” according to my translation, but it’s also the same word for “rejoice.” Since Paul has already displayed affection with the use of “brothers,” simply saying “goodbye” comes across as wooden. Rejoice has appeared numerous times throughout the letter (2:3; 6:10; 7:7, 9, 13, 16; 13:9) and each time is connected with either their positive response to Paul’s reconciling, or their ability to endure suffering. Being shaped, or in the case of the Corinthians shaped by the gospel, is cause for rejoicing. When we seek reconciliation instead of estrangement we’re being (re)fashioned by the gospel. When we provide comfort instead of cause suffering we’re being (re)forged by the gospel. When we are generous instead of selfish we are being (re)molded by the gospel. When we realize our brokenness instead of our perceived value we’re being (re)sculpted by the gospel. When we celebrate our weaknesses instead of our own strength we’re being (re)cut by the gospel. All of which is cause for joy.

Secondly, he calls for them to “aim for perfection.” Paul sets the bar of their faith high, but he doesn’t demand perfection. He wants them to shoot for perfection. True, we won’t reach the bar of perfection, but neither are we playing limbo with our faith: “how low can we go?” Or as some people ask, “What is the least amount I can do to be accepted by God?” The Corinthians, not to mention us, need some quality control over the kind of faith we profess to have. Some of their problems reach back to the divisiveness of their gatherings involving quarreling, slander, spiritual pride, and angry outburst, as well as their infatuation with idolatry.

Thirdly, he wants them to “listen to his appeals.” In preparing for his arrival, the church needs to show signs that they have implemented Paul’s teachings. Listening is a huge theme in Scripture from God telling the disciples to listen to Jesus on the Mount of Transfiguration, to James reminding us we have two ears and one mouth for a reason, and to John in Revelation calling forth those who have ears to hear to listen. Before action can take place, one must hear what is being taught.

Fourthly, he calls the church to unity. Once again, Corinth was a church noted for its divisive nature. The struggle for individual independence is at odds with the community peace. It’s easier to be your own person. It’s something entirely different to surrender yourself for the good of others. For 2 Corinthians the unity is rooted in Paul’s presentation of the gospel, a gospel that embraces suffering and weakness.

Finally, Paul calls them to live in peace, which is the result of reconciliation. When people come together, they are no longer at odds with each other. Peace is established. The result of a peaceful reconciliation is that God’s loving and peaceful presence will dwell among them.

With all the trouble Corinth had caused Paul, one might believe he’d given up on them. Or better yet, he’d unload on them. He doesn’t. He neither bails on them by jumping ship, nor does he fear monger them or threaten them. He certainly does not question their salvation, and nor does he bring the heat, though he acknowledges their struggle. In fact, since tone is everything to the apostle, he underscores his conclusion with hope, saying, “and the God of love and peace will be with you” (13:11b). It’s possible to move forward, to move forward together, and to move forward with God. It was Paul’s final word to the Corinthians and it was one filled with hope.

When I was a seminary student I took one class in counseling. It was hardly enough training to minister to a church, but I did learn one fact. The professor always encouraged us to underscore hope when counseling someone, especially couples. Everything may be falling apart – they may argue and fight, they don’t see eye-to-eye, or they barely speak. Always, he said, encourage them that they can work out their differences. They can salvage their relationship. Always leave them with hope. Always.

We do the same thing in hospice. We won’t lie and tell them they will get better. But we tell them how good of a job they are doing in caring for the loved one. We root them on when medication is on time and accurate. And when instruction is needed, we come back with, “I know it’s a lot, but I believe you can do this.” Always end with hope. It’s what Paul did for Corinth. It’s what we do for our patients. It’s how we roll as Christians. 

During the 1980’s the TV show Hill Street Blues brought one of the first realistic, gritty police dramas which tried to bring a more true-to-life depiction of life as cops. One of the beloved characters was Sargent Phil Esterhaus, played by Michael Conrad. Every episode usually began with Esterhaus calling roll, then going over the agenda for the day before sending his men and women out on the beat. He was the wise sage, who took his job seriously. Yes, he laughed and gave a knowing smirk, but he cared about the men and women under his command. Every day he knew they were being sent into the unknown danger. His signature line underscored his affection for them and his concern. His tone was a mixture of serious warning and parental loving concern. It was his final word, “You be careful out there.”

In the spirit of Esterhaus, I adopted a similar approach as I closed worship services at my church during COVID. With fears, anxieties, and frustrations wreaking havoc on people’s lives, church communities, and society in general people were being pushed to the edge. I ended services with a word of hope. I made direct eye contact with the church, even if it was through the camera, and regardless of the sermon topic or the struggles the church was facing. Each Sunday morning I said, “God’s got us, and he’ll get us through these days.”

I took this approach because my I wanted my final word to be hope. And maybe, just maybe somebody heard my words and tone and found the hope, thinking, “Yea, that’s exactly how Christ really speaks to us.” 

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

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At Rope’s End

Sometimes holding on takes all the strength one has. Other times using every last bit of strength to avoid letting go is the hardest challenge anyone faces. Like the old meme of the cat clinging to the frays of the cord with the caption, “When you come to the end of your rope, tie a knot, and hang on.” The real question is, “How much longer can you hang on?”

In 1987 Henry Dempsey was Eastern Express captain of a 15 passenger plane whose flight plan included hugging the Atlantic Ocean coastline from Lewiston, Maine to Boston. At 4000 feet he heard an unusual noise from the back of the plane. He turned the controls over to his co-pilot and walked through the fuselage to investigate. When he reached the tail section, the plane hit roller-coaster-like turbulence, throwing him against the rear door.

About then, Dempsey realized the source of the strange noise. Despite all preflight preparations, someone had failed to double check the back door which, when the plane hit the turbulence and threw him to the door, it swung open and sucked the pilot outside over the ocean. The co-pilot, rightly thinking the captain was lost, diverted the flight to a nearby airport and called in for an aerial search and rescue. Dempsey was not found and presumed lost.

The plane safely landed, where the ground crews discovered where Dempsey was located. Apparently, when the rear door flew open, he managed to reach for the railing of the stairs and held on. He held on while the plane descended 4000 feet. He held on at 200 miles per hour. He held on managing to keep his head from scraping the landing strip by matters of inches. He held on while crewmen took ten minutes to dislodge Dempsey’s hands from the rails. He held on for dear life.

Paul was at the end of his rope. We don’t know the specifics, only some generalities. Unlike us, the Corinthians were somewhat aware of Paul’s circumstances (1:8). Somewhat. Like us, though, they did not know the severity of what Paul was facing in Asia Minor. We can piece a little of it together and maybe, just maybe, we can figure out what Paul endured.

We know he was in Asia Minor, which is modern day Turkey. While in Asia Minor, he suffered such extreme hardships, admitting that the amount of pressure he was under was more than he could endure. In a very self-disclosing moment, he revealed that he “despaired even of life” (2 Cor. 1:8). Allow those words to wash over you for a while. Paul was at rope’s end and did not know where or how things were going to unfold. Even more so he describes the ominous feeling as a death sentence (2 Cor. 1:9). What happened in Asia Minor that traumatized Paul to the point where he felt death creeping at his door?

The region of Asia Minor held at least one major city, Ephesus, a place Paul stayed two years (Act. 19:8-10). We know Paul revealed he “fought wild beasts in Ephesus” (1 Cor. 15:32), language that heightens the intensity of the event. If it were wild or demonic animals, we have no record of it from Acts. Paul does not explain himself to the Corinthians nor to the Ephesians when he writes their letters, because they probably already knew about it. Also, one might ask, what is the connection, if any, to his “fighting wild beasts” with his comment to the Ephesian Elders that he was “severely tested by the plots of the Jews” (Act. 20:19)? Something of serious nature happened to Paul, and we may or may not have the details.

The only event we know of is the riot in Acts 19:23-41. Riots are known for being extremely violent and chaotic. Being swept up because you are in the center of a mob activity would be anything less than scary. If it is the riot or related to the riot, Luke’s information does not support it. Either Luke skims the surface of what happens in the Ephesian riot or it’s not the riot at all and Luke leaves the event out of Acts altogether.

The result is that the events in Ephesus left Paul depleted and at wits end. He had nothing left to give and he saw the writing on the wall, and it wasn’t promising. Anyone in his shoes might wonder how do you face tomorrow?

In the late fall of 2000 I found myself on the floor weeping uncontrollably. The children had been put to bed and my wife had gone to bed too. I had decided to watch a game on TV before turning in myself. For over a year our lives had been on a roller coaster. The church I preached at ended badly. My family was embroiled in a legal battle because we had been attacked; such a statement is saying it mildly. Churches where I interviewed at best saw me as the “bridesmaid and never the bride,” while other churches refused to consider me. I found out later that the leadership of my former church was submarining my application and interviews. We had sold our home, and fortunately, God had opened a place for us to stay rent free as friends had temporarily relocated to St. Louis while her father battled cancer. Because we were living with the “in between” we were homeschooling our daughter. Actually, since my wife secured a job at a local Presbyterian Church, I was homeschooling our daughter. I felt like I was failing as a homeschool teacher, about as much as I thought I was failing at ministry, about as much as I felt I was failing as a father and husband. So that night I started watching the game and something in me broke. I started weeping. I started weeping uncontrollably. My wife heard the noise and she came to me. She spoke to me. She needed me to stop the road I was traveling because she could not parent alone. More importantly, she reassured me that our story had not ended and that there was more to tell. I couldn’t see it at the time, but I felt that life had given me a death sentence. She reassured me that I was not under a death sentence, and if I were, it had been revoked.

Still, the question remains as to how to hold on at ropes’ end, especially when holding on gets harder and harder.

As we circle back around to Paul’s self-disclosing fraught to the Corinthians, he pivots his message by sprinkling it with hope like one sprinkles a dish with salt. In a moment of self-awareness Paul realized that what he endured was a means for him to show that he can trust God (1:9). The ease at which to enact your default setting of relying on yourself, your whit, your insight, and your strength gives way to fully trusting and relying on God. All the pretense or pretending melts away. Sometimes the trauma we experience is a means to strip away all the falseness so that a pure faith remains. Mind you, not all the time, but at least that’s what Paul is saying what happened to him.

Paul does not leave it there. He drops one word and repeats it twice noting the past, present, and continuous nature of God. The glory goes to God because he delivered Paul, past tense, from his deathly experience. Then he adds that God will, future tense, deliver him again. Finally, with the foundation of his hope laid, God will keep on delivering Paul from the trials and tribulations he faces (1:10). Paul’s hope is on God’s character who will keep his promises and continue to deliver Paul from the things he faces.

I once read about a Chinese minister who pastored a struggling “underground church” of 150. He was arrested and sentenced to 20 years of hard labor, five of which were spent in solitary confinement. He lost touch, not only with wife and family, but also with his church. With no news from the outside world, and though he prayed for his church every day, he believed his church was shriveling on the vine. Still in all of his years in unbearably harsh imprisonment, he said the best moments he discovered was when they made him shovel human excrement. That’s right, when he was sent to move the manure pile from here to there, he found his solace. He said that the stench was so overwhelmingly nauseous that the guards left him alone. It was only time the abusive guards left him with his own thoughts. So while he shoveled the human waste, he sang his favorite hymns, including . . . 

I come to the garden alone ● While the dew is still on the roses ● And the voice I hear, falling on my ear ● The Son of God discloses ■ And he walks with me ● and he talks with me ● and he tells me, “I am his own” ● And the joy we share as we tarry there ● None other has ever known.

Sometimes hanging on means participating in the most disgusting, abusive service while clinging to hope and to a hymn. Oh, on a side note when he got out of prison, he was welcomed by his wife and family and the small underground church that grew to 15,000.

So going back to the meme of the cat holding onto the rope or to Henry Dempsey clinging onto the ladder of the plane, one thing I know. Some people, whom I love and respect, seem to make it through life without nary a problem or difficulty. They don’t, but it just feels that way. Their faith is so rich, so deep, and so strong that when their life comes to an end they will waltz through heaven’s gate like they own the place. But that’s not my story, and that’s probably not your story either. For me I will be holding onto Jesus for dear life so that when I finally see him face to face, the first ten minutes he’ll have to pry my fingers off of him. To be honest, I don’t think that’s a bad thing either.

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

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Christ, Christians & COVID-19: Where Do We Go from here?

Unlike Pearl Harbor, President Kennedy’s assassination, the Challenger explosion, or 9-11, the COVID-19 pandemic did not have a defining “Where were you when” moment. In December of 2019 we started hearing reports of a new virus in China, but like other news stories, it was emotionally discarded and soon believed to be long forgotten in the news cycle. But it wasn’t. More stories and reporting was highlighting the disease.

Three weeks into January 2020, the city of Wuhan went into lockdown. This was no rural town, but a metropolitan epi center boasting of modern technology and eleven million in population. I remember seeing workers in protective suits spraying the city streets down with disinfectant chemicals while citizens were in isolation/quarantine. By February the government, with amazing speed, built two new hospitals in Wuhan to treat the overflowing number of people suffering from this disease. By all accounts they were taking the virus seriously.

This was the defining moment for me. I began contemplating, “What if the virus comes to America?” “Will we go into lockdown” and “What will be the plan if we do?” Even more so, “How will the church adapt and respond?”

On March 15 Taylor and Lilly were riding home with me from worship services. Rumors were swirling that American cities were going into their own lockdown. Basketball tournaments had already been shelved with baseball’s season on the brink. I didn’t know what kind of travel bands might be activated. With Taylor’s husband deployed, I suggested she decide on one spot to live with us or her in-laws. She chose to live with us and did so for the next four months. And as it turned out March 15th was the last in-person worship service Sunshine experienced till June.

I wish the story ended in June, but it didn’t. As we came into fall, the number of COVID cases surged. Hospitals were overrun and the medical personnel on the front lines were physically and emotionally depleted if not traumatized by the death toll reaching a half a million people – and just in America alone. The constant isolation and general fear was wearing society out. On my own Homefront Cile was recovering from her own COVID infection; we canceled our yearly trip to Tennessee for Thanksgiving and Christmas. But with the New Year, the vaccine now in play and places of worship meeting for in-person services, hope is on the rise.

While God is the only one who holds tomorrow in his hands, we move forward with every step taken. Yes, we take him by the hand, but sometimes we’re stumbling around to find our way. Where we go from here is cautious, but filled with renewed faith.

First, we begin recognizing how vulnerable and fragile we really are, as Rich Mullins sings, “We are not as strong as we think we are.” COVID didn’t create dilemmas as much as it exasperated and exposed problems already present. For instance mental health issues were present before 2020, but the isolation and shutting down of needed social relationships created more room for anxiety to take hold. Marriages that ended this past year didn’t just happen to go bad. They were well on the divorce road before COVID hit. The anxiety and stress of a pandemic was the final straw. Peter looked really brave and strong as he stepped out of the boat, but all that was stripped from him when the waves took his focus off Jesus (Mt. 14:29-30).

Secondly, we have a deep desire to break the social distancing by re-engaging with each other. We miss the interaction of the in-person community. Still, getting together continues to feel like porcupines snuggling. Renewing relationships look good on paper, but acting it out still feels like a pipe dream. The political and ideological divide is widening as distrust on both sides of the isle escalates. Finger pointing and name calling is eroding the very foundation for which relationships are established and maintained. Paul warned the Galatians of “biting and devouring each other” and predicted destruction unless they began allowing the Spirit to control their lives (Gal.5:13-15, 22-26).

Finally, we’re called to display a sacrificial love for each other even though we’re very selfish at heart (1 Jn. 3:16-17). Jesus demonstrated his love for us by sacrificing himself for mankind. He gave up his rights, his positon and his power to die for us, calling on us to do the same (see 1 Pet. 2:21-23). Like preschooler children lining up for a drink at the drinking fountain, we demand to be first. We have to have it our way. Following 9-11 an elder commented to me that America was not in a position to sacrifice again like it did for the War Effort. He may have been right. We’re so consumed with our own personal rights, we fail to consider how our personal decisions are damaging and destroying those around us.

Where do we go from here? We take hold of Jesus and keep our eyes fastened on him, even with the waves crashing around us. As we’re nurturing our relationships, we allow Jesus to be the unifying factor, not our personal ideology. Then we follow him, emptying ourselves for each other. Such steps are far from easy, but when we arrive at our destination, it will be worth it.

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

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Despair: Feeling the Sentence of Death

Despair can lead a person to dark places, to a deep hole cut off from daylight and feeling the warmth of the sun. In its chilly, damp pit hope is lost. And some who find themselves in such a place feel abandoned as death is a welcomed alternative to living.

Sometimes we find ourselves in despair and without hope because we’re susceptible to anxiety and depression. Many of us fight those battles on a regular basis, and in battle fatigue our inner self cry out from the pit. Other times we find ourselves disoriented because circumstances beyond our control rip apart our world. We thought we were in control of our own destiny until “destiny” took control of us. A job loss, a diagnosed illness, a betrayal of a friend, a pandemic. Any of these, and more, can strip away hope, layer by layer, leaving you in the depths of despair.

While we suffer, we tell ourselves that those who are more spiritual and are grounded firmly in faith never had to endure what the common folk endure. They’re immune. They’re exempt from suffering. The spiritual waters run so deep that pain never penetrates those fathoms. Or maybe their pedestal stands above the agony.

Enter the Apostle Paul, maybe one of the most important leaders of the early church. Because most of his letters survived, he has shaped so much of the church’s belief system (i.e., theology). Because he’s an apostle who received visions from Jesus and planted churches all over the Mediterranean, we’ve glossed over much of who he really was. And what was he? He was a wounded warrior, just like us.

When God called him, he wanted Paul to know that his calling meant suffering for the name of Jesus (Act. 9:16). Not just a little suffering, but enough to feel the weight of the world on his shoulders. Paul’s affliction list in 2 Corinthians 11 is more than a simple list of what he’s endured. He wears his suffering proudly against those who are shamed for what they never endure. Its evidence that he’s nothing more than a broken clay pot held together by the grace and mercy of God (2 Cor. 4:7-12; 12:7-10). God does not reject Paul because he suffers. No. He embraces Paul through his suffering.

Held together by God doesn’t exempt an apostle from feelings of despair. Thus, Paul informs the Corinthians of what unfolded while he was in Asia. While he avoids the details, he’s specific about his emotions. He endured hardship and suffered. The pressure was so great that he despaired even of life (2 Cor. 1:8-9). Whatever Paul was facing, the burden was so excessive he wanted out. Like an inmate on death row, he lost all his appeals.

But God. But God who raises the dead. But God who raises the dead delivered him from his own death (2 Cor. 1:9-10). God delivered again, and he delivered big. And Paul interpreted this salvation as a reminder to stop relying on our self and keep relying on God (2 Cor. 1:9b). Coming full circle, not only is the Apostle Paul facing suffering, but his ministry is defined by suffering, even though he nearly buckled under the pressure. In part, because even Paul, like us, tended to trust his own abilities rather than trust God.

So here we are, for many of us, sitting in the midst of despair. It’s a dark place, so dark that daylight and the warmth of the sun cannot penetrate where you sit. And you feel alone. All alone. Chilled in a damp hole. Maybe you find yourself in the pit because life throws every dirty play against you. Or maybe you find yourself in the pit because a pandemic has inflamed your worst fears. An uncontrollable disease has the power to undermine an economy (i.e., your economy) while fueling more civil unrest.

Sure, we could give up and walk away. Others have done it. But we won’t. And instead of leaning into it, we take Paul’s advice and lean onto him. While we’re sitting in the pit, we keep relying and trusting God. We trust the God who raises the dead, because what else have you to do anyway?

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

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Come Back Home

Come Back Home where your feelings are sheltered and secure. A place where danger is kept at arm’s length and safety is maintained for the freedom to express yourself and to be yourself. A place where you belong.

Come Back Home where the food always tastes better than a Martha Stewart meal. A place where the fellowship is always sweeter than an apple pie. A place where fond memories feel like they are relived all over again, just as new ones are being created.

Come Back Home where the void in one’s life is filled by kinfolk and comrades. A place where the line between family and friends is blurred, and that’s a good thing. A place where the water of baptism is thicker than the blood running through our veins. A place where scars and wounds begin to heal. A place where belonging is a piece to the puzzle so that the individual helps create the entire picture.

Come Back Home where home feels right because home is right. A place where your lounging chair is ready for your return, and your bed is made, and your place at the table is always left empty for you to fill.

Come Back Home where the Father’s heart is longing to be mended from the harsh words spoken as his son left the house. A place where he stands at the door, waiting and gazing into the horizon for a hopeful glimpse of his son’s return.

Come Back Home where the prodigal realizes that life away from the “confines” of home is really the liberty to live. A place where the Father not only, no longer holds the past against the son, but is also willing to accept the shame and humiliation his son has brought upon the family name to have his son with him in his presence. A place where the fattened calf is prepared and where robes and rings are fitted once again. A place where the son is willing to be a servant to earn his father’s forgiveness, only for the father to reiterate the role of “son-ship.”

Come Back Home where the “dutiful” son has forgotten his duty. A place where the Father risks more humiliation to plead for his son to join the party. A place where reconciliation is sought as his “prodigal” son is also the “dutiful” son’s brother.

Come Back Home where truth is found in a world filled with lies. A place where negative messaging that turns to despair is replaced by messages underscoring hope. A place where God continues to shape our character and strengthen our faith. A place where God’s Word reorients our lives to true North.

Come Back Home because we’re not just saved from hell, we’re saved for heaven. A place where the waters of baptism not only douse the devil’s flames, but purifies the sickness of sin’s stain. A place where we not only experience the victory of being ripped from Satan’s hateful grasp, but feel the comforting embrace of a loving Father.

Come Back Home where God is the center-piece of our relationship. A place where singing and praying is both praising him and encouraging us. A place where a table is present, Jesus sits at its head and we break bread together. A place, even in the midst of a pandemic separation, we can step into each other’s lives again. A place where tears are felt and laughter is heard. A place where the circle will never be broken.

Come Back Home where the sinner is restored to a saint. A place where the wrongs of our past are made right again. A place where confession and repentance is the norm, as we expose our own sinful secrets. A place where forgiveness is as common as the air we breathe.

Come Back Home.

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

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The Wilderness: Somewhere Between Egypt and Canaan

As Israel journeyed through the wilderness of the Sinai Peninsula, they were hit with two sides of reality. On one side, they were no longer slaves in Egypt. They were liberated while humiliating their opponents as they left town. After 400 years in bondage, freedom felt like a cold drink of water on a hot muggy day. On the other side, they were a long way from their destination, the Promised Land. Sure it was only a ten day journey, but God had other plans. Their stop off was a two year layover at Mt. Sinai. And as we know, their two year stop turned into 40 years of character building.

Forty years is a longtime to find yourself in the wilderness. You’re not bound to slavery, but you’re not home, either. The wilderness is unbearably hot during the daylight hours with little protection from the sun’s heat. But then when the sun sets the heat escapes the sand and it gets cold, really cold at night. Water is scarce as oasis appear as frequently as a gas station on a highway in the open plains of South Dakota. And then there’s the sand itself. It’s coarse and rough and irritating and it gets everywhere. Not like Canaan where everything is soft and smooth.

We’ve often experienced the wilderness. It’s that in between time. The teenage years define the wilderness as the youth is not a child but not quite an adult. You’ve quit your job but you won’t start your next employment opportunity for another month. By placing the ring on her finger means you’ve redefined the relationship for you’re no longer in a dating relationship, but you’re not married either. Our time on earth holds a wilderness feel to it. We live between Jesus’ appearances on earth. We don’t live at the time of his Incarnation, while we long for him to return and claim his own.

Wilderness time is a needed respite. It’s a time to slow down, recharge the soul’s batteries and refocus our priorities. When Israel entered the wilderness, God needed to take a loosely collected family and begin the process of giving them an identity. More importantly, they needed an identity tied to him. So he led them to Mt. Sinai to give them the Law and to establish his covenant with them.

But the wilderness can wear on you. For Israel, they kept looking back at what they left behind instead of focusing on where they were headed. They glossed over the slavery part of Egypt while fixating on the homes they left and the (bad) food they ate. Instead of anticipating the land flowing of milk and honey and living in homes they would not build, they settled for the past. So consumed with returning to Egypt, they staged a coupe before God intervened (Num. 14).

Most of 2020 has been spent in the wilderness. It’s been difficult, lonely and filled with mixed messages. We’ve left behind a life we knew and a life of familiarity. Since then we’ve been staggering, almost feeling like we’re lost. We want to go back. We want things to return to normal. I miss dinner with friends. I miss sporting events. I miss hugs. I miss a building filled with people in worship and fellowship.

But life is always about moving forward, not stepping back. Life drives us to the future, not to the past. God always leads us to the Promised Land, not to Egypt. What will that be like when we get through this wilderness to reach the Promised Land? I can’t say. Will there be a semblance of the life we’ve left? Maybe. I hope so. But what I know is that we need to hear and see more faith from those like Joshua and Caleb, who trust God to move us into the future with him, who reminds us to trust him too.

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

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Problem Solving Life

The art of movie making is a disaster in the mix. With so many variables in play, we shouldn’t be surprised how movies bomb in the theater. Actually, with so many variables I am amazed at how many movies succeed. From studios to actors to producers to directors to set builders to script writers and rewrites, the possibility for something going wrong seems inevitable. That anything comes together perfect like a puzzle is amazing in and of itself.

David Sandberg, who directed the hit movie, Shazaam!, says movie making is really about problem solving. Just getting Zachary Levi’s character to fly through a shopping mall is one problem. So you shoot three stunt guys dressed in blue pushing an oversized “tuning fork” with Levi attached to it running through the mall. Then you painstakingly erase all the blue pixels from the scene only to realize too late that crew members were seen in the scene. So in come the CGI guys who add gift bags and mops to the crew members and suddenly they’re shoppers and custodians. Problem solved.

One of the most powerful moments in all of Star Trek became more powerful by accident. Admiral Kirk witnesses his son being murdered by the Klingons. The scene called for him to step back and stumble into his command chair, uttering his line, “You Klingon (explicative)! You murdered my son!” Instead, Shatner tripped on the stage platform and fell backward. Staying in character, he uttered his line making his appeal even more emotional than he would have otherwise. The scene went to print. Problem solved.

Getting through life is often a disaster in the mix. Anything and everything that could go wrong usually does. A couple step into retirement to spend the rest of their lives together, only to discover life cut short from cancer. A professional’s career is secure until the market turns and he’s left without a job. A friendship parts way, maybe over unmet expectations or maybe over politics, and both mourn the loss. Or maybe a pandemic breaks out and people either fall ill or divide even more so because no one trusts anyone or the government. Unsolved problems.

5000 people followed Jesus and when they were hungry he fed them. A blind man sat on the road and he cried out to Jesus and he healed him. The disciples were fearing for their lives in a boat on the lake when Jesus calmed the storm. A multitude of people listened, wanting answers to living and Jesus delivered the Word of God. The world needed redeemed so the Lamb of God took away their sins. Problems solved.

Sandberg admits that “every scene has its own problems to solve no matter the scene.” The job of the director is to solve the problems as they materialize. No melt downs and instead, a non-anxious presence. Sometimes the problems end up creating the best solutions for the movie that the writers never imagined.

Not long ago Andy Stanley was attributed to a post on FaceBook. In it he recalls talking to an 87-year-old who lived through polio, diphtheria, Vietnam protests and is still enchanted with life. In the midst of this COVID-19 Pandemic, one might expect him to feel the anxiety and pressure brought on by this disease. He said, “I learned a long time ago to not see the world through printed headlines. I see the world through the people that surround me. I see the world with the realization that we love big. Therefore, I choose (to direct my own scenes): ‘Husband loves wife today;’ “Family drops everything to come to Grandma’s bedside.’” He pats (Andy’s) hand, “Old man makes new friend.” Problem solved.

So life is not about solving problems, it’s about framing your life. But most encounters we experience bring on problems. And we have a choice. We can easily become exasperated and discouraged, throwing our hands up in the air in despair. Or we can make do and reframe the scene to capture a better moment. And who knows, maybe the problems we face create the best solutions for our life that we never imagined.

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)