Fighting the Fear Freefall with Faith

Fear is a powerful emotion. Its potency lies not so much in the fact that it involves uncertainty about the future but that, if we are honest, it involves uncertainty about all of the future. It is the totality of fear that really drives us mad. Think about how much you could be fearing right now about your future. What if I lose my job? What if my spouse divorces me? What if my child dies? What if I get in a car accident? What if I lose my mind? This is what I call the fear freefall.

Logically, we know that everything that we fear cannot happen to us all at once. And that's at times precisely what scares us! Although we may do everything in our power and our control to keep our spouse happy or to keep an employer happy, perhaps our spouse dies in a tragedy or the business shuts down. As we all know, the most scary events in our lives are often ones that surprise us and what we least expected.

Fear has a funny way about getting us to live in a future, imaginary world. We lose sight of what is present before us in our Father's world because we are far-sighted. We keep looking for a danger down the road all while missing what God is calling us to in the present moment. Fear is also unreasonable. When we try to reason ourselves out of fear, it turns into obsessive compulsive behavior ("I might die in a car accident if I get on the highway"; compulsion: "I will avoid highways). When others try to reason us out of the fear, it often seems unsympathetic. When my wife touches me on the shoulder and says she hears someone outside the house at 2 am and she is scared and I grumble (through my sleep), "Don't be afraid", I am not really showing my concern for her fear. I am devaluing her fears because I haven't really expressed compassion and entered into her world. Perhaps I should wake up with her and reason and explain that we have never been burglarized before, that the area is a safe area, or that most criminals look for convenient crimes and don't want to break into homes that are securely locked, but all I have done is really tried to reason with her fear. And her fears cannot be reasoned with. Fear is sub-logical or, as Ed Welch says in his book Running Scared, it has its own logic to it. Fear says, "Well, I have never been burglarized or the victim of a violent crime before so it has to happen sooner or later, right?"

Additionally, while I protect my wife and children and like to think I can defend them adequately, ultimately it is the Lord who protects them. I cannot protect them from every robber, thief, or murderer. I cannot protect them from a car accident (no matter how careful I drive). I cannot protect them from an airplane crash. I cannot protect them from getting cancer. Jesus Christ does. Thus, here is the key to finding a landing spot in the freefall of fear: faith in a God who is both sovereign and caring. The great news of the gospel is that not only does God control everything that takes place in his universe but he also cares for all his children. While we may temporarily assuage our fears with rationalizations or other people, in the end we must go to the King of Kings who is powerful and loving to soothe our restless hearts.

The Cough

Underneath the "How I Saw Jesus" section of my journal this morning, I had written one cryptic word: "the cough." Every morning I make a list of the way Jesus reveals himself to me in the day and the things included range from the sacrifice a couple made in watching Kales, a conversation about Christ with a Muslim lady who brought coffee, and being distracted from an errand to help a fallen old lady to things like a sunset, laughter, and child. However, behind each of these items is a story that I could tell you about how I witnessed the person and presence of Christ in what would otherwise seem to be an ordinary, mundane daily event. Last evening, it was through a cough, specifically the cough of Karis, an action which for most of us is automatic and reflexive, that I saw Jesus.

It all began around 4:30 pm. Since Karis has been in the hospital for pneumonia, Katie has been taking the night shift and I have the day shift. Outside of the routine care that Karis requires and consultation with various medical staff, there is a lot of idle time of watching her rest. During these moments, I instinctively detatch myself from her to a certain degree because the weight of my own daughter suffering is overwhelming. Around 4:30 p.m. when Karis began to sound like she was drowning in her secretions, I re-entered reality. The full force of my daughter and her intense suffering overcame me and I wept for about two hours straight, alternating between tears and prayers for the Lord to grant her one simple thing: a cough. I won't provide a transcript of my prayers here but I will be transparent. They were filled with complaining and contending. They included expletives. I was hurting, grieving, frustrated and crying out.

I would like to share with you two of the prayers that I repeated before the Father in the name of the Son last night however. First, I continuously asked, "Why does she have to be broken Father? Why is my daughter disabled and suffering?" Almost immediately, in my dialogue before God, I had a response, "Karis is not the one who is broken. She is not the one who is disabled. You and Katie and are the ones who are broken and disabled. Karis is my Karis for you." I wept as I knew this to be true; Karis taught Katie and I more about God's grace than we ever could learn without her. Additionally, the notion of healing is included in the lexical range of Karis in the Greek. How does healing relate to grace? Healing is what grace does. In other words, healing is the activity of grace. God, through Karis' life, has brought healing to Katie and I by curing us of much of our sinful dispositions. As I wrote to Katie the other day, "God gave us Karis to make you sit and to make me serve. He gave us her to make you more of a Mary and me more of a Martha." God sovereignly brought Karis into the world so that he might display his transformative, healing grace to us by giving us a terminally ill child who is not under our control. In essence, both Katie and I are recovering control freaks. I control internally (as I posted about a few days ago through bailing from a situation through escapsim) and Katie externally (through busyness). God is answering the petition, "your kingdom come" by bringing the kingdom in the lives of Katie and I in molding us into restful servants.

Although the Lord's response of reminding me of my own brokenness and specifically my brokenness of withdrawing was penetrating, I continued to beg the Lord for him to make me the one in the hospital bed instead of Karis. I wanted to trade places with her so she could be completely healthy and I could die. Then, it was as if the Spirit was saying to me, "You can't trade places with her." My thoughts immediately went to Calvary and I saw Jesus on the cross taking my place as my substitute. In Karis' innocent suffering in that bed, I saw somewhat of a parallel. For clarification, Katie and I both recognize that Karis is guilty of original sin and counted as a sinner because Adam is her father. To our knowledge, however, she has never committed any actual sin (though we do not know her thoughts). Those theological caveats aside, even as a sinner, Karis is still innocent of this particular disease. There was no particular actual sin that she committed that brought this disease on her. Thus, in that way her suffering is innocent. And through the glimpse of my daughter's innocent suffering I caught a glimpse of the truly innocent suffering of the sinless Son of God who suffered in my place for my sin. I couldn't trade places with Karis because ultimately a greater healing than Karis' healing needs to take place in my heart and in Katie's and this healing can only come through the suffering of my daughter. Further, my next question of "Why my daughter" was halted by the Lord's immediate response of, "Why my Son?" I stood in awe.

At the end of this two hour vigil, Karis coughed. Twice. Two whooping coughs that she initiated all on her own. I wept tears of joy. I composed myself and called Katie to tell her the good news. She had just been praying on the phone with Anna Grantham for Karis to cough and as soon as I called Katie hung up with her friend and heard the news. She began to cry; I began to cry. Even our darkest darkness has its reprieve and Jesus never lets us ascend all the way to Golgotha because he ascended for us.

Waiting in the Wilderness

As I write this article, I am sitting next to my two year old daughter who is battling a case of pneumonia. Over the past two years, Katie and I have been like nomads roaming a dry and arid land in search of water. Like the Israelites in the wilderness, we have been circling in the desert and struggling to depend upon manna for the day. Every time we store manna for tomorrow, it becomes infested with maggots; the Lord has taught us that lesson much lately. Living upon our "daily bread" (Matt. 6:11) has been testing as both Katie and I love certainties. Through Karis' illness, however, God has shown us that the only thing certain is his presence and promise. Specifically, he has said he will always be present with us (Matt. 28:20) and he has promised to work all things for our good (Rom. 8:28). Although God will ultimately bring his presence and our good to fruition in its fullest sense, he in the meantime calls us to wait in the desert. We must wander in the wilderness before he brings us to the promised land.

Waiting in the wilderness is not easy. Our American culture of convenience and consumerism suggests that if we are uncomfortable or even miserable that there is something wrong. And yet, the hallmark of the Christ story and our story is that of suffering. When Karis was first diagnosed, Katie and I cried and stopped eating for two days. I distinctly remember looking her in the eye and I said, "We can't keep this up." She nodded in agreement and replied, "We can't live like this." In fifteen minutes, she was giving Karis a bath in the back of our one bedroom apartment with her mother and singing to her as if nothing had changed. At that juncture, we both began coping with Karis' disease in different ways. Katie, to her own confession, dealt mainly through denial. However, I will focus on myself here as I must admit that Katie has not retreated from the wilderness like I have. She is an example of child-like expectation and faith that has humbled me to the point of tears. The way I have dealt with Krabbe has been through despair. I am an overly analytic thinker as it is so I tend to project the worst case scenario in any event. A wheeze is pneumonia. A seizure is a sign of brain loss and further disease progression. An increase in medication is a surrender to the possibility of her not being healed. Since all of these disaster scenarios are too difficult for me to confront emotionally, rather than taking my hurting heart to the Lord, I numb myself through escapism, abstraction, obsession. Each of these defense mechanisms I will describe briefly as each proceeding one is less and less effective at distancing from my emotions.

Escapism keeps me the furthest from my emotions because in escapism I retreat mentally. I do this through food. I do this through books. I do this through movies. I do this through video games. The difficulty lies in the fact that these things in themselves are not bad but when they are surrogates for going to the Lord with your feelings they become addictions and idols. Eventually, I have to leave my alternate reality of pleasure (created through food, books, movies or videogames) and confront the reality of suffering. Not thinking about pain only works for so long. Soon, I have to start thinking and so I retreat by thinking in a distancting kind of way.

Therefore, through abstraction, I withdraw from the pain of the situation by speaking of Karis in detatched language. I can talk in a cerebral way about medications, research, and the nature of the disease. More than that I abstract about how I am doing with the Lord. I have a mind that has a proclivity towards conceptual thinking so I will say all the appropriate theological things: "The Lord is sovereign" or "The Lord can heal." What's worse is I will even abstract about things that pertain to the heart but that I have not practiced with my heart and actions. I can say, "God has taught me that I can be honest with my emotions before him and come messy before him" and yet I haven't done that in two years or longer. I am a hypocrite and I repent.

The final way I retreat from my feelings of despair is through obsession. This mechanism is the least effective and has me the closest to having to confront my emotions over Karis. Since I feel scared, sad, and uncertain about Karis and I have no control over her life, I project those emotions into obsessional fears onto myself. What if I have cancer? What if I die in my sleep? What if I go crazy? Every heart palpitation becomes a heart attack. Every headache a brain tumor. Every racing thought a sign of insanity. All of these irrational fears are my mind's way of taking the fears I have of Karis' life being uncertain and place them on myself. In other words, since I can't control Karis' life nor my feelings over Karis' life being in danger, I, like the unbelieving Israelites in the wilderness, begin circling and circling again and again in my mind with obsessive fears. I obsess over dangers concerning myself because those are things I can control with compulsive thoughts or behaviors whereas Karis is a person who is not under my control.

Eventually, once God removes my escapes, he demonstrates that these obsessive fears are but shrubs and I am in a desert, exposed and naked before him, I begin to feel again. I feel disappointed and angry at God. I feel hurt by God's providence of Karis' sickness. Yet, by being plucked out of my hiding place, I am in the wilderness again. Ironically, when we are in the wilderness is when we are nearest to God for the Holy Spirit led Christ and leads us up into the wilderness (cf. Matt. 4). When we discard our hideouts, we must face our despair. The paradox of the Christian life lies in that we must despair in order to hope. We must be real with our emotions before the God of our emotions can give us his peace. In other words, we must go through the desert if we are to reach the oasis; the Israelites did not reach the promised land without the wilderness.

Stay in the wilderness, my friends. I dedicate this article to my wife who, through humble faith has remained in the desert and taught me what it means to look to the promise.

Basking in the Presence of Christ

Lately, I've been growing a lot in my experience of Christ and his blessings. I've felt the Lord working holiness in my life more than ever before. Paradoxically, I've also felt less holy. In view of our ongoing struggles with our oldest daughter (which you can read about here: ), I have become aware that I have been hiding from the presence of the Lord and supressing my emotions towards him. Consequently, I had felt more of a distance from him over the last couple of years. In God's good providence, he reminded me again of my utter helplessness and of the ways we avoid coming to Jesus with our hearts, especially our hurting hearts. In the following post, I will provide two extreme behaviors we as believers often engage in in order to avoid the person of Jesus. While the behaviors may seem to be completely antithetical to one another, they really have the same goal: distancing us from our savior.

Busyness
How much of our lives are characterized by a mission-oriented, goal-directed, task-focused kind of mentality? In the wake of consumerism and capitalism, we have turned the Protestant work ethic which we inherited from our Puritan forebearers into a kind of workaholic disposition. How do we imagine to experience the presence of Christ if we are continuously distracting ourselves with more projects? Often, we busy ourselves to avoid what the misery that silence brings, the onslaught of what C.S. Lewis called, "the Kingdom of Noise." We are too uncomfortable with ourselves in solitude and so therefore we lack true fellowship with the divine Son of God. Abandoning our work and experiencing Christ's presence is awkward, difficult, and troublesome to our consciences which are crowded with a thousand voices. When it seems as if the White Witch of Narnia has cursed our hearts with a perpetual winter, if we would but seek silence in the Lord, we might, like Edmund, finally hear the other noise properly: the running water of Spring. Instead of turning to returning phone calls for business, staying late in the office, mopping the floors, cutting the grass, raking the yard, we would be better to seek the uncomfortable quiet and authenticity of being before the Lord. Such an experience requires that we admit our vulnerability and helplessness though.

Bailing
If busyness tends to be the sinful proclivity of the Type A personality, bailing is the sinful proclivity of the Type B personality. By bailing, I am referring to escapism. There are many ways we can bail in today's modern world: e-mail, I-Phones, I-Pods, video games, e-books, actual books (a bygone relic), and the internet (more specifically for many: pornography). But really any of God's gifts can be turned into a form of bailing if we are avoiding an authentic, prayerful connection with Jesus. And this form of escapism that I have just mentioned is a more base or convenient kind of bailing. There is a more refined and subtle for which takes primarily in the mind and I call this abstraction. Abstraction is when we detach from the external world and live a life that is entirely in the intellect and world of ideas. Seminary students are excellent at this. I am excellent at this. I can get so attached and obsessed to an idea that I will neglect responsibilities God has placed right in front of me. More importantly, I can idolize my ideas so much (even my ideas about God) that I, ironically move further away from God and not closer to him. I place God in my theological categories and therefore I can harden and distance my heart from him over the real pain I experience over the sickness of Karis. Abstractions are safe. Suffering is not. I feel shame and hurt even writing this but I must repent.

Basking
If we are not to busy ourselves and if we are not to bail, then how do we relate to Christ? How do you relate to a friend? Do you treat that friend like a mission to be accomplished? Do you say, "Let's go to the park so I can check that off my list"? Do you bail from that friend by putting him in an abstract category (hipster, jock, intellectual, leader, etc.) that allows you to pigeonhold him but prevents you from appreciating him in all his variety and versatility? Jesus is not an assignment and he is not an abstraction. He is a Person. May we by God's grace get to know him.

Sunday Reflections on the Gospel in Karis and Kales

I woke up early to a little seven month old bouncing on my chest wanting to play. Thus, I thought I'd write a short list of things I have observed in my children about the gospel. As my readership should know, I have two children: Karis and Kales. Karis is two years old and disabled with a leukodystrophy called Krabbe and Kales is not. Watching both of them, I have learned much about what it means to be a child of God through the gospel. Through Karis' helplessness, I have discovered what it means to be absolutely dependent upon God. Through Kales' playfulness, I have recognized the need to be child-like in my pursuit of God in Christ again. Reflect upon these truths with me this Sunday morning:

5 Lessons of the Gospel I Have Learned through Karis

1. She needs to be fed directly from us just as we must be fed directly from the Father.
2. She cannot bathe herself just as we cannot wash away our own "dirt."
3. She moans when she wants her Daddy to just hold her.
4. She has to be carried and cannot move on her own.
5. She loves to hear Daddy's voice.

5 Lessons of the Gospel I have Learned through Kales

1. She is curious about God's world.
2. She wants to play with her Daddy.
3. She cries out for her Daddy even just to get his attention.
4. She babbles without shame to her Daddy.
5. She laughs when her Daddy calls her by name.

In closing, my new schedule for updating Goldfish in Winter will be three times a week. Please leave a comment if you are a regular reader. It would be helpful to know who those are.

Injustice in the Inbetween: No Country for Old Men as Morality Narrative

While this is a film that has been out for three years, No Country For Old Men (based on the book by Cormac Mccarthy) still serves as a gritty depiction of human nature and the existence of evil. Playing out like Old Testament narrative, the movie unfolds in rural Texas with a drug exchange gone awry as welder and hunter Llewelyn Moss stumbles upon the remains and decides to take the abandoned two million dollars for himself. As a result, Moss is pursued across desert and asphalt all the way into Mexico by Anton Chigurh, an indifferent yet relentless serial killer. The investigation is overseen by Sheriff Ed Tom Bell (Tommy Lee Jones) who grapples with the depravity that such a case reveals.

No Country For Old Men is difficult to watch. It is essentially two hours of violence and misery that ends with little resolution or hope. And yet it is one of the most thought-provoking films I have watched and has haunted me with its themes long after the final credits rolled. Like other works by the Coen brothers, it is at once a film about good and evil, justice and injustice, moral dilemma, and ethics.

I mention it here because I think No Country For Old Men represents the dividing line for two different Christian approaches to the arts. Some believers want art to express how the world should be. In general, people operating from this worldview see art (whether it be film, literature, music or whatever) to be explicitly evangelistic or moralistic. What constitutes a good film is one that represents life in sinless fashion.

The other view and the view that I think a Reformed world-in-life view and the Bible itself (as the supreme model of art) supports is the position that art expresses how the world is. The world is a dangerous place filled with violence and men of hatred. Evil at times prospers; wickedness goes unpunished. There is not resolution to every conflict in this present age. Such tension between the fact that the innocent suffer and God is just must cause us to cry out with Job: "It is all one; therefore I say, He destroys both the blameless and the wicked. When disaster brings sudden death, he mocks at the calamity of the innocent. The earth is given into the hand of the wicked; he covers the faces of its judges--if it is not he, who then is it (9:24)?"

Examining Job's remarks, we can first note that he acknowledges that both the righteous and wicked suffer. Though the film primarily displays the innocence suffering violence, it also shows both the natural consequences of sin and the natural calamity that is bestowed on the wicked. In the case of the former, Llewelyn Moss succumbs to greed by taking the drug money; although he has good motives, his avarice draws him into a path of viciousness and eventually death. With regards to the wicked suffering, Anton Chigurh is involved in a horrific automobile accident. In short, the movie's theodicy, or attempt to resolve how God can be good and suffering still exist, is complex and I believe captures the paradox of good and evil, rewards and consequences in the here-and-now that the Bible espouses.

While there is complexity to the why of human suffering, there is simplicity to the who of human suffering. Job's question is pithy. God rules and reigns over all events no matter how seemingly random. The implication of Job's inquiry is that the only antithesis to God governing all human evil, even evil that befalls the innocent, is chaos. For the majority of No Country for Old Men chaos seems to rule. The entire film is earthy, external, and visceral except for one small, well-paced concluding scene. At the end of the movie, Sheriff Ed Tom Bell is describing a dream he had of following a man on horseback through snow, night, and mountains, guided only by a chamber of light. The dream concludes with the Sheriff sitting by a campfire and being blanketed by the father-esque figure who had been leading him through the night. Upon this juncture, the film abruptly ends. Although some may accuse the Coen brothers of a deus ex machina by inserting a dream sequence in the end, I disagree. I think that the transcendent, visionary tone of the dream narration juxtaposes well with the raw, chaotic atmosphere of what precedes it. Besides, deus ex machinas resolve the conflict of the film. The dream does not resolve the conflict. The loss is still real and unchanged but the dream foreshadows a world when the righteous will be rewarded and the wicked punished. Thus, the nightmare of this existence will be replaced by a dream, but a dream that is reality. Good art stimulates this transcedent longing without minimizing the presence of pain, violence, and evil. In this sense, No Country for Old Men is as true of a film as there is. Our response as the church, should be that of Jeremiah: "Why does the way of the wicked prosper?" Until that day when final resolution arrives, we should not presume to know the mysterious providence of God.

Reformed Separatism and Separateness

"Since it is written, 'You shall be holy, for I am holy.'" -1 Peter 1:16

Is it possible to be separate from the world and not be a separatist? I pose this question because over the last two years of being at seminary I have witnessed a large number of professing Christians indicating a desire to be insulated from the unbelieving culture. Furthermore, I have sensed in my own heart the subtle and surreptitious way in which the urge to be different or distinct from others has consumed me. Thus, I think it right to ask ourselves the question at what point is separation from the culture Biblical and intrinsic to God's command for us to be a holy people?

Before we go further, it is important to note that within Reformed communities, we often do not think of ourselves as having a proclivity towards separatism. Separatism is the problem of fundamentalism not Reformed Christianity or so we think. The reality is, however, that just as we can be guilty of a kind of Reformed Fundamentalism (Reformed people complaining to Reformed people about non-Reformed people), we can also be guilty of what I will call a Reformed Separatism (in actuality, there is nothing "Reformed" about it). For the sake of illustration but at the risk of caricature, let me mention two areas where such a phenomenon often occurs: homeschooling and Sabbitarianism.

Let me preface by saying that while these two things are not bad in themselves, they are bad by themselves. I would still consider myself a Sabbitarian (but, for those versed in such discussions, I'd be more of a Continental Sabbitarian when it comes to questions of casuistry) and I do see the value of homeschooling. However, when Reformed individuals propagate their view of how to observe the Sabbath and their belief in the primacy of homeschooling as essential then this is at best characteristic of a kind of theological factionalism.

But what about 1 Peter 1:16 quoting Leviticus 19:2? Isn't intrinsic to our status of believers this notion of our being set apart and distinct? The answer to this is a qualified yes. We are to be separate from the world but not so that we can form our own sheltered communities. In the ancient world, the word "holy" was a term often applied to instruments that had been placed aside for a special task or service. In much the same way, we are to be separate from the world precisely for the purpose of serving the world with the gospel of Christ. With this particular truth in mind, let me offer five simple ways in which I think we can keep our separateness from becoming a separatism.

1. Be evangelical.
This may seem to be an overused injunction in Evangelicalism, but we need to be reminded nonetheless. If your homeschooling or Sabbitarianism is keeping you from sharing the gospel to your neighbor, then it is an unbiblical separateness (ironically, Sabbath-keeping ought to be a sign to unbelievers of the believer's devotion to his covenant God). The purpose of Sabbath observance and the purpose of homeschooling is not to shield yourself or your kids from the things of this world, but the purpose is to equip you and your family to be witnesses to the world.

2. Believe in common grace.It is amazing to me how many Christians refuse to acknowledge the worth of books, film, art, and music that is produced by unbelievers. Naturally, participation in these things does require discernment. Yet the amount of believers that want to only read Christian literature, for example, is a bit alarming. This is nothing more than a tacit denial of common grace. As John Calvin said, "All truth is God's truth." Receive and respect the beauty and truth evident in even an unbeliever's contribution to culture. This is related to the first point because when we expose ourselves to these things we will be interacting with unbelievers which provides opportunities for evangelism.

3. Work together with those who disagree theologically.I began by writing "have tolerance for" and quickly changed it to "work together with" because it is not enough to simply have an abstract tolerance for those who are different theologically from us. We must strive for greater cooperation with those across the doctrinal divide. I am not espousing a kind of eccumenicism here. I am simply saying that we in the Reformed community should be more inclined to partner with other Christians within the bounds of orthodoxy. We have much more in common than we have in difference. And in an increasingly secularized world, that axiom is becoming even truer.

4. Engage sinners sinlessly.Modifying an Augustine quote in which speaking about God's decree he said, "God uses sin sinlessly," I am, much in the same way, encouraging us to mirror God in engaging sinners in a sinless way. In other words, we should seek to foster relationships with as many unbelievers as we can. The implication to this then is that we will go to where unbelievers are. Now, I recognize that there are certain places that a believer should never go, because even his mere presence would already constitute him as sinning. But what I am saying is that for those of us who spend most of our time surrounded by other Christians, we should make an effort to participate in activities where unbelievers will be. Go to a concert. Join a recreational league. Attend poetry readings. Live life and these opportunities will certainly appear. The necessary caveat to this point though is to do so in a way that does not undermine your holiness. Have a beer with an unbeliever but don't become intoxicated. Listen to his struggles with his boss but don't join in on his complaining. Being involved with the lost without sharing in their sin is the difference between cultural engagement and compromise.

5. Allow Scripture to draw the boundaries.The Bible is the standard for all Christians. When we venture beyond the Word to define what Christianity consists of, we venture into error and even heresy. And while we can blatantly add to Scripture by making an addendum to the gospel, we can also be guilty of add to God's revelation in a more subtle way. When we imply or suggest, however subtly, that our views of Sabbath-keeping and homeschooling are reflective of the most pristince and true form of Christianity, we are nothing less than self-righteous and Pharisaical.

On the Unread Book

Resting on a nightstand
or buried beneath stacks of The New Yorker
is my unopened book. Its longish, cumbersome
size an Everest waiting to be scaled, its summit
the apex of achievement. At times I glance
at the closed volume and think
of friends unmet, conversations unheard,
tales unsaid. With one hand peeling back the cover
I peek at the preface and editorial note and sigh
with plaintive yearning for yesterday’s chances.

Of the Making of Many Books: Reading as Journey Not Destination

A rule of reading that I have often observed and proclaimed is that one will always buy more books than one can read. Lately, I have had an even higher awareness of the disparity between the books I own, the books I keep buying, and the books I have actually read. Often, I wish I could be locked away in some dark dungeon or marooned on some forgotten island with an inexhaustible supply of resources and the world's largest library. However, whenever I am lost in one of these fantasies, the words of Solomon come sharply into focus: "of making many books, there is no end (Ecclesiastes 12:12)."

The truth is none of us will be able to read every book we want to before we die. Such a point was brilliantly established in a recent article entitled "The Sad, Beautiful Fact That We're All Going to Miss Almost Everything." While thinking over this article, a deeper question has been forming in my mind. Why would we want to read everything in existence? Holmes touches on this question near the end when she writes:

Imagine if you'd seen everything good, or if you knew about everything good. Imagine if you really got to all the recordings and books and movies you're "supposed to see." Imagine you got through everybody's list, until everything you hadn't read didn't really need reading. That would imply that all the cultural value the world has managed to produce since a glob of primordial ooze first picked up a violin is so tiny and insignificant that a single human being can gobble all of it in one lifetime. That would make us failures, I think.

Minus the reference to macroevolution, I think Holmes has a point. If my desire for cultural engagement through reading stems from a desire for conquest, then if I could achieve such a goal what does that say about the amount of literature that the human race has produced? Or, conversely, if I am able to accomplish this feat given the vast quantity that exists, what does that say about me? The urge to read everything ever undermines our own finitude. And why would we have it any other way?

The failure to accept that there is no way to possibly plumb the depths of every book I need or want to read makes reading a chore. Combined with the lamentable temptation of comparison, such an activity turns into nothing short of misery. In essence, reading becomes a kind of "Keeping up with the Joneses" of the intellectual sort.

Thus, books become expendables. They are a means to an end when viewed in this way. Therefore, what is really cherished is not the books themselves but the knowledge or the appearance of knowledge they provide. I say this as confession, not as judgment to others.

When we realize that the purpose of books is for our delight and growth (something that is ongoing and continual, never accomplished), then we can escape the vanity of such book mastery. We read to be conquered by God's truth contained in literature not to conquer it, for all truth is God's truth and we never really can master it anyway.

In short, the task of reading should be approached as a journey and not a destination. Enjoy it, friends.

Underwear Theology: Why We Should All Be Spandex Wearing Superheroes When it Comes to Doctrine

I've been thinking a lot lately about a saying I have heard used quite a bit in evangelical circles. The saying, often quoted by those wanting to be winsome in the presentation of their faith (read: cool and chic), goes something along the lines of this: "Yes. I believe in that doctrine. But I don't make a big deal about it. Basically, it's kind of like underwear. I believe it, but I don't want others to necessarily see it."

As absurd as this may sound, this expression is really quite revealing when it comes to the popular evangelical opinion about doctrine. Doctrine, like underwear, is something your mom told you to never leave home without, but at the end of the day, does it really matter what KIND of underwear it is? I mean, after all, who is going to see it (that is, unless you are in the proverbial car accident)?

The problem with this kind of thinking, of course, is that it assumes that doctrine is simply a matter of preference. The reason we have Catholics, Methodists, Presbyterians, Baptists, Lutherans and Episcopalians is not so much because of truth but because of taste. In our pluralistic society, who is to say one particular denomination, one particular doctrine, or one particular intepretation is any more right than the other?

But back to underwear. Wanting to wear theology or doctrine like underwear also communicates something about the relationship theology has to Christian living. We were all told (all but the most liberal of professing Christians that is) that we should hold some kind of doctrine, but we don't necessarily want to wave it out for everyone to see. Like underwear, we should should the leave the house wearing it, but not on our heads. This is both because (we are told) doctrine divides and because, when it gets down to it, we do not really believe it matters for everyday living. Thus, most of us keep our underwear, and our theology, out of sight. That is, unless you are one of these guys:

Doctrine...anyone?

That's right. The Man O' Steel, baby. When it comes to our theology, we all should be more like one of these superheroes. No I'm not suggesting we should go out and buy spandex costumes (though for the TR PCA guy, a robe should suffice). What I am saying is that we should not be ashamed of our doctrine because, frankly, doctrine matters. Consider the words of Paul to Timothy:

"11 Command and teach these things. 12 Let no one despise you for your youth, but set the believers an example in speech, in conduct, in love, in faith, in purity. 13 Until I come, devote yourself to the public reading of Scripture, to exhortation, to teaching. 14 Do not neglect the gift you have, which was given you by prophecy when the council of elders laid their hands on you. 15 Practice these things, immerse yourself in them, so that all may see your progress. 16 Keep a close watch on yourself and on the teaching. Persist in this, for by so doing you will save both yourself and your hearers. (1 Timothy 4:11-16, ESV)"

As we can see, for Paul, there was a direct relationship between doctrine, or teaching, and a believer's practice. Theology immediately gave way to piety for the apostle (v.12). There was no dichotomy between the two. To live godly in Christ Jesus, a believer must devote himself to "the public reading of Scripture, to exhortation, to teaching (v.13)." In other words, to doctrine. Further, Paul insisted that doctrine was not some secondary matter of preference but a primary matter with salvific consequences (v.16). Thus, friends, while we may not save anyone out of a burning building with our doctrine, we may save them out of the burning lake.

And that, dear readers, is what it is to be a real superhero.

Biblical Forgiveness: Conditional or Unconditional?

Last night, Katie and I watched a show on PBS called, "Forgiveness: A Time to Love and a Time to Hate." While the program provided an intriguing overview of the varying responses of different communities and individuals to some of the more shocking atrocities of the past fifty years (including the tragic Amish schoolhouse shooting), it became clear early on that the discussion of forgiveness and its antithesis, anger, was not being done through a Biblical framework. I winced as I heard individuals conclude that forgiveness is a kind of cheap grace, and as a woman, whose father was shot more than fifty years ago during an anti-war bank robbery stunt, insisted that she could not forgive her offender because what she did was "not okay." I winced both out of sympathy for the victims' trauma and because of their fundamental misconceptions of forgiveness that their statements revealed. Forgiveness is a distinctly Christian act and it cannot be understood properly apart from the gospel. While on the one hand I identified with the woman being interviewed who scoffed at a quick, easy, unconditional forgiveness as "cheap grace", this is not true forgiveness. True forgiveness is gutsy and costly. In light of this, I would like to offer three things that characterizes Biblical forgiveness as conditional rather than unconditional. I realize that this is a controversial subject on which Christians may disagree. However, I believe that from the imperatives that we have in Scripture, we are to forgive as God has forgiven us and not differently (cf. Ephesians 4:32; Colossians 3:13).

1. Biblical forgiveness takes sin seriously.

A common misconception that was continually perpetuated in the show last night was that forgiveness involved dismissing your offender's sin. This drastically undermines the essence of forgiveness. Forgiveness does not say, "It's okay" or "No big deal" but "It is a big deal. Your sin against me is horrible. But I forgive you anyway." What makes forgiveness so unique, so transcendent, so supernatural is not that it involves ignoring a person's offense but that it involves recognizing the person's offense in all its grotesque ugliness. This act is scandalous to the world. The world can overlook a wrong, excuse sin, or even overlook a person's misdeed, but forgiveness is the heirloom of the church. It is the church as a body of sinners that considers sin in all of its darkness and still forgives. However, the question must be asked: if Biblical forgiveness does not minimize sin, how is such forgiveness still possible?

2. Biblical forgiveness is rooted in the cross. The fundamental condition for Biblical forgiveness is the cross. This is why any attempts to discuss forgiveness apart from a cross-centered perspective will ultimately fail. The reason we forgive is because God forgave us (cf. Ephesians 4:32). He did this by providing his Son as a propitiation for our sins (cf. Romans 3:25). The cross also demonstrates for us that forgiveness is not cheap. It is not without condition. God did not simply dismiss our trespasses against us. Instead, he punished Jesus in our place so that we might be freely accepted and acquitted. Further, because the God of Scripture is a just God who avenged his name that had been dishonored by pouring out his wrath on his Son, we have no need to take revenge. Although righteous anger is an appropriate response to the injustices committed against us, a belief in a just God who satisfied his wrath in Christ on the cross ensures us that all wrongs will be righted. The cross ultimately liberates us to forgive knowing revenge is God's perogative (cf. Deuteronomy 32:35; Romans 12:19). Therefore, from the standpoint of the cross, it is precisely because God has met the condition of justice by placing his Son on the cross that we can forgive others.

3. Biblical forgiveness is conditional. With the cross in mind, we can now see that how we forgive our enemies is not to be different from how God forgives his enemies. Additionally, we do not receive God's forgiveness apart from the condition of repentant faith. The implications of this I believe include the fact that anger is allowed for the believer. The Christian does not just have to respond with a warm fuzzy feeling of forgiveness every time he is wronged. Some offenses will go unforgiven precisely because the offender refuses to recognize his sin. It is for this reason that I think, however well-intentioned, the response to the Nickel Mines shooting was unfounded. Such a forgiveness is fairly criticized as "cheap grace." In contrast though, Biblical forgiveness is a kind of forgiveness which recognizes that even in repentant offenders there are temporal consequences. Biblical forgiveness does not undermine the need for the punitive actions of the state. What this means is that forgiveness is not a virtue in itself but is a virtue in the context of God's demonstration of forgiveness through the cross.

I do not doubt that I may have erred in my limited discussion here of such a difficult topic. Many of you may ardently disagree. Please feel free to respond and show me the point where you take issue.

Google to the Glory of God

Brian Regan. Thomas Jefferson. Aurora Borealis. All three of these share one thing in common. All three are in the top ten list of what is currently trending on google. Our generation is a unique one in that we now have the tools and resources to access information in a way that was not possible for our predecessors. As a result, we are now faced with the indelible dilemma that marks our technologized world: should I learn this? It is an interesting question to consider and one which Christians have sadly ignored. In my own experience, I have found the insatiable urge to search, to discover, to acquire, or in our terms, to google just about everything under the sun. Like Sisyphus, I have gone about this futile task by clicking and reclicking, scrolling and rescrolling only to watch the stone of information fall back, rinse and repeat. And like Sisyphus, such a task is an empty and endless one. "Vanity of vanities, says the Preacher (Ecclesiastes 1:2)."

While we may pretend that our quest to read about "Fifteen Ways to Fry a Turkey" or "The Watergate Scandal" is a noble one, there remains a suspiscion in us that, if we were honest we would admit, causes us to question whether or not we are really filling our minds or simply having our minds filled. The difference, I think, lies in the fact that information does not equal knowledge. Laying aside for the moment that much of our internet habits concern the trivial (how many trinkets Bill Murray has in his basement), even the good information that we obtain if not directed to a proper end is superfluous. This is because true learning does not consist merely in the acquiring of facts but in the renewal of the mind (cf. Romans 12:2). As Paul continues to say in the same passage, the renewal of the mind is so that we can discern the will of the Lord. The implication here is that information is not to be and cannot be processed in isolation from a Christian worldview. All our learning ought to be for the aim of discernment.

In constrast to approaching the discovery of facts as a way of renewing our minds to God's will, I find that often my motives are more self-serving. The reason I google "The History of Dispensationalism" or "Solipsism" more often than not has to do with my desire to master knowledge than a desire to be conformed to God's image. However, the quest for more knowledge, this hunger for omniscience, is folly and can never be sated. Thus, google exists to show that the search for knowledge for knowledge's sake is endless and futile. In our limited capacity, we can never know anything fully, but we can be fully known by our Creator. God does not need google trends to know who we are and what we want. He has our cookies not just of our internet searches but of our lives and that is a history that cannot be deleted. In order to be a wiser steward of the internet in general and google in particular, I have decided to ask myself a few questions with regard to my searches: Why am I looking for this? Could my time be better spent doing something else? Will the information I am seeking lead me to worship Christ more?

Question: What are your thoughts on a good stewardship of google and the related issue of social media sites? What are some of your "cyber sins" and the way in which the internet can become an idol for you?

TERMINAL

"We have discovered some significant abnormalities on the brain." The most frightful statement a doctor can say to a father about his daughter. As many of my readers will know, on Friday December 4th, 2009, my oldest daughter, Karis Elizabeth Almy, was diagnosed with Krabbe Disease, a rare but fatal genetic condition that causes breakdown of the nerves' protective myelin coating and leads to the significant deteoriation of motor skills. A child diagnosed with Infantile Krabbe develops asymptomatically for the first three to four months of life, but then begins to manifest signs of the disease: muscle tone, vomiting, feeding difficulties, irritability, and seizures. The expected lifespan for a child with this particular onset of Krabbe is two years. As you can imagine, Katie and I were devastated and in a state of disbelief when we heard the news. In the moment immediately following Karis' diagnosis, I knew that my belief in the sovereignty of God was going to be tested. It is times like these that we find out if the theology we preach is the theology we practice.

For the first few days after the revelation of our daughter's illness, Katie and I grieved to the point of nausea. After the initial despondency passed, my sadness changed to confusion and then to anger and then eventually to numbness. Throughout the ensuing months, I remained in that state of numbness and wrestled with finding the joy I once had in Christ and in my daughter. I hid from many opportunities to be a father to Karis for fear of the pain that it might bring. I was stuck in a dilemma. If I should spend more time with Karis, would that mean more memories for me to grieve later? However, if Karis' life was shortened, shouldn't I take every opportunity that I had to spend with her now? I was facing questions that no parent ever hopes to face. This month Karis will be 22 months old. Karis continues to battle with Krabbe every day of her life yet the Lord has sustained her health in ways that I did not expect. Since the day she was diagnosed, I have not perfectly trusted in the Lord in the midst of this suffering. Although I have never desired to ask WHY, there has been a desire to ask WHEN. Specifically, when will my daughter be whole? One thing I think we as Christians often forget is that even though God brings good out of illness, even illness of a child, illness itself is not good. This world is fallen and broken and creation yearns for renewal (cf. Romans 8:19). As children of the king, we do not need to escape our suffering through platitudes but we need to endure our suffering through promises. In view of this, I would like to share with you five promises that have encouraged me as I have been a father to a terminally ill child.

1. TERMINAL ILLNESS IS TEMPORARY.

2 Corinthians 4:17 says, "For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison." Of all the glorious promises packed into this verse, one promise that is often overlooked is found in the first half in the phrase "light momentary affliction." No matter how it seems, this pain is temporary. Growing up, there was a cross stitching of Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 in the downstairs bathroom in my house. I can remember reading that portion of Scripture countless times as a child. When I would be going through a difficult time, I can also remember finding comfort in the truth expressed in that passage as well as in my mother's oft-cited aphorism: "This is only a season." Sometimes in the middle of all the heartache that comes with a terminally ill child, it is easy to forget that this pain is temporary. No believer suffers forever. There is coming a time when this too will pass.

2. TERMINAL ILLNESS IS NOT RANDOM.

Undergirding my ability to withstand the severe suffering that comes from knowing my child has a fatal disease is a staunch belief in the sovereignty of God. Nothing less than a robust Calvinism gives me comfort that this disease is not the product of "a genetic mistake" but is designed by God himself. Ephesians 1:11 tells us that God "works all things to the counsel of his will." Additionally, Romans 8:28 reassures believers that "for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose." Nothing that comes to us in this life is unplanned. Realizing that God has determined my daughter's Krabbe disease before she even existed encourages me because I know that this sickness has not appeared in her without purpose. Since it is God who willed it, the purpose must be good. I honestly do not know how any parent could cope with having a sick child without such a lofty view of the sovereignty of God.

3. TERMINAL ILLNESS IS FOR THE GLORY OF GOD.

Without minimizing the intense sorrow that comes from being a father to a terminally ill daughter, I want to insist that it is the glory of God that reminds me that my sorrow is not in vain. Before Jesus arrived in Bethany four days after Lazarus' death, he said, "This illness does not lead to death. It is for the glory of God, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it" (John 11:4). Astonishing words from Jesus especially considering that we are familiar with how Lazarus' illness does lead to his death. The story gets even more confusing when we learn that Jesus himself purposefully plans not to go to Lazarus before he dies by delaying his arrival for two days (v.6). Is this some kind of colossal oversight on the part of Jesus? Why would he not run to Bethany upon notice that his friend is near death? We do not have to wait long for the answer for Jesus tells his disciples in verses 14 and 15: "Lazarus has died and for your sake I am glad that I was not there, so that you may believe." From the rest of the narrative, we read of Jesus' miraculous resurrection of Lazarus from the dead. Often, terminally ill parents wonder why Jesus won't do the same for their child. However, this misses the main point of the passage. The apex of this account does not come in verses 38-44 with Lazarus' mesmerizing resuscitation as he comes stumbling from the tomb (for Lazarus would be raised from the dead only to get sick and die again at a later time), but earlier with Jesus' declaration in verse 25, "I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live." Thus, God is glorified in terminal illness in that he causes us to trust more in his Son who is the resurrection and the life than in any form of temporary healing. Even if Christ is to heal Karis in the here and now, that healing will be short-lived because the morality rate for us all is still 100 percent. She will still eventually suffer from some other sickness that will take her life. Terminal illnesses do not shorten life (God determines the number of our days) but simply remind us of the shortness of life and remove the illusion of safety that comes from good health. Further, God is glorified when we turn from our earthly securities and find our security in him.

4. TERMINAL ILLNESS IS NOT UNIQUE.

It is so easy for the parents of a child with a rare disorder to begin to think that their situation is unique. Especially with a disease like Krabbe that effects only 1 in 100,000 children, it is tempting to thinking that we are alone in this suffering. Even given such statistics, Katie and I have still met other families throughout the U.S. and Canada that have children with Infantile Krabbe. Even more so though, there is a profound sense in which no terminal illness is unique. In a sense, we are all terminally ill (cf. Romans 6:23). The wages of sin is death. The common lot of the children of Adam has been a terminal one. Having this perspective, we can see that our situation is really not that different from a child with a terminal illness. We are born dying. Each of us is racked with a fatal disease called sin and our only hope of rescue is in the grace of Christ. Krabbe disease and the helplessness and desperation it brings is but one picture of this reality.

5. TERMINAL ILLNESS IS NOT TERMINAL.

Because Christ has died and risen again, the doctor's diagnosis is not the final word. 1 Corinthians 15:54b tells us that "death is swallowed up in victory." Even if terminal illness proves to be terminal in this life, we know that the grave is not a period mark and this life is not the last chapter. Jesus Christ has bled and died for our sins and those who trust in him for eternal life will not be disappointed. This hope is not restricted to believers only, but also to their children, even children who cannot express faith (cf. Acts 2:39). The covenantal promise that God extends to the children of believers is not an expression of sentimentalism but an objective truth contained in God's Word (cf. Matthew 19:14; Acts 2:39; 1 Corinthians 7:14). The status of the children of believers as members of God's covenant is firmly cemented in the Bible and is where Katie and I take our hope.

STARTING FROM SCRATCH

This is a new writing endeavor for me. As with my other writing projects, I have had many false starts in approaching my latest ambition. Such is true, I have found, not only of writing but also of life as the Lord often has us go through many "false starts" before starting from scratch again. And yet it is this starting from scratch process that is so intimidating. Nothing is more daunting than the blank page (or blank screen, in this case). The white void has swallowed many a would-be writer.

In regards to blogging specifically, there are two extremes I want to avoid. I do not want this space to become a theological soapbox. While that might be fulfilling for me, I doubt it would benefit others. Further, I do not want this to be an online journal. Narcissism terrifies me. I suppose there is a sense in which all writing is narcissistic. Writing is to the soul what exercise is to the body. There is an inherent self-preservation in both. Additionally, writing involves honesty, which when unrestrained, is a hallmark of narcissism. While writing (good writing at least) must be honest, even brutally honest, it is not a self-serving honesty. Not a I-stayed-in-my-pajamas-until-12-and-watched-MASH-reruns kind of honesty. Benefit to others is what distinguishes honesty from narcissism. To benefit someone other than ourselves, writers aim to be honest without being overly autobiographical. Paradoxically, fiction writers accomplish this through lies. We don't write about our own annoying ticks and short temper but we create characters who share these flaws without being carbon copies of ourselves. In presenting the truth of the absurdity and folly of anger through a fictional character, we are better able to tell the truth about ourselves--either because straight truth is too embarrassing or (more likely) because it is too personal and focused on our own insufficiencies than appealing to the universal human condition. Therefore, fiction writers are trapeze artists walking the tightrope of honesty and lies. Lean too far to the right and risk narcissism. Lean too far to the left and risk irrelevance. In her book Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life , Anne Lamott captures the peril of truth telling in writing, “If something inside of you is real, we will probably find it interesting, and it will probably be universal. So you must risk placing real emotion at the center of your work. Write straight into the emotional center of things. Write toward vulnerability. Risk being unliked. Tell the truth as you understand it. If you’re a writer you have a moral obligation to do this. And it is a revolutionary act—truth is always subversive." And it is this vulnerability that defines the starting from scratch process when all you have is naked rawness.

Of course, not all I attempt to do here will be fiction. I plan on feeding my readership with a steady diet of nonfiction as well. Though a different kind of prose, there is still the risk of exposure involved in nonfiction.

I anticipate that someone will ask me about the title of this blog. It comes from a single line from a single phrase in a Billy Collins poem called "The Only Day in Existence":

The early sun is so pale and shadowy,
I could be looking up at a ghost
in the shape of a window,
a tall, rectangular spirit
looking down at me in bed,
about to demand that I avenge
the murder of my father.
But the morning light is only the first line
in the play of this day--
the only day in existence--
the opening chord of its long song,
or think of what is permeating
the thin bedroom curtains

as the beginning of a lecture
I will listen to until it is dark,
a curious student in a V-neck sweater,
angled into the wooden chair of his life,
ready with notebook and a chewed-up pencil,
quiet as a goldfish in winter,
serious as a compass at sea,
eager to absorb whatever lesson
this damp, overcast Tuesday
has to teach me,
here in the spacious classroom of the world
with its long walls of glass,
its heavy, low-hung ceiling.

After all, isn't each of us a goldfish in winter? Doesn't each day demand this of us? To watch, to be alert, to be attentive. To find the extraordinary in the ordinary. The everyday has these lessons to teach us if we are willing to learn, I believe. Thus, this is what I hope to accomplish on this blog: to be quiet and make observations. In short, to write with beneficial honesty.