Theology

Peace? Yes, but Not on Man’s Terms

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“There is no peace,” says the LORD,  “for the wicked” (Isaiah 48:22 ESV) What… no peace? But why? In recent years, Americans were promised hope and change. We even heard of a “fundamental transformation of America.” How are you enjoying the changes and fundamental transformations? Do you hope for more of the same? Is it working out?

Do we have “peace in our time”? Do websites blaze headlines of peace? Racism has ended. All lives matter (even babies’ lives still in the womb), right? All worldviews are equal, right? We can, as the sentimental bumper stickers tout, coexist, right? No peace for the wicked.

In the 19th century, liberal heterodox theologian Adolf von Harnack wrote of the universal fatherhood of God and the brotherhood of man. He died in 1930. I wonder how he’d rate the 85 years of man’s brotherhood since he died. By every history book I’ve read on the last 3,000 years, the 20th century was the bloodiest since the genesis of written history. No peace for the wicked.

And yet Christ came for the ungodly.  “For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly” (Rom 5:6). He came for those with ears to hear the gospel of…peace. th-1

I was reading through lyrics to Longfellow’s “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day” which read:

I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day/Their old familiar carols play,/And wild and sweet the words repeat/Of peace on earth, good will to men.

I grew up amidst the singing of this song each Christmas season but never thought through the words. Introverted as I was, especially as an adolescent, I loved my family deeply but saw through the rubber band smiles we all flashed during the holiday gatherings. We acted as if we were this joyful all the time. But we all knew otherwise. I didn’t want to state the obvious because it might shatter the facades.

My mother had a beautiful voice and we were never far from a song. Each year, we gathered at my grandparents’ home in middle GA Christmas afternoons, Granddaddy would have Mom lead us all in singing Christmas carols before opening some gifts we’d placed under the Christmas tree in the living room. The refrain that ran through yuletide carols? Peace. For a brief moment of time, we sang and fellowshipped with one another, and we broke bread around the table, and it seemed as if there were peace outside. But there wasn’t. And there isn’t.

Longfellow’s poem acknowledges the same truth:

And in despair I bowed my head:/”There is no peace on earth,” I said,/“For hate is strong and mocks the song/Of peace on earth, good will to men.”

Do we dare to be honest? There never will be true peace until we wicked are reconciled to God and each other through Christ. Because our sin justly merits God’s wrath, we’re naturally at enmity with God. But for those who are redeemed via repentance and faith in Christ alone, their status is forever changed. “But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ” (Eph 2:5). The result? Peace. Supernatural, not natural, peace. “Therefore, since we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ” (Rom 5:1).

If we celebrate Christmas this year, will we have the intellectual integrity to acknowledge the historical record of Jesus–the Christ? Secularists want to rename Christmas trees “holiday trees.” Secularists have renamed Christmas holidays “Winter break.” Secularists have renamed Easter holidays “Spring break.” These are symptoms of humanistic efforts to establish peace on earth. And they fail—always.

Secular and humanistic worldviews want the redeemed to be quiet and to go away nicely. Wouldn’t it be nicer for the redeemed to be like tasteless salt—harmless, ineffective, irrelevant, and good to trample underfoot? That poses no threat to secularists’ political power. Yet Christ calls those who are His to something very different—namely, to proclaim this message: “For our sake he [God the Father] made him [God the Son/Jesus] to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him [Jesus] we might become the righteousness of God” (2 Cor 5:21). The result? Peace.

It’s not Christians who are renaming history in efforts to erase people’s history. Secularists are doing that…with vitriol and through gritted teeth. What does that tell you about the “peace” they talk about?

What if, instead, some people had ears receptive to the good news of Christ the Lord, about God incarnate in Jesus? That would be cause for celebration, such that even the stones might be made to shout, would it not?

“The fear of the LORD is the beginning of knowledge; fools despise wisdom and instruction” (Pr 1:7). Instead of trying to remove any vestiges of Christ, the gospel, Christianity, or holy days (now holidays), might we dare to recognize and even proclaim truth?

Peace is possible, but not through any means except Christ’s work. Secularism won’t do it; manmade treaties won’t do it; acquiescence won’t do it; pietism won’t do it.

Longfellow’s poem ends with these lines:

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“God is not dead, nor doth he sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,
With peace on earth, good will to men.”

Till, ringing singing, on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime, a chant sublime,
Of peace on earth, good will to men!

Cowards abound and fair-weather prophets have larger crowds, but truth is worth it.

Merry Christmas.

Oft-quoted but Seldom Understood

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Who are you to judge? The most abused verse in the Bible may be “Judge not, that you be not judged” (Matthew 7:1 ESV). Even people who kimgres-1now next to nothing of Scripture spew this verse as a quip aimed to terminate discussion. We rarely hear this verse taught in context. What usually happens is instead a person is failing to make a cogent and/or coherent argument for his position. He does not want to offend or seem hateful. He wants to be tolerant of even the most inane people or ideas. He wants to be loving and respectful. And this one verse surfaces like a reflex. It is viewed as a way of assuaging one’s own conscience and mollifying those with whom you disagree. It is used as a kinder and gentler way of saying, “Well, I wouldn’t live my life that way, but it’s not really for me to say the other person is wrong.”

 

This one verse, decontextualized, is a specious quote cloaking flawed logic in the guise of love. After it’s quoted, the unspoken assumption is that everyone is supposed to sit back, shake his head, and agree to disagree. The desired result of many who rip this verse from its larger context is a sentimental, “I’m okay; you’re okay.”

 

May I suggest two things? One, Jesus did not condemn judging. He condemned sanctimoniousness. He condemned us when we neglect judging ourselves with right judgment. In the same discourse, Jesus commands us to judge: “Enter by the narrow gate. For the gate is wide and the way is easy that leads to destruction, and those who enter by it are many. For the gate is narrow and the way is hard that leads to life, and those who find it are few. Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves” (Matthew 7:13-15 ESV). Second, if you or I cease to judge, we cease to think. Solipsism and insanity result.

 

Narrow versus broad? Yes. False prophets? Yes. Ravenous wolves? Yes. How do we know? By judging with right judgment. Jesus also taught, “Do not judge by appearances, but judge with right judgment” (John 7:24 ESV). When’s the last time you heard that verse? Judging is commanded and commended.

 

Judging is unavoidable for rational creatures. You judge whom to befriend; you judge whom to marry; you judge your children’s character and behavior (character’s extension); you judge in politics. “Open your mouth, judge righteously” (Proverbs 31:9a ESV). Failing to judge is the end of rationality. Judge rightly.

The Death of Appreciation?

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Very recently, I led another memorial service for an 84-year old Army veteran of the wars in Korea and Vietnam. The man had been a sergeant major (SGM) when he retired. He continued his service as a defense contractor upon retiring from the military. In the last chapter of his life, he moved near Ft. Benning, GA to be near a longtime friend under whom he’d served as a first sergeant (1SG) during the early 1970s. He spent his last years deer hunting in west Georgia. Finally, the cancer he’d battled for years conquered his body, and he died. When I spoke at his memorial, and before we committed his asheist2-4686483-word-death-on-paper-and-broken-pencil-in-hands to the ground, most of the chairs on the rostrum were vacant. Most people did not know or care of this man’s passing. As I read Scripture, prayed, and consoled a couple of his friends, I had an overwhelming sense that there were multiple deaths at hand. We were not just marking theimgres-1 passing of another veteran’s life. I was witnessing in microcosm a culture that chooses to forget what is praiseworthy. What/whom one generation fails to honor, thenext generation will forget altogether.

People are busy, I understand. No one can be more than one place at a time, I understand. However, I fear that there’s a sense of callousness in our culture today towards almost everything once viewed with honor. What was heretofore praiseworthy is now neglected or even mocked. It is as if many people’s consciences are seared. But should we not laud that which is praiseworthy, when it’s in our power to do so? What does it say about a culture that forsakes its warriors? What does it reveal about us when we inventory what fills our time? What/whom one generation fails to honor, the next generation will forget altogether.

Nothing quite diagnoses a culture’s ethos as clearly as seeing what it worships. Man becomes like what he worships. But what does it mean when many worship at the altar of self, or at the altars of what Francis Schaeffer called personal peace and affluence? In other words, are we now so self-absorbed that we fail to recognize the passing of those that lived lives of sacrifice, courage, and honor? Are we so taken with our conveniences that we cannot think of those who gave of themselves for the greater good? Some of the deepest lessons I have learned come from times I’ve spent in cemeteries. They are among the quietest places on earth. You can hear yourself think. As you survey the tombstones, the mausoleums, the white markers, you relearn that this life is passing. You learn that man is a vapor. You learn that generations come and go. In Ecclesiastes, Solomon writes: “For of the wise as of the fool there is no enduring remembrance, seeing that in the days to come all will have been long forgotten” (Eccl 2:16a ESV). But Solomon’s thesis in Ecclesiastes was how not to succumb to that. The answer is to look to God, not to oneself alone, not just to our personal peace and affluence, but to recognize that which endures. But I’m suggesting that we are living in a time and culture that largely chooses to neglect what should be appreciated and worships that which should be minimized. The banal has replaced the praiseworthy. What/whom one generation fails to honor, the next generation will forget altogether.

When the apostle Paul was in prison in Rome, he wrote a letter known as Philippians. It’s a short New Testament book about Christ’s humiliation and subsequent exaltation. It’s also a NT book of encouragement. But what I want to focus on here is how he instructs the Philippians in matters of what they should honor, of what they should deem important: “Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things” (Phil 4:8 ESV). It’s vital to understand what is honorable and praiseworthy, not what our selfishness deems honorable and praiseworthy.

If we want to know what we honor, let us examine how we spend our time. We are not witnessing the death of appreciation; we are witnessing idolatry—the appreciation of the wrong things/ideas/gods/people.

The Longing for Encouragement

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One of the blessings of being in Christian ministry is personal discipleship. Because I’m regularly teaching biblical doctrines in Protestant services in the military, as an adjunct instructor at a university, or in the local church setting, many ofEncourageWordle my hours are taken up in study and preparation. Contrary to some people’s experiences, sustained research and study are not burdens to me; I emerge from those disciplines reinvigorated. Recently I was requested to speak at a Bible study to military personnel and Department of Defense civilians. I’d been studying in Psalm 67, so I thought that would be a sound passage from which to teach. It was not just because that is where I’d been in some of my recent studies. It was more than that. I consistently see the longing for encouragement that we all have.

Because we are fallen creatures, and because we live in a fallen world, the pathos of this world is more properly identified as tragic rather than comic. Suffering is real. Unlike the cult of Christian Science, the Bible does not deny the reality of suffering. Unlike pantheistic worldviews like Buddhism, the Bible does not teach that suffering can be avoided through an eightfold noble path. Among other profound truths, the Bible teaches that, because this world is fallen, Christians are pilgrims moving through this valley of the shadow of death.

The Bible repeatedly uses the metaphor of the good shepherd (Jesus) who guards his sheep, abiding with them amidst evil, and preserves them from ultimate death. This is why Jesus, after his incarnation, repeatedly referred to himself as the good shepherd: “I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep” (Jn 10:11 ESV). He reminds his followers that most of the world consists of thieves and wolves in sheep’s clothing, and that he (God alone) is wholly trustworthy. Jesus is the shepherd who encourages his sheep amidst suffering. This life’s slings and arrows are endurable because of Jesus, the conquering shepherd: “I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father; and I lay down my life for the sheep” (Jn 10:14-15 ESV).

There is a relationship between Jesus as the good shepherd and his sheep that endures because of the shepherd’s triumph. Yes, the good shepherd laid down his life for his sheep (the crucifixion), but three days later, he took it up again (Jesus’ resurrection). Therefore, his sheep are to have hope. We can be encouraged. This is the good news. The gospel does not mean that the sheep (Christ-followers) are exempt from suffering, but it does mean that we are equipped to endure, because we are buried with Christ and raised because of his triumphal resurrection.

Psalm 67 begins with a reference to the well-known Aaronic blessing of Numbers 6:25. This is where God told Moses what to teach Aaron about blessing Israel. Like many of you, I love that blessing: “The LORD bless you and keep you; the LORD make his face to shine upon you and be gracious to you; the LORD lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace” (Nub 6:24-26 ESV). I think we gravitate towards it because we sense its intent: God promises to bless his people. It is sheer encouragement, and the whole creation groans for encouragement.

But when you read Psalm 67 closely, you see that God blesses his people in order that they might bless others by introducing them to this fount of blessing–God himself. He blesses them so that God’s way “may be known on earth, [God’s] saving power among all nations” (Ps 67:2 ESV). In other words, the greatest blessing is God himself. Upon receiving the blessing of God, the proper response should be outward—namely, to declare who God is and what God has done.

Growing up as I did in a local church, I remember old ladies saying this many times, “May God bless you, and make you a blessing.” Now, my personality tends to recoil at clichés and platitudes, but there is great truth in that phrase. We are blessed in order to be a blessing.

So what does this have to do with the longing for encouragement? Let me share one anecdote to illustrate it. Several months ago, a senior noncommissioned officer was retiring from the Army after 30 years. He’d been a chaplain assistant his entire career. He was (and is) one of the most gentle and humble men I’ve ever known. Never one to put his name out front for recognition, he eschewed the limelight. He was more like Mary (see Jn 3:3) who poured oil upon Jesus’ feet and dried them with the locks of her hair. Neither this soldier nor Mary was self-absorbed; their focus was outward—upon others because of Christ. Speaker after speaker lined up to share stories of how SFC Franklin had touched their lives by pouring his own life and ministry into them. Sometimes he had done it just by his gentle manner. At other times, he served them by providing a small service at just the right time. But the pattern that emerged over and over was of the encouragement he brought. When it came time for us to listen to his remarks, he kept them short. He said this, “I’ve always wanted God’s favor upon my life. In order to ask for that, I have aimed to please God first. Thank you all for allowing me to be part of God’s plan.” Then he stepped away from the podium, away from the microphone.

Scores of us lined up afterwards to shake his hand, to embrace him, to wish him blessings in his future endeavors. And we all had similar stories: he had encouraged us via his life and ministry. We all long for encouragement. I get that. What is much harder to inculcate and live out, however, is to encourage others. I guess those old ladies in the small Baptist churches were (once again) right all along: May God bless us, and make us a blessing.

 

The Paradox of Connectivity

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Wired. The digital age. Age of voyeurism. The “I post, therefore, I am” lifestyle (see Os Guinness’ wonderful book Fool’s Talk). I call it selfiedom. It’s where a culture is given over to worship of the self, and the sacred has been ejected in favor of the profane self. Selfiedom is the Digital Tower of Babel. Maybe the term selfiedom won’t catch on, but dealership-social-mediawere folks to tweet/post/blog about it, it just might. See the temptation? Here’s the issue for consideration: Are we not more connected digitally than ever in history, yet perhaps more lonely than ever in history? There’s a paradox in the fact that people have hundreds, or even thousands, of virtual friends but few, if any, actual friends. It’s now in the vernacular to call people “Facebook friends.” That is revealing. When is the last time we went to dinner with our Facebook friends? We may view posts and tweets, but I wonder if we are meaningfully connected to other people.

Over the last few days, I served as an instructor at a marriage retreat. We were ministering to current and former military personnel and their spouses. We held the retreat at a lake in the hills of north GA. The weather was spectacular—70s and 80s in the daytime, 50s and 60s at night. Clear skies, a slight fall breeze off the lake, waterfowl sliding across the skyline at dawn and dusk. Truly beautiful. Some of the helpers who worked at the location were high school and college students. As I was walking the shores of the lake one evening, I saw a group of 6 girls assembled on a long bench overlooking the lake. The girls were all dressed in shorts, t-shirts, and sandals. And do you think they were all talking to each other? Do you think they were even looking at each other? Do you think they were even facing each other? No…to all three questions. They all were connected to Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, or other social media. They were scrolling but they were not meaningfully connecting.

Now, I know there’ll be those who object. “They’re actually reaching more people,” one might say. I disagree. Because I work with young people (it’s growing just as serious with older people, too, however), I know what I’m told over and over by couples I counsel: they are lonely. One or both spouses spend hours online with virtual friends but don’t spend time with actual friends. We’re connected by way of the Web instead of connecting with the heart. Be honest. Would you rather have a text message from a virtual friend or a hug from an actual friend? Now, if distance precludes that, certainly we all welcome the conveniences ushered in via technology, but you see my point.

As I watched the girls assembled by the bench, they weren’t truly with one another. They wanted to see if others approved of them in the digital world. They took selfies. They posted. Rather than making lasting memories with each other, they tweeted. But something was lost. They wanted others to like their individual statuses by portraying themselves as satisfied, as the heroines of their individual stories.

We’re awash in a culture where the favorite pronoun is “I.” The culture celebrates the swagger of style instead of still waters of character. Someone sent me a book recently entitled The Road to Character that explores this whole theme. The author’s point is that the Adam I life (your resume of accomplishments, your degrees, your titles, your status, etc.) has largely eclipsed the Adam II life (the things people will say about you at your funeral about you being a man/woman of character, of sacrifice, of trustworthiness, etc.). He’s spot on.

imagesWe’re often connected to the Web but not to each other. So, what to do? The Web is not going away, I’d venture to say. Technology will increase rather than decrease, in its availability and speed. But might we pay a price? Might we be paying it already? It bears repeating: I hear from husbands, wives, and children repeatedly: “My wife/husband/son/daughter/friend won’t talk to me. Instead they play on their iPad or phone all the time.” Again, I’m not blind to how the logic cuts both ways. Here I am writing on a computer, posting it on the Web, and hoping others will be on the Web to read it and think about it. I see the paradox. However, just like the girls gathered near that bench this weekend up at the lake, I want genuine contact, not just virtual contact. The Digital Tower of Babel is just as idolatrous as the ziggurat in Genesis 11. In the Confessions, Augustine wrote, “Our hearts are restless until they can find rest in you [God].” That’s often quoted. But what’s less explained is the context out of which Augustine wrote. Despite being raised by a Christian mother, Augustine pursued a life of sexual lust and idolatry until Christ convicted him of his sin. It was only after being convicted of his sin that he understood his own Tower of Babel, wherein he was the god at the top. Because he excelled in academia, in rhetoric, law, languages, etc. his pride led to his downfall—a constant theme in literature and in life. Yet Augustine longed for true friendship, true rest, true connection—and this was millennia before the Web.

Human nature does not change until it’s transformed by God’s grace.

imgres  Scripture records one of history’s most moving tributes to friendship: “As soon as he [David] had finished speaking to Saul, the soul of Jonathan was knit to the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul” (1 Sam 18:1 ESV). What you see in the subsequent pages is a story of true, rather than apparent (we’d say virtual in our day), friendship. Should we use technology to improve relationships? Yes. However, I am not confident that will occur until we scroll our feeds less, and love our neighbors more.

 

His Speck but My Log

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Some books should be read once; some books should be read and recommended; some books should be read and purchased for others who will read them. Lastly, some books should be read, purchased for others, and read again for our own benefit. This is my third time reading through I Don’t Have Enough Faith to be an Atheist by Norman Geisler and Frank Turek. The title is appropriate and summative. The authors ask rimgreseaders to examine their own assumptions in their search for truth. I’ve read scores of books on Christian apologetics, but what I appreciate about this book is its forthrightness and accessibility for lay persons. I use it as a gift for others whom I believe will actually read it.

What demands more faith—to believe that an intelligent, uncaused, personal being (God) created everything, or to believe that nothing gave rise accidentally to everything? If God exists, then origins, identity, meaning, morality and destiny are explainable. If atheism is true (where God’s non-existence is assumed as an absolute) then origins, identity, meaning, morality and destiny are unexplainable rationally; they become subjective and preferential. Stick with me as I tell a personal story from just a couple of years ago.

During a military deployment a couple of years ago in Afghanistan, I developed a friendship with another officer within our battalion. We both had been English majors as undergraduates and we talked often of our favorite books, writers, and ideas. He’d grown up in Pennsylvania and Massachusetts as a nominal Roman Catholic but said he was now agnostic. He said he’d read the Bible through but could not bring himself to believe in the exclusivity of Jesus as God incarnate. He’d come to reject Christianity. Why? He said that he’d seen too many sins (his word) in the Roman Catholic circles in which he was reared. Even in his forties, he was still wounded by them. In short, he said he was disappointed. Therefore, he said, Christianity could not be true.

Are you following his reasoning? Because he’d seen sinful behavior of those claiming to be Christians, he rejected the Christian faith. May I say this kindly but clearly? That’s very poor reasoning. None of us is righteous. None of us is good. We’re all sinners. The first three chapters of Romans explain this with unmistakable clarity. Because hypocrites exist, Christianity is false? That’s hardly sound reasoning. Jesus excoriated hypocrites: “The scribes and the Pharisees sit on Moses’ seat, so do and observe whatever they tell, you, but not the works they do. For they preach, but do not practice” (Mt 23:2-3 ESV).

Over and over again, Jesus pronounced judgment upon hypocrites. In Matthew 23 alone, Jesus pronounced “woes” and judgments repeatedly upon fakers. Why? Because they (scribes, Pharisees, etc.) were charlatans, they were fakes. They brought reproach upon God’s name for pretending to be lovers and followers of God, yet living ungodly: “Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you tithe mint and dill and cumin, and have neglected the weightier matters of the law: justice and mercy and faithfulness” (Mt 23:23a).

Were that insufficient, Jesus turns the screws tighter still: “Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you clean the outside of the cup and the plate, but inside they are full of greed and self-indulgence. You blind Pharisee! First clean the inside of the cup and the plate, that the outside also may be clean” (Mt 23:25-26).

Any righteousness is internal before it’s external. Because our hearts are evil, self-absorbed, and factories of idols, we need new hearts. And that is what Christ provides. He did not come for the righteous but for sinners. Conviction over one’s own sin, not scoffing at others’ hypocrisy, is evidence of a teachable spirit. Trying to use others’ hypocrisy is a tactic of distracting oneself from addressing our own personal sin. We reveal ourselves to be just like the Pharisees Jesus excoriated. We want to appear righteous but we know that we’re guilty sinners.

My friend was right to loathe the hypocrisy of the hypocrites he witnessed. But he (and I) would do well to loathe the hypocrisy in ourselves more than we lament it in others. We’ll not answer for others’ sin; our own is more than enough to battle.

I bought my friend a copy of Geisler and Turek’s book two years ago. He promised me he would read it. I don’t know if he has. I’m now reading it through for the third time. I don’t say that to boast, but out of love for a friend, who sees the specks in others’ eyes with clarity. May God use this helpful book to help him see himself as well as he sees others. When we begin to see ourselves as the sinners we are, we see what amazing grace is extended to all who will humble themselves before the cross of Christ.

 

 

 

World-weariness

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     It is tempting to cloak doubting God’s providence as world-weariness, by saying (maybe just to oneself), “That’s just where the world is today.” But one would fail to tell the whole truth, in saying that. World-weariness is, for the Christian, sin. Why? It is sin because it’s failing to trust God amidst cultural darkness and rot. Christian pilgrims are commanded to trust God with all of oneself (cf. Dt 6:5; Ps 73:24-28; Pr 3:5-6).

     Perhaps you’re like I—sinfully tempted to despair over the state of the world. In the world of the political Left, one is taught to view “progress” as abortion on demand, state-sanctioned sodomy, lesbianism, identity being what one feels like on a given day, the denial of others’ rights if they conflict with an all-powerful State, and forced distribution of one’s resources via taxing him/her into poverty–but calling it “fairness.”

      On the political Right, one is taught “progress” would be seen if the U.S. would reintroduce plaques of the Ten Commandments into its government schools. If they opened with prayer in government schools, then, surely, adolescents would not graduate from high school barely literate. At least they’d be well-behaved, right? And let us not forget blind patriotism for one’s nation; God, after all, must be American at heart, right?

     World-weariness comes from disbelieving the providence of God. However, God transcends our cultural rot. He both exalts and humbles nations—whether Egypt, Israel, Sodom and Gomorrah, Babylon, or America. Nebuchadnezzar was humiliated, and it was of God (cf. Dan 4:28-37).

     Let us not despair, Christian pilgrims. The postlapsarian world has always been rotten and sin-soaked. God drowned all but eight people in Noah’s generation, because man’s heart was rotten. Rottenness/sin is not new. What is amazing, what is cause for hope, what is historical, is that God raises corpses to life. Lazarus exited his tomb at the word of Christ; the perishing put on the imperishable; and weak self-pitying sinners are restored by virtue of the firstfruits of the resurrected Christ—the “founder and perfecter of our faith” (Heb 12:2).

     When Chesterton was asked, “What’s wrong with the world?” he wrote these profound words, “I am.” Exactly. Long before I lament the evil “out there,” I’d do well to remember the evil within. Therein lies the seedbed of the world’s evil.