Question: Ever sensed that the holiday season can be both a blessing and a curse? 

Segue: My parents divorced when I was just a toddler, and so I grew up with my mom and my stepfather on one side and my dad and stepmother on the other. And when my mom and dad remarried other spouses, they each had a daughter. So, I have two half-sisters, too. They are both a decade younger than I, so I was the big brother to each of them growing up, as I bounced back and forth between my parents. And nothing reminds you that your parents are divorced quite like the holidays. The reasons should be obvious. As the child, you want to see everyone, love everyone, be with your family, etc. but your family is spread out. Distance is not just a matter of miles and proximity; sometimes distance is fraught with emotional risks and tender spots through no fault of one’s own, but because one’s family has been ripped asunder because of divorce.

So, I spent my holidays yo-yoing back and forth between loved ones. I had my mom in one part of the state and my dad in another (when he was not living overseas due to his career ambitions). I had grandparents and step-grandparents. They, too, were spread apart. I had aunts and uncles and cousins and nephews and nieces, etc. scattered hither and yon. I (as the child of divorced parents) had been grafted into a conglomeration. 

I had a largely wonderful extended family from whom I learned an awful lot about life, work, travel, and the way the world works, but holidays were for me (though I did not share it) emotionally tender times. Why? Because when we are emotionally and/or spiritually divided, we may sense the schism like an emotional rip or tear in our souls.

Blessing and Curse: This week is Thanksgiving week for Americans. Though American culture has decided to largely jettison her biblical moorings and actual history, Thanksgiving remains a holiday for most of us wherein we try to link hands with family, eat, catch up with one another, eat again, perhaps watch a football game or go deer hunting, hop back in the car or catch a flight, etc. 

For my family, this will be our first Thanksgiving without my father-in-law who died recently. Cancer took Papa from us way too soon, and we all feel his absence in our guts. He made everything better. Inwardly, I curse cancer for taking a man that I loved in a way I cannot sufficiently express, but I simultaneously bless his name because he made such a godly and kind difference in countless lives. He and the family grafted me in and loved me from day one. We never speak of Papa without laughing and smiling and feeling better because of him. When I think of Papa, I am reminded of a quote from one of my favorite movies, The Shawshank Redemption: “Some birds are not meant to be caged … Their feathers are just too bright. And the part of you that knows it was a sin to lock them up in the first place rejoices, but still, the place where you live is that much more drab and empty after they’re gone.”

Encouragement: The holidays have a uniquely powerful way of reminding us that our spiritual and emotional lives go to our very core as individuals and as members of our families, no matter how together, extended, or shattered. In order to make the best of these times of holiday feasting, we are unwise if we discount or try to suppress the emotional famines we can sometimes feel and battle. We need to be honest enough to admit that we sense both blessings and curses when it comes to the holiday season. In the Christian worldview, we recall one of Paul’s literary salvos of truth from the prison epistle Philippians: “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” (Philippians 3:8, ESV). That’s not psychological pep-talk or humanism. On the contrary, that is straight-up truth from a man who gave it all for the truth because he knew viscerally that as fractured and ripped apart and sin-ridden as this world is and our families can be, Paul knew the One who makes us new, who binds us up, who sets us upon the rock, and who says, “Come and welcome. The table is set for you.”

I was able to grab the hiking poles today after returning from Pennsylvania and take to the hills for a few miles. The weather was perfect–sunny, cool, with a slight breeze. The weather remains very dry here. The leaves crunched underneath the soles of my hiking boots. My hiking poles often slid on the hills because the ground was so dry. The leaves were brown brittle skis upon which my hiking poles slid atop the dry gound.

I stopped several times to catch my breath. I pulled out the paperback DeLillo novel I am currently reading. I read for a bit and then replaced the novel in my left cargo pocket on my pants and started out again.

In just a few hours our Sunday school class will gather for a November “Friendsgiving” to fellowship together, to play games, to gather around the table and enjoy a meal and dessert together, and to encourage one another in the Christian pilgrimage.

I was so tired when I took a red-eye flight last night and finally got home, showered, embraced my wife and son, and slept in my own bed. There is no sleep like the sleep that can happen at home in one’s own bed, in one’s own sheets, with one’s loves close by.

I look back on a tiring string of days of flights and hotels and updates for my chain of command in the military, and I remember that ministry opportunities to soldiers, my church family, and to those who actually put skin in the game–and I remain grateful, so grateful to be able to work, to minister, to provide, to pour into others for the sake of that which endures.

As I talked with some fellow soldiers I’ve grown to truly care for, one shared with me how he and the men at his church are going through a study of the Sermon on the Mount. Another shared with me how some biblical resources I have sent him have helped him. Another encouraged me with his appreciation for some writing I have done. On and on it went. They are small things, of course, just words of thanksgiving, but they are little steady reminders that we can make a difference via seemingly small things, ostensibly tiny works of faithfulness.

It is easy sometimes to grow dispirited because there is so much abuse out there. We see folks with hands out to receive but who do not work themselves. And it is not because they cannot work but because they will not work. Scripture is clear about such issues. We are to steward our time, talents, and treasures wisely. Stewardship is inextricable from prudence and biblical wisdom.

My friend Jim invariably has moving pictures of the avian world. The colorful feathers, the eyes of expression, and the nimbleness of these winged wonders move us when we think on such things.

Courtesy of Jim, enjoy:

Introduction: One of the writers I’ll never outgrow is Pat Conroy.

When I was a high school kid and being forced to read Goeorge Orwell, Aldous Huxley, Thomas Hardy, Mary Shelley, and Emily Bronte, I read them all, but what I was really enjoying was the literary world of Pat Conroy. He wrote about landscapes I loved; he wrote about insecure and overbearing fathers who did not know how to show love to their sons; he wrote of military life and why young men are sometimes drawn to it, etc. I was hooked on Conroy the way Conroy was hooked on language.

I’m reading through A Lowcountry Heart for the second time currently. It’s typical Conroy. He writes of the marsh–of Charleston, Savannah, and Beaufort. He writes of food and accents and of racial tensions. He writes of his years at the Citadel, and of men and women who shaped him for good and ill.

Homage: I don’t know how the literary world will view Conroy’s literary oeuvre over time. But for readability–for the sheer joy of reading a great storyteller–and to walk in the shoes of a man who lived deeply, it is hard to beat Pat Conroy.

“I use the grotesque the way I do because people are deaf and dumb and need help to see and hear.”

Introduction: Ever found or experienced a place/group/kinship where you were more than just a member, but were part of a family? 

Background and Context: I do a great amount of reading and research as part of my vocation in ministry. Why? In order to understand the times and know what to do. I have discovered a principle that grows more and more important daily. It centers on the principle of belonging to a spiritual family. 

Much of my study reveals that, generally speaking, folks in our era are living a corrosive paradox. What is it? We are more electronically connected but spiritually-isolated than ever before. We can reach someone across the planet in seconds, but we don’t have anyone who cares. That is, to be plain, tragic. 

Shelves of books are being written about the epidemic/pandemic of loneliness that confronts today’s world. Folks are on their gadgets but have no meaningful connections. 

Perhaps you are like I am in that you sense the double-edged nature of technology. I relish the fact that I can have a Dostoyevsky novel or a C.S. Lewis book in hardback or paperback delivered to my residence in a day. That excites me to no end. But I also understand that receiving a text message from someone is not the same as hanging out with him/her. Technology is convenient but it is a poor substitute for a spiritual family. 

Connection to Our Daily Lives: This past Sunday I was with my biological family and my spiritual family. My wife, son, and I were at our church (our daughter has moved out and supports herself now). We went to our Sunday school classes and to our corporate worship services. My wife, part of the music ministry at the church, played keyboards and sang. I taught a Sunday school class. We sang hymns and spiritual songs. Our son was part of youth ministry. We sat together as a family in corporate worship and listened to a solid, biblical homily from a wise teaching pastor at our church from Jeremiah 17 on the necessity of trusting the Lord. 

And Sunday night I attended our men’s discipleship class where we studied particular passages from Psalms and 1 & 2 Samuel. And as I drove back to post today in order to prepare for another day of soldiering tomorrow, I have communicated via email and texting (a huge blessing of technology) with my spiritual family to pray for one of our own as she has undergone surgery. And we are praying for another who will undergo surgery tomorrow. And the list goes on. 

What’s the point? That having a spiritual family you love and that loves you back is essential by divine design. We are crafted for fellowship, for pouring into one another, for coming alongside one another.  

Takeaway & Encouragement:  Foster, cultivate, and feed your spiritual family. The return on investment is invaluable. In the biblical worldview, it is essential: “a threefold cord is not quickly broken,” a wise man wrote (Eccl 4:12, ESV). And Christ himself told us, “A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another” (Jn 13:34). Having a spiritual family, a place where you show and receive love, is essential, and desperately needed, especially amidst all the idols and substitutes for our designed need of actual spiritual families rather than mere simulacra or avatars.

“All human nature vigorously resists grace because grace changes us and the change is painful” (Flannery O’Connor, The Habit of Being).

Introduction: Have you ever longed to see soul change wrought in yourself or another? That is, have you had the experience of an enduring longing–a deep plea–to see genuine and enduring heart change in yourself or another person? I would think most of us have. I certainly have.

Connection to a Very Familiar Passage in History: With a group of fellow pilgrims, I am going through the Gospel of Matthew line-by-line. And in some of my studies, I was camped out in Matthew 3. This is the time period when John the Baptist is the last of the Old Covenant prophets and is calling out: “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand” (Mt 3:2, ESV). Like many of you probably, I have read that line hundreds of times. But when you slow down and meditate on what unfolds in Matthew 3, you begin to see that yes, preachers of righteousness like John the Baptist often faithfully herald the truth, but only God is sufficient to change hearts.

What do I mean? In v. 5 of the same chapter, we see how “Jerusalem and all Judea and all the region about Jordan were going out to him” (Mt 3:5). Even the Pharisees and Sadducees were coming to John’s baptisms (Mt 3:7) but it is clear that those same Pharisees and Sadducees coming out were not genuinely changed; they were onlookers, spiritual spectators, unbelievers in the truth.

How do we know they were unbelievers? Because they played the spiritual resume card. They trusted in their ethnic and/or educational and religious pedigree and genealogy. Did John the Baptist baby them? Did he compromise the command of God for sinners to repent and believe the gospel?

Here was John the Baptist’s seeker-friendly sermon:

“You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? Bear fruit in keeping with repentance. And do not presume to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our father,’ for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children for Abraham. Even now the axe is laid to the root of the trees. Every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire” (Mt 3:7b-10).

Seeker-friendly? Hardly. It was Truth 101, with no attempt at soft selling Christianity’s non-negotiables: repentance of one’s sin and fleeing to Christ in the gospel.

Why did John the Baptist not hold back? Why didn’t he nuance his speech to soften the intellectual and visceral impact of his message? Because he knew that God was able from those stones to raise up children for Abraham (Mt 3:9). That’s a literary way of saying, “God has no need of anything–especially your pride in your lineage, ethnicity, education, religiosity, pomp, or social standing.”

The Principle: What God requires of all who will come to Him is something which God alone grants: genuine humility, repentance of sins, and saving faith. Humanistic efforts are too sin-soaked to ever redeem; they only serve to condemn us.

Connections to Us All: So many of us have been disappointed in ourselves and/or in those we care about because we thought that we or another person wrought genuine heart change. But we discovered that our flesh was too weak. Or we found that we were right back in a sin pattern. Or we saw those we love return to erring ways leading to destruction. To use a biblical metaphor, we saw ourselves or others as dogs who return to their vomit.

Encouragement: Recently at church, the discipleship pastor and brother in the Lord taught the congregation from Jeremiah 17. He focused perfectly on Jeremiah’s emphasis on man’s deeply sick human heart and of our constant need to trust in God alone who is sufficient to circumcise the human heart, to grant true repentance and faith, and that trusting in man or humanistic schemes will invariably disappoint. Jason was spot-on in his teaching from Jeremiah.

Jeremiah’s message is the same message as John the Baptist brought. Flee to the gospel. Come to the Redeemer, who is Christ. Trust not in anything or anyone else to change your nature. Only God is sufficient for this work, and He will do it.

I love to watch the deer when they’re on the bed. So pretty but vigilant simultaneously.