Recently I was reading a book of a genre less familiar to me than classics of literature, theology, or biographies of Cervantes and the Bard. In the volume was a Thurber gem: “All people should strive to learn before they die, what they are running from, and to, and why.” From, to, and why.
Welcome to wisdom—-Thurber-style.
Walter Mitty’s author wrote verities–truths defining, shaping, suspending trajectories of lives perhaps only too-late examined.
Over the last two days I was able to do several of my favorite things. If you are familiar with jazz, I’m listening to John Coltrane’s My Favorite Things playing as a way to further sharpen the beauty of favorite things.
First, I was able to go home and be with my wife and son. After being gone so much with my current position, there really is no place like home and hearth with those you love, in my estimation.
Second, my wife and I had a complete blast with our Sunday school class Saturday evening. Scores of us ate, shared, laughed, swapped stories, deepened friendships, formed new ones, and simply loved on one another. Christian fellowship is a biblical fruit & blessing given by God Himself.
Third, my wife, our son, and I took in a great movie, Nefarious, which is about spiritual warfare and what spiritual blindness is, what moral depravity is, and what monergistic regeneration is via the gospel. The film has no nudity, no profanity, and no car explosions. What it does do is address spiritual warfare head-on. I highly recommend the film and the book upon which it is based, A Nefarious Plot, by Steve Deace.
Fourth, I was able to wet a hook this evening under the gloaming in a pond I frequent. Didn’t catch enough fish that I don’t need to purchase groceries this week, but it really could not have been a better few moments of time at the water with the slight breeze, the sun over the pines, and the smells of a spring evening.
I never seem to tire of the small things which aren’t . . . well, small.
I was meeting with a fellow history buff recently and our conversation turned on an object we both felt pointedly.
“I got a new blade. A bayonet piece. Here,” he said, handing it to me.
I’m a southpaw, as you see from the photo.
I’m old enough to have been in combat arms in the Army when we were still trained, “Fix bayonets!” and we soldiers did so, and marched/charged/ran forward and stabbed our enemies (usually a lacerated silhouette with stab wounds through his ribcage of duct tape) as part of training. (Those types of training are largely gone for now. Now soldiers train on pronouns and climate change. And racism. Can’t leave that out.)
As I flew south, I fell asleep. A bit later I woke up from my nap with a stiff neck. I looked out the window. The green beauty arrested me. The way it contrasted with the sky above.
Recently I was with fellow soldiers in Pennsylvania. Each time I travel there I am moved by the region’s beauty. Some of it is quite industrialized and it is clear that the land and minerals have been plundered rather than stewarded. Much of Philadelphia, for example, unlike the etymology of its Greek roots, is often rather appalling, unloving, and divided by stoked racial animus. But in much of Pennsylvania’s countryside, the region retains a colonial feel, and reflects even still its German, Dutch, and other influences. Below are a few shots from north of Gettysburg, not far from the state’s capital. I was with fellow soldiers most of the time, so I visited a cemetery for U.S. veterans and families, which invariably moves me in appreciation and a good kind of pride.
A short story begins . . . When I drove around the cemetery, several families of the deceased veterans were out at their loved one’s headstone. One woman, for example, was quite elderly. She had a small folding lawn chair out in the middle of rows upon rows of headstones. She had her chair facing her loved one’s headstone. She just sat there, totally still. Her hair was so white, she could easily have been a great-grandmother several times over. Her skin appeared paper thin. I could not tell whether she was crying, talking, praying, or perhaps a combination of any of those. She appeared as one in communion.
Farther along I saw a young mother (probably in her thirties) and two children, a boy and a girl, both of whom were less than eight or so, sitting on a blanket the mother had laid in front of their loved one’s headstone. The mother was face-down on the blanket in the middle of the rows of headstones and her children sat beside her on the blanket.
I have preached scores upon scores of funerals and talked to scores upon scores of families of veterans, but sights like these never cease to move me. I wonder often if there is any end or limit to man’s pettiness, to his seemingly endless ways to focus on inaninites of life and miss the enduring and important things–namely, what American writer William Faulker wrote and spoke when he received the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1949, about love and “courage and honor and hope and pride and compassion and pity and sacrifice which have been the glory of his past.”
I’ve heard so many folks quote Jesus’ words, “Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13, ESV) at funerals. It is a crucial sentence, of course. I just wish folks would provide the context therein. Jesus’ point was about abiding. Enduring, persevering, not falling away.
Here’s where the story ends . . . So I was at the airport in Harrisburg, waiting on my flight out. A young man in his thirties rolled up in a wheelchair. His legs were completely gone. I could tell he was military. He caught my eye and I caught his about the same time. I was in uniform and he saw I was a chaplain. “Hey, brother,” I said. “We on the same bird this morning?” “Yes, sir,” he said. “I”m headed to Kansas City for a tournament. But I have a connecting flight in Atlanta.”
And we began a long conversation. He shared with me that he was an engineer in the Marine Corps. He’d been clearing IEDs in Helmand Province in 2011 when, he said with a sad smile, “I found one the wrong way.”
I said nothing for a moment and just let the moment hang. Finally he resumed his story. His unit suffered a lot of casualties that day, he said, but he had pressed on.
I asked about his family. “My wife stuck with me,” he said. “I told her after I woke up in the hospital that she didn’t have to. I would understand. She didn’t sign up for this,” he said. “But she stayed with me through it all, and we have two boys, and they want to be soldiers or Marines,” and he smiled. “It’s crazy, chaplain. I can’t say anything; I was the same way. I’d do it again.”
We kept talking. He told me about being on a volleyball team with fellow vets without legs. His biceps, triceps, forearms, and pectoral muscles were huge from their constant use. When they called for us to board the plane, I walked behind him in his wheelchair. When he got ready to board the plane, he popped himself out of his wheelchair and walked on his fists to board the plane and we greeted the stewardess together.
“What’s your row, brother?” I asked.
“11 Charlie,” he said.
“Roger,” I said. “I got you.”
He shuffled on his fists to 11C. I grabbed his hand. He swung himself up onto the seat. “Thanks, Chap,” he said.
“No problem, brother. Good luck in the volleyball match,” I said.
And that was it. We flew to Atlanta. And we went our separate ways. We shook hands as we exited the plane together, and I knew once again why some folks abide. God only knows the number of great men like that Marine.
Easy to drive or run or walk by.
But when you stop, get out, place your hands upon the clapboard, look at the framed PA history, read of keystone denotations and connotations, walk ridges limning the fort, and imbibe the accents from Dutch and German immigrants generations now Americanized, yet who retain their northern European proclivities and genetics, it’s heartening to be mit den Menschen.
A Picture and a Thought or Two about Shadows and Light: As we took off from the airport in Atlanta and headed north, the skies over Georgia were clear. I joked with a friend of mine that it was like a song lyric from the Who: “I could see for miles . . . and miles . . . and miles . . . and miles . . . and miles . . . ” I was sitting by the window in the right rear of the plane, and I looked out over a region I’ve flown over many times. I could see the mountains of north Georgia coming into view. And I could see the various lakes and rivers and creeks. The rivers and creeks snaked their way into larger bodies of water. The sunlight reflected off of them so that they came to look almost mystical in the light. Light and shadow played upon them, depending upon from what angle I viewed them as we flew north. At one point, I even saw another plane on a parallel flight path.
Light and Shadow Metaphors in Scripture: One of the most beautiful metaphors in Scripture is that the believer abides “in the shadow of the Almighty” (Psalm 91:1). It’s such a beautiful picture if you think on it. The believer dwells in the shadow of God. How is that possible? Because God is sovereign, He covers His people. He rules all things. But He exercises electing providential care for His people. What it does not mean is that believers are sheltered from harm or sickness or disease, etc. Clearly not. This is a fallen world and all of creation groans, along with us–contingent and finite creatures (Romans 8:22-24). God’s grace and providence not only permit suffering but ordain it. Isaiah 45:5-7 is just one of countless places where God declares His sovereignty over all things:
I am the LORD, and there is no other,
besides me there is no God;
I equip you, though you do not know me,
that people may know, from the rising of the sun
and from the west, that there is none besides me;
I am the LORD, and there is no other.
I form light and create darkness;
I make well-being and create calamity;
I am the LORD, who does all these things.
God does not hide Himself or His rule over all things. This is one reason Psalm 91:1 is such a moving metaphor. The believer abides “in the shadow of the Almighty.” In other places, the image is of being under God’s wing. Again, the metaphorical language teaches the same thing–God’s sovereignty over every jot and tittle.
Speaking of Wings … My friend Jim loves birds as much as I love trees. And he is gracious enough to send me some of his bird pictures when he gets them. How anyone could gaze upon these winged beauties and deny their Creator is inexplicable to the intellectually honest person. Again Jim, thank you, brother.
Lastly, I had to include a picture of trees. I don’t know what it is about them, but if you’ve ever laid on your back under some of your favorite trees, and gazed up at the sky through the canopy of wood, bark, stem, leaf, etc. and not been moved, you and I are made of different stuff. This is Jim’s picture, so I take no credit for it at all. All I can do is say thank you. Again, it all seems to me more overwhelming evidence of the Architect of creation, or of who the New Testament calls the One who “upholds the universe by the word of his power” (Hebrews 1:3, ESV).
Context: Today many churches were full. The church where my family serves and worships, for example, was. We had to put chairs in the lobby to accomodate the crowds who gathered. It was a beautiful thing to witness.
When scores of people assemble to listen to the history of the risen Messiah, the One who was prophesied in the Old Testament, the One who cast demons out, the One who restored sight to the blind, the One who was three days and nights in the heart of the earth as Jonah was three days and nights in the belly of the great fish, the One who asked the unbelieving Jews, “Which one of you convicts me of sin?” (John 8:46), the One who was the Suffering Servant of Isaiah 53 and was “smitten by God, and afflicted” who was “wounded for our transgressions” and “crushed for our iniquities,” it is beautiful to be among those who sing—not out of defeat but out of gratitude for the gospel. Yes, we sing songs focusing on the resurrection of the Lord Jesus from that guarded tomb in Jerusalem, Israel.
A short history review: When Paul, formerly the Pharisee Saul of Tarsus but now the ransomed Christian and apostle Paul, was explaining the gospel in 1 Corinthians, chapter 15 focuses on why the historical bodily resurrection of the Christ was crucial. It’s “of first importance,” he wrote (1 Cor 15:3).
All that Jesus, the Christ, accomplished was of first importance. He did it all “in accordance with the Scriptures” (1 Cor. 15:4). As was typical of Paul’s style when trying to persuade people of the evidence for Christ as the fulfillment of the promises of God (2 Cor 1:20), Paul kept saying in sundry ways the same truth: “And if Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile and you are still in your sins” (1 Cor 15:17). In other words, where people stand vis-a-vis the gospel is the determining factor of their damnation or salvation. If people refuse to come to Christ in repentance and faith, the wrath of God abides on them still (John 3:36). But for all who come to Christ in repentance and faith, they become the children of God (John 1:12).
Paul points people to the historical evidence of the empty tomb, to Jesus’ historical bodily resurrection: “But in fact Christ has been raised from the dead, the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep” (1 Cor 15:20).
The firstfruits was a Jewish feast that pointed, like all the Jewish Old Testament feasts, to Christ, the fulfillment of those feasts. That is Paul’s point in 1 Corinthians 15:23: “But each in his own order: Christ the firstfruits, then at his coming those who belong to Christ.”
Then comes verse 58 of that majestic New Testament chapter of 1 Corinthians: “Therefore, my beloved brothers, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord your labor is not in vain.”
Why verse 58 matters: When I am with those I love at church, when the Spirit of God is moving among us as we gather under the teaching, praying, and singing of the Word of God, where the triune God of the Bible is heralded, believers should rejoice in verse 58. “But why?” the skeptic might ask. Or “How can I rejoice?” another might ask, when he/she could easily say, “The world is such a mess, with men dressing as women, and Christian schools are being shot up by trannies, and drag queens are parading their reprobation in the government schools and taxpayer-funded libraries . . . .” and on and on.
Yes, that is true. That is what the unregenerate, fallen, depraved sinner wants. He/she hates the true God, hates the true Christ, hates the fact that Jesus was and is God in the flesh, that He was raised as the firstfruits for all who will see.
Verse 58 matters because it follows upon all that came before.
Believers are to be steadfast, immovable, and abounding in the work of the Lord because Christ was faithful in His life and in His death and through His resurrection. We have proof. Bodily proof. We have the history of the true church. We have the Scriptures. We have the conviction and direction of the Holy Spirit who points believers to the 66 books of inspired Scripture. This is why, I hope, all those who came today, assembled. Because verse 58 is rooted in the history of the One who both conquered the grave but who also authored the cosmos by speaking it into existence, the One who upholds the universe by the word of His power (Hebrews 1:3).
It’s Steve Deace’s A Nefarious Plot. I finished it today in one reading while flying across the country. Great read. But very, very, very troubling. Why? Well, I don’t want to spoil it for you.
But if you’re aware that we’re in spiritually dark times, the book and film will move you, too.
Here’s the trailer:
The reviews are already rolling in as to how moving the experience is. And they’re formidable and positive, dark themes notwithstanding.
If you’re a reader, please read Deace’s book. Then give a copy to someone you care about.
If you can’t get folks to read the book, go with someone (or a group) to watch this film. 14 April 2023 is the national release date.
Yes, I know it’s bad grammar but it’s still a decent song.
I’m in a season where I’m flying back-to-back to minister to soldiers. And I love it.
Below are some pictures that probably do not do justice to the feelings I have as I go into and out of each place.
This one is of Kansas City, MO, just after taking off.
And this is over the storm clouds just below us as the pilots took us a few thousand feet above those clouds which, to my unscientific mind, looked like a floor of pillows.
And this one is of Arlington National Cemetery. It moves me each time I fly over it and still more when I walk thereupon.
Lastly, the Pentagon and the swamp on a descent into D.C.
Anecdote: In my current position, I have been able to play to my strengths. I am able to teach; I am able to minister; I get to have open and honest conversations with fellow soldiers; but perhaps what I love more than anything else are the opportunities I have to listen. Just listening to soldiers’ stories is an education that I have not gained from books of counseling, books of theology, books of history, books upon books upon books. I seem to never tire of reading and learning, and I’ve seldom discovered a bookstore out of which I could not excavate some treasures, but in listening to the stories of some of our soldiers, I sense multiple things have happened in our culture, and multiple shifts are still happening and will continue. And these shifts are signs of a diminution—a tragic lessening and attempted erasure of human dignity—but also perhaps the beginning of the birth pains that may give rise to a biblical revival. As Steve Deace has repeatedly said, the West is at a tipping point where it is “Revival or bust” (sic.).
Which is it—diminution or hope? My answer: Yes. I think it’s both. I don’t know how any intellectually honest person could deny that our culture is staggeringly coarse, staggeringly profane, staggeringly determined to turn everything sacred into the profane and everything profane into a demonic sacred. It’s upside down world. Men, we are told, are women if they feel like it. And women cannot be defined now, not even by a judge on America’s highest court, because she (a woman, wife, and mother, too) is “not a biologist.” I’m not either, but I sure know what a woman is.
Just today when I read a smattering of stories online, a ‘transgender pastor’ likened the woman who murdered six people last week in Nashville, TN at a Christian school to Christ. Here’s the article for you: https://www.foxnews.com/media/transgender-pastor-compares-marginalized-nashville-shooter-jesus-crucified
This is one example of what it means to be diminished. The cultural rotgut we’ve drunk is playing out as rotgut does—via sickness. As Isaiah wrote:
Woe to those who draw iniquity with cords of falsehood,
who draw sin as with cart ropes,
who say: “Let him be quick,
let him speed his work
that we may see it;
let the counsel of the Holy One of Israel draw near,
and let it come, that we may know it!”
Woe to those who call evil good
and good evil,
who put darkness for light
and light for darkness,
who put bitter for sweet
and sweet for bitter!
Woe to those who are wise in their own eyes,
and shrewd in their own sight!
Woe to those who are heroes at drinking wine,
and valiant men in mixing strong drink,
who acquit the guilty for a bribe,
and deprive the innocent of his right! (Isaiah 5:18-23, ESV)
To speak plainly, this is what reprobation looks like. It is a world in consummate rebellion against God (Father, Son, & Holy Spirit) , against his Word (the 66 books of the Bible), against his incarnation (Christ), and against nature (general revelation). It is man as rebel. Man as exile from Eden. Man as Cain—mad, murderous, and marked. It’s upside down world, where what is truly good is now to be hated. Why? Because those who hate God say so. As if volume, crossdressing, and bodily mutilation were actual rational arguments rather than evidence of the lack of coherence and rationality. In short, this is diminution. It is man being reduced. It cheapens the value of human life and attempts to turn men into beasts. By attempting to erase the beauty that is women’s femininity, we’re seeing monstrous mutilation and attempts to erase the imago Dei. Instead of the glory that is the masculinity of men, we’re seeing a deracinated race of boys and men castrated and injected to resemble creatures like something from B-grade horror films from the 1950s. And it’s heartbreaking. Why? Because these are people made in the image of God, and the satanic forces rejecting God and his revelation are incorrigible in their determination to continue until every vestige of humanity is atomized. Diminution via secularism.
Signs of hope: Now back to stories from soldiers (and others). I was teaching recently. But when the prescribed courses had been covered, several soldiers opened up. They shared candidly about how they felt and about how they saw the world. I would never include names or anything like that out of respect for those with whom I serve, those whom I love, but here’s a sample of things I listened to, just over recent times. And bear in mind, these are soldiers from 20-years-old to their late 50s.
I could go on and on with questions I’ve been asked. Some were quite articulate and well-thought-out queries; others were less questions than accusations and/or frustrations with the spiritual trajectory they sense.
Here’s why I think it’s a sign of hope: If folks didn’t ask the questions, if they didn’t care enough, I think we’d be in even more danger. I do not wish to deny what I think is plain: we are under divine judgment. Why? Because we’ve told God to take a hike, that we would do things our way. And our way is the broad way that leads to damnation. But most folks seem resolved to go there as quickly as possible and the nation (and the West to a large degree) is erecting that hell on earth with a quickness and efficiency that would make the artisans of the Great Pyramids jealous.
But some are asking. Some do care. Some do have eyes to see and ears to hear. Some do know that men are men, that women are women, that men should not be in women’s sports, and vice versa. Some do care enough to speak the truth in love. Some do care enough to try and reach those they love with the truth that God is real, that he has spoken, that he is not silent, that his Word (the Scriptures) are his revealed will, that Christ is God incarnate, and that hell will not ultimately prevail—not over the redeemed bride.
There are, I say, signs of hope. We just have to listen to these signs of hope, stand firm in the truth of God, be of good courage, and be found faithful. Is that Polyannish? Is that sentimental? I don’t think so. Believe me, I know spiritual warfare. I know who the enemy of men’s souls is. But the Savior of men’s souls is also a warrior, a conquering king, the King of kings and Lord of lords (1 Timothy 6:15, ESV). That, dear reader, is the reason to hope.
MIND & MATTERS 