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.
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.
“We have ‘safe spaces’ and mental health resources and suicide prevention classes. But where are the results? We have a mission to do, and no amount of ‘safe spaces’ and Power points are making a difference. Our military is ripe for defeat with all this stuff. How do you explain that?”
“I’m all for diversity but at what point is denying reality not diversity but insanity?”
“Where is God in all this?”
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.
If you’re familiar with C.S. Lewis’ The Screwtape Letters, you’ll have an idea of what Deace is exploring in his book and film.
If you are aware of spiritual warfare; if you know viscerally and not just existentially that good and evil, angels and demons, God and Satan are real–I commend Deace’s work to you.
Pastors, take your churches to see the film.
Have your schools read this book and watch the film. Bring a skeptic. Buy the book for somone you love and who will read the short novel.
It is that important.
Camouflaged as an angel of light: I remember watching a film many years back that I thought had one of the best lines ever in a movie: “The greatest trick the devil ever ever pulled was convincing the world he did not exist.” Great line. Solid theology. And one more reason to read this book and see this film.
After I graded some papers, my head was about to explode due to the poor grammar used by some students. My wife, knowing my temperament when it comes to all-things-grammar, said, “You need to go hike. Now.” So I heeded her advice and took to the hills.
I saw deer, felt the spring wind, met some fellow hikers, crossed the streams, and …. well, I’m just about ready to rejoin civilization. Well, not quite yet. Just a few more miles.
Bonhoeffer is quoted a lot. I am familiar with folks who use Bonhoeffer as part of sermon illustrations, especially if they relate to Christian discipleship. I have done that very thing myself. But reading his works provided me a new appreciation for him. Why? There did not seem to be a schism–a divide/separation/gap—between Bonhoeffer’s orthodoxy and orthopraxy. To put it perhaps too plainly, he practiced what he preached. He was not a ‘Sunday Christian’. He was a Christian.
Some folks want to continually divide over Bonhoeffer’s role and relationship to the planned assassination of Hitler. But no matter how many times I read Bonhoeffer’s writing, and I read of his fellow prisoners’ testimonies of Bonhoeffer’s faithfulness to them as pastor, theologian, suffering servant-shepherd, Christian, martyr, et al, I am moved to the depths.
He was a sinner, no doubt. His theology was imperfect. Who among us does not have blind spots? He was the first to admit his need of Christ as Savior and Lord. But he put skin in the game. He walked the walk. And he was hanged for it. And some of us still read him today. Because he was the real deal. And in a world of staggering pretense, facades, and inane superficiality that all characterize our thoroughly pagan, largely illiterate, degenerate society, it’s refreshing to see that some men knew what it meant to count the costs of being a believer and being obedient to the end.
Driving home: It was after 7 p.m. and I was driving to my apartment. As I turned left onto the black macadam road leading there and crested the hill a few seconds later, I was driving into the setting sun. It blazed brightness beyond description. Pines and hardwoods at the bottom of the hill where the river ran. Thick and green, the timber contrasted with the sun, where it sank slowly golden like a coin into the slot of the brown river. A visual poem. No work of man, this.
Chaplaincy in 1607 Jamestown, VA: As part of some of my ongoing personal and professional learning/development, I was studying Christian ministry in Jamestown, VA in 1607. Specifically, I was reading about a Christian chaplain named Robert Hunt. When the Pilgrims were landing in Virginia, Jamestown and much of the rest of Virginia was sick. Malaria was devastating the region. The physical constitution of most English Pilgrims was shaken and often defeated by the heat and humidity of Virginia. Because life and death were not just ideas or theological terms, Christian ministry was viewed as essential.
And then I read this about the Christian chaplain in their midst, Robert Hunt: “But there was one man, a preacher named Robert Hunt, who was conspicuously different. Every Sunday, from behind a plank nailed between two trees, he preached to a small congregation shaded under the canopy of an old sailcloth. During the week he cared for the sick and dying, and he labored more than his share of the time at the building tasks. How he had time to supervise the building of a grist mill, one only wonders” (Sidwell et al. 1991, 5).
I paused and tried to picture that—a plank nailed between two Virginia trees. And the roof of this church in the wilderness was sails from ships. His fellow Pilgrims were dying left and right and were wrestling with the issue of death and judgment. They had wagered everything to come to America in order to worship without government interference. And the chaplain/minister in their midst opened the Scriptures to them and ministered to them spiritually and physically the words and deeds of life.
When the ships Susan Constant, Godspeed, and Discovery left England in December of 1606 and sailed to Jamestown, VA, storms battered the ships. The selfishness of some of the passengers came out in their fears, but Chaplain Hunt ministered to them, prayed with and for them, and many made it to Virginia. John Smith penned these words about the minister Robert Hunt: “He was an honest, religious, and courageous Divine; he preferred the service of God to every thought of ease at home. He endured every privation, yet none ever heard him repine.
During his life, our fractions were oft healed and our greatest extremities so comforted that they seemed easy in comparison with what we endured after his death” (Sidwell et al. 1991, 7).
Ministry Now
Chaplaincy in the 21st Century: We don’t read of malaria nowadays in Virginia. And Jamestown is long-settled. And the Pilgrims are now often ridiculed as patriarchal, white supremacists, and religious extremists who vanquished Native Americans, and stole land. That’s the indoctrination agenda with which ignorant students are inundated nowadays. Nine military bases are being renamed because their historical names denote actual historical soldiers like Confederate general Henry Benning and Confederate general Braxton Bragg. But it’s being changed. Ft. Benning is to be renamed Ft. Moore, after LTG “Hal” Moore, certainly a military hero for anyone who knows anything about the units he led. And Ft. Bragg is being renamed Ft. Liberty in June 2023. Nine or more military bases are being renamed.
There is a battle going on for the dictionary and for history. Rather than learning from history, some forces wish to vanquish it and rewrite it. Changing the names does not make history go away, but it does lead to a continued dumbing-down of students. It grieves me and I hope it grieves others. We’re in a place now where kids don’t know their gender or cursive, but they’re quite sure that they’re victims, that America is full of racists, and that the urchins are both offended and pampered.
It is folly, of course. It is laughable and pitiable and heartbreakingly sad. But that is the state of things in many places. So where does chaplaincy fall? What can a called Christian chaplain say or do to be part of hopefully bringing sanity, hope, and truth to such a state of affairs? Should he be like the new Chief Chaplain at Harvard University? He’s an atheist. Here’s a link to that reality: https://www.nytimes.com/2021/08/26/us/harvard-chaplain-greg-epstein.html That is a dead end, certainly.
My Hope: My hope is that God is raising up men of courage and conviction who will speak the truth in love to all. In Scripture, 1 Chronicles 12:32 references such men: “Of Issachar, men who had understanding of the times, to know what Israel ought to do . . .” Men who understood their times. Men who knew. Men of courage. Men of conviction. Men of the truth. Chaplain Robert Hunt, actual history records, was faithful under fire, when truth was on the gallows, when he was most needed. And though I cannot locate a single book about him, he was a remarkable servant, minister, and chaplain. May God be pleased to raise up legions more like him for such a time as this.
A Memory of Seminary Years: My favorite professor during my seminary years was Dr. C. He was a medical doctor (an OB-GYN) before he left full-time medical practice to teach seminarians and our spouses. He and his wife mentored scores of us by way of their love for the Lord and for one another. Dr. C. (and Mrs. C.) were among the most gentle folks I’ve ever known. Dr. C. has since gone on to be with the Lord but I can still see his face in my mind and hear his voice and his pastoral demeanor. And Mrs. C. still communicates with my wife and encourages her, even across the many miles. Dr. C. used to tell us his favorite New Testament verse was Ephesians 4:32, “Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.” And that was his nature. You knew what he was like by what he did.
Lightning and Thunder (Heralds): Last night where I was, a massively violent thunderstorm passed through the area. (Actually, it’s still going on as I write.) The lightning was so bright, so formidable, so terrifying, that it was impossible to sleep. Even being deaf as a stump as I am, I could hear it and could not sleep through it, even though I knew I had to rise at 0400 to begin my day. The night sky continually lit up in webs of electric flashes that would shame any 4th of July Independence Day celebration for us Americans. And the walls of my little apartment shook. I could see my water bottle on my bedside table shake where it lay beside the Dickens novel I’m reading. There was no way to avoid the lightning. It was simply there, for all to see, overwhelming in its power and terror and, dare I say it, beauty. The thunder and lightning heralded greatness. It was as if the heavens were declaring the glory and greatness of something or even someone.
Connection to Scripture: One of the psalms we’re about to go through in our Sunday school class is Psalm 90, a psalm penned by Moses. The imagery in the psalm is not hidden: mountains (v. 2); dust (v. 3); flooding (v. 5); and especially of the myriad contrasts between God’s eternal power and being vs. man’s temporality and dependence. Verse 10 reads like a line out of the Three Witches in Macbeth: “The years of our life are seventy, or even by reason of strength eighty; yet their span is but toil and trouble; they are soon gone, and we fly away” (Psalm 90:10, ESV). Again, it is the overwhleming obviousness of God’s nature demonstrated via God’s creation. Dr. C.’s nature was demonstrated by the ways he treated us as seminarians and as husbands and fellow pilgrims. Mrs. C.’s mentoring is obvious because she still checks on my wife and our family, even after all these years. The lightning last night, and even now, jolted me all night out of any of my plans to sleep. No, it was as if God was shaking things up in order that I might listen, make take heed, might attend.
Moses’ Prayer: One of my go-to verses of the Bible is Psalm 90:12. It is part of Moses’ prayer. “So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom” (Psalm 90:12, ESV). There is so much wisdom in that verse I think I could write a book on it. It speaks to our temporality, our short span of time, if you will, to do that for which we were created.
Takeaway and Encouragement: As I type on my laptop and look out the window, the skies are almost dark, and yet it is near noon. The rainfall continues. The area I’m in is under a flood warning. Two inches of rain have already fallen. It is so obvious that nature and the Author of nature are unspeakably marvelous, massive, and dangerous. How much greater, then, is the Architect of these storms, of the flashes of lightning webbing across the firmament, of the rumblings that shake my thermos of water, etc.
Dr. C. and Mrs. C. heralded love, gentleness, and mentorship to me and my family during my seminary years. The evidence was clear to see. These storms raging in my area are formidable, impossible to deny for anyone who cares about the truth. Moses taught us to number our days via learning from the visual contrasts between God’s transcendence (and immanence) and our dependence and finitude. It is almost as if God shows us what he means by what he said, almost in fact as if creation heralds its Creator and bids us look up to the Architect of the theologian’s mind, the OB-GYN’s skilled hands, and the fruits of the Spirit of the redeemed.
MIND & MATTERS 