Kind of a personal family article today, as we are just back from Tennessee where we celebrated a life lived well by Mr. Tucker. My father-in-law was, as evidenced by the lives he influenced, shaped, and touched, a remarkable man. Randy’s life was the best sermon I ever saw lived. He didn’t have to proselytize; the way he lived his life was the evidence of who God was and who Randy was in Christ and who Randy was in the world. He was a gospel-transformed man, husband, brother, uncle, dad, father-in-law, friend, deacon, servant of Christ and his bride, the church.

On behalf of my mother-in-law, her new church family in TN, and her church family of over half a century, Byne in Albany, GA, our warmest thanks to the Church at Station Hill for their hosting and honoring Randy today via a celebration of life. It was reverent, Christ-centered, to-the-point, and fun–all of which Randy deeply appreciated. Thank you for your labor, your love, your continued support of my mother-in-law, and for your co-labor in the gospel.

Second, our continued love and gratitude to Byne Memorial Baptist Church for your legacy of fidelity to support the Byne family. When I was grafted into Randy and Jane’s family many years ago now, I will never be able to thank them or Byne enough for the love you consistently showed me and all who are blessed to have been part of the family that characterizes Byne and her myriad ministries.

Third, to Mt. Zion, my own family’s church of years now, and especially Adult 9 Sunday school class, of which I’m a part and which blesses our family in profound ways, we love you and thank you for your support and generosity.

Takeaway: When we pulled out of the church parking lot today, we were all smiling, even though Randy “Papa” Tucker was not with us in our cars. He was closer than that. He was in all of us–in the faces, the smiles, the tears, the hugs, the laughter that he so engendered and fostered. We miss you, Papa, more than I can express adequately. But you have come into fullness of joy now–and rejoice in that, and in your life lived well.

And today we sang the hymns you loved. And just like one of your favorites said, even so, it is well with [our] souls.

Opening: Late March and early April in the remaining woods beckon those with souls who appreciate God’s bounty in nature.

Recently I had a few minutes to hike the hills and creeks in search of shed buck antlers. I did not discover any, but that gives me more reason to go back out.

I did, however, hear lots of turkeys and almost step upon a bleached skull and cross moss-covered rocks in the creeks where the sun threw slants of light upon the moving waters. And I scared a herd of deer from their beds in a thicket by the creek.

When you reflect on words from the Psalter like you find in the opening salvo of Psalm 14, it does make you realize the efforts one has to go to in order to deny the craftsmanship of the very creation upon which we tread and about which we speculate.

Scripture’s attestation of those hostile to truth: Psalm 14 opens with this:

The fool says in his heart, “There is no God.” (Psalm 14:1a, ESV)

Reflection: When I listened to the turkeys, and I studied the bleached skull of the animal, and I jumped the herd of whitetails from their beds in the creek’s thickets, and their white flags swayed back and forth in perfect pattern like a visual metronome (left, right, one, two, left, right, one, two . . . ) it would have taken a lot of suppression intellectually to try and convince myself, “Just accidental. Randomness. Just matter in motion. No design. No designer.”

The whole of creation trumpets its Creator. One need only have eyes to see and ears to hear.

I was flying back to Atlanta from a trip to Texas and Arkansas. On the full flight from DFW to ATL, the other two people on the row on which I sat in the jet owned a horse farm just a stone’s throw from where I was raised. The couple told me all about their horses, the 57 acres on which they ran a ranch, and we chatted about their dog, and the husband bragged on his grandsons. It was one of those flights one longs for, where folks are friendly and one finds kinship in the simple things of life. I’m not much for putting on airs, so I tend to gravitate towards folks that keep it real, as the saying goes. There are more than enough facades in life; give me normal folks of the soil and tales of work and farm and grandchildren anyday.

As we descended into the GA skies and landed in Atlanta, we all shook hands and exchanged phone numbers and laughed at what a blessing it was to have sat next to one another and to discover how much we had in common.

When it was time to exit the aircraft, I grabbed my ruck and their bags from the overhead storage bins, and we shook hands again. I went to the pickup area and waited for my wife to arrive to pick me up in my car. When I was walking towards the pickup curb, a young man approached me with a worried look on his face.

“Sir,” he said. “I’ve been looking for a soldier. I have a knife in my bag and I’m about to fly out. I want to give it to you, as a soldier, since I forgot to take it out of my bags.”

“O brother,” I said. “I know exactly what you’re going through. I’ve given up so many knives at the airport. But are you sure?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’d like you to have it.”

“What’s your name?”

“Matthew,” he said.

“Give me your number, Matthew. I’ll call you. Text me your address. I’ll take your knife for you but I will mail it to you when I get home.”

“You’d do that?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, sir. Thank you so much,” he said.

“I’ve been where you are. And I have plenty of knives. You should have your knife back by the end of next week,” I said.

He reached into his bag and handed me the knife and I put it in my ruck. We shook hands. And soon my wife appeared on the drive leading up to the pickup curb.

When I got home, I pulled out the knife and looked at it.

Fear not, Matthew, you will be reunited with your skinning blade and its sheath soon. I’ve met some good folks on today’s travels and meeting you was another in that line. Keep the faith. You’ll have your property again soon. And hey, thanks for trusting a soldier with it. Means a lot to me.

Last Sunday we began a journey through the Psalter in our Sunday school class. For years now I have found that I spend more and more time in the Wisdom Literature of the Bible than nearly anywhere else. For a long time, my preferred Old Testament book has remained Ecclesiastes. It is the fountain of countless literary references/book titles/motifs/themes/images, etc. Here are just a few of my favorites:

• “The sun rises, and the sun goes down, and hastens to the place where it rises” (Eccl 1:5) served as Hemingway’s fountain for The Sun Also Rises.
• “There is no remembrance of former things” (Eccl 1:11) served as Proust’s fountain for Remembrance of Things Past or In Search of Lost Time.
• Ecclesiastes 3 has so many literary children it should make your head spin. Tolstoy’s War and Peace, as just one example, has its titular fountain in “a time to love, and a time to hate; a time for war, and a time for peace” (Eccl 3:8).
• Edith Wharton’s The House of Mirth has its titular fountain in Ecclesiastes 7:4, “but the heart of fools is in the house of mirth.”

On and on it goes in Ecclesiastes.

But as I slow down, read, and meditate on the Psalter, the poems find their way into me. They seep out in my thinking, speaking, and writing.

As an example, I choose not to watch the so-called news because it is little more than ad hominem character assassinations and agendas long ago bought and paid for.

And Psalm 2 makes it so clear why:

Why do the nation rage

and the peoples plot in vain?

The kings of the earth set themselves,

and the rulers take counsel together,

against the LORD and against his

Anointed, saying,

“Let us burst their bonds apart

and cast away their cords from us. (Psalm 2:1-3 ESV)

Secularism/paganism in all its forms hates God. And the behavior of the masses demonstrates this. They “rage,” just as Scripture says. And God, of course, laughs (Psalm 2:4a). In fact, “the Lord holds them in derision” (Psalm 2:4b) because they’re sealing their just doom.

The Psalms explain so much of human behavior, of the irreconcilable different paths between those who walk with the wicked vs. those who walk in the Lord’s way (Psalm 1).

I say irreconcilable, but that is premature. There is a way of reconciliation. It is God’s way, and God’s way is Christ and the gospel.

Last night I stayed up and finished reading Willie Morris’ North Toward Home. I only discovered Willie Morris’ writing within the last six months and found in him a kindred spirit. He is a Southerner, one shot through with love of the soil, the drawls, the manners, the smell of jasmine and honeysuckle, the delta, and the ways roads portend both escape and return.

The first few books I read from Willie Morris were wonderful reminders of small-town Southern life and times largely gone now. He wrote of his marvelous dog Skip, or twins who fooled their competitors in footraces by relaying, of the unique aunts and uncles in nearly everyone’s family who exhibit such quirks and odd mannerisms, you think you’re reading a Dickens novel from the 1800s and not of 1950s life in the American South.

In North Toward Home, however, Morris wrote on his college years in Texas and England, of the racially charged 1950s and 1960s, of the unconscienable politics of both Democrats and Republicans and how both pimp their constituents via sloganeering and bromides and bribes, of his going to New York to become a writer and editor, etc. But most of all, North Toward Home is a wonderful reminder that home for Willie Morris was where he learned to see past skin color, past educational pedigrees (or lack thereof), and towards the reality that we are people first, last, and finally. Anything else is sniping at our humanity. A wonderful reminder from Willie Morris is North Toward Home. Our 2023 culture could benefit from relearning that humanity transcends politics, that literature is a unique private way that pricks our hearts and imaginations, and that usually the best things in life revolve around love, sacrifice, home, and hearth.

Thanks to my friend Jim, we may enjoy some more bluebird beauties.

Bluebird is one of those words whose sound when spoken makes me smile. Just the way the air passes over the lips, bluebird is a happy sound.

And who better to sing a love song with that title than Sir Paul? Enjoy.

I had a 0600 flight out of Atlanta en route to Dallas, TX and then en route to my final destination for this trip, all as part of my ministry to fellow troops, and I was even blessed to have my wife ride with me to the airport and drive my car back home after she dropped me off, and the traffic was light as I drove us to the airport, due to leaving the house just after 0400, and I was inside the airport by 0500. Plenty of time. I was in uniform, and one of the young boys at the airline kiosk said, “You can go this way, sir, since you’re TSA PreCheck.” I pulled out my iPhone to scan my boarding pass under the red laser but the American Airlines site was down and the boarding pass would not show up. Instead, AA sent me an email with a link. When I clicked on the link, it read, “Our site is experiencing problems. Please retry.” I went through that loop several times as I neared where I’d have to get my bags scanned. The TSA worker at security said, “Sir, I cannot let you pass until I see your boarding pass.” I explained that American’s site was down and all they were sending me was an automated email with a link to a message, and then back to the same link. He said he understood but that I’d have to go get a paper boarding pass.

I walked up to the desk and finally an American Airlines man wearing a white mask waved me forward. He did not say good morning or anything else. He just looked at me. “Good morning, sir. I need to get my boarding pass printed, please. The American Airlines site is down, and I’m unable to board, and my flight is at the gate,” I said.

“Boarding pass,” Frederick said perfunctorily. I read his nametag, since he did not appear to want to help or even to look at me.

“That’s why I’m here, sir. To have you print my boarding pass. The American Airlines site is down and they keep sending me an email saying as much. But here’s my confirmation number and military ID.”

“Boarding pass,” Frederick said.

“Sir, did you not understand? That’s why I’ve been sent to you– for a boarding pass. American’s online app is down and the man downstairs where we passengers have our bags scanned sent me up here to have you guys print my boarding pass. Here’s my ID and my confirmation number.”

“You need your boarding pass.”

For a moment, I contemplated the unthinkable. Let me just say that I found it less than easy to love and respect my fellow man–at least Frederick. As a matter of fact, I rather felt like helping hurry Frederick’s appointment with a coroner. Yes, I know, that is a sad admission but there is no point in lying about it.

Then Frederick spoke again with the same dearth of compassion, concern, and understanding. “You’re not going to make this flight. I’ll place you on standyby for the 1050 flight to Dallas.”

I wish I could tell you that Frederick then smiled and said, “Nah, just kidding!” but he didn’t. I waited for five hours in Atlanta’s airport. Inside, I was fuming. I mean, I had another flight at DFW, TX I was going to miss, and then I would miss my rental car reservation, for the next portion of the trip, etc. It just went from bad to worse.

But I sat and tried to convince myself that there was a reason that American’s site was down, and that good’ole Frederick had been the employee of the year at American Airlines in ATL this morning, and that maybe I had struggled to express myself clearly.

Now several hours have gone by. And I am finally in Dallas. And I am waiting another five hours for a flight to Arkansas, and then to see if I can get my rental car and drive to my destination.

Here’s where’s the grace comes in: After we landed in Dallas, I had my backpack on my shoulder and was wheeling my rolling bag out to go have a look at the departure board to see when my new connecting flight was slated to depart. It was not even showing on the board, so I thought, “Well, at least my winning streak is continuing,” and sat down and just tried to breathe. Breathe, I said silently to myself. Just breathe.

I tried to call home and let my wife know what was going on but I must’ve been in a bad location. She could not hear me when the call connected. So I hung up and rebooted my phone. As I did so, I walked over towards the water fountain to refill my water bottle. One of the cops at the DFW Airport was on security and he had a pleasant presence about him, a sort of kindness that emanated.

As my phone came back on, I was standing near him and he spoke to me.

“How long have you got?”

“You mean as a layover? I’m not entirely sure. My flight is not even showing on the departure board yet,” I said.

“The USO is just up these stairs behind us and on the right,” he said.

“That’s okay,” I said. “I’ve seen too many USOs in my years in uniform.”

“Me, too.” he said. “I’ve done this for 32 years.”

“Wow, 32 years; that is impressive,” I said.

“May I tell you something else?” he asked me, and his eyes narrowed in seriousness.

“Of course,” I said.

“You have the presence of God over you. I can see it over and on you. You have God’s protection,” he said.

An admission: I’m a chaplain. A Christian chaplain. I have taught hundreds of lessons, preached hundreds of sermons, written on theology and church history and apologetics, married couples and buried men and women, and like few things more than Christian theology. But I was speechless when W. (I won’t give you his full name) told me that. I was not sure what to say. I am quite sure I appeared dumbstruck. But he continued.

“I watch these crowds go by me every day. And 80% are like deer in headlights. They are oblivious to the spirits possessing them. But you have the Spirit of God on you, sir, God’s protection. It is as the Word says; people have to have eyes that see and ears that hear.”

Again, I was speechless. It would not be appropriate to say “Thank you” for something over which I could take no credit. “CPT W.,” I said, “you’ve no idea how much you’ve encouraged me. I’m very glad to have met you.” I pulled my right backstrap of my backpack off my lapel uniform so CPT W. could see the cross.

“You’re a chaplain!” he exclaimed.

“Yes,” I said. We both smiled and shook hands again, like we were old college buddies from years ago or something even better.

We shook hands and he began telling me about his family. He showed me pictures of his son and wife. I listened. About fifteen minutes elapsed. We were becoming friends and it was as if we were somehow spiritual brothers.

I still have many miles and another state to go before I reach (hopefully) my destination. And miles to go before I sleep, as Robert Frost was wont to write. And I’ve no idea what is around the next corner. But I met two men who made big impressions on me today: Frederick, I cannot say that I hold a terribly favorable view of you, sir. You succeeded in stealing, killing, and destroying my ticketed on-time flights to Texas and Arkansas. But I also met perhaps the most encouraging cop and spiritual brother I’ve known in many, many years.

Takeaway: It is my belief that life is not random, that God exists, that he ordains whatsoever comes to pass. That means there are not rogue molecules, floating as if jetsam and flotsam. Frederick was known to God and the role he (Frederick) was to play. But CPT W. was and is also known to God and the role he (CPT W.) was to play. And, dear brother, you encouraged me more than you know. Thank you for simple kindness, for introducing me to your family via pictures, for being sensitive to the spiritual realities at play in this world, and for reminding me that grace abounds. May I be more mindful of it and more grateful for the angels that minister among us.

How I came to it: See below …

Here’s how I came to it. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that it came to me.

Recently in our Sunday school class a friend gave me a book. I knew her to be a commited reader of quality authors and I therefore was grateful for her thoughtfulness and generosity.

After I had read the first three pages I knew the other books I was reading would have to wait until I read this one straight through; and that’s what I did–I read it straight through.

Connections to today: Begg is an evangelical pastor in the Reformed biblical tradition. He has many enviable gifts. But I think one of his noticeable gifts is connecting ideas/patterns. For example, he takes slices of life from contemporary life and connects them to the headlines in the days of biblical history.

Brave by Faith is a walk through the Old Testament book of Daniel and the exile of some famous Jewish exiles by the Babylonian ruler Nebuchadnezzar. But much more important than that is how the God of the Bible, the only true God, is bigger than political leaders, bigger than Nebuchadnezzars, bigger than contemporary temples of worship, bigger than Hollywood’s degeneracy, bigger than social media, bigger than the idol of politics, bigger than the panics of the day–the Wuhan virus, Tony Fauci’s latest pronouncements of doom, AOC’s latest tweets and selfies, Kamala Harris’ latest embarrassments, or of how most American politicians cannot wait to defend Ukraine’s borders but are determined to throw America’s wide open to cartels, fentanyl, and terror.

How does that connect to today? Simple: Pagans are in charge–humanly speaking. The West is post-Christian. The Bible Belt of America’s South is an artifact now. Most folks in Georgia are no more familiar with Scripture than someone from Vermont or from Colorado. Metaphors and stories that once were common knowledge are lost to most contemporary Americans. If one were to mention Solomonic wisdom and how to settle an argument by dividing the baby in order to discern who is lying, most folks would have no clue what you were talking about. The Bible still sells a lot of copies but seems to be seldom read, understood, and applied. All that to say, the West is decidedly post-Christian. This is one way, among many, Begg excels. He connects trends of today to what happened when similar trends occurred in history and how God reigns through it all.

Begg quotes Tim Keller, certainly no conservative thinker. Even Keller admits the West’s state of being post-Christian and overtly pagan and that pressure is being applied to any who will count the costs of standing on Scripture:

We are entering a new era in which there is not only no social benefit to being Christian, but an actual social cost. In many places, culture is becoming increasingly hostile toward faith, and beliefs in God, truth, sin, and the afterlife are disappearing in more and more people. Now, culture is producing people for whom Christianity is not only offensive, but incomprehensible (12).

Perhaps my favorite sentence:

I have several passages underlined in the copy of Begg’s book my friend from Sunday school gave me, but this sentence (okay, two sentences) is perhaps my favorite:

To paraphrase the twentieth-century writer G.K. Chesterton, when people cease to believe in the God of the Daniel’s fathers–the God who has revealed himself in Scripture–they do not believe in nothing; no, they believe in just about anything. And the only God whom the culture will not, cannot, put up with is with this God who says and shows that he is the one true God (39-40).

Who should read this?

1. The Christian who needs to be reminded that times have been dark in the past, that times may continue to be spiritually dark, but that God is bigger than the darkness. There are thousands that have not bowed the knee to Baal.
2. The unbeliever who senses that the moral wheels have been ripped off the train and that the cliffs are too close.
3. The person who is on the fence, who is open to considering facts and following the evidence and will adjust his/her life to follow the truth.

Takeaway: If you feel viscerally that spiritual warfare is a real thing, not just a theological bromide, you, too, will appreciate Begg’s book. If you need some encouragement to stand firm in the spiritual battles you’re in, Begg’s book will likely buoy you. If you know of one who might benefit from re-learning that God is bigger than the contemporary panics, I commend this book to you. Thank you, L., for the book. It’s now all marked up, underlined, and tabbed. Grateful for your thoughtfulness and for the gift of Begg’s reminder that God is still king and that his judgment is real.