Peace Be with You: The Surprise of the Risen Lord’s First Words

Both men and women have certain things that can be difficult to admit in public. Sometimes what we find difficult to admit are the same things that we all have difficulty admitting. Sometimes they are different, perhaps even specific to gender.

I won’t give you anything too provocative, but I will tell you one thing I’d rather not: for too long after I got my driver’s license, I was what most people would call a bad driver. I know, as a guy, I’m not supposed to tell you that, but it’s true. At least I think it was true, in the past tense.

In the last twenty years, I’ve not had an accident, and I’ve only been pulled over three times. One of them happened when one of my daughters was very young. We struggled to get her to sleep and only driving her would help, so I drove the neighborhood but didn’t, apparently, come to a complete stop. That one got me a ticket. The point is I have twenty years of safe driving. Praise the Lord.

My first five years of driving? Not so much. I had accidents that totaled into the double digits. Seriously. A few thousand cars were in my high school parking lot, and several of my accidents happened there. My first major accident involved hitting the brand-new Ford F-150 owned by my father’s best friend. That was a wild one because the friend just happened to be in the lane at a stoplight when I moved over without looking. Once I hit part of our garage. Stuff like this. Almost all of them, however, were at low speed. But one was not.

On a rainy Saturday morning in the spring of my sophomore year, I came around a turn too fast. I would tell you that cars had just passed me up the hill and were, thus, going faster than me. Nonetheless, I skidded or fishtailed three times, scraping the guardrail with the front right nose of my car. I slowed down, pulled onto the shoulder, got out, and saw my front right headlight hanging like a detached eyeball. And the door of the minivan looked like someone had taken a knife, jabbed it in the side, and pulled.

I got back in, drove to the high school parking lot, five minutes away, parked my car at the far far edge of the lot, and walked to the locker room. I had driven to the school to catch the bus to a track meet. Reluctantly, I called my father from the phone corded to the wall. I remember staring at the red brick wall, wondering what he would say. 

“I messed up, Dad,” and I told him what happened.

His first words were not, “You stupid son. How many times have we told you?” Instead, he first said, “Are you okay?”

He said other things after that, but he said that first.

I could write a whole lot of true things about the Easter passage of John 20. But what stood out to me this Easter are the four words repeated by Jesus three times: “Peace be with you.” After all their failures, these are the first words to these men (John 20:19–21, 26).

While the greeting “peace be with you” (shalom aleichem) may have been customary in their day and even still today, peace makes for strange first words to these men.

These men have bumbled along throughout the Gospels. They often take Jesus literally when he meant something more poetic (cf., “Lazarus is asleep” in John 11, cf., “he is Elijah who is to come” in Matt. 11, and “beware of the leaven of the Pharisees” in Matt. 16). In Matthew 17, they could not drive out a demon, even though they tried. In Matthew 18, the disciples argued about who the greatest disciple was. In John 6, after a big confrontation where many followers of Jesus stop following, Jesus knows the disciples are grumbling and asks the twelve if they want to stop following. Their response is okay, but it’s not as great as we might hope. “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life,” Peter says (John 6:68). This implies they might like to leave but must stay. Again, they just seem to bumble along.

Then consider the final weekend. On the night of the arrest, they can’t stay awake when he tells them to pray. Every single disciple leaves him. In one brave moment, Peter, a leader among the twelve, cuts off the ear of a soldier. But then Jesus rebukes him for fighting as the world fights. An hour later, Peter denies even knowing Jesus.

We receive their failures as familiar material, hardly shocking because we’ve read it all before. But think of what it meant for these men to admit to all this. Think of what it meant to write what they wrote. Think of what it means to show the world you’re a bumbling sinner, not in genric, benign ways, but in specific and ugly ways.

Their failure is only more pointed when you consider the contrast with the women in the story. It’s apparently dangerous to be a follower of Jesus, which is why they hid in a locked room (John 20:19). But not the women; they go early to the tomb looking for his body. In a culture where women were not as valued as they should have been, they were the first to witness the resurrection. They are the first to tell the other disciples that Jesus is alive.

Right or wrong, this would have stung far more than me telling you I’m a bad driver.

These are some of the reasons Christians believe in the reliability of the Gospels. Had it not happened this way and had Jesus not been alive and received them so well, they would never have written the story so transparently.

But the main reason I bring this up is to establish the context for the four words that Jesus says three times: peace be with you.

How can he say that to them?

Well, maybe Jesus is a nice guy, so that’s why he says peace. If we’re talking about whether Jesus is a nice guy or not, and those are the only two options, then yes, Jesus is a nice guy. He’s not a mean guy. He’s not un-nice.

But can a nice judge just let criminals go? Niceness has nothing to do with it. So, how can Jesus say peace to them? How can he say peace to you? It has everything to do with a little phrase in John 19:30. From the cross, just before he dies, Jesus says, “It is finished.”

On Easter morning, even more so than other Sundays we can come to church looking our best and putting on a good show. But the Easter Sunday version of yourself can trick us into thinking we should hear peace from God because we’re not so bad.

On that Easter morning, however, these men were not in their Sunday best. There were no illusions. They knew they had failed, and they knew they had deserted, and they knew they were not the disciples Jesus wanted them to be. This allowed them to experience Easter with more joy than when we come with our religious pretense.

Jesus can say, “Peace be with you,” only because he also said it is finished.

Why was the cross so bloody? Why was the cross so painful? The bloody, painful crucifixion was so physically violent to dramatize the violence of the spiritual reality: when Jesus died, he took upon himself all these sins of his followers. But when he died, it was finished—really finished. No more wrath.

And when he rose, he can preach peace to them and to you.

Many years later, Paul, a man who experienced this peace from God wrote to a church these words:

For he himself [Jesus] is our peace, [and speaking of Jews and Gentiles who didn’t get along, he writes that Jesus]  . . . has made us both one and has broken down in his flesh the dividing wall of hostility by abolishing the law of commandments expressed in ordinances, that he might create in himself one new man in place of the two, so making peace, and might reconcile us both to God in one body through the cross, thereby killing the hostility. And he came and preached peace to you who were far off and peace to those who were near. For through him we both have access in one Spirit to the Father. (Eph. 2:14–18)

All of Paul’s letters begin with some variation of a greeting using the word “Peace”—every one of them. The letters of Romans, 1 Corinthians, 2 Corinthians, Galatians, Ephesians, Philippians, Colossians, 1 Thessalonians, 2 Thessalonians, 1 Timothy, 2 Timothy, Titus, and Philemon all begin with peace because they all go on to describe how it is finished and how he is risen indeed.

For all the excitement the disciples would have had to see Jesus on that first Easter Sunday morning, they likely wondered, Does Jesus want to see me? Maybe you have wondered the same.

The gospel of John was written, John tells us, so that you would believe that God the Father wants you to have life and peace through the risen Son of God (John 20:30–31).

When I crashed my car on that highway, I mentioned I parked at the far end of the parking lot. I did that so no one would see. When the bus drove away, we went right past my car. Everyone laughed. It hurt to have them see my failure, as I’m sure it hurt the disciples.

But their laughter hurt me less knowing my father loved me unconditionally.

And Jesus loves us even more.

* Photo by Warren on Unsplash

How to Grill the Best Beef Tenderloin

I’ve probably written three hundred blog posts, but I’ve never written about grilling meat. Today, however, is Father’s Day, and as an ode to the ten thousand ways my father has blessed me, I offer you my best rendition of my father’s instructions for grilling a beef tenderloin.

I’ve watched him grill tenderloin several times, but two weeks ago, I tried myself. We had company coming over. Our church was hiring a new pastor, and we invited the new pastor, his wife, and the pastoral search team for dinner. With the help of others, we cooked for fourteen adults, plus my children.

By the way, we’re in the middle of a kitchen remodel, and we didn’t have countertops yet. You could see into our unfinished basement through a hole in the floor. My giant new stainless-steel refrigerator sat in the living room. You get the picture. It was a mess.

Despite the remodeling chaos, the grilling turned out so good that others asked for the recipe. I tried to text it to my friend but realized it might be more fun to write it out here with more detail. Posting it to my blog will also help me not be typecast as a blogger who only writes about church stuff.

One more bit of background before I begin. I’m sure this is an overstatement, but in my memory, every Sunday night when I grew up, Dad would grill, and we’d have a huge family dinner. I miss that. A lot. My wife and I have tried to follow the Lord where he’s sent us, but that following has always put us too far away to join in Sunday night meals, except for when we’re all visiting each other on vacation. But when we do, and Sunday night comes around, Dad still doesn’t disappoint.

Below is my best attempt to recount his recipe. It’s derivative, of course, but it comes from a master griller, so the recipe should still serve you well.

And thank you, Dad, for being an even better father than you are a griller.

*     *     *

The Best (Grilled) Beef Tenderloin

STEP 1: Buy the meat     [the day before dinner]
The first step to having a great meal, my father always says, is to “buy nice meat.” And it will probably be better if you bought the meat recently and never froze it. If the meat starts frozen, make sure you thaw it slowly in the fridge for several days before you want to cook it. This seems to not damage the meat in the way blasting it under hot water does. You can do that with frozen hot dogs, but you won’t want to do that with beef tenderloin because . . .

Beef tenderloin is expensive. The cut of meat is a long cylinder of high-quality cow. A tenderloin is about as round as your forearm and probably as long as from your elbow to your fingers. The “filet mignon” is the last portion of the beef tenderloin, which is why buying a beef tenderloin costs a lot. It’s basically two feet of filet.

I try to get mine from Costco because that’s how—as with everything else in this recipe—my dad does it. They come in packages of about 4–5 lbs. and at a price of about $20–25 per pound. You’ll need about half a pound per person unless you’re also serving another main dish, something like chicken, which can help keep the cost of the meal down.

I’ll insert a quick comment here about “side dishes.” This one also comes from my father. Make sure you have nice sides to go with the meal. It makes the meat taste better, he says. I agree.

STEP 2: Marinade the meat     [6 hours before dinner]
Take the meat out of the fridge and poke lots of holes in it. You can poke the holes with something like a kebab or a corn-on-the-cob holder. Last time my son and I used a marshmallow roaster to poke the holes.

After adding the holes, put the meat in a metal tray and pour a marinade over the meat. I’d suggest something like Dales Original. After you cover the meat, put it back in the fridge. This sounds weird, but you want a marinade that will make the meat taste like better meat, not a marinade that will make the meat taste like something else, like a Greek salad or stir fry. Save those kinds of marinades for other meals.

STEP 3: Dry the meat and apply a rub     [4 hours before dinner]
Take the meat back out of the fridge and dry off the meat using paper towels. You can end up putting the meat back in the same tray, but you’ll need to rinse it off and dry it as well.

Once the meat is dry, apply a liberal amount of black pepper all over the meat. You’ll also want to add salt or meat tenderizer. If I sprinkle on meat tenderizer, then I don’t also use salt because it can make it too salty tasting. You can also rub other spices onto the meat, such as a light touch of rosemary or crushed red pepper. Our house likes spicey food, so I use both. Return the meat to the refrigerator.

STEP 4: Let the meat warm     [2 hours before dinner]
Take the meat out of the fridge to let the meat begin to warm to room temperature.

STEP 5: Get the grill hot     [90 min before dinner]
Begin heating your charcoal grill to 450 degrees. You can use a gas grill, of course. I do that too. My Dad has bought me the best Webber Grill version of each, and I’m super thankful for that. I love the convenience of the gas grill and use it more often, but when I’m cooking something expensive, such as beef tenderloin, I try to use the charcoal grill because I think it tastes better. My family agrees.

STEP 6: Sear the meat     [65 minutes before dinner]
Place the meat on the hottest part of the grill, and turn it every 1–2 minutes to sear all sides. Make sure you cover the grill each time, so you don’t lose all your heat.

STEP 7: Cook the meat     [55 min before dinner]
Now it’s time to do the main portion of cooking. Place the meat in a metal tray on the grill. Continue cooking at 450 degrees. Turn the meat every 15 minutes.

Apply drizzles of olive oil each time. To do this, I like to put the olive oil in a bowl and just use a spoon. Don’t be stingy, especially at the ends of the meat. You don’t want them to burn, as they will be thinner. And if you can, try to keep the ends away from the hotter parts of the grill.

One other trick. You have to build little ridges made of tin foil along the bottom of the tray. You can actually buy them, but I just make them by rolling up little strips of tinfoil. These ridges sit at the bottom of the metal tray, so the meat doesn’t sit on the bottom. This helps get airflow underneath and not burn the bottom.

STEP 8: Remove the meat     [20 min before dinner]
Remove meat when the internal temperature of the “thick” part of the tenderloin is about 130–135 degrees. This will set you up for a final cooking of “medium-rare” in the thick middle of the tenderloin and more like “medium” on the thinner ends. This spectrum is good when you have company who likely have different preferences about how they like their steak cooked.  

You’ll need a meat thermometer for this. And as has been the theme, my dad bought me a fancy Bluetooth one by the company Meater. It literally sends the external and internal temperature to your phone and makes a graph as it cooks. You don’t need anything this fancy, though.

Once you remove the meat from the grill, place the meat in a new tray and cover it with tin foil to keep the heat in. It would be best if you now let the meat “rest” for 20 minutes. While the meat is covered and resting, it will stay warm and continue to cook a little. The resting lets the juices stop moving, so they won’t rush out when you cut the meat. That’s my non-technical explanation. I’m sure my dad or Bobby Flay could explain it better.

Cooking the meat to the right temperature and taking it off at the right time is the most important step. You can always cook it more, so error on less-cooked than over-cooked.

STEP 9: Check the temperature     [10 min before dinner]
If you’re nervous about what the meat looks like, whether too rare or too well-done, you can cut part of the thickest section of the meat to see how it looks and whether you have your desired amount of pinkness. If the meat is too pink, you can cut the meat into a few chunks and put it on the grill for a few more minutes. Cutting it into smaller chunks is not ideal, but it speeds up the process.  

STEP 10: Cut the Meat     [1 min before dinner]
Now, put the meat on a cutting board and cut the meat using an electric knife. If you don’t have one, just use your best steak knife. Try to make circle sections of about 1/4”–1/2” in thickness.

Then put the meat on a serving tray and cover it with tin foil. If you have a serving dish that has a lid, you can use that instead. It will look nicer. And if you’re serving $130 of beef tenderloin that took six hours to prepare, you might as well make it look nice. When we had company the other week, since people had already seen the holes in my kitchen floor and my fridge in the living room, I just covered the meat in tin foil. No one complained.

STEP 11: Eat the meat     [dinner time]
Enjoy with friends and family and give thanks to God.

I Love Russell Moore, and I’d Like All of You to Love Him Too

I remember my father talking about how much he liked the 1971 movie Brian’s Song. It’s based on the true story of a football player named Brian Piccolo who was diagnosed with terminal cancer after turning professional in 1965. The most famous line in the movie comes from Brian’s friend and teammate, Gale Sayers, who says, “I love Brian Piccolo, and I’d like all of you to love him too” (YouTube).

I feel the same about Russell Moore.

“I feel the same about Russell Moore.”

Dr. Moore has been in the news a lot over the last year, most recently as he transitioned roles in June from the president of the Ethics and Religious Liberty Commission (ERLC) to Christianity Today where he will serve in the role of Public Theologian. To say that Moore is best known for his convictional, gospel winsomeness and his moral clarity around current events, might not be accurate. These are certainly the traits that I know of Moore and how I’d want you to know him. Still, it’s probably more accurate to say he’s more widely known for being controversial within his former denomination, The Southern Baptist Convention, and his critical political engagement of President Trump.

The winds of time have since blown away the Internet paper trail to all the hyperlinks, but I’ll recount for you one of my favorite Russell Moore kerfuffles. In the late spring of 2016, Donald Trump tweeted that Moore is “A nasty guy with no heart.” When asked on CNN about the comment, Moore replied to Anderson Cooper, “[This is] one of the few things I agree with Donald Trump on. I am a nasty guy with no heart. We sing worse things about ourselves in our hymns on Sunday mornings: we’re a wretch and in need of God’s grace.” Well played, Moore, well played.  

During President Trump’s second campaign and after Moore’s widely shared article “The Roman Road to Insurrection” about the January 6 riots at the Capitol, I’m sure Donald Trump’s opinion of Moore didn’t change—but whaddya gonna do? A lot of people are on Trump’s naughty list.

Speaking of the controversy around Russell Moore, I suspect much of the angst exists because the polarization is not simply the standard divisions between the political and theological left and right, the standard divisions between progressives and conservatives, Democrats and Republicans. Rather, a polarization exists within the right itself. Because of this, Moore gets called names like “woke” and “cultural Marxist”—all labels that, in my opinion, seem to have the effect of shutting down thinking and discussion rather than stimulating them. During the recent approach to the annual Southern Baptist Convention, Moore’s departure as the head of the Ethics and Religious Liberty Commission (ERLC) and a leaked letter also created a lot of noise.

Opponents criticize Moore saying he cowardly capitulates to culture, whether in his insistence on racial equality in the church or that abusive men be brought to justice or for moral integrity in political leadership. But the criticism that Moore is capitulating to culture would ring truer if his positions were not so out of step with much of his own tribe, that is, his culture. You would think that the culture one could feel tempted to compromise toward would be the one that pays your salary, yet Moore’s courage to stand manifests itself in his critiques of his tribe, a decidedly not cowardly move. Still, if he is known for critiquing his religious support base, he could be described well with words from a book he and I both love: “prophets love the people they chastise” (Marilynne Robinson, Gilead, 142).

I’d prefer not to spend time writing about any of the labels Moore receives or a letter that was leaked. Instead, I want to encourage you to read and learn from him firsthand instead of imbibing the soundbites, even if you suspect that you’d see many political or theological issues differently than Moore sees them. The social media version of the children’s game “whisper down the alley” (aka “the telephone game”) tends to boil off any nuance until the final rendition only vaguely resembles a grotesque version of the original, if that. There’s more to Moore than supposed wokeness, whatever that means.

A great place to become familiar with Moore would be his weekly newsletters (subscribe). He started the newsletter during the pandemic, and few resources have pastored me as well through our cultural moments over the last year as each installment of 3,000 to 4,000 words, the length of my typical sermon. His writing is so rich, so pastoral, so winsome, so convictional, so, if you ask me, Christ-like. When I think of Moore’s writing, I think of Paul’s words about love: “it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.”

“When I think of Moore’s writing, I think of Paul’s words about love.”

In a newsletter this spring where he explored the troubles of pastors and pastoring in our current age, Moore shared that someone complained to him that pastors are cowardly not speaking out enough about current events, especially political ones, with the same passion and clarity that Moore does. Defending us pastors, Moore responded, “But that’s my literal job, to speak to ethical and cultural questions; and I’ve kind of been doing it for the last thirty years” (“Are Our Pastors in Trouble?” Moore to the Point, May 10, 2021).

In a sermon this winter, as we were preaching through the book of Acts, I quoted to our church a line from another newsletter. Moore was addressing the conspiracy theories over Q-Anon, but I related Moore’s comment to the headstrong, jealous, and sometimes irrational opposition the Jews had against Paul. Moore wrote this sober warning: “one cannot reason someone out of something one was never reasoned into in the first place” (“Christ Over Q-Anon,” Moore to the Point, February 1, 2021). Read it again slowly: one cannot reason someone out of something one was never reasoned into in the first place. A month after I preached that sermon, a member of our church came up to tell me how much he continues to think about that line.

I also appreciate the other resource he started during the pandemic, his series on YouTube and Instagram called “Reading in Exile.” Every few days or so, Moore grabbed a book (or several) off the shelf of his home library and talked for ten minutes about why the books and authors matter. I saw many of the videos when they were released, but over the last few months I have been going back through the playlist on YouTube. I’m on video number 35 of 51.

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Moore has written several books, including most recently The Courage to Stand: Facing Your Fear without Losing Your Soul (B&H, 2020); as well as The Storm-Tossed Family: How the Cross Reshapes the Home (B&H, 2018); Onward: Engaging the Culture without Losing the Gospel (B&H, 2015); Adopted for Life (Updated and Expanded Edition): The Priority of Adoption for Christian Families and Churches (Crossway, 2009 and 2015); and several others. Over the last few years, I think I have read all but two of his books. He did is PhD work on aspects of the kingdom of God and the end times, issues I’ve thought and written about often and suspect we also see similarly.

The other pastors at the church office tease me that my growing love for Russell Moore might be in danger of bumping my other favorite evangelical writers off their “Top 3” rankings in my heart. My friends might be right. I had hoped to be able to bump into Moore at The Gospel Coalition’s conference in April to tell him how much I appreciate him, but I was disappointed when my coworker pointed out that the fine print in the conference program said Moore was only there “virtually.” They wheeled a giant TV on the stage during his panel discussion.  

I love the way Moore writes about his own struggles with transparency I can hardly imagine imitating myself. And I appreciate the assumptions it would seem he makes about his audience, namely, that we are more weak, wounded, and wayward than our smiling faces in church pews belie. This assumption about the struggles of the average, storm-tossed Christian (and storm-tossed pastor!) has a way of breaking down religious stereotypes and keeping the ground at the foot of the cross as level as it really is.

I also love the way Moore can tweak a familiar phrase into something fresh, as in the chapter on sex in The Stormed-Tossed Family when he writes that “one’s life does not consist in the abundance of orgasms,” which of course tweaks Jesus’s words from Luke 12:15 about wealth. (I’m quoting the audiobook from memory, so I might have the quote slightly wrong.)

Rather than me telling you about his writing, here are the opening four paragraphs from his most recent book, The Courage to Stand, to give you a taste:

Whenever I lose my way in life, there are two maps on the wall that can help me navigate my way back home. That happens more often than I would like to admit, but whenever it does, the maps are always there. One of those maps is of the state of Mississippi, with a dot hovering over the coastline there where I grew up. The other map is of a land called Narnia. Those maps help remind me who I am, but, more importantly they remind me what I’m not, what I almost was.

And what I almost was is a teenage suicide.

That last sentence there I have written, and unwritten, at least a dozen times. I’m scared to disclose it, because I’ve never discussed it before, even with close friends. But that’s what this book is about: finding a way in the midst of fear, to somehow, having done all else, to stand.

Those maps are just scraps of paper, but, to me, they are almost portals to alternative realities, and in one of those realities I am dead. In the other reality, I found my way here, through a wardrobe in a spare room somewhere in England.

The Courage to Stand is in large part an extended reflection on the ministry of the Old Testament prophet Elijah and the surprising ways God deals with such a broken and disappointed prophet, which are the severe but merciful ways God deals with all his children in the gospel. As the back cover of the book says, “Gospel courage is nothing like the bravado of this anxious age. The call to courage is terrifying because the call to courage is a call to be crucified.”

“This spring, several times I sat down to write Moore a long, handwritten note to express my appreciation.”

This spring, several times I sat down to write Moore a long, handwritten note to express my appreciation for his ministry and the abundance of joy and biblical clarity he brings into my life. The Bible instructs us, “Let the one who is taught the word share all good things with the one who teaches” (Gal. 6:6). But I never did write the note. Life always seems to move too fast, my kids too young, and church ministry too all-consuming for the luxury of writing. For example, this post started as a quick, 500-word promo for The Courage to Stand that was supposed to take me ninety minutes. But here I am, two weeks later with nearly 2,000 words on the screen and having only said half of what I could say, half of what I want to say—and I’m only able to say this much because I’m on sabbatical and can afford a little extra time for reflection and thanksgiving.

Maybe someday I’ll write Moore that note. And maybe someday you will write Moore that same note because I nudged you in his direction. If that happens, I’ll be happy because I love Russell Moore, and I’d like all of you to love him too.

* Photo by John Towner on Unsplash

The Second Advent: The Thrill of Hope for a World in Sin and Error Pining

On Christmas Eve, with only candlelight, our church will sing the classic Christmas hymn “O Holy Night.” We’ll sing the line, “Long lay the world in sin and error pining.” That line in the hymn accurately described the state of the world just before the Advent of the Messiah, the world just before the birth of Christ. But that description also sounds how I might describe our world as we wait for the second Advent, the second coming of Jesus.

Consider each of those three words: sin, error, and pining.

First, there is sin. In the first century the political leaders over God’s people were debauched. For example, in the Christmas story we read about a king who killed a generation of babies when he learns of the birth of a new king (Matt 2:16–18). Today in America we also kill a lot of babies. And consider Matthew 14 where we read of Herod Antipas offering up to half his kingdom to a young woman who does something of a striptease for him at a dinner party. Sin abounded in their world—but also in ours. If you visited our church on Sunday morning, depending on which way you drive to our building, a minute before you arrive in our parking lot you would pass two strip clubs and an adult video store. The sign above one of the clubs says, “According to the poles, we’re the best place in town.” In other words, on your way to church you’d be confronted with sin, not in some faraway and long-ago land, but around the corner. Long lay the world in sin—then and now.

There is error. You don’t have to be familiar with the Bible to know of the religious group called the Pharisees. Yet the Pharisees were only one of four major religious groups. There were also the Sadducees, who tended to be more liberal and interested in colluding with the Romans. There were the Essenes, a pious group known for their retreat from ordinary society to maintain their supposed purity. There were the Zealots who were primarily interested in regaining political power. Then, of course, there were the Pharisees. The Pharisees were more like your evangelical pastors in the way they tended to have a conservative approach to the Bible. But Jesus took even this best group, the Pharisees, to task repeatedly for their errors (e.g., the seven “woe to you Pharisees” statements in Matt 23). This multiplication of religious error even within true religion (not even considering the errors of false religions) causes me to think how many errors exist today among all the fractured denominations of Christianity. There are not four major groups in Christianity, but forty or even four hundred. Long lay the world in error—then and now.

And then there’s the word pining. We don’t use the word pining much, but it means reaching or yearning. Pining involves longing for something yet unrealized, like reaching for a carrot always just too far in front of you. Behind each idol our hearts could create for worship—whether the idol of work or money or sex or approval or power or whatever—is a pining for something deeper, something we know we want but can never seem to grasp. Perhaps to describe pining we could use the language of “thirst” and “desire,” as Revelation 22:17 does: “And let the one who is thirsty come; let the one who desires take the water of life without price.” C.S. Lewis uses the language of desire in his famous quote about being created for another world: “If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world.” All of us have this desire, this thirst, this pining for another world. Before the first Advent of Christ, there were four hundred years of silence from God’s prophets from Malachi to Matthew. And there have been two thousand years since as we wait for the second Advent. Long lay the world pining—then and now.

But I find encouragement from the book of Revelation, specifically the last verses in the last chapter in the last book of the Bible. There we see that Jesus anticipated a time when his church would be wondering if they had been forgotten. Jesus anticipated a time when his people would feel they had too long lain in sin and error pining.

The last chapter of the Bible answers the question of whether God’s people have been or will ever be forgotten with a resounding, No. In Revelation 22:7 Jesus tells us, “And behold, I am coming soon.” Later he says again, “Behold, I am coming soon . . . I am the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end” (v. 12).

I don’t know exactly what Jesus means by the word “soon”; apparently not what you and I ordinarily mean by the word. But I do know that the promise of Christ’s second Advent means his children are not forgotten.

At the end of a difficult year, I pray the promise of God’s soon return would lead us to know a fresh “thrill of hope” and cause our “weary world to rejoice.”

* Photo by Steve Halama on Unsplash

A Prayer for Tim Challies

A few days ago Tim Challies lost his college-aged son. He wrote about it here, saying, “Yesterday the Lord called my son to himself—my dear son, my sweet son, my kind son, my godly son, my only son.” His son was playing a game with friends and his fiancée when he suddenly collapsed and couldn’t be revived.

I don’t know Tim well. He endorsed one of my books and wrote the foreword to another. Once, I emailed him asking for help and advice, and he gave me a 20-minute phone call to coach me through the problem. When I think of Tim, besides his faithfulness to the Lord and the helpfulness of his books and blog posts, I think of his generosity. Many bloggers become myopically self-focused, but Tim keeps his writing ministry about God’s glory, serving his readers, and promoting the work of others.

When Challies posted about the tragedy, he wrote, “And we ask that you remember us in your prayers as we mourn our loss together.” Would you take a minute to do that for Tim and his wife now?

“Heavenly Father, please comfort Tim and Aileen in their terrible loss. When a man who loves words—and spends his life using them for your glory and the good of your people—has nothing to say, whisper to his heart that you are still God and you love him and his wife. Father, when a hurricane of pain and anger and sadness attempts to overwhelm them, be their refuge; be the firm foundation upon which they can stand, the rock that won’t be shaken when all around their soul gives way. And may they grieve, but may they grieve as those with hope—the hope of your gospel goodness, hope of their son’s presence in heaven with you, hope of your second coming, and hope of the day when you will wipe away every tear from every eye. We pray this in the name of Jesus. Amen.”

* Photo by zenad nabil on Unsplash

Better Together: Sojourn Network’s Digital Conference on Church Thriving

This last year has been a doozy. For me, the difficulties began long before the pandemic and lockdown.

A key staff member transitioned from our church last summer. Then dozens of new people started attending our church—which was a great encouragement—but lots of them wanted to join small groups we didn’t have, and we had to scramble. Then our church formed a pastoral search team to look for a new pastor, which took time away from regular ministry I didn’t have, time to attend meetings and time to read resumes and packets from candidates. Additionally, I officiated five weddings over a few months and went through the ordination process in my denomination, which culminated in a forty-page theological paper and a four-hour oral exam. And on top of all this, I had a massive surgery on my right shoulder, which had me in a sling for six weeks and sleeping in a recliner for months. This all took place from July to November. As I said, this last year was a doozy, even before the pandemic hit.

But I’m not writing to talk about the challenges. I’m writing to mention one of the highlights of the last year. In the middle of October, another pastor at our church and I drove from Harrisburg on a road trip to Louisville. We went to the annual Sojourn Network conference for church leaders.

Everything about the trip felt inconvenient. I had just undergone my shoulder surgery and was still on heavy drugs, not to mention the fact that I couldn’t reach down to tie my shoes! My friend and fellow pastor had to tie my shoes for me, which was super humbling. By mid-October our church was also in the thick of the hiring process. I have a big family, and being away from them always presents challenges and causes me to miss some sporting event or another. And when we got ready to drive to the conference, my friend and I realized that we’d goofed on the timing. It takes over nine hours to drive to Louisville from central Pennsylvania, not seven hours like we had thought.

Yet even with all these obstacles stacked against having a wonderful time at the conference, it was the highlight of the year. I’ve been to many pastors’ conferences, and you always feel a little out of place, like the people in attendance are not going through all the trials you are, not to mention they often don’t share the same theological vision for ministry. But at last year’s Sojourn Network conference I felt more at home than at any conference I’ve ever attended.

James K.A. Smith taught on Augustine and true friendships, which made for a great backdrop to meet in person several friends I had only previously met online. Kevin Twitt led us in corporate worship. We sang gospel-saturated hymns I had never heard before, but it was like my heart knew them already. There was a panel discussion on mental health and ministry—so refreshing. I sat in the back of the auditorium, in a not so healthy mental headspace myself, and I drank down ninety minutes of encouragement that I didn’t know I needed as badly as I did.

This year, the conference is online, which means you don’t even have to road trip nine hours to attend. The event takes place October 13–14. You can read more about it here. The conference has a great lineup of speakers including Chuck Degroat, Justin Giboney, Karen Swallow-Prior, Scotty Smith, Stephen Um, and a dozen other leaders covering topics like wholehearted leadership, friendship, diversity, conviction and imagination, and renewal-driven mission.

If you’d like to attend, Sojourn Network generously gave me a code to get a 20% discount off the price of registration. I can’t publish the code on my website, but just subscribe to my blog or email me, and I’ll be happy to share it with you.

If this blog post feels like a big commercial, just know this is precisely the same thing I’d tell you if you and I were sitting socially distanced at a Starbucks talking about what might pour much-needed encouragement into your weary heart.

The Day That Darrin Died: Sadness over Darrin Patrick’s Death

Last Friday I opened Twitter and saw the headline that pastor Darrin Patrick had died unexpectedly. Scrolling through my feed I saw pastor after pastor expressing surprise and sorrow. I felt the same. For several years, Darrin was my pastor. And although I haven’t been a member of his church for many years, in a lingering way, I still felt like he was one of my pastors.

Religious News reported that Darrin died from a self-inflicted gunshot. You can read the article to get more background on his ministry influence, his rough patch a few years ago, and his return to what appeared to be healthy, pastoral ministry in a local church. I’m not going to write about all of that here, mostly because I only know those parts of his story the same way many of you do, that is, from a distance. Also, others have chronicled those events in more prominent places, as in Ed Stetzer’s 2019 three-part series on Darrin’s restoration process (here, here, and here). I’d like to stay more personal because that’s all I know well, and also because one of Darrin’s gifts was brevity. A longwinded post from me wouldn’t honor that strength.

When my wife and I were first married, we moved to St. Louis. Darrin had planted The Journey only a few years before, and it was still relatively small in the summer of 2005. But the rapid growth had already begun or was about to begin in earnest. We followed The Journey’s church moves and expansion across four different campuses in just two years, from Ladue to Brentwood to Tower Grove to West County. Our next move was to leave Darrin’s church, which I’ll get to in a minute.

Shortly after we arrived at The Journey, I told Darrin I felt God calling me into pastoral ministry but struggled to work out the details of that call. He said we should grab breakfast. So, on a Saturday morning over plates of cheesy eggs and cubed potatoes at Stratton’s Café, Darrin encouraged me to try seminary at night for one year and then later go full-time during the day. So I did.

I never had breakfast with Darrin again. That hurt. But it wasn’t his fault or mine. There were a hundred, if not two hundred, young men just like me at The Journey preparing for ministry who wanted to learn from Darrin. He hadn’t done anything wrong. It was just math. The parishioner-to-pastor ratio got skewed, more meeting requests than minutes in a day. So we left his church, not because we didn’t love The Journey, but because I knew I needed to know a pastor and a pastor had to know me if I were going to be one someday. We found a small church near our house where I knew a pastor and learned to pastor.

Although I didn’t know Darrin well or for long, at significant moments in my life and ministry, I still wanted to give him updates. Sometimes I did. When I graduated from seminary and found my first job in pastoral ministry, I wrote him a long letter thanking him that some seventy-five months earlier he had encouraged me to pursue seminary; I finished strong and wanted Darrin to know I’d carried his council through. When Darrin spoke at the 2012 Desiring God conference, he saw me in the crowd, and we talked for several minutes before he spoke. When The Gospel Coalition published my first article, I sent the link to Darrin, which he seemed eager to read. Another time, I wrote a long, handwritten letter thanking him for specific lines from a sermon preached eight years before but remain words I’ll never forget. A few years ago, he sent me a Twitter message asking me to apply for an opening they had. I told him, Thanks but no.

In the best sense, Darrin was like a dad on a playground where lots of kids kept yelling, “Hey, look at me.” I was one of those kids. And I don’t think that was bad. Paul writes to the church in Corinth that “though you have countless guides in Christ, you do not have many fathers” (1 Corinthians 4:15). Darrin was a spiritual father to many.

On Friday when I saw the news about Darrin’s death and received a few text messages, sadness ambushed me. Darrin had not been my pastor for nearly fifteen years, and yet, in another sense, through his writing and speaking ministry, he never really stopped being one of my pastors. Until Friday.

* Photo screengrab from YouTube, “Darrin Patrick - Lessons Learned in Losing My Church - Numbers 20:1-13” from May 27, 2019

To Spank or not to Spank? We Do

I’ll say at the start of this that my wife and I spank our children.

But in this post I’m not going to begin with 10 minutes of throat clearing—you know, all that introductory stuff to make sure we are all starting on the same page. I’m just going to assume that the reader knows that when I say spank, I don’t mean beat. And I’m going to assume that the reader knows when I say spank, I don’t mean it’s the only way to discipline or even the best in every circumstance. I have never beat my children, and we have used many other methods of discipline in addition to spanking.

My wife and I have six children, so we’ve been thinking about this for a long time. But I’ve especially been thinking about it over the last few weeks. This year I’m officiating the weddings of five young couples, and during premarital counseling when we discuss the disciplining of children, it’s fair to say that most, if not all, seem moderately or strongly opposed to it. This trend has proved true for most of the last dozen engaged couples who have sat in our living room to talk about raising children (and budgeting and intimacy and for richer and for poorer).

The other thing that got me thinking about it was a humorous and somewhat odd sermon intro by pastor Matt Chandler (“That Which Satisfies” on John 6:22–71, preached March 3, 2019). While he tells a story of disciplining his own children, you can almost feel how the congregation seems both humored and uncomfortable. At one point, Chandler momentarily breaks from his story to say something like, “I know you don’t spank your kids, but we do.” Apparently, I’m not the only one hanging onto a method of discipline that’s going out of style—or one that has already long gone out of style.

Yet this post isn’t part of my crusade to get you to spank your children. I’ve never written about this before and don’t plan to do it again. I certainly don’t want to be another polemical voice in the already overly opinionated milieu of Christian child-rearing. Instead, I’d like to talk about how parents can spank their children rightly. In other words, if you’re already open to the idea of spanking—or perhaps already doing it—then I’d love to offer some thoughts about how to and how not to proceed.

The Bible doesn’t say much about spanking. The modern Proverb about spoiling a child by sparing the rod isn’t actually in the Bible. Although Proverbs does say these things:

Whoever spares the rod hates his son,
    but he who loves him is diligent to discipline him (13:24)

Folly is bound up in the heart of a child,
    but the rod of discipline drives it far from him. (22:15)

I don’t want to quibble with anyone about whether “rod” should be understood literally or if it’s a metaphor for discipline of another kind. Again, I’m simply trying to help those already walking a certain path to stay on that path in a way that honors God.

So, here are 13 thoughts about what would and would not help to make spanking most effective and honoring to the Lord.

1. A Calm Mom or Dad
Don’t spank in anger. If the child’s disobedience is causing you to react poorly, you probably should have spanked (or disciplined in some other way) long before you did.

2. A Spoon is Better than a Hand
My suggestion is that you use a wooden spoon or plastic spatula rather than your hand. This suggestion has little to do with how it feels to be spanked with either item. I think using a spoon is better than using your hand because, over time, it seems wise to have something else do the spanking that isn’t so closely tied to you. You can put a spoon away in a drawer or diaper bag, but your hand is always with you.

3. Spank Only for Willful Disobedience
Don’t spank a little kid for making the sorts of mistakes little kids tend to make. If a kid spills a drink at dinner, that doesn’t call for a spanking. But if a kid looks at Mom and yells, “NOOO!!” when asked to pick up toys, that does call for a spanking. Related to this point of “little kids being little kids,” if your child throws a temper tantrum because you went on vacation and kept the little guy up way past his bedtime for days on end, that’s not something to spank about either. That tantrum is on us, the parents.

4. Spank Away from the Presence of Others
Don’t spank a child in front of her siblings, friends, or other company. The point is not to humiliate.

5. Spank on the Child’s Bottom
If the child is very young, say 18 months, you can do it lightly on the hand. Otherwise only spank on the bottom. You don’t want a child fearful about what part of his body will receive the spanking. The punishment should be a procedure known to the child not something fearfully erratic.

6. Explain Why You Are Spanking
If a police officer gave me a traffic ticket, which has happened a few times, the officer has always made it clear what law (or laws) I violated. The same should be true of spanking. Children need to know what they did wrong. This is true with all methods of discipline.

7. Seek to Draw out an Apology
Related to making sure a child knows what he did wrong, explain the need to repent verbally and apologize to those sinned against.

8. Tailor Discipline to the Child’s Temperament and Age
A child might go through a season of disobedience where she needs a few spankings every week. But that should be very rare. And some children, because of their tender disposition, shouldn’t get but a few spankings the entire time they grow up. Know your child. When it comes to age, I’d say 18-months old to 6-years old is a decent window, though you might go a bit longer. But don’t spank a 12-year old, or a 12-month old for that matter. A friend mentioned something helpful to me about this. He encouraged me that if the child is violently resisting the spanking, then it’s not the time to do it. Wait for things to calm down. Traumatization is not the effect we’re aiming for.

9. Make Spanking Consistent
Children should not be surprised that a certain action resulted in a spanking, and when you do spank, they should be consistently done. Avoid being random and erratic. Don’t ratchet up the physical force for a greater offense. Also, spanking shouldn’t be the thing that only Dad does (or only Mom does). This pits children against certain parents and each parent against each other. In a blended family, more thought might be needed here, as sometimes it can be best for the biological parent of the child to do the more difficult disciplining, at least at first.

10. Give Only One Warning
Don’t threaten with a spanking if you don’t intend to follow through. If you warn a child sixteen times before a spanking, you’ll certainly be teaching but not what you should be teaching. And whether you spank or not, please don’t ever “count to three” slowly to get a child to obey. ONNNNEEE... pick up that toy... I mean it... TWOOOO... just bend over and pick it up... TWOOOO AND A HALFFFFF... Don’t make me have to spank you because here comes number three... This just teaches delayed obedience, which is also known as prolonged disobedience.

11. Reaffirm Love and Show Affection
When the spanking is over, it’s over—all of it. Hug your child and remind her how deeply you love her.

12. Apologize to Your Child When You Get it Wrong
A Dad who never repents is a terrible lesson to teach. No parent is perfect. It’s not if but when you’ll need to apologize to a child. The apology should be done privately, as with the spankings, but your apology should also be done publicly because likely others in the house heard the commotion. Public sin should have a public repentance.

13. Take the Long View
Big problems are not typically fixed in one afternoon. Consistent love and discipline (of whatever method) over the life of the child is what shapes the child’s heart and character.

Let me know in the comments what I’m missing.

* Photo by Xavier Mouton Photographie on Unsplash

New Social Media Strategy: Relentlessly Encourage, Edify and Inform

I really don’t know what I’m doing with social media. As a pastor and someone who enjoys writing, I really should be better at it. Sometimes I tweet a Bible verse; sometimes I share a cute picture of my kids on Instagram or a meme on Facebook; other times I share about my writing on all three platforms. I’m sort of hodgepodge that way.

The one thing I do know is that I don’t like to be told what I should and should not post about on social media. For example, it drives me nuts when people imply that if I don’t post about “X” [insert latest controversy], then I don’t care about “X.” Come on, people.

While being annoyed and against something has a place, it can’t rightly occupy a proactive, positive strategy. I want to take the Bible seriously when it tells us “death and life are in the power of the tongue” (Proverbs 18:21). I want to hear the force of Jesus’s statement that “on the day of judgment people will give account for every careless word they speak” (Matthew 12:36). And I want to embody Paul’s approach to language when he says that he has “renounced disgraceful, underhanded ways,” instead committing to “the open statement of the truth,” (2 Corinthians 4:2)

For all these reasons, Ligon Duncan’s tweet last week about his strategy for social media caught my attention. Duncan is the Chancellor of Reformed Theological Seminary and a popular author and speaker. His Twitter thread went like this:

My social media strategy:

1. Relentlessly encourage, edify & inform.

2. Ignore trolls, mockers & slanderers into oblivion.

3. Starve dissensionists, narcissists, & errorists of the attention they crave.

4. Point people to sound people & resources.

5. Exalt Christ. Bible. Grace. Truth. Gospel.

6. Stay out of food fights. Don’t lob hand grenades into serious discussions. Bring people together.

7. Be kind. Persuade (rather than rally).

8. Treat people on social media like I would treat them in person.

9. Don’t be different on social media from what I am in my life, family, church and ministry. Be the same person online and offline.

10. Don’t give inordinate attention to people whose only “platform” is social media & who elsewhere have little accountability, responsibility.

Duncan speaks of “ignoring trolls,” meaning those only trying to provoke conflict and grind an ax. I don’t have to worry much about trolls; they tend to congregate under larger bridges. Still, for the time being, I’ll try to make his approach, my approach.

Oh, I’ll still probably share some cute family pictures on Instagram too.

* Photo by Tom Holmes on Unsplash

Website Botox

I’ve been blogging regularly for four years. Early on, I updated the website layout several times, but for the last three years FAN AND FLAME has basically looked the same. The website was starting to show signs of aging. It needed a facelift.

Let me back up. I can’t imagine this is a riveting update to receive. I assume, actually, you’re not hanging on every word or eager to click through every link just to see all the changes. In fact, some of you are perhaps insulted at my vanity by evening mentioning the update, like I’m posting a humble-brag “before and after” pic to social media. If that’s how you read this, please know that’s not how I intend it to come across.

Perhaps, though, there are a few of you who do have experience with marketing and building websites. If so, I welcome your feedback. I’m a complete amateur. When it comes to web design, I feel like a kid playing with a Lego set that’s too advanced for his age.

There is a part of me that does enjoy the process of (attempting to) artfully design the website because I believe well-written words are best paired with a well-designed container; form and function are in a symbiotic relationship. But what I enjoy most, however, is the writing. Web design, search engine optimization, lead magnets, calls-to-action, and attending to the other accouterments of blogging, such as using social media and email services, are neither my passion nor expertise, which is why it took me three years to update the layout and I feel self-conscious letting you know the site was even updated.

Again, if you’d like to click around the site and offer feedback, just know I would consider your feedback precious. And if you wish to click away from this post as quickly as you first clicked it, you have my permission!

* Photo by helloimnik on Unsplash

For to Us a Child Is Born

I typically don’t write many posts that focus on the happenings in our family. But today I thought I’d make an exception. At 8:03 AM yesterday morning my wife and I had another child. My wife had a Caesarian delivery and is resting at the hospital for a few more days.

This was Brooke’s last C-section. She’s had six of them and is a warrior! I’m so proud of her. And I’m so thankful for God’s gracious protection and providence. We’ve often reflected that if we lived a hundred years ago, or even in many parts of the world today, my wife likely would tragically have died while giving birth to our first child. Now, by God’s grace, we have three boys and three girls . . . and a very noisy house!

My son’s name is Salem Robert Vrbicek. The name Salem comes from the Hebrew word for peace, and it’s also the name of a beloved church we attended during our seminary years. His middle name Robert is my middle name, and also the first name of my father and grandfather.

During a quiet moment at the hospital yesterday while Brooke was sleeping, I held Salem in my arms. It’s amazing how fragile and dependent a three-hour-old child is. Equally amazing to me was considering how our lives, lives that starts so small and vulnerable, will have such huge influences on this world.

I titled this post with an allusion to the familiar Isaiah 9:6 passage we so often reference around Christmas. The verse reads,

For to us a child is born,
    to us a son is given;
and the government shall be upon his shoulder,
    and his name shall be called
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
    Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

No, my son will not one day have the government on his shoulder or be a wonderful counselor—at least not in the way that Jesus is these things. However, in that quiet moment I did spend some time praying that one day Salem Robert Vrbicek would come to know the good news story of Jesus Christ who is the Prince of Peace, and when Salem does, that my boy would be one who helps others also know where true and everlasting peace is found.

Cinderella: A Common Girl with Uncommon Forgiveness

For Christmas, a good friend gave our family the 2015 Disney movie Cinderella. Have you seen it? I hadn’t, but our family watched it the night we were given it, and it was wonderful.

The movie has essentially the same plot as the animated version from 1950, only this time with actors and more content to the story (for example, her original name was just Ella). I appreciated Cinderella’s extraordinary “courage and kindness,” the watchwords she lives by after her mother passes away. And after Cinderella’s father dies (more tragedy!), these ideals are certainly tested. Cinderella’s stepmother and stepsisters treat her not as a sister but a slave. She lives in a dark, drafty attic with only mice for friends. However, what impressed me more than her courage and kindness, was her capacity to forgive her captors.

In every good story, the climax brings resolution to not only one conflict, but the many conflicts in the story. Donald Miller talks about conflict within stories in three broad categories:

internal conflicts (e.g., does the hero have what “it” takes?),
external conflicts (e.g., will the people be saved from danger?), and
philosophical conflicts (e.g., will evil triumph over good?).

We can debate the central conflict of Cinderella, but it would seem to me, it’s this: Will all the cruelty and all the tragedies make Cinderella, in the end, bitter or beautiful?

Buy on Amazon

I’m sure you know the answer, but you should watch it anyway. At our family breakfast table the next morning, my wife and I had an excellent discussion with our children about the movie, and in particular, Cinderella’s ability to forgive, which is what kept her from becoming bitter.

Talking about all of this, I’m reminded of something Gavin Ortlund wrote about movies and the good news story of Jesus. Movies dramatize the human longing for the Christian gospel. That statement, of course, needs some qualification. Here’s what Ortlund means and doesn’t mean:

When I say movies are searching for the gospel, I don’t mean the content of the gospel, but more the shape of the gospel. Movies tap into our deepest emotions because they draw on truths and realities that only make sense in light of the gospel, and the questions they ask are only resolved in the gospel.

In other words, movies (and stories in general), don’t explicitly teach that God is on a rescue mission to redeem his creation through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. That’s gospel-explicit content. But movies do, he writes, often feature themes of “good versus evil,” “happy endings,” and “suffering and sacrificial love,” which are themes that have the shape of the gospel.

The movie Cinderella is no exception. Whether you have young children or not, I’d encourage you to watch the movie. If you do see it, below are some questions (and a few brief comments) to help guide your discussion at the breakfast table the next morning.

*     *     *

Discussion Questions:

1. What made you laugh? It’s not a comedy, but it is funny. Don’t skip this one if you have kiddos.

2. What two words did Cinderella’s mother tell her to live by, and how did Cinderella live these out? Oops, I already gave the answer (“courage and kindness”). Still, it’s worth discussing the second half of this question.  

3. What makes someone beautiful, and what makes someone ugly? And where does beauty matter most, on the inside or outside? This is an important theme in the movie, and for that matter, the Bible. “Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised” (Proverbs 31:30).

4. How did the fairy godmother look when she first appeared to Cinderella? How did Cinderella treat her? How would you have treated her? Matthew 25:40, “The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’”

5. Lady Tremaine, the stepmother, also had many difficult things happen to her. What were some of them? Does this give you sympathy for her? How did Cinderella and her stepmother react differently to grief? Though both were given lemons, the difference between the two is the difference between a sip of lemonade and a giant mouthful of sour candy.

6. When Kit and Cinderella first meet in the woods, Kit asks Cinderella if she is treated well. How does she answer this question? Why is this an interesting and beautiful answer? She answers, “As best as they can (as best as they are able).”

7. How do you choose whom you will marry? I’m not entirely sure which direction to take this question, though it seems to be central to the movie. The clear answer is that “marrying for advantage” is wrong and “marrying for love” is right. But why? Talk about that.

8. At the very end, why do The Grand Duke, the stepmother, and the stepsisters leave the kingdom? Are they banished or do they choose to leave? Was reconciliation not possible? The narrator says, “Forgiven or not, Cinderella’s stepmother and her daughters would soon leave with the Grand Duke, and never set foot in the kingdom again.” In other words, their exile was self-inflicted.

9. What are some of the difficult things that happened to Cinderella? There were many, many things.

10. What is the most difficult thing that happens to Cinderella? Walking out the door of her father’s house for the last time, with Kit, her soon-to-be husband, on her arm, Cinderella paused. She turned. She looked up at her stepmother. And she said, “I forgive you.” That’s the most difficult thing in the movie, in my opinion. And where does this strength come from? The shape of the gospel. 

Darkness Is My Only Food

I’m at a theology conference. It’s dinner time and a wonderful looking spread has been provided in the foyer of the mega-church hosting the conference. Just one thing left to do. I look for someone who seems to be in charge. I find a man and woman sitting at a desk. I ask if there is someone here from the catering company because I just need to ask a quick question.

He responds, “They already left. Can I help?”

“Maybe,” I say. “I just need to know about some of the ingredients. I have a few food allergies.”

“Oh, what are you allergic to?” he asks.

I lowered my head and began to walk away. “Thanks,” I mumbled, “I’ll just call the caterer myself.”

Tonight, I’m not in the mood to answer this question because sometimes—as my family jokes—it’s easier to talk about what I am not allergic to than what I am allergic to.

Classic Allergies vs. Delayed Allergies   

I’ve written a little bit about the development of my food allergies (here). But that article focused on typical allergens, things like dairy and gluten. As well, since the time of publication, I’ve learned more about my own issues (which I’m often asked to explain). For all of these reasons, it seemed like it was time to write this follow up.

When most people think of allergies, they think of what are considered “classic allergies”—you eat something and in less than two hours, you’re in trouble. In a non-food context, a classic allergy looks like being allergic to cats: you visit a home with cats, and in less than two hours every orifice on your face starts oozing. Classic food allergies are called immediate-onset allergies, or IgE-allergies.

But there is another kind of allergy called delayed-onset allergies, or IgG-allergies (that’s IgG not IgE). As the name suggests, they don’t occur right away. Delayed allergies show up somewhere between four hours and four days after consumption. This makes them very difficult to identify. Additionally, delayed allergies tend to have a cumulative effect; slow and steady, they stack.

These delayed-onset allergies are a symptom, some doctors think, of having a “leaky gut.” (What a terrible sounding thing, right?) A leaky gut means you have permeability of the intestinal wall, which is a fancy way of saying your “pipes” have tiny pinholes in them. These pinholes allow trace amounts of food into your body, which in turn, causes inflammation. This inflammation can manifest itself in a variety of ways, including things like irritability, bloating, constipation, unexplained fatigue, and “brain fog” (the inability to think clearly).

This is all very new to me, so please forgive me if my explanations are fumbling a bit. (Just blame it on brain fog!) It’s hard enough to understand what has happened to me, let alone explain it to others. And to make matters more difficult to describe—and this part is just my impression—it seems there is little established consensus on these things in the medical community, both in diagnoses and treatment.

The good news, so one theory says, is that delayed allergies can go away if you do two things. First, seek to repair the pinholes by taking a good probiotic, which is a collection of bacteria helpful to your digestive system (naturally occurring in things like yogurt and sauerkraut). Second, stridently eliminate all of the foods you are allergic to from your diet. On this point, the analogy is made to a fire: If you stop putting kindling on a fire, it might smolder for a bit, but eventually it must die out. Without fuel, eventually even a barn fire becomes a bonfire becomes a campfire, and so on.

Taking the probiotic—Step 1—is the easy part. It’s food elimination—Step 2—that proves difficult, especially if you’re like me.

So What Foods Must I Avoid?

There is a specific blood test to determine your “delayed” reactivity to 96 different foods. Really, the test includes far more than 96 foods because a positive test for, say, oranges (like I had), actually includes everything in the orange family: cuties, tangerines, mandarin oranges, blood oranges, navel oranges, etc.

When my results came back, I tested positive for 32 things! You can see all of them in the chart below, as well as my relative reactivity to each.

View fullsize

As you look at the chart, there are a couple of things worth pointing out. First, my reaction to “all things dairy” is so strong that it’s likely this fire will never go out. For me, dairy is probably in the category of a classic allergy. (From multiple experiences last year, I think this will probably prove true.)

Second, the difficulty of avoiding each food varies: Some are easy to avoid and others are not. Rarely, if ever, did I eat lobster or radishes, so these are easy to eliminate. Other things, however, are exceedingly difficult—and not only from an enjoyment standpoint. They are hard to eliminate because they knock out whole isles of a grocery store. I’ll just list a few of the more problematic ones.

1. Dairy
2. Eggs
3. Wheat-Gluten
4. Soy
5. Sugar (processed, not the kind naturally found in grapes or agave)
6. Almonds
7. Potato (white, but not sweet)

If you want to play a fun game, go into your pantry and try to find something without these ingredients. If it’s in a box or has a wrapper, it won’t be easy.

Currently, in our pantry, we have three boxes of Lucky Charms. (I think they were on sale.) Some mornings, and even some evenings, I just stare at them. I’m so hungry that I want to eat Lucky Charms not by the bowl but the box. You might not have guessed this, but they’re actually gluten-free, as are many cereals from General Mills, but it’s the sugar that makes them off limits. Seriously though, try finding any cereal other than rice-puffs that does not have added sugar. Not Cheerios, not Wheat Chex, not Kix, which is “mother approved.” They all have it. My wife, Brooke, once found a $6 pouch of granola that I could eat. It would have lasted me two, maybe three, normal bowls. Like Matt Damon on Mars, I rationed it to five.

Some meals, I’m fine with all of this. With the help of my wife, we figure it out. Other meals, my heart rages. I just want to eat like everyone else; I want to feel “full” after a meal, a feeling much harder to come by these days. But it’s still social settings that are the most difficult for me. I’ve yet to find a way to explain all of this easily. Also, we saw an immediate 20% increase in our monthly grocery bill and—though this is impossible to quantify—at least the same percentage reduction in taste.

It used to be, back when I thought I was only allergic to dairy, that I could enjoy a good many meals just by chance—they were meals that didn’t rely on dairy, and if they did, it was only some small part of the whole, which was easily avoidable. Now, however, no random collision of ingredients can produce something edible for me, something nonflammable. Instead, great intelligent design is required to produce a meal because of the irreducible complexity; every meal is finely tuned. 

This has made it almost impossible to eat at restaurants. At Chipotle, a personal and family favorite, I’ve learned there are only three things on the menu (of all they serve), which I can eat: corn tortillas, plain lettuce, and fajita veggies. Not exactly your traditional burrito.

And at our small group Bible study, where we often share a meal, we recently discussed how it will be better if I just bring my own food or eat beforehand, which wasn’t a decision pushed upon me; I suggested it as my favorite option. I just don’t see another way.

An encouragement, though, is that there happens to be another member of our small group who has similar food issues, only her allergies have improved over time. She’s further down the road to recovery, which gives me some hope that there may be food at the end of the tunnel, at least more of it.

Darkness is My Only Food

Now, I want to come back to the title of this post: “Darkness Is My Only Food.” This phrase is an allusion to Psalm 88. The last line of the psalm ends with like this: “Darkness is my closest friend” (v. 18, NIV).

The psalms are filled with laments. This is to say, they are filled with people pouring out their struggles to God. These laments often end with notes of both praise and hope—as they should. God is our God.

Psalm 88, however, is unique in that it does not end on a note of hope but rather despair. The specific details behind the author’s troubles are not included, yet we do know something of the magnitude. This person’s trials were so great, that twice he says that he fears his trials are the result of the wrath of God being upon him (vv. 7, 16).

But I should also point out, that even in this dark psalm, there are glimmers of hope. The author is convinced that God is, and will be, his savior (vv. 1, 9). Additionally, this psalm is situated within the canon of Scripture, which repeatedly affirms that those loved by God are never without hope.

Why Am I Writing This?

I’m not writing this so that you can feel sorry for me. And I’m not writing this so that you’ll send me emails telling me that your Aunt Sally had this too and when she stood on her head to eat and rubbed essential oils into her belly button that after 14 days, she could eat nachos for breakfast.

I’m writing this because darkness has become my only food, and like the psalmist, I’m often discouraged. And when my discouragement bottoms out, I do know that God holds me in his strong arms, even as he holds my wife and family. I know God won’t let us go.

But sometimes I don’t feel this. So I need your prayers.

My Inner Curmudgeon and The SpongeBob SquarePants Game of Life

I try to not to be a curmudgeon. Really, I do. Some authors fuel their blogs with nothing more than their “Inner Curmudgeon.” Like cars without gas, their blogs would cease to run without him.

I, however, show restraint—most of the time.

Last spring, my annoyance with the television show The Bachelor oozed out here. Today, I’m afraid my Curmudgeon spills out again. This time it’s directed at The Game of Life.

Over Christmas, my daughter was given the game. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not at all mad at the person who gave it. In fact, we enjoyed playing it together as a family. And besides being fun, the game teaches many helpful life skills.

PICTURE OF MY WIFE’S CAR. Apparently, after 4 kids, one has to ride on the roof.

There’s an aspect of the game, however, that drives me nuts. You’ll have to read my letter to the Consumer Affairs Department of Hasbro Games to find out what bothers me.

It’s not the best example of evangelism and, I’m not sure I’d send it again, but with only a little updating, I attached (below) the letter I wrote to them in the summer of 2006 after my Inner Curmudgeon was poked by The SpongeBob SquarePants Edition of The Game of Life.

(By the way, Hasbro Games did write back. They sent a form letter thanking me for the feedback.)

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Hasbro Games, Consumer Affairs Department
PO Box 200
Pawtucket, RI 02862

 Re: THE GAME OF LIFE in Bikini Bottom, SpongeBob SquarePants Edition

Dear Consumer Affairs Department:

Over Memorial Day weekend, my wife and I went to visit my family in Chicago. My little sister Katelyn (nine years old), asked me to join her in some board games. One of the games we played was The SpongeBob SquarePants Game of Life.

Because I noticed in the instruction booklet that it states that you would be “happy to hear any comments about the game,” I thought I would send a few.

I can appreciate some of the life skills that your board game teaches children, such as budgeting, making mortgage payments, dealing with unexpected expenses, and the importance of a college education. However, I did not appreciate the outlook promoted by the game, specifically what constitutes a “successful life.”

In explaining how a player wins the game, the back page of the instruction booklet reads,

After all players have reached the Shady Shoals Rest Home, cash out . . . . The player with the highest net worth wins! [Online here]

The question I want to ask is whether this the right worldview to portray how the real game of life is “won”? Are the biggest winners in life those who store up as much wealth and property and possessions and net worth before they “kick back and relax at the Shady Shoals Rest Home”?

I don’t think it is. Some of the richest people in the world are miserable. The person with the biggest house, most toys, and largest bank account can still miss the whole point of existence, thus not win the real game of life, but lose.

While I don’t expect this letter to represent a majority, I simply urge the one or two people who will read this letter to not throw it out without reflection. Real life is no game. We are only given one chance and we must decide whether or not life consists in the abundance of our possessions. I believe that life is more than amassing a large net worth.

Consider the weighty implications of the question that Jesus once posed: “What good will it be for a man if he gains the whole world, yet forfeits his soul?” (Matthew 16:26). In other words, if a person arrives at Shady Shoals Rest Home with the highest net worth, yet missed the whole point of existence, what does he or she gain?

The answer to the rhetorical question is, “Nothing.” It is no advantage to gain as much stuff as possible only to have death rip it from one’s hands.

As an alternative way to go about things, Jesus taught,

Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. Store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. (Matthew 6:19-20)

We store up “treasures in heaven” not by climbing the corporate ladder or keeping up with the Joneses but by receiving Jesus Christ as our treasure. And for those who do this, their treasure will never be taken away.

Again, I understand that every board game must have a way for people to “win.” My encouragement is that you broaden your understanding of how winning is measured.

Sincerely,
Benjamin Vrbicek

Timber! A Favorite Christmas Memory

The Christmas season is full of magic. As long as I can remember, it’s been this way for me.

A few years ago, for our church’s Christmas newsletter, the staff was asked to share our favorite Christmas memories. I have many favorites, so it was difficult to choose a favorite. But here is one of them.

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Picture of me with my sister when I was in high school.

“Almost there… just a few more… Timber!”

With great fondness I remember the yearly family adventure of cutting down a Christmas tree—hot chocolate in styrofoam on an overcast day; biting wind and thick mittens; throwing a nerf football with Dad and brothers; riding the tractor through forests of naked deciduous trees; the hunt for the perfect blue spruce or douglas fir; and, of course, taking my turn with the saw. 

When I moved out for college this tradition, and the memories of it, started to fade. But the winter of my final year in school, Brooke and I became engaged and the desire to plant these memories in my own family began to grow. 

At the time, I lived in a house with a vaulted living room ceiling, so naturally I theorized the only limiting factor on the size of the tree to buy was the price. With joy we conquered the perfect tree, returning to my car like victorious hunters with a trophy elk. But there was one big problem, a twelve foot problem: the tree didn’t fit in the trunk of my 4-door Altima.

In the end, it only “fit” across the back seats with the base out one window and the top two feet out the other. On the thirty minute drive home, passing cars looked at us with a mixture of annoyance and amusement.

It was a good tree, and a favorite Christmas memory.

A Conversational Ode to Christian Mothers

Last year, I broke an unwritten rule for preachers: on Mother’s Day, I did not preach a sermon that had anything to do with motherhood. For sure, there are worse crimes, but because it was my first Mother’s Day at a new church, I felt I needed to atone for my breach of etiquette. Therefore, I wrote the poem below and shared it at the beginning of my sermon. For your enjoyment, I’ve also included a few of the comments that I used to introduce and conclude the poem. Happy Mother’s Day, mothers. Thanks for all you do.

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In honor of the women at church this morning, I have written a poem. I have no illusions that it will stand the test of time and become one of the great literary works of the century. It will not. However, I hope it blesses you. I’ve given it the ridiculously long title, “A Conversational Ode to Christian Mothers, Especially Mothers with Young Children.”

Mom, what are we doing tomorrow?
And then after nap?
And after dinner?
And after church?
And after Thanksgiving and Christmas?
Sweetie, we’re only in the month of May.
It should come more often, this Mother’s Day
Especially for how little the pay.

Mom, can I play at the park?
Can I come out of my room?
Can I go to Gretchen’s house?
Can I have a snack?
No, buddy, no. We just ate.
You’re going to have to wait.

Mom, my shoe’s untied?
My hair is tangled.
I think the little one has pooped.
Okay, okay. One thing at a time.

Hard to remember, I suppose.
When all there is are dirty clothes.
But there are rewards, are there not?
To see your children raised and taught.
To show them Christ, as he’s loved you.
To be there for all they go through.

Hard to remember, I suppose.
When baby has a snotty nose.
Remember this, when they are small
You are mother, but that’s not all.
Your children will help to shape you,
But your children do not make you.

The Target checkout lady knows your name
And so does God, and he even knows your shame.
And your pain, and he loves you all the same.
Because Christ has taken all of your blame.

That was my slightly humorous, and slightly serious, way to say this: Motherhood is a good thing, but it is not an ultimate thing; motherhood is important, but it is not everything. The best Christian mothers are the mothers who know that their children do not define them, but Christ does.

Maybe being a mom has worked out great for you and you will Skype with your children today. That’s good. But maybe being a mom hasn’t worked out so well—maybe you had miscarriages, or abortions, or children that got divorced, or maybe you never had any children. That’s hard, very hard.

I guess I would just say to all women here (especially to young mothers), that, in the Gospel, God loves you and “Christ has taken all of your blame.”

Mock Interview of Jacob and Esau from Genesis 33

Introduction

Last week, I wrote a post about the benefits of reading the Bible closely and how good preaching should model this. In this week’s post, I’m going to give an example of the types of questions I might ask of a passage (and the characters in it) when I am trying to read it closely. To do this, I’ve fashioned this post as a mock interview with the two main characters of Genesis 33: Jacob and Esau. In other words, if I was able to conduct an interview with these two men, what would I ask them, specifically, in light of the details listed in Genesis 33?

By way of background, in Genesis 33, finally, after many, many years, Jacob comes face to face with his brother Esau. Esau is the hairy-warrior-older-brother, and Jacob is the younger, softer brother who stole his older brother’s blessing. While it is fairly easy to get the big picture of Genesis 33, questions abound as to the motives involved. A few details make it seem as though Jacob’s motives we honorable, and other details seem to make them seem less so. The same is true of Esau. It’s difficult to know what to make of the two brothers. This interview is designed to sort out the ambiguity, at least as much as possible.

So, without further introduction, below are the questions I would like to ask Jacob and Esau based on the words of Genesis 33.

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Mock Interview Questions for Jacob and Esau from Genesis 33

Genesis 33:1, And Jacob lifted up his eyes and looked, and behold, Esau was coming, and four hundred men with him. So he divided the children among Leah and Rachel and the two female servants.

Esau, this first question is for you. Why exactly did you bring “four hundred men” with you to see Jacob? That’s a big posse to meet a guy with his family and some animals.

Later, as the story unfolds, it appeared that your intentions (at least in this encounter) were not to harm Jacob but to protect him. So, Esau, were these men really just there for protection, or were they also for influence and intimidation, you know, in case you didn’t like what you saw in Jacob?

Genesis 33:2, And he put the servants with their children in front, then Leah with her children, and Rachel and Joseph last of all.

Jacob, this question is to you. Why did you arrange your children and wives this way? Was it pure favoritism to protect the ones you love most? We know how you feel about Rachel.

Genesis 33:3, He [Jacob] himself went on before them, bowing himself to the ground seven times, until he came near to his brother.

Jacob, good work on going out in front alone to meet Esau. That was brave. But, why did you bow down seven times? I have read that it was an established sign of respect in your culture, but was it really respect coming from you to him? Was this a genuine plea for forgiveness that came from a repentant heart? Or, Jacob, was this all an elaborate plan with survival as the principal motive?

In the previous chapter, we read that you sent messengers to Esau to tell him you were coming (32:3), so I’m inclined to pick the former motive, namely genuine repentance, but which was it? Or maybe it was some of both.

Genesis 33:4, But Esau ran to meet him and embraced him and fell on his neck and kissed him, and they wept.

Esau, were you planning to react this way, or was it a spur of the moment thing?

Genesis 33:5, And when Esau lifted up his eyes and saw the women and children, he said, "Who are these with you?" Jacob said, "The children whom God has graciously given your servant."

Esau, I noticed that you asked a question to Jacob about the women and children. However, Jacob, you only responded to Esau about the children. Why? Is this significant? Was it because “wives” were a sore subject in your family? We know that you, Esau, back in Chapters 27 and 28, took “foreign wives” much to the disappointment of your mother Rebekah.

To the question again: Jacob, is this why you didn’t bring up your wives? Or maybe it was that you were embarrassed by the fact that you now, like your brother, had multiple wives and girlfriends?

Also, Jacob, here you spoke very humbly. For example, you spoke to your brother Esau as “your servant,” and later as “my Lord.” Jacob, was this the humility you learned over the years of hard labor and service to your uncle Laban, or was it an intentional projection of humility to win favor? Or again, could it be that it was some of both?

Genesis 33:6-7, Then the servants drew near, they and their children, and bowed down. 7 Leah likewise and her children drew near and bowed down. And last Joseph and Rachel drew near, and they bowed down.

Jacob, before this encounter, had you taught your children to bow down like this when they met someone of importance, the same way I might teach my children to look people in the eye and say, “Nice to meet you”?

Or, Jacob, are we reading about the result of very special instructions that you made to your family for this particular moment so that you could curry favor in Esau’s (potentially angry) eyes?

Genesis 33:8, Esau said, “What do you mean by all this company that I met?” Jacob answered, “To find favor in the sight of my lord.”

Again, Jacob, if I may, what do you mean with your answer to Esau’s question, “To find favor in the sight of my Lord”?

Are we talking about apologizing or trying to save your skin? If the latter, I’m not sure that would be terribly wrong. I totally understand that a father might have to be creative at times to protect his family from danger. Still, it would seem better if you were apologizing, at least in part.

Genesis 33:9, But Esau said, “I have enough, my brother; keep what you have for yourself.”

Esau, it seems that there has been a change in you since we last met you. Before, you were “consoling [yourself] with the thought of killing [Jacob]” (Genesis 27:42). What has happened during these twenty years while Jacob was away? Have you let “bygones be bygones”? Have you truly forgiven your brother? Or, are you so wealthy now so that losing the birthright turned out to be of no real consequence, at least financially?

Genesis 33:10, Jacob said, “No, please, if I have found favor in your sight, then accept my present from my hand. For I have seen your face, which is like seeing the face of God, and you have accepted me…

Jacob, I hear an allusion in the above comment back to your previous night’s struggle where you wrestled with a man all night, and the comment that you made that night, namely, “I saw God face to face, and yet my life was spared” (Genesis 32:30).

So, Jacob, my question is this: what are you getting at by likening Esau’s face to God’s? Again, is this more flattery or is it sincere? It seems like you are probably very sincere, but I just have to ask.

Genesis 33:11, …Please accept my blessing that is brought to you, because God has dealt graciously with me, and because I have enough.” Thus he [Jacob] urged him, and he [Esau] took it.

Esau, I have heard that to accept a gift from someone in your culture meant that you were on good terms with the person who gave the gift. Was that what you meant by receiving this gift from your brother (or a better translation, this “blessing” from your brother)? Was this the sign that you two are now on good terms, at least you, Esau, are on good terms with Jacob?

Genesis 33:12, Then Esau said, “Let us journey on our way, and I will go ahead of you.”

Esau, why did you want your brother to come with you? Did you want to keep tabs on him? Did you just assume that he would have wanted to come with you? And here is the real question, was your amiable posture something that was going to continue once you got home? I am sure your brother was wondering this.

Genesis 33:13, But Jacob said to him, “My lord knows that the children are frail, and that the nursing flocks and herds are a care to me. If they are driven hard for one day, all the flocks will die…

Let’s stop here in the middle of this quote to talk about it for a bit.

Now Jacob, was this true? I understand you had been fleeing from your uncle Laban in haste for the last two weeks, but were the animals really on the brink of death? Could they have not gone on just a few more days? It’s hard for me to know, I wasn’t there and you certainly know more about animals than I do.

Or maybe something else was going on. Was it this: now that you and Esau had “kissed and made up,” was this statement about the animals really just a front to get Esau to leave without you? Maybe some of the stories you heard about Grandpa Abraham were bouncing around in your mind, stories about how he had to part ways with Lot (cf. Genesis 14).

Genesis 33:14, …Let my lord pass on ahead of his servant, and I will lead on slowly, at the pace of the livestock that are ahead of me and at the pace of the children, until I come to my lord in Seir."

Jacob, let’s talk about what you said here. Jacob, you said you were going to go to “Seir,” which is just south of the Promised Land, but that you would merely get there a little slower than Esau (e.g. “I will lead on slowly, at the pace of the livestock… [and] the children”). However, as the story goes on, we read that you don’t go to Seir. Jacob, at this point in the conversation with Esau, did you know that you were not really going to Seir with your brother? Or was that something you decided later? Did you have in your mind the command of God that you had recently received, which was to go to your homeland, not to Seir (Genesis 31:13)?

Or were you simply worried that Esau would change his mind, and when you got to your brother’s village, you were worried that Esau the “hairy-warrior-older-brother” would come back out, along with his four hundred armed friends?

Or maybe you did not want to go with Esau because—as we might say using the language of the New Testament—Esau was an “unbeliever” and you did not want to be “unequally yoked”? If that was so, why not just be upfront and honest with Esau? Were you scared? I understand if you were.

Or—and this is possible too—maybe you were not lying at all because you really did go to Seir, just at a later time and then only for short visits? I wouldn’t know if this was true because no visits are recorded in the Bible, but I guess you could have done so. I did notice that Moses, the narrator of Genesis, did not add an editorial comment to this part of the story as he did when you snuck away from Laban (Genesis 31:20, “And Jacob tricked Laban the Aramean, by not telling him that he intended to flee.”). So maybe this business of going or not going to Seir is not a breach of integrity. Still, I’m curious, Jacob, can you explain this to me?

Genesis 33:15, So Esau said, “Let me leave with you some of the people who are with me.” But he [Jacob] said, “What need is there? Let me find favor in the sight of my lord.”

Let’s go back to you, Esau. I asked this earlier, but I need to ask it again. Esau, why do you really want to leave these men with Jacob? Are they escorts for Jacob’s safety, or are they undercover agents to make sure Jacob and his family go where you want them to go? As before, I’m inclined to see benevolence in your actions, but Jacob’s reaction to your kind gesture concerns me.

Jacob, did you see something in Esau’s actions that I am not seeing? Were you trying to keep Esau’s men away because you didn’t want to be an inconvenience to someone you had wronged so deeply, or were you more concerned with not having Esau’s watch dogs—I mean his protectors—with you the whole time because you knew you were not actually going back to his home in Seir?

Genesis 33:16, So Esau returned that day on his way to Seir.

Esau, when you parted company, did you expect to see Jacob meet up with you a few days or weeks later? Or did you get the vibe from Jacob that he was not coming?

Genesis 33:17-20, But Jacob journeyed to Succoth, and built himself a house and made booths for his livestock. Therefore the name of the place is called Succoth. 18 And Jacob came safely to the city of Shechem, which is in the land of Canaan, on his way from Paddan-aram, and he camped before the city. 19 And from the sons of Hamor, Shechem's father, he bought for a hundred pieces of money the piece of land on which he had pitched his tent. 20 There he erected an altar and called it El-Elohe-Israel.

Jacob, I could be wrong, and I may not have all the facts; but, it sounds like from the end of this passage that you were not just making a quick stop on the way home but setting up camp for a decent length of time? Is this right? And if so, this is not at all the direction of Seir, right?

You seem to be headed home, but you didn’t make it all the way, did you? Did someone get sick? Or did the seasons change and the weather was no longer conducive for continuing travel?

Or did you simply find a place that you thought you could do profitable business and so you stopped?

I’m especially interested about the initial cause of this stop and why it was prolonged because of what happens in the next chapter. I hate even to bring it up, as I’m sure it’s still painful. This “pit stop” puts events in motion that lead to your only daughter, Dinah, being so horribly abused. Tell me Jacob, what’s going on?

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Epilogue

I first created this mock interview several years ago when I was interning with a church that was preaching expository messages through Genesis. It was there, that summer as an intern, that I fell in love with expository preaching—not as a listener but as a practitioner.

In the end, I’m not sure how either Jacob or Esau would answer each and every one of these questions, but I do think, for a few of the questions, we can come to reasonably good guesses. And, regardless of whether the questions can be answered or not, I certainly know the passage better for going through this exercise. This is part of what I mean when I talk of reading the Bible closely. And in a world of sloppy reading, good preaching should offer the fruit of a close reading of the Bible.

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Roadie Rage

A few years ago I submitted an article to a local periodical called the Tucson Pedaler. (Aside, I used to live in Tucson.) I’m not sure they are still publishing, but in the summer of 2011, they ran a short story about a cyclist who had an altercation with a car driver and they asked readers to send in their reflections about the story. So I did. I called it “Roadie Rage,” and they published it in the August/September 2011 Issue. For this week’s post, I have included it below. By way of background, a “roadie” is a cyclist that rides (primarily) on the road; for those that know nothing about cycling, think Lance Armstrong type bikes.

Because I ride my bike a few times a week, often near traffic, I am frequently reminded of my words in this article. In fact this morning, in snowy weather, let’s just say it is a remote possibility that I raised my voice to one particular car driver – a driver who was quickly too far away to hear what I said and who, naturally on a very cold day, had the car windows rolled up and would not have heard what I said anyway. And maybe that was for the best. Regardless, this morning I was reminded that I am a man still in need of God’s grace and that I long for the maturity of character to respond rightly to my own reactions.

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Roadie Rage: Natural, but Wrong Nonetheless

I have a three-year-old son who loves to wrestle his dad. However, the other day when we were wrestling, he kicked me in the crotch.

I think it was an accident, but I yelled anyway. I reacted. Protective instincts took over. I pushed him away. There was a twinge of rage in my heart.

It all happened very quickly, but in a moment, I was reminded that I am fragile. I am vulnerable. I can be hurt. So I lashed out.  But it was only natural, right?

Last week I read a police report about a cyclist who reacted; a cyclist who lashed out. Apparently the cyclist was cut-off by an absentminded motorist. At a stop-light, he caught up to the car and pounded on the passenger side door with enough force to leave dents. He broke the side mirror and promised in colorful words to do the same to the woman driver. “I will run you off the road and you will know how it feels,” he roared. From her cell, the women called 911, but before the police arrived, the perpetrator pedaled away.

What is uncommon about this event is not the close call between motorist and cyclist. Anyone who has ever spent time as a road cyclist knows such an experience – a car runs a red light; a large pickup truck brushes you back; a city bus zips by only to slam on its breaks while 30 tons jerk over into the bike lane to make a pickup.

Instantly, your blood boils.  You see red.  Obscenities spring forth as from a geyser.  “Don’t you know that is how people get killed!”

Yes, we cyclists can ‘bob and weave’ in traffic with nimbleness, and can cover great distances at great speeds, but we often forget that we are wearing spandex and sitting on a piece of machinery weighing twenty pounds with only a helmet for protection. We are vulnerable.  We can be hurt.  So we lash out. It is only natural, right?

I suspect that most who read this harrowing account of the assaulted motorist, feel a measure of compassion for her, culpable though she is. Yet, I suspect a few, but still too many, read of the cyclist’s actions with vicarious pride. “Finally, someone stood up for us. Somebody did what I have never had the chance or courage to do myself,” they think.

As the cyclist put away his bike that day, safe at home, I wonder if he felt ashamed of his actions, as I did after I pushed my son away when he accidentally kicked me. Or perhaps, on the other hand, as he recounted the ordeal to his buddies, a grand satisfaction welled up regarding how ‘he showed her’. It is impossible to know.

In the end, while the cyclist’s actions (and ours) may be in many respects “natural” reactions – just as when a doctor taps you on the knee with a rubber, triangle hammer to check your reflexes, and you kick – we must conclude that what comes natural is not always right. Maturity and character are not always best assessed by what comes natural, but in how we react to our own reactions.

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[Image from a picture I took on Thanksgiving Day 2014 riding Peter's Mountain in Harrisburg, PA]

The Woman I Love, Denver Christmas Conference, and a Letter from the Apostle Paul

In my morning devotions yesterday, I finished 1 Corinthians. So this morning, naturally, I started 2 Corinthians. As I read verse 12, an unexpected avalanche of memories swept me away. All of a sudden, I was in Denver, Colorado wearing a blue shirt in the upstairs of a restaurant talking to a beautiful woman. That was a dozen years ago, but it might as well have been this morning.

It was January and unusually warm for Denver. I was there for a conference with Campus Crusade for Christ called Denver Christmas Conference (DCC as we called it). Over the semester break, a bunch of us had made the 14-hour road trip from mid-Missouri.

I was wearing a light blue shirt that had a picture of a buzzard on it—weird, right? It was my college flag football team jersey. We were The Scavengers, a name in “honor” of our team leader. And my shirt had the following written on it: “2002 All-Campus Champions.” I wore the shirt with pride. (It’s funny, I competed for 5 years in Division 1 college sports, yet the highlight of my athletic career occurred playing competitive intermural flag.)

And I was in the upstairs of a restaurant. Downstairs was the noise; upstairs was the quiet—the place to talk, to listen.

And a beautiful young woman was with me. Her name was Brooke. She held my hand and I held hers.

We were about to begin dating, or courting, or something. I’m not sure what we were calling it. But it wasn’t an ordinary relationship we were going to start, at least I prayed it wasn’t going to be ordinary.

I remember telling Brooke that I had never been in a godly dating relationship before, but that I was committed to figuring it out. Not much of a sales pitch, I know.

Then I read 2 Corinthians 1:12 to her.

Now this is our boast: Our conscience testifies that we have conducted ourselves in the world, and especially in our relations with you, in the holiness and sincerity that are from God. We have done so not according to worldly wisdom but according to God’s grace. (2 Corinthians 1:12, NIV)

Paul said that his relationship with this church was characterized by holiness and sincerity, and not “worldly wisdom,” and all this by “God’s grace.”

I told Brooke that I wanted this for us: Holiness. And sincerity. And love. And by the grace of God.

I didn’t know what a relationship like that was like, not firsthand anyway, but I wanted to strive for it. And I wanted for Brooke to do that with me.

And she said yes.

I don’t know if she knew all that she was saying yes to, but she said it. We said it. And I am so glad. My bride and my sweetie and my friend, said yes.

That night in Denver, in January, in the upstairs of a restaurant, wearing a shirt with a buzzard on it, we prayed together. Then we went downstairs, and then back to the conference center where we went to a concert; Bebo Norman played his acoustic guitar and wore a red t-shirt and a stocking cap. Brooke sat on my left.

That was almost a dozen years ago.

This is what I mean when I say an avalanche of emotions and memories swept over me this morning as I read 2 Corinthians.

God has been exceedingly good to me in giving me Brooke—my wife and my best friend.

Thank you for saying yes, Sweetie.

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She Begged Me to Stop Stretching Her Thin and Stuffing Her Full

That line haunts me. To a fault, it’s part of the story of my life. It comes from a poem, or spoken word, by Propaganda called “Be Present” on his album Excellent.

Excellent

Humble Beast

Buy on Amazon

Most of my readers are not familiar with his music (Christian rap, for lack of a better category).

But you should be.

He delivers the goods, even if the packaging is not your cup of tea. I have been consistently challenged – you might even say haunted – by his powerful poetry on Excellent and his latest album Crimson Cord.

Last week, I posted a review of an essay called The Tyranny of the Urgent that reminded me of this piece by Propaganda about ‘Lady Time.’

“[Lady Time begs us] to stop stretching her thin and stuffing her full,” Propaganda says.

Tyranny of the Urgent!

By Charles E. Hummel

Buy on Amazon

So true.

Enjoy this excerpt from the poem, and by “enjoy,” I mean let it haunt you. It’s a good haunting, though – the type of haunting we need in a world that thinks we can always do more if we just multi-task more.

She only gives you one shot.
Blow it and she’s gone...
You can’t rush her or slow her down.
You better keep her on your side.
She will slip through your fingers like sand.
Her name is Time.
And she told me a secret: she said multitasking is a myth.
You ain’t doing anything good, just everything awful.
And she begged me to stop stretching her thin and stuffing her full.
And stop being so concerned with the old her and future her, but love her now. Her presence is God’s present.
And you should be that: Present.

- Propaganda, “Be Present” from Excellent

* You can watch the whole thing below.

Official website HumbleBeast.com** Relevant networks Facebook.com/Propaganda Facebook.com/HumbleBeastRecords Twitter.com/prophiphop Twitter.com/humblebeast Performed Live at The Catalyst Conference - http://catalystconference.com Download Excellent for free: http://hmbl.be/ExCeLeNt Download Excellent from iTunes: http://hmbl.be/QoW0Vc Purchase Physical Copy from Humble Beast: http://hmbl.be/PkxD9a

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