Our Church Was Maliciously Hacked and You Won’t Believe What Happened Next

We are two weeks away from the release of our book Blogging for God’s Glory in a Clickbait World. As you might expect, our book comes down pretty heavily against clickbait posts.

We define clickbait as “the pejorative term for content, especially titles and images, designed to get visitors to click. The term is loosely drawn from fishing where shiny bait attracts the attention of a fish but conceals the hook. To some degree, what constitutes clickbait is in the eye of the beholder; however, standard tropes are readily identifiable” (from the Glossary, p. 153).

Yet for how hard we critique clickbait, my coauthor also writes in the book, “Don’t be afraid to smile when you write. . . . Feel free to include fun, even clickbait-y, posts from time to time” (John Beeson, Blogging for God’s Glory, p. 27–28).

And I agree, which is why I wrote the title to this post the way I did. It’s probably only my second deliberately clickbait title in six years of blogging. The other was from a few years ago and called, “I Read Every Jared Wilson Book This Year; You Won’t Believe What Happened Next.” But even both of these titles consciously spoof a stock clickbait trope.

Regardless, our church was, in fact, maliciously hacked. However, you can probably guess what happened next: I sent an email to our church. That’s it. Well, it took a little more work than that, but basically, that was it—just an email.

I wrestled with whether to send the email to our church at all, just as I’ve wrestled with whether to draw even more attention to the event here on my blog. When someone takes off his or her clothes and runs across the field of a professional football game, the cameras look away. Television networks do this because they don’t want to show nudity during the game but also because giving the streaker more attention scratches the itch he or she wanted scratched. I sort of feel the same talking about the hacking. But I’m sharing the letter I wrote to our church with you because of the paragraph I wrote near the end, which I put in bold. That paragraph sums up not only how our church will get through this event, but how all Christians can honor God when evil punches us in the gut.

*     *     *

Dear Church,

Since yesterday afternoon, I’ve written about seven different versions of this email in my head. But this is the one I’m actually writing and sending.

Many of you noticed that the registration system for church filled up before Friday afternoon. It’s possible that if everyone—or even most—of our church wanted to come back to church on the same Sunday, we would not fit in the building. However, I don’t think that’s what happened. I’ll explain.

It appears someone has maliciously hacked our registration system, either filling out legit names and emails or slight variations of those names and emails. Again, it’s too early to be sure why this is happening, but it is clear that something is happening. The registration system is broken.

Here’s what I propose. Please just come to whichever service best fits your needs and your schedule, whether you registered for that service or not. (We’ve been publishing COVID updates here, which explains the details about each service.) Seriously, please do NOT stay away just because our registration system was hacked.

Our goal was to have up to 75 people in the first service at 8:30 am. We want this service to be the most COVID-cautious; the building is still being professionally cleaned and sanitized before each Sunday. The other services at 9:45 am and 11 am can have up to 100 people in each of these. In truth, we can have up to 120 people in each service and still remain socially distanced and under the 50% capacity goals.

Also, we now have overflow options in the church basement fellowship hall. We’ll stream the worship service in real-time on our large TVs and through the new sound system. The newly renovated fellowship hall can hold an extra 50–60 people in the first and third services. (Overflow seating is not an option during second service because our membership class is using that room.) If either the first or third services get too full in the sanctuary, please consider moving downstairs.

Here’s my final plea: please come with a big smile and a heart that is happy do whatever is best for the whole church. I believe that the way we will honor God, defeat evil, and preserve through suffering is not by outrage but by cultivating joyful Christian unity when it feels like everything is stacked against us.

Our church has been thriving through all the craziness of 2020, and I intend to do everything I can to help it stay this way. The other day I joked that twenty years from now you can tell future generations that this was the summer and fall “you had to walk ten miles to attend church – uphill, both ways, in the snow.”

Yep. But it’s also the summer and fall that Jesus was still Lord, and he reigns even now from heaven and is building his church. Come, worship the risen Lord with us tomorrow.

Sincerely,
Benjamin Vrbicek, lead pastor

* Photo by Simon Abrams on Unsplash

Is Blogging Dead?: A Few Dozen Christian Bloggers Say No

In a series of quick, mindless thumb swipes to the top of my Twitter feed, my eyes notice a tweet of someone I respect—someone who thinks deeply about blogging and journalism and reaching people for Christ via the internet.

His tweet declares that blogs have been killed.

I take a deep breath and sit zombie-like on my couch.

I stare out the window for a bit, contemplating why the book about blogging I’ve spent the last two years working on wouldn’t also die as collateral damage. Who needs a book about blogging if blogging is dead? Though the first draft of the book is already written, it sure would save my coauthor and me a lot of time and money to cut our losses.

Collin Hansen is the editorial director of The Gospel Coalition, and for several years he co-led the now-disbanded group called “Band of Bloggers.” In other words, he knows more than a little about the topic of blogging.

Hansen’s tweet identified what, in his opinion, killed blogging: “Social media killed blogs,” he writes. “Can’t find them any longer, since folks don’t browse sites any longer.” His comment sat in a thread discussing the current fad of writers using e-newsletters rather than true blogs.

As much as I respect Hansen, I’d suggest we not order the autopsy report yet. To tweak the words often ascribed to Mark Twain, the reports of the death of blogs have been greatly exaggerated. I agree that today’s blogger cannot ascend to the levels of influence reached almost exclusively by those who got into the game ten years ago, if not twenty. But I think we’d be wrong to say social media has killed blogs, just as we’d be wrong to say the car killed the bicycle. For exercise and for pleasure and for social interaction, people still ride—just as people will blog. Think how many Twitter handles still have a link to the person’s blog? Lots, I tell you, lots. Admittedly, when I click those links I’m often disappointed by the result: the last post dates from more than a year ago and the post before that is often even further back—hence why we wrote this book. Tim Challies highlights a potential incentive to commit or recommit to blogging as others bail. “With so many people opting out,” he writes, “there is lots of room for aspiring writers to work their way in.”

Samuel James is more pessimistic. He writes,

Blogging is dead, right? At least among the folks in a position to say so, this seems to be the consensus. Many of blogging’s most important early practitioners have either abandoned it . . . or else transformed their writing spaces into storefronts that offer “promoted” content in exchange for patronage. The thinking goes like this: Before Mark Zuckerberg and Tweet threads, blogging was a viable way of sharing ideas online. Now, though, social media has streamlined and mobilized both content and community. Reading a blog when you could be reading what your friends are Tweeting about is like attending a lecture completely alone. It’s boring and lonely for you, and a waste of time for the lecturer.

The full post by James suggests more optimism than that quote belies. For example, after noting many strengths of blogging in our cultural moment, his concluding paragraph states, “Blogging still matters, because it’s still the medium that most ably combines the best aspects of online writing.”

Twitter doesn’t do nuance well, so as I think back over Collin Hansen’s statement about the death of blogging, perhaps he only meant that blogs don’t have the popularity they used to have or that many obstacles are stacked against their success, as James points out and all of us would likely concede.

Regardless, John Beeson and I are still blogging regularly. And so are hundreds of thousands of others. If you’re reading this ebook, we want you to keep blogging or consider starting a blog of your own if you don’t have one yet. Bloggers writing for the glory of God have not saturated the market, not even close. Author Tony Reinke spoke about this in an interview on the Home Row podcast.

Don’t be intimidated by all the books. Everybody is publishing it seems. [But] we have this promise from the Lord in Habakkuk. It says, “The earth will be filled with the knowledge of the glory of the Lord as the waters cover the sea” (2:14). Just think about that. Think about that overwhelming tsunami of the knowledge of God. We are far from that saturation point. . . . There is so much work to be done.[1]

I agree with Reinke. We have work to do, books and blog posts to write, and the glory of God to spread.

But don’t just take our word for it. We asked a few dozen other bloggers to give us their hot take on the future of blogging, because offering hot takes is all we bloggers do. Right? We hope you’ll be encouraged. Blogging may have changed, but it’s certainly not dead.

Is Blogging Dead?

It seems unlikely that blogging will ever be as popular as it was in the late 1990s, but people continue to want to read blog-like content. The form it takes may be different (people, for example, seem to want to turn platforms that were not designed for blogging, such as Instagram, into blogs), but the blog-like intention behind the content persists.
Abby Farson Pratt, abbyfp.com

Although it’s easy to think that blogging has already had its heyday, the demand for long-form content, while tempered by market forces, will always be a factor. Search engines like Google assign more weight to long-form content. While those less serious about writing turn to social media to express themselves, more opportunity now exists in the blogging arena for those committed to persevering in their craft and doing the hard work of building an audience over time.
Alex Kocman, alexkocman.com

Bloggers are in a unique position to inform people that they wouldn’t be able to reach otherwise, and they have the benefit of being able to speak on any topic. If blogs are being used correctly, to build people up in their faith and inform believers for God’s glory, then I believe they will always have a place.
Alistair Chalmers, achalmersblog.com

In my opinion, blogging is not dead. Although the word “blogging” might sound outdated, just call it an “article,” or a “writing,” or even an “essay,” and voila! You’re back to blogging.
Alisa Childers, alisachilders.com

I think that blogging has shifted. Where we used to sign up to follow blogs, we now follow accounts—Instagram, Twitter, Facebook. With the inundation of information, I wonder if we’ve become lazy—wanting our social media to vet our posts for us and to make it easier and quicker to decide what we will spend time reading. I don’t think blogging has disappeared. There are new blogs every day. I think the way that people view and interact with blogs has shifted. I think it affects the reader and the writer at the same time, and it’s a phenomenon that new writers and blog owners will have to deal with. In order to get followings, you will feel the push to promote, promote, promote. That being said, I do wonder as Facebook, Twitter, and others all come under fire for their filtering, if more and more people will start to take control over what content they want to see. To be honest, and perhaps this is more cynical, but I see the majority of people complaining but then continuing on with what is easiest.
Brianna Lambert, lookingtotheharvest.com

Not at all! Social media has its place, and I know microblogging is on the rise on those platforms, but I think they serve different purposes. First, there’s the issue of space—you simply cannot flesh out a nuanced idea in the narrow confines of social media in the same way as a longer blog post. Second, your reach on social media has become so dependent upon algorithms. We see what the platforms want us to see, and we don’t have control over that. Blogging allows us to curate our own sources and see every post by visiting specific sites or using an RSS reader. Blogging occupies a crucial space between social media and books, and we’d be poorer without it.
Cassie Watson, casswatson.com

I think a website is still essential, and including a blog is a helpful way of demonstrating commitment and credibility. But a blog no longer seems to be enough. Podcasts and YouTube are becoming more important platforms because they possess greater attention.
Chase Replogle, chasereplogle.com

Blogging is still an incredibly important means of communication, especially in the Christian space. Its day is not over, even if it looks a bit different.
Chris Martin, chrismartin.blog

Blogging has a future, though like many mediums in this age, it may need to find new iterations. Even in the short time blogging has already experienced, we’ve seen a transformation of style and presentation—some that have been helpful and others less so.
Chris Thomas, ploughmansrest.com

Blogging is dead in terms of the early blogs that primarily curate info available elsewhere on the internet. Blogs that did that well are still alive and well but they own the market. Those who own that lane do enough research and reflection to also give a lot of insights into any number of topics. Blogging isn’t dead in terms of writers who are able to give thoughtful insights and perspectives on important issues. The newer brand of blogging isn’t for people who merely want to air their opinions but for those who possess the time, skill, and energy to produce something unique and helpful. There’s always a space for committed authors who want to help others. But like most things, it takes hard work and anyone wanting a fastlane to “success” will likely drop out long before they get enough traction to make a lasting contribution.
Dan DeWitt, theolatte.com

Yes and no. Yes in the sense that the newness and buzz of blogging probably will never be what it once was. I also say no because I don’t think blogging will die anytime soon. As others have pointed out, the name “blogging” might change. But the format of writing words in article form to post on the internet to promote edification isn’t going away soon, so I think blogging has a bright future.
David Qaoud, gospelrelevance.com

Blogging as a thing “everybody does” is gone, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Writers who want to test a message, have unedited freedom in voice and style, hone their craft, and develop a body of work will keep plodding. Although not always the most efficient way of getting a piece to the masses, those who stick around will hopefully make blogging about the value of truthful words and vibrant stories.
Emily Jensen & Laura Wifler, risenmotherhood.com

Our world increasingly seems to value forms of communication that are instantaneous, combative, and designed to trigger emotions. Against this trend, many are recognizing just how important long-form mediums are for creating light, not just heat. Blogging is a kind of hybrid medium—faster than books, longer than Twitter. My hope is that Christians will continue to engage the world of blogging as we try to carve out spaces for reflection and reasoned dialogue.
Gavin Ortlund, gavinortlund.com

I work with young writers every week, and I firmly believe blogging is not dead. How blogs are curated and shared has shifted and evolved over the years, but blogs’ power and purpose have not. Blogging is still a medium that changes lives and contributes to the kingdom, one post at a time.
Jaquelle Ferris, jaquellecrowe.com

I’m late to the game and can’t say for sure. It does seem like things like YouTube are taking over. But, I still read others’ blogs, and other people still read mine, so I think there’s still a small space for it in the world and in ministry.
Jen Oshman, jenoshman.com

The original kind of blogging is done and gone. Few remain. More collective groups are writing better content with editors, and that is far superior in my opinion.
Jeremy Writebol, jwritebol.net

Yes and no. Blogging has certainly peaked because, as many people discovered, it’s easy to start a blog but hard to maintain interest in writing for one on a regular basis. But blogging is still essential because the low barrier to entry allows undiscovered talent to flourish.
Joe Carter, thegospelcoalition.org/profile/joe-carter

Blogging is definitely dead!!! (Actually, it is a pet peeve of mine to see the headline formula, “Is ___________ dead?” The subject in question never actually dies; it just changes. Unless you’re talking about VHS or Laserdisc players, then they’re dead alright.) Blogging isn’t dead, but it has changed due to podcasts, YouTube, and Twitter. A certain type of blogging has had its day. But there is still room for thoughtful and well-written blogging. 
Kevin Halloran, kevinhalloran.net

I don’t believe so. These days, Twitter and Facebook have reduced our attention spans to only be capable of digesting small, bite-sized pieces of information before moving on to the next thing, many times without critically reflecting upon the tweet or post we’ve just read. Blogging provides a great platform for more rigorously interacting with and explaining ideas in a way that is still open to community and peer feedback without as much distraction. I hope that our society, as time goes on, will become disenchanted with shallow information grazing, and come to appreciate this medium more and more. This will be more likely if the blogosphere is already filled with quality, Christ-centered content once the rest of the world comes back here.
Kris Sinclair, krissinclair.com

Nah. Especially since social media is stupid and people are becoming more suspicious of its integrity. I think more people will transition from social media to blogs and email communication.
Kristen Wetherell, kristenwetherell.com

I think the world of blogging has certainly changed. But, I don’t think that the medium is going anywhere. I do think that it looks different, and maybe the day of the mega-blog is passing us by. Bloggers are going to have to be satisfied with smaller audiences, with more of a niche following, because there is so much out there that distinguishing yourself as a big blog that everyone checks constantly is getting more and more impossible. This is especially true of Christian blogs because, let’s face it, the Christian message is getting less and less appealing as our culture steps further away from Jesus. I write things that people tell me they agree with but are afraid to share because of the inevitable backlash from their friends and family. In that way, Christian bloggers are certainly operating in the land of Jesus’s words about what the gospel does: “Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I have not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I have come to set a man against his father, and a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law. And a person’s enemies will be those of his own household” (Matt 10:34–36).
Melissa Edgington, yourmomhasablog.com

Blogging is not done yet. It has a few and new competitors along the way. As long as the passion is there, we don’t have to throw in the towel yet. We just need to find new and exciting ways to be heard.
Nitoy Gonzales, delightinggrace.wordpress.com

No, because it will continue to play a role in supporting the mission of the local church. It may begin to look different, e.g., smaller circles of influence, more local writing, etc. But if we see the role of blogging as falling in line with furthering the mission of the church and building up the saints for the work of ministry, then it will continue to have purpose because it falls in line with God’s mission.
Ryan Williams, amicalled.com

Blogging isn’t going to go away, but the influence and reach of individual bloggers will probably never be what it was ten years ago. There’s so much content out there right now, and ways to curate that content through algorithms, that only people with specific kinds of day jobs can afford to “build” a blogging profile.
Samuel James, letterandliturgy.com

Blogging is not dead because Jesus is not dead. Christians have always looked for ways to share the gospel and to share what they are learning about how the gospel shapes our lives. As long as we have the internet and the opportunity to post on the internet, Christian bloggers will write about this best of news. It is why I have blogged for over nine years, and why I plan to be blogging nine years from now.
Tim Counts, hemustbecomegreater.com

No. It’s just transformed for some into the micro-blogging of Twitter and Facebook. It’s still a kind of blog, just smaller and easier to digest. Long-form blogging isn’t dead. When TV was invented, people thought movie theaters would die out. They didn’t.
Tom Terry, tomthinking.com

No. It’s true that the season of early blogging, in which upstart bloggers could build a platform by quality writing on a large variety of subjects, has come to an end. For a new blog to gain traction today, one needs either an already-established platform or excellent insights that focus on a narrower sliver of topics. But blogging itself—which is really just one form of writing articles, similar to newspaper columns from a hundred years ago from good writers—is still and will remain a relevant form of communication. Social media has grown in importance for blogging, as most readers interact with writers by following social media accounts and not blogs. But this doesn’t mean that blogging has died, only that the entry point to these articles has shifted.
Trevin Wax, thegospelcoalition.org/blogs/trevin-wax

* Photo by Goran Ivos on Unsplash

** Is Blogging Dead? is an excerpt from an appendix in the book Blogging for God’s Glory in a Clickbait World by Benjamin Vrbicek and John Beeson.

What Should Engaged Christian Couples Know about Sex?: 11 Myths about Marital Intimacy

I’ve not been one to complain that seminary didn’t teach me how to do this or that. My seminary experience was fantastic. Also, I didn’t expect to learn in seminary everything I’d ever need to know about the Bible and pastoral ministry. I expected my 106 graduate-level credits to give me the tools and character formation I needed to begin a lifetime of fruitful and faithful ministry in a local church. I certainly got that—and a whole lot more.

But one exception exits. When it comes to premarital counseling, I got diddly squat. At least as I remember it, we never charted what premarital counseling should look like for an engaged couple. I had to make that up from scratch the first time I walked a couple through the process. It’s a process I’ve continued to tweak for the last decade.

My wife and I typically do all the premarital counseling at our house in the evenings. Most years that’s four to seven couples, which means at least a few times a month (especially during the spring) we have an engaged couple over for dessert and counseling.

Across the engagement, our strategy has been to surface a half dozen or so topics of conversation. We try to pick areas of marriage, as we often repeat to the couple, that God wants to be awesome but are often difficult. We talk about roles and responsibilities, children, money, and a few others. During the final session, we talk about marital intimacy. It’s not my favorite topic because it stretches me so much, but the reasons why this is so would require another post.

Below are the talking points for the conversation about intimacy. I’ve cast them in the form of “myths,” which is to say that everything listed below is not true. We give the list to each couple, and for thirty to forty minutes my wife and I discuss why each statement is false, often adding a few reasons why God might have something better for married couples than the myth promises. Perhaps someday I’ll take the time to write what we talk about in more detail. For now, I’ll just share the outline.

 11 Myths about Marital Intimacy

1. The honeymoon is the zenith of ecstasy in a marriage; it’s all downhill after that.

2. Sexual desire and sexual arousal function in the same way for both men and women.

3. In the culture and in the church, sexual stereotypes for men and women are always accurate.

4. Your sex life is the most important aspect of your marriage.

5. Your sex life is unimportant in your marriage.

6. Good sex just sort of happens, even without communication.

7. Sex is equally good in all seasons of marriage.

8. Intimacy is unrelated to other aspects of marriage (trust, respect, bitterness, disappointment, stress, health, etc.)

9. Orgasm for the husband and wife will normally happen at the same time.

10. Orgasm, especially for the wife, will happen every time you have sex.

11. You will be the most fulfilled sexually when you primarily aim to please yourself.

* Photo by Morgan Lane on Unsplash

Please Join Our Book-Launch Team: Blogging for God’s Glory in a Clickbait World

Bloggers around the world publish millions of posts each day, many written by faithful Christians who want to honor God with their words but struggle to know how. Christian bloggers need guides to lead them through the basics of setting up a blog—everything from affiliates and algorithms to widgets and WordPress. They need a mentor to help them become a godly landlord of their internet real estate.

My friend John Beeson and I wrote the book Blogging for God’s Glory in a Clickbait World to help bloggers do these very things. In the book, we explain where the spiritual stamina will come from to serve a small readership faithfully and how to steward attention in a way that honors God in a world that seems to only celebrate chasing profit and pageviews.

Tim Challies, the godfather of evangelical blogging—or the blog-father as he is sometimes called—is writing the foreword to the book. The book is available for pre-order on Amazon.

For the last week or so, we’ve been asking friends who had heard about the book if they’d consider joining the launch team. So far nearly fifty people have joined. John and I are super happy. But we’d still like your help too.

Starting today, we’re inviting others to join the launch team (here). [update: link removed]

Just to be clear: you do NOT have to be a blogger to join the launch team. Maybe you like to share interesting ideas on Facebook, or maybe you work in marketing or graphic design. We think you’d enjoy our book, and we’d love to have you on the launch team. But perhaps none of that is true of you. Perhaps you just happen to like the work I do on this blog or John does on his blog, and you’d like to support us. That’s great too. We’d love to have you on the team.

For those willing to serve on the launch team, we will send you a digital version of the book in early October to give you time to read it before its November 3 launch.

If you join, here is what we hope you’d commit to do:

1. Once the book launches, post an honest review on Amazon (and Goodreads, if you have an account) within the first week of the launch;

2. Help us catch any small errors in the book (i.e., not a full-edit of the book);

3. The day before the book launches we’d ask you to purchase the Kindle version of the book on Amazon at the reduced price of $0.99. Buying the book gives a “Verified purchase” tag affixed to your Amazon review. This helps to protect your review from being removed as fraudulent. Any review helps, but Verified Reviews boost the book in the Amazon store.

4. When the book launches share the book on your social media accounts.

That’s it. Pretty simple.

If you would like to join, please fill out this quick Google questionnaire (link). [update: link removed]

Thank you,
Benjamin

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.

Diesel Fuel for Writers and Preachers

If you pour even a small amount of gasoline on a bonfire, it flames up quickly and dangerously. That’s why every warning label on gasoline canisters will tell you never to do that. Diesel fuel, as opposed to straight gasoline, burns much slower. You still shouldn’t dump a gallon jug of diesel on a bonfire, but in small amounts, the resulting combustion from diesel can be controlled and used for building and sustaining a fire with poor kindling in a way that gasoline never can. It’s just too flammable.

For the last few years, I’ve considered Chase Replogle’s podcast The Pastor Writer like diesel fuel for writers and preachers. Replogle is a pastor and writer in Springfield, Missouri, and he’s released a new podcast episode most weeks for the last two years.

I suppose there’s a place for gasoline-fueled binge-writing sessions, times when fingers pound keyboards like pistons in a V8 engine. But that type of writing can’t be sustained over the long haul or often even manufactured in a moment. You typically can’t script productive, frenetic writing.

What I need, and what most writers need, is the slow-burn of diesel fuel to help grow in the craft over a lifetime. Most writers, if they are anything like me, shoehorn writing into an already full life. And to do that well—to fit quality writing in and around pastoring a church and being a dad and husband in a big family—I need more than adrenaline and Monster-Energy-Drink type writing, the type of writing that soars for an hour or two but then crashes for weeks; writing that flames up quickly also flames out quickly. I need, instead, fuel for the long obedience in the same direction required to excel as something worthwhile. The Pastor Writer podcast has been this type of fuel for me.

As Replogle neared the hundredth episode of The Pastor Writer, he asked for feedback from listeners about ways his podcast had helped listeners, and I was able to share some of these thoughts with him, which he kindly included at the beginning of episode 98. But shortly after I sent him that feedback, the pandemic we’ve all been living with hit and work at our church became all-consuming. I quickly fell off the podcast wagon. Only just recently, while on vacation the other week, did I begin to catch up on all the episodes I missed and heard my own remarks.

Episode 98 is not an interview but one of the occasional monologues where Replogle reflects on some aspect of the craft. In this episode he talked about how a writer can find his preaching or writing voice. We often begin with imitation, where we try—intentionally or unintentionally—to imitate our heroes. A decade ago, when God first stirred passions in me to write, my wife and I were reading together Jon Acuff’s witty, sarcastic book Stuff Christians Like, and everything I wrote that summer sounded like an Acuff knock-off. I was a little kid trying to walk around the house in his father’s shoes, which is cute when you’re three-years-old but awkward when you’re thirty.

The next stage for many writers of finding your voice, says Replogle, involves following the crowd. You discern what the masses like and try to produce that. The final stage of this progression comes when you make uniqueness the goal, where you seek to write or preach as no one has before. Replogle points out, however, that while each of these stages may be necessary in the development of a writer, they are neither the way we develop best nor how we find our voice.

So how does a writer or preacher find his voice? “Eventually,” Replogle says, “you come to realize that a voice is not something you can construct but something which must be uncovered.” He goes on to say you can’t find your writing voice, as with so many aspects in life, by looking for it directly. You can’t find your voice by trying to find your voice. You only find your particular way of writing and preaching, he argues, as a byproduct of pursuing something else.

His point reminds me of that old parable about the phrase “you can’t get there from here.” The origins of the phrase aren’t so clear, but the phrase tends to get used when someone is lost and looking for directions, typically in a rural setting. A guy pulls his car over to ask a local resident for directions to get somewhere specific. The local stares back at the driver, takes a condescending look at the direction the car was headed, then looks back at the driver. “You can’t get there from here,” the local says. The meaning is something like if you keep heading the way you’re going, you’ll never get there; you have to back up to the next town over, as it were, to get to where you want to go.

In the podcast episode, Replogle rebukes the idolatry often involved in the pursuit of perfect prose and perfect preaching. When you go after either of those directly, you end up exhausted and disillusioned. No sermon lives up to your expectations and no article ever achieves all you hoped it would. But, Replogle argues, if we instead have something we love more than the craft, we just might also get good at the craft too. Good writing and good preaching are not to be served but employed in the service of something greater. If you have as your highest aim to love and live for the beauty of Christ, then you just might stumble toward compelling prose and preaching. We can’t get there from here, but we can get there.

I’m sure it takes an enormous effort for Chase to recruit the guests for his podcast, read books by the authors beforehand, craft compelling interview questions or write the monologues, process the podcast through post-production, and then publish and promote each episode. That’s a lot of work. But I’m so thankful for it. Each episode fills my writing tank with diesel fuel, sometimes when I’ve been writing and preaching on fumes.

* Photo by Maarten van den Heuvel on Unsplash

** I was a guest on The Pastor Writer, episode 40, “Reflections on the Pursuit of Writing”

Marriage as a Bumper Sticker for the Gospel: A Wedding Reflection

Stories typically have a beginning, a middle, and an end. And it’s often not until we know the ending of a story that we realize all that was happening in the beginning, and for that matter, in the middle. When we think about the story of God’s love for the world—what Christians call the gospel—and we reflect upon what that good news story has to do with marriage, we learn something precious about God.

Bumper Stickers

Before we get there, I’ll tell you a story. My first pastorate was in Tucson, Arizona. In Tucson there was one particular, prominent church that gave its attendees bumper stickers with the church’s name and logo on it. I guess I should say that I presume that they gave out the bumper stickers and asked people to put it on their cars, as opposed to simply sending out covert volunteers during the service to slap the stickers on cars in the parking lot. I assume they did not do that. I do think if we had that “ministry” at our church, there would be people who would want to join the team, which is one of several reasons why we don’t.

I would see these bumper stickers all over Tucson. Nearly every time I saw one, I would wish I was privy to a conversation that I was not privy to; I wish I had been in the staff meeting when a leader presented the idea for the bumper stickers.

I imagine it going like this: “So, I have an idea I want to run by you,” says the summer intern. “I’m thinking that the Christians who call our church home, have lives so wonderfully transformed by Jesus, that Jesus is actually influencing the way they drive. In fact, our people drive so courteously, thoughtfully, safely, and law-abidingly, that we should capitalize on their good Christian driving. I think more people will come to our church based on how our people drive if we put our logo on their cars. Let’s have their driving advertise how wonderful it is to come to our church.”

I would have liked to have been in that staff meeting to hear the response. Evidently, they bought the sales pitch.

I’m poking fun at that idea and all of our poor driving, which, whether we are Christians or not, is often not done so courteously and law-abidingly.

But in a real way, God has set up the story of redemption to be a story about marriage. God has chosen—as strange as it might seem to us—to advertise his goodness through the vehicle of marriage. Marriages are to display not merely the couple’s love for each other but God’s love for his bride.

The Beginning

In the beginning of the story of God’s love for his people, God creates a man and a woman in his image. He creates two co-rulers of creation, a King and a Queen if you will, to multiply and have dominion over the earth.

Sometimes when we hear the language in Genesis of having dominion and subduing, we think of carbon footprints and corporations polluting the oceans and so on. In other words, we think of the bad kind of subduing. But in the context, the King called Adam and the Queen called Eve, are to rule the way God was ruling: In each subsequent day of creation, God took raw, unformed material and made it better; he made an environment more and more cultivated and suited to life and beauty. And as Adam and Eve ruled, they were to do the same. God’s intention for their ruling was not just for their benefit but for others too.

Consider the familiar phrase, “Therefore a man shall leave his father and his mother and hold fast to his wife, and they shall become one flesh” (Genesis 2:24). In the story, there’s no mother and no father yet, so what is that about? God is setting up a pattern that he intends to continue after the garden of Eden. It’s a good pattern. God has a grand purpose for marriage, not only for the individual couple but the work of advertising that he’ll do through marriage, if you allow me to use that word advertising.

What we see in the biblical story, however, is that shortly thereafter, Adam and Eve disobeyed God, and everything about everything got hard and ugly. When they fell into sin, Adam’s sin plunged all of us into ten thousand problems, including those in marriage (cf. Romans 5:12–21).

The Middle

And yet, despite all our issues of sin and struggle, in the middle of God’s story, we see that God still chose to liken the joy of marriage and the joy of a bride and groom, to the joy of knowing him. One example of that is from the prophet Isaiah where God likens the joy of being clothed in the garments of salvation to the joy of being decked out on your wedding day.

. . . for he has clothed me with the garments of salvation;
    he has covered me with the robe of righteousness,
as a bridegroom decks himself like a priest with a beautiful headdress,
    and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels. (Isaiah 61:10b)

In the New Testament, which is that part of the Bible written ]after Jesus came to earth, an author says something similar in a letter to a church in a city called Ephesus. But this time the wording is more specific. After quoting the passage from Genesis about a man leaving his father and mother to become one flesh with his wife, the apostle Paul writes, “This mystery is profound, and I am saying that it refers to Christ and the church” (Ephesians 5:32). Paul sees in marriage an advertising scheme, a way to display to the world how much God loves the world.

Marriage: Not a Job Interview but a Covenant Relationship

For us to make sense of that, we have to understand marriage, not how most people understand it today, but how God intends it to be. Here’s what I mean. It’s common for people to think that marriage is simply a more serious version of dating and living together. But that’s not actually true. Yes, marriage is more serious than dating, but marriage is not just the next level of dating or living together; marriage is a new, special type of relationship. When couples date and, sadly, live together before marriage, that positions the relationship like a job interview that doesn’t end.

However, God considers marriage a covenant relationship, not a consumer relationship or an extended job interview. In marriage, you already have the job. Thus, a covenant relationship is not focused on whether the other person delivers the goods. A covenant relationship is one based on a solemn vow to uphold your end of the agreement regardless of whether the other person does.

And this is why covenant relationships are so beautiful. In a covenant relationship you can be truly known—known in all of your glory, but also known in all of your depravity and shame and failures and insecurities—and not only known but still loved. This is the meaning of unconditional love: truly known and dearly loved.

It’s God’s intention that marriage would be this type of relationship—one not based on what the other person does, but rather, through “better and worse, sickness and health, richer and poorer,” the marriage holds.

God has designed marriage to work this way to display to the world the way he loves people in what Christians call the gospel; the gospel is the heart of Christianity. God doesn’t love us because we always look the way a couple looks on their wedding day, a handsome groom and a beautiful bride. The gospel is the good news that, in Jesus, God has undertaken a rescue mission for his enemies or, we might say, for a faithless bride. It’s good news that God is not interviewing me for the job of being a Christian, as though if I just perform well enough for long enough, well, then he’ll love me. If this is how you experience God, you don’t know him as he desires to be known.

Let me be more specific. The Bible teaches that Jesus lived a perfect life; he was utterly faithful to God his Father and loved him supremely. Then out of love for his Father and us, Jesus went to a cross and died, suffering the ultimate punishment for our sin, not his. Then he rose again, indicating that all punishment for anyone who trusts in Jesus is gone. The posture of God toward his children is now only that of strong, warm covenant love.

This is the mystery that Paul wrote about, the mystery that is no longer a mystery. A pastor once wrote a poem that has a few lines that speak to this. The lines go like this:

. . . marriage, from / the first embrace, is but the small / and faulty echo of a thrall / and union high above . . . (John Piper, “Joseph: Part 4,” Desiring God, December 21, 1997)

Marriages are but a faulty echo of the greater union, the author says, the union of God with his people, the union of Christ the groom with the church, his bride. I think that’s true.

You might ask the question if this is only true of good marriages. It’s not. Even our imperfect marriages testify that there is something greater, something better out there. I’ll explain. When a couple has a rotten season of marriage, or when a person wants to be married but is not married, it’s not usually that they think marriage itself is terrible. They feel disappointment because they hope for better from marriage. To use a metaphor, if I were eating cardboard, I wouldn’t be surprised that it tasted awful; it’s cardboard—of course it tastes bad. But if we were feasting, and the food was rotten and made us sick, we would be frustrated because we know feasting should lead to joy.

And so, the hurt of a sad marriage is compounded because we know, in our heart of hearts, that it was not supposed to be this way. In other words, even our sadness over broken marriages testifies, sometimes as a whisper and sometimes as a shout, that marriages are supposed to be good and that there is more to marriage than a marriage.

The End

Look what God says about marriage in the last book of the Bible, the end of the story.

Then I heard what seemed to be the voice of a great multitude, like the roar of many waters and like the sound of mighty peals of thunder, crying out,

“Hallelujah!
For the Lord our God
    the Almighty reigns.
Let us rejoice and exult
    and give him the glory,
for the marriage of the Lamb has come,
    and his Bride has made herself ready;
it was granted her to clothe herself
    with fine linen, bright and pure”—

for the fine linen is the righteous deeds of the saints.

And the angel said to me, “Write this: Blessed are those who are invited to the marriage supper of the Lamb.” And he said to me, “These are the true words of God.” (Revelation 19:6–9)

As I wrote above, stories typically have a beginning, a middle, and an end. It’s often not until we know the ending of a story that we realize all that was happening in the beginning, and for that matter, in the middle.

Throughout the biblical story, we get hints of the greater purpose of marriage, which becomes explicit in the book of Revelation. All the joy, all the feasting, all the celebration, all the love, all the “for better’s and for worse’s,” point to the great day of feasting and joy and celebration at what the Bible calls the “marriage supper of the Lamb,” a phrase used twice in this passage to refer to the great feast of the redeemed at the end of time. The Lamb is a way to refer to Jesus, the one who paid for the wedding. Weddings are expensive. I know those who sit on the front row of a wedding know this well. Jesus paid for the great wedding feast with his life. And one day all the forgiven will feast together.

On Christ’s behalf, as a preacher of the gospel, I invite you to that feast. You only need to give God your empty hands and your hungry belly. And he promises to feed you rich food (cf. Isaiah 55:1–3; John 6:35).

Marriages display this gospel, which is why marriage is a high and honorable calling. May God, in his grace, enable the good news of the covenant love of God to be the centerpiece of our marriages. And may our marriages become beautiful bumper stickers pointing people to the fierce and forever love of God.

* Photo from Marc A. Sporys by Unsplash

Jesus & Therapy: A Podcast Interview

Jesus & Therapy is a new podcast hosted by Kevin and Jessica Bullock dedicated to bridging the gap between theology and psychology. Kevin serves at his church as a volunteer minister, and Jessica is a licensed therapist.

The Bullock’s were kind to have me on their show to talk about my book Struggle Against Porn: 29 Diagnostic Tests for Your Head and Heart. We also discussed questions such as how pornography addiction starts, what are the first steps towards healing, and what a church can do to help individuals who struggle secretly.

Below is a video excerpt from my answer to the question of why I wrote the book. I’d love for you to listen to the episode. You can find it on their website Jesus & Therapy or at iTunes. And if you listen, you’ll notice I say we currently have “zero people coming to our church,” which was true in May when we recorded the interview. It’s been wonderful to meet in person again for the last seven weeks.

An excerpt from a podcast interview with Benjamin Vrbicek.

EVERYDAY FAITHFULNESS by Glenna Marshall (FAN AND FLAME Book Reviews)

Glenna Marshal, Everyday Faithfulness: The Beauty of Ordinary Perseverance in a Demanding World. Wheaton: Crossway, 2020. 176 pages.

Last summer I killed one of the fruit trees in our backyard orchard—not on purpose, of course. I sprayed the Japanese Beetles who munched our harvest and suspect I mixed the concentration of chemicals too high. One particular nectarine tree couldn’t handle it. I had hoped for a resurrection this year, but after the tree lost its leaves in the fall, they never grew back. Now, it’s just a naked trunk and twigs. Like everything in 2020, the damage to the orchard hit harder; a late frost killed the buds on five of the seven remaining trees. Moral of the story: growing food ain’t easy.

Glenna Marshall’s new book, Everyday Faithfulness: The Beauty of Ordinary Perseverance in a Demanding World, opens with a different but similar story, the story of a struggling gardener tending a struggling garden. Marshall confesses, “I hated the heat, the bugs, and the incessant need for weeding . . . the weeks of waiting for plants to break through the earth, grow, blossom, and then turn out vegetables.” Then she asks, “I mean, I could just drive to the grocery store and buy some tomatoes, right?” (p. 11–12).

Maybe you can relate to floundering orchards and gardens. I know I’m sympathetic to her question; it would be so much easier to buy fruit and veggies from a store.

Buy on Amazon

Worth noting, however, is the way the writers of the New Testament consistently use the difficult work of farming as a metaphor for Christian spiritual growth, not in spite of the difficulties but because of them. Yes, in today’s world, we have the option to buy tomatoes and nectarines from a store, but we still can’t buy prepackaged Christian maturity. Growth in Christlikeness can’t be outsourced. But the New Testament also reminds us faithful farming reaps a reward (Galatians 6:9).

Everyday Faithfulness is Marshall’s second book. She’s a writer and pastor’s wife in Missouri, and blogs regularly. The book has an introduction and nine chapters exploring what faithfulness and perseverance look like, for example, when life is busy, we doubt God’s promises, and our hearts are cold (chapters 3, 5, and 7). Although Marshall wrote the book primarily for women, I found the book relatable, challenging, and encouraging, especially the chapter on waiting. I appreciated her repeated, simple threefold challenge to pursue God through his word, prayer, and the local church (cf. David Mathis’s book Habits of Grace). Each chapter ends with a short biographical sketch of one of Marshall’s friends who exemplifies the theme of the chapter. I thought these were a nice touch, although a few seemed too short to show the faithfulness lived out, as though we had to take Marshall’s word for it.

Throughout the book, Marshall does not hide her own struggles to follow God in daily faithfulness, whether the struggle to get up early to spend time in God’s word or to occasionally turn off Netflix at night. In one place, as she critiques the desires we all have for low-effort-but-high-yield Christianity, she writes, “I didn’t want to put down slow-growing roots; I wanted to be a chia pet” (p. 41). During one difficult season in life, she tells readers, “I didn’t pick up my Bible for months” (p. 51).

While being honest about the difficulties of daily faithfulness, the book still issues a strong call to follow the Lord, even when life is hard—perhaps especially when life is hard. In this way Everyday Faithfulness shares a similar emphasis with Kevin DeYoung’s book The Hole in our Holiness, showing that the grace of God is not just for past sins; God’s grace also produces daily perseverance. “His yoke is lighter and easier than legalistic rules and false religion,” Marshall writes, “but it doesn’t allow us to roam free from all connection to him. His yoke tethers us to him and pulls us in the direction he leads us” (p. 54). And holding fast to God teaches us the wonderful truth that God “is holding fast to us” (p. 98).

The encouragement to everyday faithfulness reminds me of the line from author Annie Dillard that how we spend our days is how we spend our lives. Marshall asks, “If we’re not holding on to him now, how can we be sure we’ll be holding on to him later?” (p. 52). In other words, if we want a life of faithfulness, then we must spend our days in faithfulness. Near the end of the book she writes, “Regular habits of drawing near to Christ today keep us aligned with him tomorrow. And tomorrow’s habits of drawing near to him will keep us near to him the next day” (p. 149). Amen and amen.

If God feels distant or trials abound or you can’t seem to slow down enough to hear his voice—if your Christian life feels like a leafless trunk and twigs—reading Everyday Faithfulness might provide the water, sun, and fertilizer you need to begin bearing fruit again.

* Photo by Timotheus Fröbel on Unsplash

Fathers, Ask for Their Heart (And, Preachers, Write a Poem)

I sympathize with fellow church leaders who wrestle with what to do at church on Mother’s Day and Father’s Day. Some of us avoid them altogether, as if they didn’t exist, while others craft the sermon, even the service, around the day.

I once heard a pastor remark that those opposed to “high church liturgy” often have instead a “Hallmark liturgical calendar,” so not Pentecost or Epiphany but MLK Day, a summer series bounded by Memorial Day and Labor Day with Fourth of July in the middle, and a fall calendar with Veteran’s Day and Thanksgiving.

Our church tends to fall in the middle. On the one hand, we mark Lent and Advent, but we miss all the national holidays except Mother’s and Father’s Day.

But even when a church highlights Mother’s and Father’s Day, it’s not always clear the best way to do so. My church, just like your church, is filled with some people rejoicing and other people weeping.

Father’s Day amplifies the pain of infertility, miscarriage, abuse, abandonment, divorce, and death. But Father’s Day also highlights the joys of parenting and being parented and that children are a wonderful gift from the Lord. It’s also a day to encourage the fathers among us who strive, however imperfectly, to image the love of the heavenly Father.

During our church services on these days, I’ll often do the announcements or pastoral prayer, briefly mentioning this tension and praying in such a way as to cover the spectrum of emotions and to lift our eyes to the Lord.

Some years on Mother’s Day and Father’s Day, I also write a poem and read it to the church. Two years ago, I wrote a poem for Father’s Day based on Proverbs 23:26, which says, “My son, give me your heart.” I stumbled on that short verse a long time ago, being struck by the audacity of asking for something of such significance: a father not asking for mere good deeds done with indifference, but rather his son’s heart, the very center of who he is. It strikes me that this is what God asks from all of us. “Give me your heart,” our Father in heaven says.

My poem is an imagined conversation between a loving father and a prodigal son. I’ve included the poem below. I only share it in the hope that it might stir an idea as you prepare yourself and your church for next year’s Father’s Day.

When I shared the poem in church, the feedback was good but certainly not glowing. That’s what I expected. The poem is good but not great. And that’s okay. I ain’t Will Shakespeare or John Piper.

But this winter, a year and a half after I shared the poem at church, I went to the house of a member who had died a few days before. I sat around a kitchen table with the man’s widow and three grown children to plan the funeral of the father and husband they loved and will only see again in heaven.

After we planned and prayed and hugged, I went to leave. And as I did, I saw my Father’s Day poem taped to his fridge. I smiled, thanking God that even though most of the time pastors don’t get to see the fruit God grows through our ministry, sometimes we do.

* * *

“My Son, Give Me Your Heart”

Dad, there’s a cuddly dragon outside
I’d like to take him for a ride
He’s just beyond my window pane
His breath is steaming in the rain

My son, no
Dragons grow

I see him when I close my eyes
His whispering sounds so wise

Son, a dragon’s purr becomes a roar
He won’t be thrilled except through more
He’ll stretch his wings and won’t be tamed
His claws cut deep in hearts he’s claimed

Okay, okay, I understand
For you I’ll live a life that’s bland
I’ll clean my room and mow the yard
Grit teeth and tithe, and do what’s hard

My son, give me your heart

Remember that dragon outside?
I’m going to take him for a ride
His shiny scales feel soft and fast
We’ll swoop and soar over oceans vast

Don’t be deceived when they entice
The scales that shimmer also slice
Though his highest intension sleeps
A dragon only plays for keeps
Between your shoulders is his prize
Never believe him when he lies

My son, give me your heart

Then ride a stallion, pick a cause
Don’t live for fleeting man’s applause
Follow God, love him first to last
Then you’ll soar over oceans vast

Now, I’ve failed you; I blew it bad
I’ll run away; I’ll fix it, Dad

My son, give me your heart

You said, Love a woman, love her well
But I loved ten
You said, Follow all the rules
I ran with fools

That’s neither what I said nor meant
A father’s love will not relent
Run and run away you may
Never so far that you can’t pray
And I will surely love you still
Though you rebelled against my will
My son, give me your heart

* This article was originally posted by the Eastern District Association of The Evangelical Free Church of America here.

Hard Words Make Soft People: A Sermon on Simon the Magician

A pastor used to say that “hard words make soft people,” and then he’d add the corollary that “soft words make hard people.” His point, if I understand him correctly, was that preachers who don’t preach strongly against sin leave people judgmental and indifferent to grace–the gospel is for someone else, those more sinful than me. But when you preach hard against sin, people become tender, ready to receive the gospel and live in light of it—the gospel is for me, and I’m so thankful for Jesus.

The preacher who used to say this—and maybe he still does—seemed to apply his truism to the extreme, with every sermon preached in all caps. I’m not sure this kind of “strong” preaching had the desired effect. When everything is strong, nothing is strong.

I don’t know how you rank “boldness” or “hardness,” but I do know that over the last month several people at church have told me they appreciated the strong words in my preaching aimed at contemporary issues. I’m thankful for the feedback because, if I’m candid, strong preaching on contemporary issues is not how most people would characterize my preaching most weeks. And a healthy diet of hard words, I believe, does make for soft hearts.

Each year on my blog I share a sermon or two. For the post this week, I decided to share the one from last Sunday.

*     *     *

“A Name That Lives in Infamy,” a sermon from Acts 8:9–25

Benjamin Vrbicek
Community Evangelical Free Church on June 14, 2020

I’ve told you before about my family’s love for the show Biggest Loser, where contestants compete to lose weight. The participants on the show are not so much trying to look good in their swimsuits come summertime, as they are, it seems, fighting for their lives.

Because the show has run so many seasons, a feature of the show many people enjoy is the “where are they now” segments. These can be either wonderful or deflating. The producers string together a montage of old footage of a contestant, often a winner of the show, going from overweight to thin and all the work they did to drop the pounds. Then the producers cut to the present, footage of the former contestant now going about everyday life. And they either tend to be eating subway and drinking green smoothies or, instead, eating double cheeseburgers or drinking big gulps.

I mention this because, in this passage, we meet a man named Simon. He seems to make a profession of faith. He’s even baptized. But then his Christian life appears to hit some bumps. Or maybe we wouldn’t call them bumps so much as wrapping his car around a telephone pole. And I’ll tell you right now that we do not have footage of Simon years after these events—some footage of “where is Simon now.” But this passage and church history do offer us some clues, which I’ll mention at the end.

What I want to do now is go back through the passage, three chunks at a time. A quick word of caution before we do so. Please don’t treat this as merely academic. The details are different, but the same dynamics in this passage are on display before us in the news and in the life of our own local church. Simon’s story is an old story. But it’s also a contemporary story, showing us what happens when we want the power of God without a change of heart.

I’ll read vv. 9–13 again.

But there was a man named Simon, who had previously practiced magic in the city and amazed the people of Samaria, saying that he himself was somebody great. They all paid attention to him, from the least to the greatest, saying, “This man is the power of God that is called Great.” And they paid attention to him because for a long time he had amazed them with his magic. But when they believed Philip as he preached good news about the kingdom of God and the name of Jesus Christ, they were baptized, both men and women. Even Simon himself believed, and after being baptized he continued with Philip. And seeing signs and great miracles performed, he was amazed. (vv. 9–13)

When we hear of “magic,” we probably think of someone like David Blaine, whose magic can come across as a little dark. But when we think of magicians more generally, the image is often playful and quirky—card tricks and sleight of hand. That’s not what this was. When you read about Simon, think more witch and sorcerer and dark spirits. The people were amazed at his power and likely also afraid of it. We read that he first called himself great (v. 9), and then that the people called him great (v. 10). It must have delighted Simon’s heart to have the praise he whispered about himself boomerang back to him louder on social media.

But what happened to Simon? Apparently, Simon is converted. He listens to Philip’s preaching about sin. Simon had lied and deceived others. He’d loved the praise of his own name more than God’s. And he learns that if God were to judge him based on perfect holiness, he’d justly be condemned to hell. And then he hears about Jesus, how a perfect God-man came and lived and died. And when Jesus died, he died in the place of sinners. Jesus took the punishment for sin that Simon deserved. And he heard that the savior rose and ascended to heaven, and he’s coming again, and in the meantime, the kingdom of God was here and expanding. And Simon believed that. We read in v. 13 that the one who amazed others is now himself amazed by the gospel. Simon even follows Philip around because, it seems, he wants to walk in the footsteps of Christian discipleship.

Or does he? Let’s read vv. 14–19.

Now when the apostles at Jerusalem heard that Samaria had received the word of God, they sent to them Peter and John, who came down and prayed for them that they might receive the Holy Spirit, for he had not yet fallen on any of them, but they had only been baptized in the name of the Lord Jesus. Then they laid their hands on them and they received the Holy Spirit. Now when Simon saw that the Spirit was given through the laying on of the apostles’ hands, he offered them money, saying, “Give me this power also, so that anyone on whom I lay my hands may receive the Holy Spirit.” (vv. 14–19)

Several things to talk about here. It’s a side issue, so I won’t give it much attention now. But perhaps you wonder why the external manifestation of the Spirit of God seems to fall upon the new Christians after conversion, rather than at conversion. In the book of Acts, the Spirit seems to fall at different times, so no precise takeaway should be drawn from a single instance. The best way to understand this delay is as a blessing that the Spirit delayed because these Samaritan Christians, who were already suspect for being Samaritans, would have remained suspect unless the Apostles saw their conversion for themselves. That’s why, I think, the Spirit delayed. It’s not the ordinary practice we should expect today.

But let’s keep our focus on Simon, where Luke seems to point his camera, so to speak. First, he was amazed by Philip, who was doing the signs and wonders we read about vv. 6–7. He becomes a Christian, or so it seems. But when Peter and John show up, the super impressive CEOs of this new upstart—as Simon might have seen them—and they have even more power. Simon wants that power too, offering to buy it from them.

How are we to view his gesture? Maybe Simon’s a new convert, and his old profession exchanged power and favor for money, so perhaps Simon means well by it. Besides, wouldn’t it be nice to have such a celebrity on Team Jesus? Everybody in Samaria knew this guy, from the least to the greatest. Think about how the gospel would spread with a celebrity like him speaking for God! Let’s not fuss about whether he’s genuinely converted or not. Stop asking for the fruit of Christian character to grow out of the soil of Christian conversion before one rises to Christian leadership. Enough with the slow playing already.

God gives Peter the eyes to see his offer to buy the power of the Spirit for what it really is. Look again at vv. 20–24.

But Peter said to him, “May your silver perish with you, because you thought you could obtain the gift of God with money! You have neither part nor lot in this matter, for your heart is not right before God. Repent, therefore, of this wickedness of yours, and pray to the Lord that, if possible, the intent of your heart may be forgiven you. For I see that you are in the gall of bitterness and in the bond of iniquity.” And Simon answered, “Pray for me to the Lord, that nothing of what you have said may come upon me.” (vv. 20–24)

Several commentators point out that Peter essentially says, “You and your money can go to hell” (Merida and Willimon). Luke recounts this story to show us that wanting the blessings that come with Christianity can be very different than wanting to be a Christian. I’ll say it again. Luke recounts this story to show us that wanting the blessings that come with Christianity can be very different than wanting to be a Christian.

And we wonder which category Simon is in. Did Simon want to be a Christian, as it seemed above? We read that he believed and was baptized. Or does he just want power—first Philip was powerful, but then John and Peter are even more powerful. He had power as a magician, but now Christianity seems like a way to have even more power, and Simon simply uses Christianity to get what he already wanted out of life. Christianity is nothing more than a turbo button for the life he already wanted.

Peter says, “For I see that you are in the gall of bitterness and in the bond of iniquity” (v. 23). That word bond means slavery or chains. If we had asked Simon if when he started down this little magic path of his if he thought it would lead him to such dark slavery, he never would have imagined he’d get here. But that’s what sin does. Sin wants to push further than you ever imagined.

Peter sees Simon as a false convert, at least so far. This is why Peter is firm with him. Peter is firm because he loves Simon. Simon is drunk with power and wants to be perceived as great. Back in chapter 5 of Acts, this same lust for perception cost two people their lives. And Peter was there. He doesn’t want that for Simon, which is why he pleads with Simon to pray to God and seek forgiveness.

If you look back up at vv. 4, 5, and 12, something interesting comes to the surface. Listen to the phrases used: “preaching the word” (v. 4), “proclaimed to them the Christ” (v. 5), and “they believed Philip as he preached good news about the kingdom of God and the name of Jesus Christ, they were baptized” (v. 12). Preaching. Word. Proclaiming. Jesus. Belief. (More) Preaching. Good news. Kingdom of God. Name of Jesus. Baptism.

When Simon tries to get the Spirit’s power, what has he leapt over? He’s leapt over the content of Christianity, the very substance that brings the blessings of Christianity: Preaching. Word. Proclaiming. Jesus. Belief. (More) Preaching. Good news. Kingdom of God. Name of Jesus. Baptism.

This is why, at the start of the sermon, I mentioned that while this story is an ancient story, it is also a contemporary story. It’s then, and it’s now. Luke is cautioning us to not treat the grace of God as something that merely gives us what we want.

It’s easy, perhaps, to see the way some politician or self-help guru might use the trappings of Christianity for his or her personal gain. But it’s not just politicians who are known for this. When you mention the name evangelical, which is in the name of our church denomination, people see it as a synonym for hunger for power. How did that happen?

Are there ways Peter could be speaking to us? Maybe you have become a Christian only because Christianity gives friendships and companionship. Or maybe it gives you emotional support or joyful times of singing worship music. Maybe knowing truth and Bible verses gives you a certain authority on when you post on Facebook. Those things might not be wrong, but they aren’t the core of Christianity, which is love from God that leads to life change.

I titled the sermon “A Name that Lives in Infamy.” Perhaps that’s overdone a bit. Maybe not. It’s a reference to the day of Pearl Harbor that lives in infamy. I said we don’t know what happens to Simon; we don’t have “where is he now” footage. But the passage doesn’t end very hopeful. And when some of the early church fathers preached against certain heresies, they linked it back to Simon, another bad sign.

And then there is the name. The word “simony” was coined to describe the practice of buying leadership roles within the church. I mentioned that to Ben Bechtel, and he said, “Yeah it was, I read all about it in my church history class last semester. Simony was a huge problem in the Middle Ages,” he said. So, Simon has a name that lives in infamy.

Except, perhaps, for one word, the word “previously” in v. 9. Maybe when Luke interviewed Simon to get this story, he had, after taking Peter’s rebuke to heart, changed.

But today, I’m less concerned about him, and far more interested in you. Have you become more interested in the blessings that come from God than the blessing of knowing God himself? Not everyone talking about reopening churches cares about God and gathering with his people—some just want to make a political statement. Have you become more interested in the blessings that come from God than the blessing of knowing God himself?

If so, there’s hope. Look at the last verse in the passage.

Now when they had testified and spoken the word of the Lord, they returned to Jerusalem, preaching the gospel to many villages of the Samaritans. (v. 25)

This verse is fascinating because when the disciples went through Samaria with Jesus in the gospel of Luke, the disciples wanted to call down fire on Samaria (Luke 9:51–56). Now, they call down the blessings of  God in the gospel of Jesus.

Jesus can really change people. There was hope for Simon, and there is hope for us. But if you are to change, you need to hear the harsh words of Peter first. How is this for us, not them? How is this for me, not you?

I don’t know what ways you feel in the bond of iniquity. Perhaps sins you never expected would be so controlling now overrun your life. If so, I say what to you what Peter said to Simon: repent and your sins will be forgiven.

Join us Sunday mornings for our services at 8:30 and 11:00am. -- https://www.communityfreechurch.org

* Photo by Nicolas Hoizey on Unsplash

Reopening Our Church: Well, Sort Of

I sent a letter to our church last week about our plan to reopen our Sunday morning, in-person services. As our pastor-elders wrestled with all of the thorny issues around reopening, we were helped by drawing from what a few churches in our area had shared with their churches (specifically, letters from Liberti, Grace Bible Fellowship, West Shore, and Living Water, just to name a few). It’s nice to have friends leading like-minded churches in the area.

In the spirit of cooperation and partnership, I’m sharing the letter and video I sent to our church, hoping it might serve as another of the many helpful resources floating into the inboxes of pastors and parishioners. I consider the letter “open-source,” meaning you can use anything you want, adapting it as you see fit.

Just one disclaimer, however. You’ll probably want to think through and reword the mask section near the end of the letter. Without going into details, that’s an area of the letter I wished I had tweaked to avoid misunderstanding and better love all of our members.

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Dear Community,

Last week I heard a pastor say he didn’t like the phrasing of churches reopening. “We never closed,” he said.

I understand his point. Neither did we close. For the last twelve weeks our church has been no less of a church. I came to the office as often in April as I did in February. At our church the Word has been preached, prayers have been prayed, people have been discipled, needs have been met, and, I trust, God has been glorified.

But we did temporarily suspend meeting together on Sunday mornings in our building, which was no small change. It’s been terrible, actually. Over the six-and-a-half years I’ve been a pastor at Community, we’ve canceled our Sunday morning services only twice. When nearly forty inches of snow fell on a Saturday, we canceled. Another time our heating unit broke on a Friday, and the sanctuary temperature dropped to just above freezing, and we couldn’t get it fixed before Sunday. Even then we didn’t cancel. A church down the road let us meet in their building that Sunday afternoon.

So, again, closing for twelve consecutive weeks was no small adjustment. The leaders of Community did not make this decision lightly, but we felt we did so wisely. And now, the same prayerful and Scripture-informed wisdom that led our pastor-elders to suspend services is leading us to begin the process of unsuspending services. To say it another way, we’re opening in ten days. On June 7, we plan to hold worship services in person.

Next week we’ll follow up with more information, but let me briefly mention a few of the details now.

In the month of June we intend to hold three services on Sunday mornings: 8:30, 10:00, and 11:30. The first and third services will be inside our sanctuary (8:30 & 11:30) while the middle service will be outside in the front yard (10:00), weather permitting of course. We hope the outdoor service will especially be a blessing to those who are uncomfortable going in buildings and those who have health challenges making them vulnerable. We are going to limit each service to seventy-five people, which is a number we feel can be socially distanced in a sanctuary of our size. We’ll use some sort of reservation system for people to grab their spot. I’ll share more on the reservation system next week.

During June, we’re also going to streamline what we offer. The worship services will be shorter than normal, probably about forty-five minutes, with a sermon near the beginning and most of the singing at the end. We’ll also rope off certain pews, asking households to remain socially distanced throughout their entire time in the building. This means all children will need to stay with families during the worship services, as we will have no childcare or Sunday school classes. That’s a bummer for many of you, I’m sure. But again, we hope June is just the first phase of several increasingly less restrictive steps. This might encourage you. Over the last few months, we installed the equipment to stream our worship services to the café and nursery. So, we’ll make the café and nursery open if you need to leave the sanctuary. In the café and nursery you’ll be able to watch and hear the service. Just know those rooms will not be socially distanced, and you’ll need to keep a parent with children. Speaking of streaming the services, the first service will be live-streamed on Facebook and recorded so that people can watch it on delay.

For June, we’ll just open some of the upstairs portions of the building. And we’ll do our best to clean the building before you arrive and between the two indoor services.

We’re still working on what to do about Sunday school. There’s talk about moving it to Wednesday nights over Zoom, but we’ll let you know more about that later.

Now, let’s talk about masks. We won’t require them for the outdoor service, but everyone over the age of five is strongly encouraged to wear a mask while you are in the building. It’s what we do in Pennsylvania at Home Depot and Giant Grocery Store (for now), so we should do it at church as well. We don’t think mask wearing will be done in perpetuity, but for the time being I will be wearing a mask when I’m not preaching, as will the worship team whenever they are not leading songs. Our church will buy some extra masks and have them at the door in case you forget. That being said, if you are uncomfortable being anywhere near someone who might not be wearing a mask, or if you are adamantly opposed to wearing a mask in church, you might just want to hang back for a few weeks. Our church leadership is doing our best to make our worship services a blessing to everyone, and we need your help.

If you are sick or have been exposed to those who are, please stay home. I know you’re itching to get back—we all are. But our ability to continue to meet in person is contingent on our being wise and thinking about the needs of everyone, not just our desires. If you are not ready to come back to church, that’s okay too. In fact, we can’t have everyone come back at first or we’d have to do six or seven services. I would guess nearly five hundred people might attend our church over the course of a month, and we’re only offering room for half of that each Sunday. But based on our informal polling, we feel like that’s probably a good number to accommodate those ready to return. 

Finally, please be gracious and compassionate with each other and not make unwarranted assumptions as people make differing choices about attending or not attending, and if attending, whether indoors or outdoors. We’re in an odd time where people who have never had to publicly share their health history with others are suddenly put in the vulnerable position of having others wonder about their medical history simply by choosing to sit outside rather than inside. Let’s assume the best of others as we would want others to assume the best of us.

This is just Phase One, if you will. Our leaders will re-evaluate each week and keep our eyes open for ways to serve the church better.

More to come next week.

Thanks,
Benjamin, lead teaching pastor

A encouragement to our church as we move toward reopening on June 7, 2020.

* Picture adapted from an unused design created by Matt Higgins for my book Don’t Just Send a Resume. Even though we did not use this design for the book cover, I appreciated the way he based the design on the steeple at our church.

The Exhaustion of Pastoral Ministry: Bending the COVID Bow of Bronze

A few weeks ago our national church office reached out to me, asking if I’d be willing to write about the coronavirus from the perspective of pastoral ministry. I did not want to do it.

But I’m glad I did.

Putting into words the struggles I felt brought more healing than I expected it would. Several pastors told me just reading it did the same for them.

“Bending the COVID Bow of Bronze” is the most extended and personal essay I’ve ever had published. I didn’t share it on Facebook because I almost preferred not having people read it. But since it’s been out a few weeks, and I’m doing better than before, I thought I’d share some of it here. Even though it came out second, it’s really the prequel to a related article I wrote that many people seemed to find helpful (“Come to Me All Who Have COVID Weariness, and I Will Give You Rest”).

If you know pastors or others in full-time ministry, perhaps you’d consider sharing this essay with them.

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Bending the COVID Bow of Bronze
One pastor’s struggle toward hope in God

Despite the numerical growth and spiritual maturity our congregation experienced, I presented my dilemma to the elder board. Something had to give. Now that I had been the lead teaching pastor for a while, I told them, I have learned one of two things: either I’m not called to pastoral ministry, or I’m doing it wrong. What other option could there be? I asked. Ministry should not be so hard.

Calm and lovingly, the elder board listened. This meeting, by the way, was a month before most pastors had heard of the coronavirus.

At the time, I had just finished reading and resonated with what tennis legend Andre Agassi wrote in his transparent memoir, Open. Agassi tells of repeatedly hearing his gruff father bellow, “Hit harder, Andre!” as they practiced grueling hours on their backyard Las Vegas court. Seven-year-old Andre was forced to return balls shot out of a cannon he called “the dragon” until he grew to hate the sport that made him famous. And from his youth matches to winning Wimbledon, that voice never stopped shouting. Hit harder. Hit harder. Hit harder.

Working hard or hardly working

I often hear voices telling me to try harder and do more, sometimes from the closest allies. In a recent Twitter thread about how pastors can serve their churches, one of my favorite authors said, “quarantine = overtime,” adding that if a pastor thinks the quarantine means part-time, then he’s “asleep at the wheel.”

Okay fine, I mumble under my breath. I’m sure some pastor somewhere needed that salvo, just as Jeremiah needed to be chided about competing with horses and surviving in the thicket of the Jordan (Jer 12:5). But what if a pastor feels drowsy at the wheel for reasons other than laziness? Sitting in the driver’s seat nine months behind a short-staffed church has exhausted me—and that was before a global pandemic hit.

Between March and June, we are attempting 20 new or re-tooled ministry initiatives to serve our church during the crisis and prepare us for when we return. We’re rebuilding our website, recording video sermons and worship songs, making phone calls to members and attendees, and posting daily Facebook videos throughout May.

Yet, for every three phone calls I make to church members, I feel guilty for not making ten. My theology tells me only the Chief Shepherd is omnipresent and omnipotent, but still I try to be everywhere at once, doing ministry fast and famously, as Zack Eswine critiqued in The Imperfect Pastor. I hear Jesus whisper that all who labor may come to him for rest. But for some reason, my sin and psyche assume “all” can’t include pastors; someone has to drive his sheep.

I know I’m not the only one who feels overworked. Our fridge holds a massive daily calendar to help coordinate the schedules of everyone in our large family. On day 21 of the lockdown, I stood behind my wife as she scratched a black X on the calendar. She looked at me and said, “That’s 63 meals.” We’re now on day 60. Comedian Jim Gaffigan once said, “You know what it’s like having a fourth kid? Imagine you’re drowning, then someone hands you a baby.” We have six kids, and the older ones can eat more than me.

// To continue reading this article, please click over to the Evangelical Free Church of America’s website (here).

* Photo from EFCA NOW blog post.

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

Come to Me All Who Have COVID Weariness, and I Will Give You Rest

Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” (Matthew 11:28–30, ESV)

My friend traded his pickup for a new one. I got a good look at it the other night. It’s the kind of truck neighbors peer out the window at as the rumbling engine idles in your driveway. You practically need a stepladder to climb up to the cab. The truck is a “dually,” meaning the rear axle has two massive wheels on each side. The lug nuts on the front wheels have those spikes you see on tractor trailers. The truck is a beast made for towing. I’d say you could chain a redwood to the back, and it would yank out roots seven hundred years deep like I pull a seven-day-old weed. It’s the kind of truck that makes you feel as though you could hitch the St. Louis Arch to the back and drag it like a horseshoe.

Back in the day farmers had a way of hitching oxen together. The wood and rope connecting system was called a yoke, which allowed the full force of two oxen to plow side by side. In parts of the world, farming still proceeds in this way. Two healthy oxen might not budge a redwood, but oxen could work you and me to our death.

Jesus picks up this imagery in his familiar invitation in Matthew 11 to be yoked to him, to have rope and wood harnessed between our neck and his. Jesus promises, however, his yoke is easy and his burden is light. He promises this because, he says, “I am gentle and lowly.” Can you imagine being yoked to my friend’s dually? Nothing about that ride would be gentle.

The encompassing word all grabs my attention. Not some, not a few, not even many, but Jesus invites all who are heavy laden. All who feel hitched to a too powerful pickup, all who feel yoked to the servitude of sin, all who stagger under the weight of weariness, all who have rope burns across their necks and sun-scorched shoulders and arthritic aching knees from plowing, plowing, plowing. All may come to Jesus for rest.

Do you see yourself in the all or is the all only for someone else? As the COVID yoke lies heavy, will you come to Jesus for rest?

Mothers, will you come to Jesus for rest? You who are forced to put the stay in stay-at-home mothers, you may come to him for rest. Children follow you about the house as you run IT support and troubleshoot their iPads and Zoom calls and fix three meals a day with the food you could only get from a long line at the grocery store while wearing a mask.

Fathers, will you come to Jesus for rest? You work from home from when you wake until when you crash. Your family life and hobby life and work life and exercise life and church life ooze together. The compartments that contained the floods of craziness have collapsed. And you want to collapse as well.

Singles, will you come to Jesus for rest? Your social distancing feels more like acute social isolating, and you’re starved for conversation, laughter, and a hug.

Students, will you come to Jesus for rest? Your college dorm room was cooler than your bedroom in your parent’s house. Some of you celebrated your graduation with handmade caps and gowns and no other students or faculty. Others missed prom. Staying motivated to study when the weather warms was already difficult before COVID.

Health care workers, will you come to Jesus for rest? You labor risky hours over those who cough and sneeze and wonder if their fever will break first or them. The friends and family of your patients want to visit the hospital, but they are not permitted. So this familial labor also falls to you: not only must you take vitals and intubate, but you must hold the hand of those in intensive care.

Business owners and those who side-hustle to make ends meet, will you come to Jesus for rest? Your whole life you’ve achieved through your assertiveness, by showing up early and leaving late. Now—for reasons out of your control—you’ve been rendered passive. You can’t forge ahead because you’re not allowed. Now, homebound and without work, you wait for permission. Your spirit has restless leg syndrome.

Teachers, will you come to Jesus for rest? You lecture to a webcam and answer emails and walk the dog and grade papers all from your home classroom, which is far more of a home than a classroom.

The retired and elderly and all with compromised immune systems, will you come to Jesus for rest? Your friends cannot come to see you, and you feel more forgotten than before.

Government officials, will you come to Jesus for rest? Never have you made fewer people happy, and never have you shouldered more responsibility—responsibilities you never asked for or wanted. Weighing lives and livelihoods leaves dark circles under your eyes.

Pastors, will you come to Jesus for rest? Your church needs you. Your family needs you. You give and give and give. Ministry does not stop; it just changes venues. But when Jesus invites all, the all includes those who live to help others.

The flowing current of COVID sadness can drown the strongest swimmer. You might already be gasping for air. If you feel this way, come to Jesus. Pray to him. Read his word. Belong to his church. His grace can tow you from the mire better than any pickup. Come and enjoy the freedom found in being loved by the Savior, not controlled by a harsh slave master.

And if the waves of endless lockdown days break upon you, Jesus also wants you to tell a Christian friend. Send an email right now to a Christian who loves you and doesn’t want to see you succumb to struggle. Your friends probably don’t know how bad you feel; their own dose of quarantine might have made their gaze myopic. So, right now, send an honest text to a friend. Send the text if you feel the yoke of alcohol or porn or pain killers calling to you. Drive to the house of a friend and ask for prayer. Call your doctor if you feel the flood of depression rising.

A verse from an old hymn reads, “Come, ye weary, heavy laden, / lost and ruined by the fall; / if you tarry till you’re better, / you will never come at all.” For over two hundred and fifty years, these lyrics from Joseph Hart’s hymn Come, Ye Sinners, Poor and Needy have extended the invitation of Christ to countless weary congregations. Let the lyrics welcome you today.

You don’t have to come with superior strength for Jesus to help you. You don’t need to come with the dirt under your fingernails manicured. You can come with a COVID haircut. You can come to Christ without makeup and wearing your pjs. It may prick your pride, but you don’t need to be business casual for Christ to help you. All you need is to know your need and the urgency that if you wait until you’re better, you will never come at all.

Live recording from by the Norton Hall Band from the EP "My Hope and Stay: Hymns Project, Vol. II" For lead sheets, booking, and more information about Norto...

* Photo by Ana Cernivec on Unsplash

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ENOUGH ABOUT ME by Jen Oshman (Fan and Flame Book Reviews)

Jen Oshman, Enough about Me: Finding Lasting Joy in the Age of Self. Wheaton: Crossway, 2020. 176 pages.

Although strange at first, I grew to love it—the whole summer I rarely looked in a mirror.

During college I worked at a Christian sports camp in southern Missouri, and mirrors were not hung around campus except for the one I stood before as I brushed my teeth at the beginning and end of the day. I wouldn’t have realized mirrors are everywhere about our homes and schools and businesses, but you notice the contrast right away when mirrors go missing. You notice how mirrors invite occasional glances to check and recheck your appearance. And I admit all this as a dude, even one who’s wardrobe for a hundred days that summer consisted of an unbroken recycling of five gym shorts and t-shirts. The absence of mirrors, in a small but significant way, gave camp counselors the gift of self-forgetfulness.

Jen Oshman recently published Enough about Me: Finding Lasting Joy in the Age of Self with Crossway. The book doesn’t talk about mirrors and sports camps in southern Missouri, but the book does aim to set us free from our obsession with us, an obsession that steals our deepest joy rather than cultivating it. Jen and her husband Mark served as missionaries in Japan and the Czech Republic and now serve as church planters in Colorado. Oshman is the mother of four daughters, a podcaster, and a regular blogger on her own website, a guest contributor to places like The Gospel Coalition, and a staff-writer for Gospel-Centered Discipleship.

The audience for Enough about Me is primarily women, likely those in their 20s­­–40s who would show up to a women’s Bible study at a church. But the book intentionally aims at accessibility for those new to the faith. For example, Oshman writes near the middle of the book, “If you’ve ever been to church, you’ve likely heard the word gospel” (p. 69), which she then goes on to explain. New and non-Christians will feel at ease with statements like this and the stories of women grappling with what it might mean to follow Jesus and find lasting joy. Throughout the book, she introduces readers to many of evangelicalism’s favorite authors from the past and present, people such as Augustine, C.S. Lewis, Timothy Keller, Jared C. Wilson, Gloria Furman, and Jen Wilkin.

Oshman opens the book with the story of her tears as a young college student. Reaching goals hadn’t provided the comfort and joy she had expected they would. On the floor of her college dorm, she grabbed the Bible she brought to college but had never opened. “Although I believed in God,” she writes, “I didn’t know his word. That night, however, I grabbed it like a lifeline, reaching out for something more, something to help me catch my breath, find peace, and heal me” (pp. 20–21).

I found the final chapter particularly compelling, where she argues that a sub-Christian life is a life with a “safe, small god,” and “weak, meager faith” leading us to a “doable, manageable calling.” In short, a small god who beckons small faith who demands small obedience. The chapter made me think of a pointed question I recently heard posed by author and pastor Ray Ortlund. Ortlund asked something like whether Jesus was the glorious miracle worker that he says he is or if he is more of a “chaplain to our status quo”? Ouch. His question popped me in the nose before I had time to put up my guard.

But when we ordain Jesus as the Chaplain of Our Status Quo—or to use the words Oshman uses of a small god calling us to small obedience—our lives shrink and shrivel; they enfold inward until they collapse. The biblical story of redemption, however, tells a different narrative, one that expands our life rather than snuffing it out (p. 164).

Oshman closes the book by returning to where she opened, the story of her on a dormitory floor finding joy in God’s Word and the big God of the Bible calling her to big faith and big obedience. Oshman writes, “God, in his mercy and power, lifted my eyes from myself to him. It was in beholding him, that joy came” (p. 164).

I loved the book so much because, as Oshman tells her story of awakening, she also tells mine. And although the details may be different, if Christ has captured your heart, she’s telling your story too. Jen Wilkin writes in the foreword: “What is more fulfilling than a life spent chasing self-actualization? A life spent giving glory to the God who transcends” (p. 12). Enough about Me helps us embrace this paradoxical truth, the truth that we find life when we lay down our own to follow Jesus.

* Photo by Laura Lefurgey-Smith on Unsplash

Free Audiobook of Once for All Delivered: 128 Minutes of High-Octane Theology

I love Monster Energy Drinks. The sugary fuel goes down like a bag of liquid Sour-Patch Kids, which I also love. But I only let myself drink one can every couple of weeks or so. They can’t be healthy for you.

Last year I published Once for All Delivered, a short, dense, and high-octane theology book. It’s not as sugary as Sour-Patch Kids, but neither will it rot your teeth or give you caffeine-shakes if you listen on an empty stomach. The audiobook just hit Amazon, and I’d love to share it with you. David K. Martin, who did the narration on my other audiobooks, also narrated this one.

Below is a sample of a key section from Chapter 9 on the return of Christ. If you live in the United States or the United Kingdom, I have free download codes from Audible. (Sorry if you live somewhere else; the codes the publisher gave me only work there.) If you’d like 128 minutes of dense theology, just send me an email at benjamin@fanandflame.com.

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Sample of Once for All Delivered, from Chapter 9

Jesus will return personally and bodily (Mt 24:30; 26:64; Acts 1:11; Rev 1:7). This view stands over and against the view that a “return” of Christ in the hearts of his followers could fulfill scriptural promises. The two major interpretive decisions related to Christ’s literal and physical return are the nature and timing of the tribulation and the millennium. With respect to the tribulation, many Christians interpret this term to refer to a period of intense struggle, calamity, and persecution or a “great tribulation,” as Jesus calls it (Mt 24:21). Historic premillennialism understands the Bible to teach that the church, as a whole, will remain through this tribulation period and after a time (seven years being either literal or symbolic) Jesus will return to set up his millennial kingdom on earth. This understanding of the tribulation isn’t too different from my amillennial understanding of the tribulation, though it obviously differs significantly on the millennium. Amillennialism rightly understood does not deny the existence of the millennium as atheism denies the existence of God; rather, amillennialism understands the Bible to speak of Christ’s millennial reign to be taking place in heaven right now. The amillennial view is consistent with passages that intricately link the timing of Christ’s return with the final judgment and eternal state (Rm 8:17–23; 2 Thes 1:5–10; 2 Pet 3:3–14), not two returns of Christ with a great intervening period of time between the returns, which would make for odd readings of passages like John 5:28–29 (“the hour is coming . . .” where the “hour” would be separated by 1,000 years). True, some passages in the OT, Isaiah 11 and 65 for example, seem to describe a time “better” than the church age but “not as great” as the new heavens and new earth. Yet these passages could be speaking poetically of the new heavens and new earth. In short, what some see as taking place in the millennium can actually be seen as taking place in the final state. A rigid interpretation of Isaiah 65:20, which speaks of those dying after a long life, is odd to me, when v. 19 speaks of no more weeping. How could physical death not produce weeping no matter how long one lives?

Additional consideration, of course, must be given to Revelation 20. I favor the interpretive scheme called progressive parallelism, which understands the book of Revelation to recapitulate similar sequences of events, often with each cycle moving the description of the end a bit further. So, for example, what happens with the seals in chapters 4–7 is roughly parallel with what happens with the trumpets in chapters 8–11, and so on. Space does not allow for much elaboration, but events like stars falling from the sky “as the fig tree sheds its winter fruit when shaken by a gale” (6:13) push me away from a more chronological reading of the book. Once stars have plopped upon the ground like over-ripe figs, there can’t be much left.

Addressing the classic text of Revelation 20:1–6 directly, a few things should be said. A great case can be made for describing Satan as bound in the church age and unable to deceive the nations, at least to the degree he did in the OT (2 Kg 17:29; Mt 12:28­–29; 28:18–20; Lk 4:6; 10:17–18; Jn 12:31–32; Acts 14:16; 17:30; 26:17–18; Col 2:15; 1 Jn 3:8). Also, the reign of God and Christ upon a throne is frequently (some say exclusively) spoken of in Revelation as taking place in heaven (1:4; 3:21; 4:5; 7:9ff; 8:3; 12:5; and dozens of others). The 1,000 years mentioned in vv. 3, 5, 6, and 7 from which all our millennial views build their name (pre-, -post, a-) could surely be, in such a highly symbolic book, a round number suggesting a long period of time (cf. the figurative use of 1,000 in passages such as Dt 7:9; 32:30; Josh  23:10; Jud 15:16; 1 Sam 18:7; 1 Chron 16:15; Job 9:3; Ps 50:11; 84:10; 90:4; Ecc 6:6; 7:8; SoS 4:4; Is 30:17; 2 Pet 3:8). And it doesn’t feel like a stretch in context to see the “first resurrection” of those reigning with Christ as the believers raised to the intermediate state, whereas unbelievers do not experience this resurrection but only the “second death.” Additional evidence for considering the “first resurrection” as those alive in the intermediate state (not those raised to life on earth during a premillennial reign of Christ) comes from the several parallels of Revelation 20:1–6 with 6:9–11 and the decidedly heavenly locale of those martyrs. The parallels are a little more explicit in the Greek but can still be seen in translations. Revelation 6:9 says, “(A) I saw . . . / (B) the souls of those who had been slain / (C) for the word of God and for the witness they had borne,” and 20:4 says, “(A') I saw / (B') the souls of those who had been beheaded / (C') for the testimony of Jesus and for the word of God.” Then add to this that the whole vision in Revelation 20 (“I saw,” v. 1) feels very heavenly; missing from the text are earthly details about Christ reigning upon earth, the temple, the land of Canaan, and the holy city of Jerusalem (although perhaps some infer that the vision takes place on earth because the angel comes down from heaven). For all these reasons, I believe the amillennial view of a single, definitive return of Christ at the end of time cooperates best with the authorial intent of not only the broad witness of Scripture to the end times but the specific witness of Revelation 20.

* Photo by Christian Wiediger on Unsplash

Conquer Lust During the COVID-19 Lockdown (and a Free Audiobook)

Last year in April, I launched my book Struggle Against Porn: 29 Diagnostic Tests for Your Head and Heart. I wrote it to help men struggle against lust, not with it.

Recently the publisher of the audiobook (One Audiobooks) allowed me to give away free copies of the audiobook. You can get them here. You’ll have to put in your email address and listen from the publisher’s website—but, hey, it’s still a free audiobook.

The COVID-19 lockdown creates many opportunities to trigger your lust. Below is a chapter from the book to help you overcome temptation. What are you doing to stay vigilant?

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CHAPTER 20

Know Your Situational and Emotional Triggers; Take Precautions Accordingly

A friend of mine recently mentioned to me that when he moved across the country to start a new job, besides the stress from the move and new job, he also experienced unrelated financial pressures and a personal tragedy. “The desire to escape to fantasy,” he told me, “was strong.”

His point was porn is not the problem, not really. Our hearts crave understanding, acceptance, intimacy, empowerment, and celebration. Often we are tempted toward fantasy because we are not experiencing these things in our own life. Being aware of these deficits is key to fighting lust. This is especially true when we experience, as my friend did, a transition or crisis, which commonly triggers lust.

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During these times there are often situations and emotions that may make it harder to combat lust. In other words, there are certain things that pull the pin of your sexual grenade. These triggers do not cause immediate detonations, but they make damage nearly inevitable; it’s only a matter of time. Perhaps it’s a trigger for you to lie alone in bed on a Saturday morning when you’ve nothing else to do. Or maybe it’s traveling alone on business trips. You’re tired from travel, you miss your home, and television is a way to escape and experience fantasy. For others it’s working out at a certain gym.

We need to know our situational temptations and take precautions accordingly. When the alarm clock goes off, force yourself off the bed and out of the bedroom. To accomplish this, it might mean scheduling something early on Saturday mornings so you’re not idle in the first place. If work gets out of control, find healthy release. If your gym is a problem, buy some dumbbells for your basement.

For me, in those seasons where sexual activity in my marriage has been less frequent—whether because of my own health challenges with severe food allergies or because of my wife’s pregnancies or some other reason—I’ll occasionally have a wet dream. The desire to masturbate the next morning is strong. I know this now and can pray accordingly.

Nevertheless, triggers aren’t merely situational; they’re emotional too, often primarily so. Emotions such as stress can build up a desire for calm and release. When we’re hungry for advancement at work or some other change in our life situation, we get antsy and yearn to feel powerful and in control. When we are anxious, we feel like we’re failing at something. When we are angry, perhaps it is because our pride was wounded. When we’re lonely, sexual sin looks like a shortcut to companionship. When we’re bored, we want something new and exciting. When we’re just plain tired, our defenses are down.

Some triggers will be impossible to avoid, but as you experience them, fight to believe the promises of God even as you learn to recognize the false promises of sin, especially when they begin to whisper. Because by the time they’re shouting, they’ll be leading you to the “promised land”—and it’s often too late.

Whatever your triggers, whether they’re emotional or situational, the issue is the same: sin promises to be our savior. Sin promises to be the answer for boredom, the salve for our wounded ego. Sin promises to provide stability and a sense of control when everything else feels transient. Sin promises rest by streams of clear water when life is stressful. Sin points to the forbidden tree, the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, saying, “Look, here’s the real tree of life.” But sin always promises more than she can deliver.

Instead of looking to sin when the waters of life are drowning you, look to the one who redeems you and calls you by name (Isa 43:1–3). He has shoulders of steel and the gospel of grace.

Diagnostic Questions:

1. Right now, are you experiencing life transitions or crises that are tempting you to escape into sinful fantasy?

2. What are your situational triggers? What can you do to prevent them from “pulling your pin”? If you don’t know what they are, pray about it and ask God to show you. Also, consider keeping a mental or written log to track when you have looked at porn so that you can identify commonalities.

3. What are your emotional triggers? Hunger, anxiety, anger, loneliness, fatigue, boredom? If you’re not sure, pray and think it over.

4. Sexual sin promises to be the savior of these emotions, but how is sin a disappointing savior? In what ways does the real Savior, the real gospel message, offer better salvation?

* Photo by Stijn Swinnen on Unsplash

A Video Series for Men

I created a 10-day video series to help men struggle against porn. Also included with the videos is a free ebook called 50 Questions for Accountability Meetings, which gives you tons of questions to consider as you struggle against lust and pornography.

EPIC by Tim Challies (FAN AND FLAME Book Reviews)

Tim Challies, Epic: An Around-the-World Journey through Christian History (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2020), pp. 176.

The potency of words tends to decrease over time. Take the word “love” for instance. Broad application has cheapened the word. Do we really love our spouse and Netflix? I hope we don’t love each in the same way.

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The same degrading has happened to the word “epic.” Can both nachos and Niagara Falls be epic?

As I followed Tim Challies on social media over the last couple of years, I would say that we could legitimately use the word epic to describe his travels. He toured South Korea one week, blogged from his home in Canada the next, interviewed pastors in Africa the following week, and then was back in Canada for church on Sunday. At least that’s what it seemed like, and this adventure went on for months and months. I only casually followed his travel schedule via his Instagram posts, so I didn’t know why he was traveling so much. Now I do. And I’m thankful for all his hard work.

Tim Challies is the author of several books, co-founder of the publishing company Cruciform Press, and an influential Christian blogger. For months he traveled back and forth to every continent except Antarctica for his latest book project Epic: An Around-the-World Journey through Christian History. The book releases today, along with the documentary about his travels.

33 Faith-Building Reminders from Around-the-World

Epic tells the story of the spread of Christianity from the early church to the present day. But the method Challies uses to tell the story is novel. He doesn’t give readers the typical recounting of history through people and places. Instead, by visiting, photographing, and in many cases holding thirty-three different objects from Christian history, Challies narrates the expansion of the gospel. The story begins with a statue of Augustus Caesar and ends with the YouVersion Bible app, that is, the story moves from the world of the Roman Empire to the world wide web.

In seminary I took several graduate-level classes in church history, so I was already familiar with many of the stories told in the book, such as the broad outline of John Calvin’s life or the thousands who flocked to hear George Whitefield’s open-air preaching. But using specific objects to tell these same stories added freshness. Looking at Calvin’s chair—the chair he sat in for hours and hours as he prepared his many sermons, books, and commentaries—or seeing the rock upon which Whitefield stood to preach, somehow made these men more life-sized in a good way, a relatable way.

Challies does not only roll the highlight reel of Christian history; he covers lowlights too. For example, he writes about a Reformation-era indulgence box displayed in a museum in Wittenberg, Germany. The indulgence box resembles what John Tetzel would have used while raising money for the Pope with the jingle often attributed to him: “When a penny in the coffer rings, a soul from Purgatory springs” (p. 51). Challies writes, “The coins that slid through the slot and into the coffer represented a gospel of salvation by works, a gospel foreign to the Bible, a false gospel.” But it was from this lowlight that God birthed the Reformation, the recovery of the biblical gospel, the good news of salvation by faith alone through Christ alone.

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Sample of the book’s layout (from Amazon website).

Zondervan did an excellent job designing the book. I appreciate the colorful but simple layout, which complements the accessible writing. My middle school daughter spent time reading the book when it first arrived. Later, I read my eleven-year-old son the story of ancient graffiti that mocked an early Christian named Alexamenos (chapter 3), a great story by the way. If Challies ever writes a sequel, perhaps he’d consider making it more of a prequel: the roots of Christianity in the history of the Old Testament.

Two Helpful Takeaways from EPIC

As I read Epic, two takeaways hit me, one takeaway Challies highlights in the book and another that came from reading the book in our present crisis.

First, a beautiful disconnect exists between the simplicity of many of the objects and their significance. A simple chair for Calvin to write, a simple organ for Wesley to compose hymns, a simple reading stand for Edwards to study, and a simple rock for Whitefield to preach. “Whitefield Rock, though it is but a slab of stone in an open field,” Challies writes, “reminded me that God does not need great buildings, the beautiful churches and cathedrals of Christendom. All God needs to carry out his work is a faithful believer who will faithfully preach his gospel” (p. 97).

Second, it was an odd but beautiful blessing to read a church history book as the coronavirus stalks the globe and kills thousands of people and infects a million more. Church history reminds me that God’s people have been through long and hard times, and that God’s glory often shines brightest across a dark background. Challies brought out this truth well when discussing the persecution of the church. The most moving story in the book for me was about Marie Durand, who was imprisoned in France as a young woman and released decades later. She carved into a stone the word French word for “resist” as an encouragement to her and the other imprisoned women to resist recanting their Christian faith. I tend to forget these stories. But I need the reminders, not merely to know facts about dead people from faraway places but for the vibrant awareness of God’s faithfulness that I need to live for God in our day. The “great cloud of witnesses” that the author of Hebrews mentions has only grown over time (Hebrews 12:1).

I mentioned above that words and phrases have a tendency to become diluted over time, like the words “love” and “epic.” In a similar way, book reviewers tend to overuse and cheapen the phrase “highly recommend.” But I do highly recommend the book Epic. Here I stand and can do no other.

* Picture of Rylands Manuscript P52, which Challies talks about in Chapter 2 (Photo from Wikipedia).

Trailer for the accompanying Epic documentary:

Discover the story you're already a part of. Through thirty-three objects, Tim Challies explores the history of what God is accomplishing in this world-wheth...

When My Little Boy Got the Swine Flu: Learning to Lament

On Wednesday of last week, I put on Twitter that I experienced a “Lenten miracle.”

“What was that miracle?” you say.

I finished my sermon early. That might not feel so miraculous to you, but I’ve struggled to complete a sermon before Saturday most weeks over the last year because we’ve been short-staffed, and pastoral attention is spread thin.

But I had to finish early because I traveled to Philadelphia at the end of the week for a conference with other pastors. The conference was before everything was being canceled because of the pandemic—or I should say during when everything was being canceled. I say this because as announcements were made nationally and at the state level by our governor, you could see and feel the attention of all the pastors in the room shift to our vibrating phones.

The Fear of Being Helpless

Our church, like all churches, has members with different levels of fear on the one end and skepticism on the other. I’m sympathetic to both. But I keep thinking about November of 2009. I got the swine flu, and so did my eighteen-month-old son. I was a fulltime seminary student, and I worked nearly fulltime in the construction industry too. We didn’t have a ton of money. I was afraid. The news told me people were dying, especially children and the elderly. A classmate was a former physician. I begged him to write a prescription for Tamiflu which was being rationed. I couldn’t focus on lectures or work, always thinking about what would happen to my little boy and fearing the worst.

I don’t feel that same fear now, but I pastor some who do.

Because I finished the sermon early on Wednesday, when it came time to preach it to a video camera on Saturday afternoon so we could share it on Sunday morning (another first for us), looking over my message felt odd. I wrestled with whether to set everything written aside and start a new sermon from scratch or to simply preach it as written. The world had changed so much in just a few days. In the end, I chose something of a middle road. We continued our sermon series: “How Long, O Lord? Learning the Language of Lament.” As our church journeys toward Good Friday and Easter, we are preaching through several of what are called Psalms of Lament. We couldn’t have planned it better.

I Find the Psalms Difficult to Read

I wonder if there are parts of the Bible that you read with more ease. Perhaps when you read certain parts of the Bible, twenty or thirty minutes go by without difficulty. Maybe the passionate gospel logic from the book of Romans captivates you. Or perhaps the parables of Jesus arrest your attention. Or maybe you love the Old Testament narratives, as in the book of Esther. You love reading about the hidden hand of divine providence that orchestrates events, turning the heart of the king toward his wife and the good of God’s people, which, by the way, is a helpful reminder for right now: God’s hiddenness does not indicate the absence of his power.

Some of you feel this way about the Psalms. I hear you talk about them this way. “When things are wonderful,” you say, “I read the Psalms.” “When things are hard,” you say, “I read the Psalms.” That’s good. I admire those of you who feel this way. I confess that I find the Psalms the most difficult of all portions of Scripture for me to read and enjoy. I’ve tried to think about why. I have a few ideas.

I think I’ve struggled to read and enjoy the Psalms because my method of Bible reading does not cooperate well with the genre of the Psalms. Reading four chapters every day as I make my yearly revolution from Genesis to Revelation, doesn’t allow enough time to go deep with each Psalm.

I’ll put it like this. You can drive your car to church on the highway in sixth gear. But if you want to back up out of your driveway, sixth gear is not so helpful. You need reverse. You need to gently tap the brake pedal as you cycle your eyes through your mirrors and glance over your shoulder, constantly adjusting the steering wheel. The Psalms are like reverse. The Psalms demand individual attention. They demand time. They demand a lingering and contemplative approach. This is true of the whole Bible, but especially when reading the Psalms because each new chapter of the Psalms is like beginning a new short story with a new author, new plot, new characters, new struggles.

When the Academic and Theoretical Becomes Experiential

In Psalm 38, which was our passage last week, the author says in verse 2, “For your arrows have sunk into me, / and your hand has come down on me.” In our piety, we would likely be inclined to say, “For it seems like your arrows have sunk into me, / and it seems like your hand has come down on me.” But the Psalms encourage us not to be so tidy with language. Psalms of Lament come from the gut. We shout Psalms of Lament with vocal cords warn raw from groaning. In this way, the Psalms of Lament are best studied not under a microscope while we wear a white lab coat, but rather in sackcloth with dust and ash on our heads. Biblical laments are learned by fathers with an open Bible and a toddler who can’t stop vomiting.

I am not thankful that some in our congregation feel helpless and afraid. But given where we are, I am thankful that this Lent season we have a chance to slow down, a chance to linger over just one Psalm each week. When we began planning a sermon series called “Learning the Language of Lament,” I never expected that our “learning” would be so experiential. God knew better.

* Photo by Nik Shuliahin on Unsplash