Love of Learning

The Bezners leaving First Baptist Church of Rowlett on April 10, 1999.

When I was in college, the school offered a course entitled “Sociology of Marriage.” The professor joked that anyone who stayed married for 50 years could petition to have their grade changed to an “A.”

While in jest, his point was simple: There’s far more to marriage than you could ever learn in a class. Part of learning how to be married is in the marriage itself. I suppose this is why, in part, I don’t dispense a great deal of marriage advice, particularly from the pulpit. If I’m honest, I’m still learning.

That being said, today Joy and I are officially halfway to earning an “A.” Yes, that’s right: Today is our 25th wedding anniversary.

In celebration, I’ll share a little of what I’ve learned about marriage so far. None of this is groundbreaking. It is, however, what I needed 25 years ago. Maybe it will help someone else today.

*****

For most of human history, there have been two primary ways of thinking about marriage. The first envisioned women as little more than property; wives were often sold and treated as purchased goods of sorts. The second is far more egalitarian, focusing on the joy and pleasure in the match; words like “soulmate” might be used in describing this more self-actualized version of matrimony. This is usually the more modern, Western conception of marriage. It is far superior to viewing women as property.

Neither of these, however, is the marriage Joy and I have had—at least not for most of our twenty-five years.

If I’m honest, we have had both of the types of marriages described above at times. Sadly, there have been times where I have treated Joy like little more than property. I am not proud of that confession, but to avoid confessing it would be dishonest. At other times, we have been soulmates of sorts—laughing and encouraging one another along the way. Those times have been more recent. We are in that sort of a season now, and it is fantastic.

But much of our marriage has been like neither of these. Instead, it has been a marriage where our respective weaknesses have been on display.

Each of us have weaknesses we bring into our marriage. Mine are legion, and they began to show themselves early on in our life together. In our first years of marriage, I would often lose my temper, exploding with a volcanic anger. I couldn’t explain why I was angry, but, boy was I angry. I would often find myself regularly gripped with fear—fear that Joy would leave because of my unpredictable anger. To make matters worse, wounds from my past would sometimes show up and lead me to a deep fear. That fear would come over me at night, settling on me like a shadow as we would lie in bed. I would start sobbing for reasons I could not explain. There are still times when an inexplicable sadness overcomes me. in those days I would think to myself, “Am I crazy?” Other times I would ask Joy directly, “What’s wrong with me? Why am I crying?” She would hold me as I would shake and sob. As she would embrace me, I would think, “She’s surely going to leave. Who can put up with this?”

I had other issues, as well. I would shoot off sarcastic comments. I would be too harsh with the boys. I would complain a great deal. I would make rash decisions. In premarital counseling, I like to tell couples that there are five main areas couples fight about: money, kids, family, communication, and sex. I’m proud to say that Joy and I have hit all five.

I could keep going. You get the point.

And I haven’t even talked about the stresses of parenting, ministry, or heart failure along the way.

We made the Gainesville Daily Register, y’all. (PS: We were not married at FBC Breckenridge, nor did Joy graduate from Rowlett High School. Nevertheless, we made the paper.)

Let me make it plain: Life has been hard much of our marriage, and I often made our lives harder because I was hard to live with for much of our marriage.

I have spent many hours in prayer, many hours in counseling, many hours with godly men, and many hours reading my Bible. And to be sure, each of those has helped me change—slowly but surely—into a different man.

But along the way there was one constant that changed me in ways I never could have foreseen—Joy never stopped loving me.

I’m sure that there were times when she wondered if I was worth the trouble. For the record, she’s never said that to my face, but I’m sure she wondered it. I would have wondered it if I would have been in her shoes. And yet she just kept loving me day after day as I grew and matured and slowly became more and more the man that I should have been all along.

She did that because we had a very specific vision of marriage in mind on April 10, 1999—a vision that is different from the other two visions of marriage I discussed earlier. The vision of marriage she believed in was the Christian vision of marriage—learning to love one person the way that Jesus loves them. The Christian vision of marriage is built on vows—solemn promises—in which a man and a woman decree before God that they will love one another until one of them dies, for better or worse.

Joy took those vows seriously. She loved me like Jesus did, and that constant, boundless love gave me the space to heal and grow. Her love is probably the greatest gift I have ever been given.

Joy is a woman of prayer. She loves Jesus fiercely. When I was at my weakest and my wonkiest, she loved me relentlessly. The Spirit filled her and shone through her. I felt the love of God in the way she loved me. I don’t think it is a coincidence that my own personal spiritual reawakening came after we had been married a short time, because her love finally made it possible for me to understand the unconditional love of God.

That sort of love—a dogged, persistent, I’m-going-to-love-you-even-though-you-are-an-absolute-pain sort of love is what has made our marriage possible.

That sort of love allows you to serve without being served, to bring your best when your spouse isn’t. It allows that because it flows from Jesus—the bottomless well of life. That is how Joy loved me—because she loved Jesus first.

*****

You’ve probably noticed I’ve said nothing about Joy’s weaknesses thus far. Those aren’t mine to tell. I’ll simply say that yes, she has them. I’ll also say that her constancy in love gave me (and still gives me) the courage to love her in the same way she loved me.

Over the last twenty-five years, we have had some enormous fights. Over the last twenty-five years, we have grown up a great deal. I am in many ways quite literally a different person than I was when we got married. Joy is, as well. Despite the conflict, despite the changes, we have always been able to move forward because of one central reason: we promised to keep loving each other. And on those days when one of us didn’t feel like loving the other, we just kept doing it, anyway.

Christian faith centers on a cross; it reminds us that the love of God is cruciform. God shows his love by giving of himself when the only thing to gain is friendship with someone who would, of his or her own choice, reject him. Much like the compost pile that brings life to the garden soil through death, the self-giving love of the cross shows us how we might bring life into marriage. If only one spouse brings love, there are any number of ways things may play out. But if both will do so, the combined love can create enough compost to bring life from the most dead of soils. That is the love that Christians are called to model. And that’s the love I’ve been learning from both Jesus and Joy for the last twenty-five years. I love learning it, and I hope to keep learning it for twenty-five more.

In summary, my advice is simple: Keep loving others like Jesus loves you. It is more powerful than any argument you might win. It is where you will find life.

*****

P.S. After Joy read this, she said, “I think you were way too hard on yourself.” That may be true. I don’t want to act like I have no positive qualities. It’s not that at all. This isn’t a post of self-loathing. This is a post of gratitude. I truly believe that we made it because Joy showed me how to love.

Joy, thank you for loving me when I have not been easy to love. I have learned more about Jesus while watching you love me than I have from every book I’ve ever read. I promise to keep trying to love you the same way, although I believe you’ll always be one step ahead of me.

Cover Reveal and Pre-Order

Friends, just wanted to share a quick update. First of all, the book officially has a cover, as you can see below.

Secondly, Your Jesus is Too American: Calling the Church to Reclaim Kingdom Values over the American Dream, is now available for pre-order. Although the book does not officially release until October, I’m told that pre-order numbers matter a great deal, so I would be honored if you would choose to use some of your hard-earned dollars to purchase a copy (or ten). You can purchase the book (so far) at:

Baker Books (40% off)

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

The fact that this book is going to be a real thing continues to stun me. Thanks to those of you who have encouraged me along the way. Special thanks to Beth Moore for writing the foreword, the entire team at Brazos Press, and to Jared Wilson for encouraging me to write more about a decade ago. The title is a nod to Jared’s first book, Your Jesus is Too Safe.

Thanks for your encouragement and support, friends. It means the world to me. Much love.

Writing Update

It’s been a while.

Just wanted to poke my head above ground to give you a quick update.

I haven’t written much here lately, because I’ve been working on a full-length writing project. Last year I signed a contract with Brazos Press to write a book. I’ve been working on the book over the last year, and I’m now in the editing phase. As a result, I haven’t had much margin to write here.

For those of you wondering, the book is tentatively titled Your Jesus Is Too American: Calling the Church to Reclaim Kingdom Values Over the American Dream. As you can surmise from the title, I’ll be asking people to reconsider the teachings of Jesus instead of being defined by American culture. There are chapters on things like power, politics, money, race, suffering, and the like. I’m honestly really excited. I’ve had a blast working with the team at Brazos, and I’m honored to have the opportunity to write a book.

I hope to drop some excerpts of the book here as we get closer. I’ll also invite those of you who are interested to be part of the launch team, to pre-order (if you’re interested in buying a copy), etc. The tentative publication date is October 2024, so I hope to have more details as Summer nears.

Thanks again for ever reading anything that I write. I don’t take that honor lightly.

More soon,

Steve

Important Days

Steve and Joy Bezner with Emily (between me and Joy) and Lori (on the right) at the girls’ high school graduation.

I originally wrote this ten years ago. Today is the 27th anniversary of Erin’s passing, and, true to form, I have had texts from both her sisters today. Not about the anniversary, mind you. Just funny stuff we (me, Joy, Emily, Lori, and John) send one another all the time. In honor of them and in memory of Erin, I hope you’ll take the time to read this.

*****

Certain days change your life. And other days help you understand the change.

February 9th, 1996 was a day that changed both me and Joy. 

******

In the Spring of 1996 I was a junior at Hardin-Simmons University and was serving as University Intern at Pioneer Drive Baptist Church—a position I had held for just over a year. I ministered to college students as one of their peers. It was my first official church position, and I loved it. Joy was a sophomore at Hardin-Simmons. She attended Pioneer Drive, and we were in the same circle of friends at school, but she and I were not yet dating. (That wouldn't happen for some time.) 

Joy was suitemates in her dorm with a vivacious girl named Erin. Erin was enthusiastic, funny, musical, and a campus leader. She was a member of Student Congress, Student Foundation, a Greek club, and, oddly enough, the Baptist Student Ministry puppet team. Joy and Erin, along with several other girls from their corner of the Ferguson dorm spent almost all of their waking hours together. At a small school like Hardin-Simmons, students who live on campus form a tight community, so a girl like Erin was well-known.

Throughout that year Joy and Erin and several other friends that were part of the University Ministry at Pioneer Drive became very close. I led a Wednesday night Bible study most weeks, where 30 or so students would gather to sing and study Scripture. I was a ministry novice, and I most likely butchered the New Testament from time to time, but I still look back on those Wednesday nights with great fondness. We would laugh and discuss God and ponder the lives we each had ahead. And, through it all, I was attempting to learn something about pastoring.

On the night of February 9th, tragedy struck. 

Erin and two other students (Kelli Marshall and Jason Hale) were traveling to sing at a church in Houston when their car collided head-on with a semi truck. All three were killed.

I don't remember where Joy was that night, but I will never forget where I was. I was standing, half-dazed on the lawn of Ferguson dormitory, struggling to be a pastor. I knew I was supposed to say something, to be pastoral to my peers. Instead, I simply sobbed, hugging my friends tightly and praying with as many as I could.

As the funeral approached, Erin's parents opened up their home to grieving college students making the trek to Killeen for the service. We visited on floors and couches, sharing stories of Erin, groping our way through the grieving process.

And, somewhere during that time in Killeen, I met Erin's younger twin sisters, Lori and Emily. 

Lori and Emily were fourteen years old at the time. They were, like Erin, full of life and hilarious. I liked them immediately.

During the funeral, I saw Erin's parents, along with Lori and Emily, crying and hugging Joy. Joy was crying, too. They hugged her like she was a family member.

******

Joy and I dated through 1998 and were engaged on Labor Day. Throughout that year, I noticed that Joy regularly took time to communicate with Lori and Emily. She would call them, visit them, and send them cards. She made it a point to reach out to them on February 9th. She kept pictures of them in their band uniforms in her room.

Slowly I began to understand. Joy had decided to make the girls part of her life. Since Erin was gone, she had decided to become their big sister.

Which meant that I was to be their brother-in-law.

I don't know that we ever fully discussed what us adopting the girls would look like; it was simply an assumed part of our relationship. The girls were simply part of the package.

And so they became part of our lives.

They were in our wedding. We were their Disciple Now leaders. We went to their high school graduation. We visited them a couple of times at college (yes, they went to Hardin-Simmons, as well). We sent some flowers on one February 9th. We met them for pie in Edom, Texas. We hosted them in our house. We screened boyfriends. Joy went to visit them at their homes. We hosted them again. I crashed at their house in Tyler for a church planting conference. And we hosted them again. And again. And again.

In short, we treated them like they were our little sisters.

Because they were. Or rather, they are.

Lori and Emily now live in Tyler. Lori is a science teacher and is married to an incredible man (who has become a close friend), John. Emily is a music teacher, trained as a librarian, and has the ability to make me laugh harder than almost any person alive.

We love them.

******

Today we drove back from Tyler, having seen the girls again. Of course, they're not girls any longer. But that's what we call them.

Today was a beautiful and special day for us, because today John and Lori adopted their daughter, Maddie. Maddie was brought to them through the foster care system when she was four months old. And for the last fourteen months they have loved her and taken care of her and prayed for her. And we have prayed that the Lord would make it possible that they might be able to adopt her.

Foster care adoptions are rarely simple, and Maddie's was no exception. There were dramatic moments, and there were times when I would look at Joy and say, "I have no idea what will happen if they don't get to adopt her."

But, thankfully, that didn't happen. 

Instead, today we celebrated. JB put on her black dress and I put on my bow tie and we joined the family at the Smith County Courthouse. The attorneys cried with cracking voices and I sobbed as I videoed the judge declaring that Maddie's name had officially been changed. And then we went to their house and enjoyed a party that Aunt Emmy (Maddie's name for Emily) had organized with cupcakes and fruit dip and ice cream punch and Stanley's Famous BBQ. The entire family doted over Maddie as she ran around in her dress and basked in the center of attention. (You should read the entire story at Lori's blog here.)

Somewhere around 11:30, John asked me and his dad, John, Sr., to go pick up the BBQ. As we sat at Stanley's Famous waiting on our order, he said, "Steve, I have a hard time keeping all of John's friends straight. How do you know John and Lori? Did you work at Pine Cove?"

My head swam for a moment. I didn't really know how to answer that question. So I gave him the full story, something similar to what you read above.

John nodded and listened. After I finished, he paused. Then he said, "You know, we saw an adoption today. But adoption comes in all shapes and sizes. You and your wife saw that those girls needed to be loved. So you loved them. That's the sort of love that God has. He sees us, in our need, and He loves us. No questions asked. You adopted those girls."

I held my styrofoam cup of iced tea in both hands and looked into it. He was right. I had certainly never thought of it like that before, but, I guess he was right.

We brought them into our family.

This afternoon, as we prepared to say our goodbyes, some things started to crystallize in my mind. Our lives were changed on February 9, 1996. But I understood them today, on September 17, 2013. Today I saw that we adopted two girls—who are now two amazing women—who are now mother and aunt to a newly adopted girl.

Many years we chose to love them.

And now? Now they are choosing to love the most precious little girl in Tyler. 

The adoption, it seems, has come full circle.

******

Christianity teaches that the Lord adopts us through the forgiveness of Jesus. He has chosen us and transformed us. We are no longer enemies of God, but, if we receive His grace, we are His sons and daughters. We are adopted.

Will we allow our adoption to transform us? Will we use it to allow us to love others?

I want my adoption to go full-circle over and over. 

I want the love of Jesus to overflow onto everyone else in my path.

When you are in Christ, your adoption leaks onto others, allowing you to adopt them in love and grace and to model the gospel of grace that has been given.

At Aunt Emmy's party, John and Lori set out a Bible with pens. They asked those present to underline a verse and to sign their name next to it.

I chose Ephesians 1:5:

"He predestined us for adoption as sons through Jesus Christ, according to the purpose of his will."

Don't waste your adoption.

Freedom to Love

Image: Subsplash, OC Gonzalez

Do nothing out of rivalry or conceit, but in humility consider others as more important than yourselves.—Philippians 2:3

Let’s get this out of the way now: I once cried at 4th of July fireworks.

On that particular Independence Day, I stood behind my (then young) family as fireworks were bursting in perfectly-timed coordination with “The Stars and Stripes Forever” and “1812 Overture.” I thought of my grandfathers and their service in World War II. I thought of the beauty and power of free speech. And, being a pastor, I thought of how grateful I was for religious liberty.

So, yes, I shed a tear. What can I say? I’m thankful for America.

Lately, however, I’ve been thinking more—and a little bit differently—about my rights. Specifically, I’ve been thinking about how the gospel calls me in very clear terms to surrender them. To be clear: I’m not talking about legalities here. I’m not talking about elections or the Constitution. I’m talking instead about something deeper.

If I could preach a sermon to every single American today, it would be that the freedoms and rights we remember and celebrate today become stronger when they are seen as a freedom and a right to love and help others. When I think of the freedom I have in Christ, I know that I have not only been set free from an old life, but I have been set free to live in a new way. I have been set free to live the Jesus Way in the midst of a world eagerly awaiting remaking.

What does such a freedom look like?

Humans were made to live in complete freedom, fashioned in the image of God (Genesis 1:28). Jesus is the image of the invisible God (Colossians 1:15). In other words: If you want to know what it means to live up to the image of God that has been placed within you, then live like Jesus. He is the image of the invisible God. As you live like Jesus, you’ll experience a freedom that far surpasses anything you could find in the Bill of Rights.

Rights are about self; the gospel, on the other hand, is all about self-giving love. The cross is our reminder: God gave Himself in a loving way so that He might bring healing and wholeness to each of us, to bring about the redemption and remaking of all things.

Simply put: When I focus on my rights, I think primarily of myself. When I focus on Jesus, I find myself thinking of others.

The earliest Christians were enslaved by Rome, but they talked incessantly of their freedom in Christ. They had been set free from sin and death. And, in turn, they were set free from the thing hardest for most humans to escape—thinking first and foremost of themselves. When we are able to forget ourselves, to truly practice humility, we enter a new level of freedom. No longer are we simply free in a spiritual sense, but we are able to walk freely in the world, experiencing a relational freedom of which most only dream. We are not attempting to impress others. We are not worried about appearances. We are operating from a freedom of being fully known and simultaneously fully accepted. This freedom flows as we find our identity in Christ. As such, we are able to share our possessions, to serve others, to give.

We are finally freed to love others the way we have been loved. The way we would want to be loved.

This is the greatest freedom of all—the freedom of Christ.

“It is for freedom that Christ has set us free.”—Galatians 5:1

Jesus set you free so that you could actually live free. And that freedom is so that you can be free to relate to your neighbors, to your family, to your enemies—as if you are embodying the very image of the invisible God among them. You become Jesus in their midst. You live freely.

Today reminds me that I am free to worship the One who allows me to think less of myself. I am free to worship the One who gave of himself so that all things might be new. I am free in humility to consider others more important than myself. (Philippians 2:3)

I am free to love.

I’ll celebrate that.

Hopefully without tears.

Ministry in a Post-Roe World

Image: Subsplash, Ian Hutchinson

Just hours ago, the Supreme Court officially handed down a ruling that effectively overturns the legal precedent set by Roe v. Wade, meaning that abortion laws must be determined by individual states, barring a law passed by Congress. Christians and churches historically have opposed abortion, focusing the bulk of their legal and political energies on Roe. (I wrote about that historical and theological belief here, if you are interested.) Now that Roe is officially overturned, Christians have an even greater responsibility to minister within their communities, particularly in states where abortions will be highly restricted.

Why do we have this responsibility? Because we are pro-life. We cannot be part of the group advocating for the end of Roe without also advocating for a way for women with unwanted and crisis pregnancies to receive care, assistance, and support. Additionally, we must work to build support systems for the increasing number of babies (and, thereby, preschoolers) we will soon have.

The church must continue to work and advocate in a way that renders abortions essentially unnecessary. The church must work to ensure that every woman feels loved and that every child will have its needs met. This decision is fresh, and I am still thinking through implications, but I know this:

If we call ourselves pro-life, we must work to build an even stronger culture of life.

I hope we will resist the impulse to speak flippantly and that we will instead think of ways that we might concretely work to support those in our communities struggling with crisis pregnancies and the women wondering how they will raise children without a family or other relational support structures.

Where might Christians place their energies today?

A few thoughts and a few reminders:

1. Value pregnant women, no matter their story. Abortion disproportionately affects the impoverished. Abortion disproportionately affects minorities. Abortion disproportionately affects unwed women. Abortion disproportionately affects women from unstable home situations. And each of those women are created in the image of God. Churches should begin thinking immediately about a way to publicly demonstrate their openness to helping pregnant mothers looking for assistance, and they should hand those resources out, no matter the story behind the pregnancy. If a woman is pregnant, the church cannot stand in judgment, but must spring into compassionate action, working to connect that mother with the services and assistance needed. I suspect that churches will need someone within the congregation who will be willing to mentor and guide (particularly young) mothers through their pregnancy and assist them in assessing their options post-birth.

2. Support domestic fostering and adoption. If abortion is not an option, the number of children within the foster care system and in need of adoption will increase rapidly in the coming years. Christians should look for ways to encourage their members to foster children and to consider adopting children from within the foster system. Additionally, Christians should partner with adoption agencies, helping pregnant mothers to place their child in a loving home, if that is desired. Joy and I have long been fans of New Life Adoptions, a Christian open-adoption agency started by our church almost 40 years ago. I would recommend financially supporting New Life or similar organizations so that they are able to support the sure-to-increase number of mothers.

   I obviously support international adoption and will continue to do so. At the same time, the overturning of Roe means that Christians must put specific energies towards domestic fostering and adoption.

3. Support local pregnancy centers. Beyond adoption and fostering organizations, pregnancy centers provide women with prenatal care, nutrition information, connection to medical experts, and can serve as a bridge to mentors, adoptions agencies, the fostering system, and churches who will assist pregnant mothers.

4. Support financial assistance for pregnant women in need. One of the most common reasons pregnant mothers choose abortion is the lack of financial support. Pregnancy, birth, and child raising are all very costly. Our church has long supported those in our community in financial need, and I anticipate that this ruling will push us to examine this particular aspect of our generosity even more closely. Some individuals may have the financial bandwidth to assist a pregnant woman and might choose to exercise generosity in providing for her care and the care of her child. Bottom line: we must work to insure that those who are pregnant have the financial wherewithal to have a healthy pregnancy, to receive proper care, and to raise the child in a supportive environment.

5. Advocate for legislation. As generous as some people, churches, and organizations might be, the church will now need to ask her elected officials to propose, craft, and pass legislation that will help women with crisis pregnancies and the costs of child rearing. I need to think further about what laws ought to be proposed, but beyond financial support, we ought to consider ways that medical costs, childcare, mentoring, counseling, parenting classes, and the like might be made available to those who would previously have chosen abortion. In coming days I’ll be asking those in my sphere what steps the church ought to take to help advocate for appropriate pro-life legislation in a post-Roe world.

   After initial publication, one of my friends reached out via Twitter and pointed out that we should also be certain to advocate for legislation that protects women who are undergoing a miscarriage so that they are able to receive life-saving medical treatment. I appreciate her sharing that perspective and completely agree.

We are entering a new era in the history of our nation. It is an era for which many Christians have long hoped and prayed. But a legal victory is not the finish line. It is the beginning of increased ministry. May we work faithfully to serve the women and children in our communities in the name of Jesus. And may we work to build a stronger culture of life.

On Christians and Abortion

Image: Subsplash

This morning the Supreme Court handed down a ruling effectively overturning the fifty year-old precedent of Roe v. Wade and thereby sending abortion laws back to the individual states. I wrote these thoughts regarding Christians and abortion in 2015. (Original link here.) I’ve edited this version some. I hope to come back shortly with thoughts on how the church should proceed in a post-Roe world.

*****

We love to talk past one another.

This is no more obvious on any issue than that of abortion.

How to talk about such an issue?

As a Christian, I hold to the teaching of Jesus that I am to love my neighbor as myself. Therefore, I hope that my writing will convey that spirit of love. Additionally, this essay is not a condemnation of any woman who has chosen to have an abortion — more on that in a moment — but is instead intended to explain why historically Christians have argued for other options.

With those things in mind:

Part One, Theological and Scriptural Reasons:

1. Christians believe in the sanctity of human life.

This belief is, ultimately, the cornerstone of all orthodox Christian responses to abortion. The ancient Jewish community (the theological predecessor to the church) held to this conviction as well. These convictions begin with a reading of the Bible, the book that Christians hold to be sacred.

The Christian conviction that human life is sacred comes from multiple portions of Scripture, but it springs initially from the opening chapters of Genesis: the creation narrative. Throughout the creation account, the Lord claims that creation is very good. However, after creating humankind in His image (Genesis 1:28), the Lord says that humanity is VERY good. The poetic and structural work of Genesis is not accidental. The Lord has said creation is good five times, but here, the sixth time, he says the work is very good. This is not accidental. He says it is very good, for humanity is the cornerstone and climax of creation.

When Christians oppose abortion, they are beginning with the fundamental belief that humans are the capstone of creation, created in the image of God, and therefore ought to be preserved.

2. Christians believe life begins prior to birth.

The first conviction — the sanctity of human life — is not all that surprising. The rub begins with the second conviction that human life begins prior to birth. (For those who watched the debate surrounding SB5 in Texas in 2013 (Wendy Davis’s filibuster), much of the discussion regarded whether a fetus at 20 weeks could experience pain; while much research suggests the answer is yes, Christians do not believe pain determines personhood.)

This conviction is formed from two places: the reading of Scripture, and the intention of heterosexual intercourse. If you are not a Christian, Scripture will not matter much, but let me list a few of the Scriptures Christians have held to in their understanding of human life beginning prior to birth.

The Psalms declare that those in the womb are being formed by the Lord: “For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb” (Psalm 139:13).

Jeremiah 1:5 states, “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you; I appointed you a prophet to the nations.”

Job 31:15 says, “Did not he who made me in the womb make him? And did not one fashion us in the womb?”

There are other Scriptures, as well, but you see the point of them: human life is not only the capstone of creation, but it is formed intentionally in the womb. (Side Note: This is why Christians have supported giving birth to children that are diagnosed with special needs or deformities prior to birth. They believe that even the most deformed of humans are intended by God to honor Him. While over 90% of Down’s Syndrome babies are aborted due to concerns of care and cost, Christians support giving birth to those children because they are still created in God’s image and can show us His image in their lives.)

Beyond Scripture, Christians believe that sex is not merely an act for pleasure, but also for reproduction. In other words, Christians believe that when they engage in sex, they are prepared to welcome and care for any children that may result from that sexual activity. This conviction, of course, affects the way they view sex. As a Christian father, I teach my children that sex is to be reserved for marriage. This is not because I am anti-sex. I am actually pro-sex. But I am pro-sex within marriage because I want any children that result from sexual intercourse to be welcomed into that relationship.

Consequently, Christians believe that if a woman is pregnant, a life has begun and it must be cared for and preserved. (Side Note: There is debate within the Christian community whether life begins at a) conception, b) the formation of a heartbeat, c) the beginning of brainwaves, or d) at some other point. While there are different answers within the Christian community, there is almost universal agreement within Christianity that the termination of a viable pregnancy is tantamount to murder, for they see the pregnancy as a human life. To be clear, in cases where the mother’s life is in danger, Christians have historically and almost universally understood that an abortion may be a medically necessary procedure.

The earliest Christian ministry manual—The Didache—was written in the second century AD and confirms this has always been a Christian perspective. It simply says, “Thou shall not murder a child by abortion nor kill that which is begotten.” This mindset is not a recent development. The word “fetus,” for example, is Latin for “offspring.” The ancients saw the pregnancy as the beginning of a human life and named it as such. Fetuses have DNA distinct from the mother. They are, quite literally, distinct from the mother’s body because they are they have their own genetic code.

3. Christians believe children are a blessing. Convictions #1 and #2 then lead to #3. If humans are the capstone of creation, and if life begins prior to birth, then a child is not a liability or a problem, but a gift from God. This is a great dissonance to our culture, particularly in the West. We are, if we are honest with ourselves, rather selfish creatures. We want what we want, and we want it as soon as possible. Children often prevent us from this process of self-actualization, and, consequently, our culture has viewed them as obstacles to overcome, for anything that prevents my self-actualization cannot be good.

I could wax eloquently about how Ben (my oldest son) was an unplanned pregnancy while I was a full-time graduate student and diagnosed with heart failure and my wife was completing her teaching certification leaving us broke, sick, and with child. I could tell you that he and Andrew are the greatest delights in my life.

But such a story is not an argument. It is simply my experience in light of my walk with Jesus.

Christians believe that when God gives a child, he gives a blessing, and therefore, that child should be cherished.

4. Christians believe the prior convictions are higher than personal rights. Many questions arise when an unplanned pregnancy occurs. What if I don’t want to have a baby? What if I can’t provide for this baby? What if the parents will treat this child badly?

Much of the political debate surrounding abortion centers on an issue typically phrased as “woman’s reproductive rights.” Those who believe women ought to be able to terminate a pregnancy argue that limiting that right interferes with personal rights and a woman’s right to control her own body. As I’ve already demonstrated, the Christian conviction that this child is a human life comes into direct contradiction with this opposing conviction of personal rights. Consequently, Christians have argued that the child should be carried full-term while those who support abortion argue that the fetus is not a fully-formed human life and can be terminated.

For example, this New York Times editorial from 2004 about a mother who selectively reduced her pregnancy with triplets to a single pregnancy focuses on individual rights. Her decision is driven by career, lifestyle, etc. Proponents of abortion would support such reasoning; historic Christianity would argue the rights of the unborn children are human rights on the same level as that of the mother. Both sides appeal to human rights. Proponents appeal to rights of freedom; opponents appeal to rights to live.

5. Consequently, Christians are advocates for alternatives to abortion. In his book, The Rise of Christianity, Rodney Stark shows how first-century Christians would rescue unwanted babies from the dump. When pagan Roman families would discard children (usually girls), the Christians would offer to take them in, to adopt them. Christians have always held to a culture of life.

Consequently, Christians not only argue against abortion, but they also argue for fostering and adopting, because they believe that the best path for every child is into a home. Right now I have numerous Christian friends adopting children of all backgrounds, nationalities, and races, because those children are without parents. These friends take seriously the command of James: “True religion is this: to care for widows and orphans.”

I do not have statistics available at this moment, but Christian adoption (through organizations like New Life Adoptions) is on the rise, primarily because Christians feel it is the most effective way to stem the tide of abortion. Such a movement is not without issues, to be certain, but when I talk to friends of mine who have adopted, I am encouraged that adoption is a beautiful way to demonstrate the love of Jesus . (Side Note: I once heard a study claiming that if every church in the United States adopted one child, there would be no need for foster care. I’m grateful to pastor a church with multiple adoptive and foster families.)

Part Two, Sociological Reasons:

I am a pastor, so I want to talk about three particular social issues I find troubling with the issue of abortion, for I think these affect the spirit of humans, and consequently, should be considered by people, even those who are not people of faith.

1. Minorities are affected disproportionately by abortion. There are a legion of reasons why this is the case, but the African-American community is most adversely affected by abortion. Forget about the sinister beginnings of Planned Parenthood being designed “to exterminate the Negro population.” Whether that is intended today or not, abortion terminates pregnancies of minority women at three times the rate of non-Hispanic, white women. In other words, a smaller percentage of the population uses abortion at a higher rate, preventing the expansion and flourishing of that race.

2. Females are affected disproportionately by abortion. I’m not talking about sex-selective abortion, although worldwide more girls than boys are terminated. That is certainly tragic. But I am talking about the post-abortive depression and guilt that thousands of women experience every year, as discussed in this Atlantic monthly article. When women like “Jane Roe” (Norma McCorvey) end up being pro-life by the end of their lives due to the overwhelming feeling that they are killing, this seems to be a sociological phenomenon that ought to be investigated.

3. The majority of Americans oppose late-term abortion. This is not some closed-minded theocracy, as many proponents of abortion would claim. As The Huffington Post reports, Americans overwhelmingly support a ban on late-term abortions: 59% to 30%. If public opinion matters in other social issues (i.e., same-sex marriage) in the eyes of Congress and the courts, shouldn’t such support matter in this social issue?

Postscript: Are You Condemning Women?

One night as part of a church small group, we took turns sharing our story of coming to faith. One of the women in our group confessed that years earlier she had become pregnant and chosen to have an abortion. She broke down into tears, almost hysterical with guilt. And our group modeled Jesus well, in my estimation. We each hugged her. We told her that the Lord had forgiven her through the grace of Christ. And we told her that we each loved her. To this day she is a committed Christian and a close friend.

This essay is not intended to condemn any woman that has chosen to have an abortion. Guilt, manipulation, and anger are not the tools of Jesus. This essay is instead intended to demonstrate why Christians feel strongly about this issue, and it is intended to hopefully change some hearts.

If you are a woman who has had an abortion, or if you are friends with a woman who has made such a choice, I hope you will understand the desire of the church is this: To show love and to offer grace.

I hope you will not hate Christians because they want to see abortions reduced and, one day, eliminated. We believe we are preserving human life, that portion of creation most treasured by God. And I hope you have not felt attacked. Instead, I hope you have understood our position, and I hope you will respect us as we speak into the democratic public square of our nation, a place where all voices can be heard, including those that belong to people of faith.

When Evil Visits

Image: Subsplash, Daniel Jansen

Evil in the world is far worse than any fairy tale villain.

Evil is real. And it will come calling.

You might bristle at the thought. You may not have experienced evil firsthand. But millions of our neighbors have no such luxury. Those in Ukraine who have seen their nation razed by Russian artillery know that Putin is an evil man. Those in Uvalde who grieve the loss of grade schoolers murdered know that evil kills. Those Uighurs lined up for involuntary organ harvesting within concentration camps at the hands of the Chinese government understand evil.

Lately our congregation has experience more evil than normal. A few weeks ago, five people with long-standing generational ties to our church were murdered. Just days after the funeral, another man in our congregation was murdered. And then, almost unbelievably, just days after that murder, a man in our church’s neighborhood was murdered. He lived across the street from one of our elders.

Each of these murders was senseless. No motive of vengeance. No sensational details.

Just…evil.

Many within the United States or the comfortable confines of Western Christianity have hesitated to use the word “evil” in recent years. We have been insulated, perhaps, from pain. We have been protected from a violent government. We have experienced relative comfort and ease.

It’s why evil is so startling. When you are sailing smooth seas, you do not expect the hidden rocky crag waiting to destroy your ship’s hull.

But evil is here. No mistaking it.

The Bible is unflinching in its recognition of the reality of evil. Most biblical scholars agree that the oldest book of the Bible is Job—a timeless wrestle with evil in which a blameless man loses everything. The oldest writing in our collection of ancient Scriptures is a book grappling with the question of evil. Before the wonder of creation, the Bible stares down the problem of pain. Over and over, in fact, the Bible bluntly tells us that we will not escape this life unscathed:

“In this life you will have trouble.”

“It rains on the just and the unjust.”

“Consider it pure joy when you face trials of many kinds.”

“The thief comes to steal, kill, and destroy.”

Most of us have written a fairy tale for our lives in our minds. We have envisioned a blissful marriage or perfect children or eternal friendships or a skyrocketing career. But there are no fairy tale lives in the real world. In the real world, marriage is a fight. Children are impossible to predict. Friendships ebb and flow. If you have lived for very long, you have already experienced this.

But we tend to fantasize about the fairy tale, to try to rewrite the very things happening in front of us.

We would do well to take the unflinching view of the Bible:

You will find much beauty and good in the world. But you will also walk through fire. And you will be burned.

Some people mistakenly believe that if they choose to follow Jesus, they will not be touched by evil. But that is not the case. Jesus himself was murdered. His earliest followers were routinely beaten and killed.

Faith in Jesus does not protect us from evil. Faith in Jesus is what sustains us when evil visits.

When the Lord answers Job, He does not give Job easy answers as to why evil visits, but He does assure Job of one thing: His sovereignty over all of creation. He is the one who laid the foundations of the earth. He is the one who sees all things. He is the one who is wise.

Scripture is unflinching about the existence of evil. But the Bible is also unflinching about the goodness of God.

When evil comes, you will either look at the world and believe it to be random and meaningless, or you will trust that God is good and will work all things for the good according to His purposes (Romans 8:28).

When evil comes, you will either hope in the Resurrection, or you will be hopeless because you will believe that death is the end.

God can redeem the worst of evils. I have seen it happen. I am watching it happen even now. I believe He can do it even in the midst of whatever evils may befall you. The first Christians believed that by suffering well we showed the very nature of God, because Jesus suffered well, and Jesus brought about redemption.

Yes, evil will visit. Yes, you will be burned by this life.

But while you are being burned, even as your storybook ship is being smashed by the crags of life, faith in Jesus can sustain and bring hope. Faith can redeem. Faith can give us the strength to carry on. Faith glorifies God while also bringing us closer to Him. Faith allows us to experience His love and peace when the world is on fire.

Faith is what allows Him to rewrite your story. To take what was meant for evil and to write it for good.

And that’s better than any fairy tale.

Because it’s the truth of how things really are.

When You Feel Like A Failure

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Memory is a cruel mistress.

When I was in seventh grade, I tried to be funny. It failed. I still physically wince when I remember what I said in front of my friends. It was not funny. It was awkward, at best. More honestly, it was terrible. Offensive, even. I still can’t believe I said those words.

Even odder is that I still remember it. I regretted the words the moment they left my mouth, and now, some 34 years later, I still feel foolish for having uttered them.

As someone who tries mightily to avoid mistakes, this memory still somehow assails me, jumping out at the least opportune moment, bludgeoning my dignity.

And this happened in the seventh grade over something dumb I said.

Since then I have made much more consequential mistakes, much more colossal errors.

When I became a pastor, I envisioned teaching the Bible and making hospital visits, leading worship services and sharing the gospel. I never considered that I would become an organizational leader. More frankly, that wasn’t what I wanted. Perhaps intuitively, I knew that being out front meant being the one to absorb criticism.

And, for me, here’s the odd thing: Criticism doesn’t necessarily bother me. Like anyone else, I don’t enjoy unfounded criticism, but I truly enjoy improving, so I enjoy feedback. I’ve worked harder in recent years to created more spaces and systems for personal feedback, because I want to grow as a pastor and a leader.

The thing I hate isn’t criticism. I hate making mistakes. I hate being wrong. And I really hate remember how wrong I was. Over and over and over.

The thing about those careless words in the seventh grade that bother me so deeply isn’t the actual words I said. It’s that I knew I would regret them before I said them, and then I said them, anyway. I hate making mistakes.

I’m generous with grace to those around me. I’m far less gracious with myself.

I can forgive those who wrong me with relative ease. I can punish myself for a boneheaded mistake for years. 34 years and counting, it seems.

I have made more mistakes as a pastor in the last decade—maybe the last five years—than in the rest of my life combined. Just thinking about some of them makes my face turn red, my eyes cast downward. It’s quite pleasant outside as I type these words, yet an involuntary shudder just shook my body. I hate making mistakes. And I hate that I have made so many of them recently.

I think of decisions I made regarding the church in the wake of Harvey, particularly regarding facilities and our finances. I think of staff debacles that were glaringly obvious to those around me while I continued to believe the best. I think about families who have left our church for other congregations over the years and wonder if I did something to offend them. (They say no, but I wonder, anyway.) I think about the way I led our church through those early days of COVID and wonder what, if anything, I should have done differently. I think about that journalist.

I think about these—and so many more—things, and I wonder, “Am I a failure?”

I recently sat with some older and wiser church members and confessed all of these emotions.

The wife calmly countered, “If you know you did not intentionally disobey the Lord, then you need to let those mistakes go. That’s all they are: mistakes.”

Almost immediately followed by, “And remember that God gives grace for the rest.”

Talk about a one-two punch of gospel-soaked freedom. I didn’t know that I had been carrying those decisions, but I almost immediately felt physically lighter, like the winds of grace swept them straight from my shoulders.

I had secretly been feeling like a failure, and I didn’t realize it. I had been flagellating myself with honest mistakes—things for which I would have forgiven anyone else. And I was holding on to things for which Jesus had died. And I did those things because I held myself to an impossible standard—perfection.

I imagine you, too, might have fallen prey to the Perfect Game—the elusive search for the version of you that will only exist one day in Glory. I also imagine that you, too, have things you have done about which you are ashamed, things that you remember and wish you could forget, things the Enemy dredges up when you are walking closely with the Lord. I also imagine that you have genuine rebellion in your past—things that were not mistakes but were instead your kicking against the goads when you knew you should be walking with the Spirit.

If your feet and hands are bloody from fighting the grace of God and from beating yourself, might I remind you of a Cosmic Truth?

Yes, you were a spectacular failure.

But the blood of Jesus is the only blood you need on you these days.

You don’t need to kick; his feet have already been pierced for your rebellion.

You don’t need to beat yourself; his body has already taken your punishment.

You don’t need to swat away those lies; his hands are scarred with the truth.

On the days when you feel like a failure, remember the grace of God. Let it pull you back to the Body; allow it to make you one again with the One who fashioned you. Remember that mistakes are not the same as disobedience and remember that even the greatest of your disobediences have been covered by grace.

Remember these things instead.

Memory can be a cruel mistress.

But memory can also lead us to bread and cup, pierced hands and feet, an empty tomb, and the Spirit that gives new life.

Stop Being Productive

Big Bend at night. Source: Unsplash

I have chased a desire to be remembered, to be admired, to have my name on the spine of a book that someone might read a hundred years hence. I have yearned for permanence, to live beyond my body, for people to seek out my words, my thoughts. I have sought immortality—not spiritually, but to achieve a sort of legendary status among people.

I share this as a confession. I am not proud of this fact. In fact, it is somewhat embarrassing to type these words, to admit that I wanted people to consult my opinions a century beyond my death. But it is in confession that freedom is found. It is only when we admit our most ridiculous imaginings that we can move from the fantastical and into the real.

I have often viewed myself as the sum of my work, the bulk of my production. The more that I achieve, the more notable I am. This is certainly common among humans. How many conversations do we begin by asking, “What do you do?” In knowing someone’s job, we assess and judge their character, their drive, their intelligence. None of this is grounded in reality, of course, but it is what we do. We are obsessed with doing. And for those like myself, who have been deeply infected with the virus of doing and production, we have subconsciously and consciously pursued immortality. We convince ourselves that if we do enough, that if we make an impact, then our names will somehow be chiseled into the halls of human memory.

None of this is healthy, per se. But it is true.

But what if our best work is the invisible? What if the things that matter most are the things that are never seen, that are not in the least productive?

I rise early most mornings. I let the dogs out and make the coffee. I bring the dogs back in and feed them. Then, with them settled, I fill my cup and I sit on the couch. When I was preoccupied with doing, I had a plan. I had a certain number of chapters to read in my Bible. And then a prayer list to march through. And to be done by a certain time so that I could move on to the next thing. When I became aware of my addiction to production, I changed my rhythm.

I now sit in the dark in the morning, sip my coffee and intentionally do nothing. My mind wanders. It floats into prayers. It floats into a posture of listening silence. I pray, yes, but it is far less structured. I eventually read my Bible, but not in a hurried or perfunctory way. I do not pray in order to produce. I pray in order to commune with God. Deep work is happening in those moments, but it may not be immediately apparent.

Poetry is not productive. It startles us because it observes the common in a fresh way, coming round from a perspective that is surprising, that is methodical, that is intentionally slow. Poetry is not productive but is so very helpful. Poetry is not productive, but it is so very good. It reminds us of things we did not know we had forgotten. Poetry is the literary equivalent of sitting quietly. Deep work is happening, but it may not be immediately apparent.

Some of the best work I do is not productive. It is sitting at tables in houses, sitting face-to-face in my office, listening and advising. These conversations will not show up in attendance or baptism statistics. But they are the place where pastoral poetry is written. It is there, when hearts are shaped by the Spirit that deep work happens. But it may not be immediately apparent.

I hope you make beautiful things in and with your life. I hope you paint and write and build and cook. But you are far more than those things. And if, as Zinzendorf said, you die and are forgotten, if you lived your life in Christ, then you are gifted with permanence, but it is a permanence unlike that on the spine of a book. It is a life in God—where in living with Him, we fellowship forever. We are permanent in the City That Never Fades.

Stop being productive. Instead, embrace your invisibility and enjoy the love of God in Christ.

Deep work is happening, but it may not be immediately apparent.

When Holiness Seems Pointless

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“Do not quench the Spirit.”—1 Thessalonians 5:19

Somewhere along the way, holiness lost its luster.

The priests in the Bible wore a sign on their foreheads inscribed with the words, “Holy Unto the Lord.” The wording made it plain—the priests were to do the work of the Lord, and to do his work alone.

When I was younger in the faith and in life, I took this understanding of holiness to heart. “To be holy means to be set apart,” I was told. And I understood it. We were to live differently, to be a people who weren’t afraid to be odd in our actions. As I left college and became a pastor, I truly wanted to pursue holiness.

Yet, as I got older, I began to notice that I nudged further and further away from personal holiness.

Ironically enough, this was driven—at least in part—as I began to understand grace. As I drank deeply at the well of Reformed theology in my 20s and early 30s, I was confronted over and over with a stunning truth—God did not love me because of my actions. He simply loved me. Period. At the same time, I discovered the dangers of legalism—people who believed that God would love them if they simply did the right things in the right way.

I didn’t want to be a legalist. And I certainly wanted to plunge headlong into the depths of grace. And so, somewhere, I stopped worrying about holiness. I stopped worrying about my speech. Or what I watched. Or what I listened to. Or…you get the point. I was walking in grace, and I was loving it. To be fair, I didn’t walk too far down a path too many worried about, because I wasn’t overtly rebellious. But I certainly wasn’t chasing personal holiness.

You could call it trying to be cool. Or you call it is growing up. Some preachers might call it worldliness. But, to be honest, I just didn’t see the rationale in holiness. Holiness seemed pointless.

Without thinking, I had stumbled into one of the issues the apostle Paul warned the earliest Christians about when it came to grace. In those days, people would take grace for granted, arguing, “Why worry? God will forgive us!” Paul gave the counter argument: “Should I sin so that grace might abound? God forbid!” (Romans 6:1) The German pastor and theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer had argued about such a posture in his book, (The Cost of) Discipleship, calling such an attitude “cheap grace.” I had a double reason to be embarrassed. I knew that verse. And I wrote my doctoral dissertation on Bonhoeffer. But I missed it.

How?

In short, I had confused legalism and holiness. I define legalism as doing things (i.e., keeping rules) so that God will love you. As I already mentioned, that’s impossible. God simply loves, because God is love. But holiness is not legalism. Holiness is different. Holiness is a response to the grace God has shown me. Since God loves me and has offered me grace, I act from a position of thankfulness. I am grateful for the love and the grace He has given, so I now want to experience Him as deeply as I can. I want as much of God as possible. And how do I experience God at a deeper level? Personal holiness.

I am not an electrical engineer, but I have several in my church. And I have learned from them something I never knew about the way electricity behaves. If I hold a piece of copper wire in my hand and stand underneath a power line and hold that copper wire parallel to the power lines above, the wire in my hand will be filled with electricity. Why? Because the copper wire in my hand has both proximity and alignment. But if I move the wire away or if the wire gets out of alignment, it will no longer have power. Both proximity and alignment matter.

This is the way holiness operates. When I draw close to God (proximity) and I obey His commands (alignment), then I am like the copper wire underneath the power lines. I am able to experience the power of God within all Christians—the Holy Spirit. If I move away from God or disobey His commands, I am still filled with Holy Spirit, but I will not experience God in the same way. This is why Paul warns us, “Do not quench the Spirit.” (1 Thessalonians 5:19) While I can never lose the Holy Spirit, I can diminish the Spirit’s power in my life. I am a conduit for the power of the Spirit. When I am close to God and in alignment, then His power flows more freely within my life.

So holiness is different than legalism. Legalism is doing something so that God will love me. Holiness, however, is obeying God in response to His grace so that I can experience more of Him in my life. Holiness is not about controlling how much God loves me. Holiness is choosing to live a life as close to God as possible so that I might know more of Him.

Do you want to know more of God? Do you want to experience more of Him? Would you like to sense the Spirit’s power in your life? Draw close to Him in proximity. The Bible says, “Draw near to God, and he will draw near to you.” (James 4:8) And then obey him in holiness. Rather than quenching the Spirit, fan the flame of the Spirit in obedience. And, when you do, the Lord will allow you to experience more of His goodness and the joy of His grace.

Following rules doesn’t make God love us more.

But pursuing holiness certainly isn’t pointless.

It’s the secret to fanning the flames of God.

When You Are Tired

Image Credit: Christian Erfurt

I do believe; help my unbelief!—Mark 9:24

I wanted to quit in June of 2020. I was tired, for a number of reasons. Our church had just emerged from a 26 month-long rebuilding process in the wake of a hurricane. Our campus was devastated (along with the neighborhood). COVID argumentation was at its peak. George Floyd’s death sparked a national response. It was an election year, and rhetoric was heated. My denomination was embroiled in yet another controversy. One of my pastor friends in the area resigned. He turned out to be the first of many in that season.

I called one of my friends, and he came over. We sat on the back patio, and I wept as we prayed. I asked God—no, I begged God—to release me from the pastorate.

I don’t “hear from God” often. But I did that day. He said, “No.”

*****

I often joke with my sons that I can hardly wait for them to be poor. Joy and I are on stable financial footing these days, but there was a time when our checking account was more like quicksand. I was a graduate student for many years, and we had a couple of babies during those years. I also had a pacemaker (or two) implanted. In short, we had many years where we weren’t making much, and life was expensive.

Living with little money demands creativity and heartiness. We would go on dates to the bookstore where we would collect magazines and sit at a table and read them, pointing out fun excursions to one another. Then we would put them all back on the shelf and leave without purchasing a thing. Our first Christmas together our spending limit for one another was ten dollars. I got Joy a Lite-Brite so she could write “Merry Christmas” on it in red and green. We regularly ate one dollar boxed dinners from Walmart. We literally prayed for sales as we purchased groceries. Joy wore the same borrowed dark red maternity blouse for the final two weeks of her first pregnancy. We were not the poorest. But we were poor.

Conversely, my sons have (to date) known little of want. Don’t get me wrong; we tell them, “No,” plenty. But for them, it’s rarely been a matter of hardship. And I am glad that their life—to this point—has been relatively comfortable. I’m also glad that soon my oldest son will graduate from college and have to work a job while he is in graduate school. It will be good for him to live with less, to learn to manage on little. I’m not a mean father; however, I want my sons to learn something that deeply formed me.

It is a lesson true with money, but it also true with so much else in life:

When you have experienced poverty, you are grateful for the bounty.

*****

There is a story in the Bible of a man who comes to Jesus. His son is demon-possessed, and he asks Jesus to help. He says, “But if you can do anything, have compassion on us and help us.” Jesus says, “‘If you can?’ Everything is possible for the one who believes.” The man’s frailty is on display. He says something that seems to be impossible: “I do believe; help my unbelief!”

Have you ever been there? Have you ever felt that you have a living faith and yet at the same time that you are completely at the end of your faith rope? That was this man. He believed in Jesus, or he would not have come. And yet he wasn’t sure what Jesus could do.

If you have ever prayed for a gas station to appear because the needle was below “E,” you know how this man felt. He had faith. But not much left.

*****

I didn’t quit that day on the patio in June of 2020. Why? Because as God said, “No,” he did something beautiful. He brought to mind all of the times that He has delivered me over the years. He reminded me of the time someone showed up at our house with $500 when I couldn’t pay for Joy’s engagement ring. He reminded me of the time that I was supposed to die within two years of heart failure—twenty years ago. He reminded me of our church plant and the lives changed there. He reminded me of the supernatural call to Houston. He reminded me of incident after incident where He had been faithful.

And just like that—I could sense my tank filling up.

I could have faith, not because I felt like going on, but because He had proven faithful time and time again.

These moments of faith scarcity can be frightening; they can make you question if your faith is real. Remember: When you have experienced poverty, you are grateful for the bounty. These moments in the valley make the mountaintop vistas more stunning. The roots formed during storms produce sturdier trunks. The pruning at the hand of the Gardener allows even more fruit. You may be in a moment of poverty, but if you follow Him, He brings the bounty of faith in due time.

As you look back at your life you will see moments where He has proven faithful. I have no doubt that your life has been difficult. So has mine. But He has never left me. Nor has He left you. And He continues to be faithful, even when I am not. Remember those moments, and allow Him to turn your unbelief into belief. Allow Him to put fuel into your faith tank.

Allow him to turn your unbelief into belief.

When You Feel Hard-Hearted

But I have this against you: You have abandoned the love you had at first.—Revelation 2:4

The world feels harder these days.

I don’t use the word “harder” in the sense of more difficult, although you could certainly make that argument. I use “harder” to mean cynical, grizzled, and suspicious. We are, on the whole, meaner these days—hardened by two years of pandemic living, partisan division, and plain old weariness.

Criticism is more biting than before. Anger is nearer to the surface than before.

Sadly, these qualities are not only found “out there.” They are also in the church. We aren’t immune to the anger. When you simmer in a stew of anger, your blood begins to boil, as well.

While teaching through Revelation, I was reminded of how to best cool our anger and to revive our hearts. We must love Jesus—first and foremost. Jesus told the believers in Ephesus quite simply: “I have this against you: You have abandoned the love you had at first.”

They used to love him. And now they don’t.

First love—at least in my mind—is defined by two qualities: passion and position.

Passion is the emotion that marks a first love. It will drive us to do without sleep, to embark on ridiculous quests, to rearrange our schedules, to even wear neckties. When I first met my wife, I would do whatever it took to demonstrate my affection and devotion. On Valentine’s Day I awoke before sunrise and made breakfast for her and her roommates—and then served each of them breakfast in bed. When I wanted to propose, I saved every penny possible to purchase an engagement ring. I did whatever I could to be with her and to show her my love—because I had passion.

Many of us once had a passion for Jesus that has long since waned. We used to sing worship songs at all hours. We used to pray in the dark hours of the quiet morning. We used to study the Scriptures to understand the very character of our God. We would serve in church. We would do whatever we could to stoke the flame in our hearts until our desire for God burned with a white-hot passion.

But, over time, such passion cools. Just like with my wife, love grows and passions adjust. There is no doubt that I love my wife, but I also enjoy having a regular sleep schedule these days.

That’s why position matters. Even when passion might fade, first love stays in the top position. If I suddenly began elevating the needs of our dachshunds over those of my wife, that would be a problem. If I only did what our sons asked and ignored the requests of my wife, that would also be a problem. I love my sons very much. And, yes, I have an embarrassing amount of affection for my tiny German dogs. But yet, my love for my wife is the love in first place in my house.

Occasionally, however, even those of us who have been married for 22 years have moments where the passion returns. We will take a trip for just the two of us. Or we will have a date night. Or something will happen—and some of those old feelings bubble up in the best of ways, and we can eschew sleep and responsibility once again.

When you maintain loves in the right position, passion may not be constant, but it can return to remind you.

I fear many of us have relegated Jesus to a lower position. Perhaps it was the weariness induced by COVID. Perhaps we got tired of arguing. Maybe our own life circumstances roughed us up. But somewhere along the way, other things became more important and, as a result, we have no passion for Jesus—at all. And, as a result, we’re certainly a harder person than we used to be.

Jesus tells those who want to restore him to first love status to do two things: Remember and repent.

First, remember the love you used to have. Remember the way you felt when you first understood the gospel. Remember how you were amazed at God’s grace. Remember the reality of God saving you from condemnation. Remember the the goodness of God and all that initially entailed. Remember the things you did when you first discovered the goodness of God.

And then repent. Do the things you used to do, Jesus says. Go back to doing those. When you love me like you used to, worship like you used to, serve like you used to—then you’ll find things changing. Your heart will become tender.

Your passion will rekindle once you restore Jesus to his correct position. And that is something you can change with action.

By way of confession: I found myself growing harder of heart in the last two years at various moments. And, in those moments, I also noticed Jesus was not in first place in my heart.

The world is so cynical and hard these days, you might think loving Jesus is the last thing we need. It might seem like a sign of weakness. To the contrary, I am convinced that those of us most committed to love are the ones most committed to the idea of what it means to truly be human. You can only change others when you love them first. I have seen it time and again. And—for me—I love others best when I am loving Jesus most.

Here’s to loving Jesus again.

The Failure of Liturgy

Image Credit: Karl Frederickson

In later years, evangelicals have discovered liturgy. We are reciting more creeds, confessions, and prayers than ever before. We are taking the Supper more often. When I was a child, most Baptist churches took the Supper quarterly so that it would be “special.” Now more and more churches opt for a weekly observance. More of us are celebrating Advent and Lent, incorporating the church calendar into congregations that once had never heard of either. Even more recently, some Baptist theologians have founded the Center for Baptist Renewal, self-described as, “evangelical Baptists committed to a retrieval of the Great Tradition of the historic church for the renewal of Baptist faith and practice.”

The reasons for this retrieval are multi-layered. Theological drift plays some role. As some denominations and churches moved towards unorthodox theology and practice, the cries of “no creed but the Bible” were found somewhat wanting, pushing some to buttress them with ancient practices of the past. I believe the change of hymnody also plays a part. Modern worship songs appeal to younger audiences and newer believers, but with the loss of ancient songs, worshippers have a desire to know that the local congregation is rooted in something larger, something more established. Shifting culture almost certainly plays a part, as well. As technology and customs evolve at increasing speed, the desire for tradition and permanence increases.

Liturgy is helpful. We know what we believe as we recite the creeds. We appreciate the gift of the Incarnation through Advent, the beauty of fasting in Lent, the power of God’s sacrifice through Holy Week. I personally love a congregational recitation of the Lord’s Prayer. As we do these things—speak, sing, eat—over and over, our hearts are formed in powerful and beautiful ways. I am certainly not the first to observe this. The most influential voice of late regarding liturgy is that belonging to James K.A. Smith. His Kingdom Trilogy is among the best I have read on this topic, but can be summed up thusly: You are what you love, and you train yourself to love by what you do.

Liturgy in the church, Smith notes, is helpful, for it trains us through repetition.

It is helpful.

But it is not enough.

I have been serving in Baptist churches for about 25 years. In those 25 years, I would say that about half of the people who have joined those churches have come from liturgical backgrounds. These Catholics, Episcopalians, Anglicans, Lutherans, Methodists, and the like have come with a far richer understanding of the church calendar. They can recite the creeds from memory. They know the rhythms of sacraments better than I do in some cases.

So why do they leave their churches and venture into one like mine?

Almost to a person: They want to know the Bible.

Smith calls this “The Godfather Problem” in the third book of his Kingdom Trilogy—knowing a great deal of theology and liturgy but not knowing the Scripture behind the liturgy. (Minor claim to fame: I wrote him an e-mail that led to him discussing this very issue.) Indeed, as he says, we can participate in liturgy and yet be “unformed or perhaps even malformed.”

After all of these years, I’ve realized that liturgy is good for the formation it offers, but it cannot be separated from the systematic and intentional reading and teaching of the Scriptures. Many liturgical traditions feature multiple Scripture readings in a traditional worship service. I would humbly suggest that reading the Scriptures is good, but having someone to explain and teach the Scriptures is even better.

The actions of liturgy cannot be divorced from the teachings of the Scriptures.

We need our hearts and minds to be formed by doing, yes. But we also need our hearts and minds to be formed by understanding.

This is why the best liturgies (in my mind) will always incorporate serious study and explanation of the Scriptures. To be sure, my tradition and denomination has its issues. But one of our strengths has been a long-standing tradition of engaging the Scriptures. We teach them faithfully in our pulpits, our classrooms, our small groups, and in our devotional resources. We encourage our people to consistently read the Bible, and we provide resources to help them understand the Bible. Just as we are a healthier church when we in the evangelical tradition retrieve the jewels from the mines of the liturgy, I would commend our brothers and sisters in more liturgical traditions to buttress their efforts with grassroots Scriptural teaching.

It’s not surprising that we would have something to learn from one another.

Let’s learn through the liturgy, and let’s return to the Word.

Together, they can form our hearts well.

God Doesn’t Need You

Elijah replied, “I have been very zealous for the Lord God Almighty. The Israelites have rejected your covenant, torn down your altars, and put your prophets to death with the sword. I am the only one left, and now they are trying to kill me too.”—1 Kings 19:10

I’ve wanted to “do great things for God” as long as I can remember. I think that’s a good thing. I love my church, and I love encouraging and inspiring her to be part of what God is doing in our city—proclaiming the gospel and enlarging the Kingdom. I believe in speaking up for truth. I was young when I first heard my pastor say, “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.” I did not want (nor do I want) evil to triumph, so I resolved at an early age to actively do something.

The danger of working hard for God is that you can quickly believe that if you stop working hard for God, then God will somehow lose the battle. Mystery is at play here. We are called to be laborers in the field for God. We are told to take the gospel far and near. And yet we also know that God can work through donkeys (Numbers 22), fish (Jonah 1), worms (Jonah 4), the wind (Exodus 14), and countless other vessels. God absolutely asks us to join Him in the redemption of creation (2 Corinthians 5).

Yet God absolutely can achieve His purposes without us.

I’m reminded of Elijah in 1 Kings 19. Having faithfully served God to the point of being chased by the blood thirsty queen Jezebel, Elijah flees to a cave. The Lord comes to Elijah and gently asks, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” Elijah’s response is telling:

Elijah replied, “I have been very zealous for the Lord God Almighty. The Israelites have rejected your covenant, torn down your altars, and put your prophets to death with the sword. I am the only one left, and now they are trying to kill me too.”—1 Kings 19:10

“I’m zealous for you, God,” Elijah says, “but the rest of the Israelites aren’t.” Elijah believes he alone is hauling the spiritual load for Israel. He’s doing great things for God. But no one else is. Elijah has constructed a universe in which he is the center.

God calls Elijah outside. A wind comes that destroys mountains. Then a massive earthquake. Then a great fire. God is found in none of them.

Instead, God meets the worker in a whisper. His very manifestation reminds Elijah, “I am gentle towards you.”

Elijah is certain he is the lone remaining faithful Israelite. The Lord surprises him: I have 7,000 more who are just as faithful as you are, Elijah. God is not displeased with Elijah’s faithfulness, but neither is He dependent upon it. God’s purposes will not be thwarted if Elijah ceases his work. As if to drive home the point, the Lord commands him to anoint his successor, Elisha, in this very conversation. Your faithfulness is good, the Lord seems to say, but I can use many others, as well.

As Amber Benson points out, the Mordecai tells Esther the same: “If you keep silent at this time, relief and deliverance will come to the Jewish people from another place” (Esther 4:14). God will advance His purposes, either because of—or in spite of—Esther and Elijah. And us.

We tend to overestimate our importance in the advancement of the Kingdom. God invites us to participate. But He will achieve what He chooses, whether we accept His invitation or not.

Graveyards are full of indispensable people.

This message is difficult for some of us. We wring our hands because we know what happens when we do not do the laundry, or pay the bills, or cook dinner, or show up to work. If we choose to procrastinate or avoid, things go undone. We struggle to realize that this is not our mission, but this is His mission. We are invited in, to help, to participate. When we participate, we experience a deep joy from finding our created purpose. When we join in, we bring glory to God, reflecting His character throughout the world.

Both we and God enjoy our participation in the divine work of reconciliation.

But God does not need us.

There will be days where we are tired, where we are broken. There will be moments when we are sick or sinful. Our foibles and failures will place our human frailty on display far more publicly than we would like. And on those days, God will continue to be God. Mercifully. Thankfully. Yes, God wants us to join Him. But He does not need us. He will continue to be God, no matter what we say or do.

This is the good news. Our God meets us, pursues us, loves us, dies for us, conquers death for us, and imparts His Spirit. He does all of these things—things which we could never do. He does these things to remind us of His unique divinity.

What is Sabbath if not a reminder that God is at work, even when we are not?

There may be 7,000 others who could do the work of Elijah, but there is only one Lord.

In the back of my Bible, I wrote myself a reminder: “Preach the gospel. Trust God with the results.”

Rest in Him today, even as you work hard.

Tending the Garden

Therefore, brothers and sisters, be patient until the Lord’s coming. See how the farmer waits for the precious fruit of the earth and is patient with it until it receives the early and the late rains.—James 5:7

I haven’t written much lately. I didn’t write much in 2021, to be honest. The reasons could be myriad; there certainly was a lot happening. But, if I’m honest, I was quiet for a season because I had a sense that I needed to be.

As the world emerged from lockdowns and mask mandates, I had a great deal I wanted to say, but I sensed the Lord’s continued hand holding me back. Something inside of me urged me to observe more and to speak less in 2021. I suppose in today’s world, we are, in some way, always pushed to speak more, to put our thoughts out there. In my profession, there is a sense in which pastors are now asked to be “thought leaders” on the latest controversy du jour, and, while I certainly have no problems applying my own faith to whatever is happening in the world, I find that—over time—constantly commenting on controversy is a rather discombobulating practice. It’s not the world doesn’t need such reminders; we absolutely do. I simply don’t want to slide from being a pastor into a cultural critic. Plenty of pastors have already taken that journey and, in my estimation, it isn’t always a good move.

But I digress.

I sensed the need to stay quiet, so I did. I read more than I normally do, choosing to watch less television (and, if I’m honest, work out less) so that I could get quiet. I took a lengthy sabbatical (two months out of the office and almost three months out of the pulpit), and I spent time simply reflecting and asking some questions;

• Who is it that God has uniquely made me to be?

• What is it that God has uniquely asked me to do?

• What is it that God is asking of our church in this specific season?

• How would we go about becoming such a church?

In the end, I found the answers to those questions in greater engagement and discovery of the physical world, particularly in nature. I watched a lot of birds (unsurprising). I tried my hand at gardening (much more surprising). I went on more walks. I cooked more (absolutely unsurprising). I noticed that the vast majority of the world has a distinct pace—distinct rhythms—and that pace is much slower than that of mine.

I like to hurry, because I like to “get things done.” This is a good thing, I think. Productivity is necessary. But I think that my “getting things done” attitude often runs counter to what the Lord has asked me to do and to be, particularly when it comes to my knowledge of Him. I have discovered that there is a difference between being busy and being hurried, and I am convinced that hurry is what often causes my problems. There is nothing wrong with having a great deal to do. There is, however, something that happens to the soul (my soul, for sure) when I am so hurried that I stop noticing the pace of the world. Creation is busy. But it is not hurried.

Those questions, then, were answered in ways that I did not expect. I was looking to find a specific task that might better define me. Instead, I began to discover that I want to be the sort of person who is moving at the pace of Creation and discovering the Lord’s work in the process.

For me, that means patience. I need to be regimented and repetitive in certain things, because those create a better pace for me to take care of myself, and to hear from the Lord. I need to wake in the mornings, sip coffee, read my Bible, and pray. I need to go on walks and listen to the birds. I need to exercise. I need to do the annoyingly detailed skin-care routine my dermatologist has asked me to do in order to prevent more pre-cancerous spots. I need to map out my days with intentionality. I need to build in margin. I need to spend enough time on my sermons that they are good. I need to spend time with people in my church over coffee (yes, coffee gets two mentions). I need to watch less television and scroll less on my phone in the evenings and instead spend time reading and cultivating something connected to the physical world.

If I build healthier rhythms, in time, the fruits come. But they come at the pace of Creation, not at the pace of Hustle. Hustle is a fine thing, in its place. I’m a massive believer in working hard. But I flatly reject the notion of “no days off” (Sabbath is good), and I believe that too much “grinding” will actually grind away our humanity. The harvest comes after the rain, and only God sends the rain. I plant seeds, and I wait.

I want to be better at planting and waiting. I think that will make me a better pastor, but, honestly, I also think it will make me a better human. I think it will probably make you a better human, too.

In 2022, I’m choosing “patience” as the guiding word for my year, because I want to be patient with myself and to learn (re-learn?) to trust the pace at which the Lord works. James 5:7 spoke to me this morning along these very lines: “Therefore, brothers and sisters, be patient until the Lord’s coming. See how the farmer waits for the precious fruit of the earth and is patient with it until it receives the early and the late rains.” I want to be the farmer waiting for the precious fruit of the earth, whether that be in my own life or in my family or in my marriage or in my church or in something I have yet to even discover.

Right now, all the gurus of fitness and productivity are lining up, encouraging you to start fresh, to do more, to be better. And the Lord knows I need their help. I need better health and more organization.

And yet, I hope you will pause on the Hustle and Grind for a moment and choose also the Tending and the Waiting.

I hope you will move at the pace of Creation in 2022. Hustle and Grind when you have to. But also choose patience and waiting. I see in Scripture that is when the Lord does His best work. And when the fruit comes.

Here’s to waiting.

The Ministry of Death

The death of his faithful ones is valuable in the LORD’s sight.—Psalm 116:15

Death is part of life, particularly the life of a pastor. We must counsel those grieving the loss of a loved one. We must walk with those who have received a terminal diagnosis. Funerals must be performed with a solid and steady manner. On occasion we must sit with someone transitioning from this world into eternity.

There is a ministry of death.

Lately our church has walked through the valley of the shadow of death. We have had a dozen or so deaths in a matter of weeks. COVID. Suicide. Tragedy. It has been challenging and emotional. I have performed a number of funerals in the last few weeks.

I’m trying to use this moment to coach one of our younger staff members in this ministry. Through the process, I am reminded that not everyone has had the opportunity to minister through death. With that in mind, I would like to share some of the practices I’ve learned over the years.

This list is by no means comprehensive, and I am certain many pastors would be able to add their own practices. These practices are not ranked in order of importance. They are simply thoughts regarding how to shepherd people in the moment of loss—so that we might make death a ministry. 

The first ministry is that of presence. Years ago I learned the difference between the pastoral response and the theological response. Theologically speaking, the Lord has numbered each of our days (Job 14:5). Theologically speaking, the Lord is sovereign over each moment. This is completely true. But this is not always what needs to be said in the raw moments of grief. 

Our first ministry is that of presence. Show up. Sit down. Pray. Say, “I am so sorry.” Then you should be quiet. You do not need to say anything in this moment. This is the pastoral moment to mimc the Incarnation. Just as Jesus walked among us and identified with our struggles, this is the moment to sit with the hurting and the grieving. Help with logistics. Get coffee or a meal. Be pastoral first.

Theology must be appropriately timed. There will come a time when the theological questions will come. Or a time will occur when you can naturally point to the Lord. If the death is a surprise or under especially tragic circumstances, you want to speak the truth, but you want to do it in a way that is also loving. You do not need to feel the pressure to write hagiography, but you also do not need to berate. Speak the truth in love (Ephesians 4:15).

If you time your theological knowledge correctly, it will be more readily received, and you will have a better chance of continuing to pastor the grieving. Funerals are about the living, not the dead, in many respects, so speak in a way that you are truthful but also with an eye to shepherding those who are not part of a church for years to come. The Lord often prepares hearts in moments of loss.

The gospel is truly good news. Christians find hope in the Resurrection of the dead. Jesus got up out of his tomb, and one day those in Christ will do the same. Those of us in Christ will experience a glorious reunion with others who have preceded us in death. The cross continues to provide forgiveness for sins. We must proclaim the truth of our hope when we preside over a funeral service.

I pastor in a global city. It is incredibly diverse. Some have said that I ought to not preach the gospel to respect members of other faiths and to avoid manipulation. While I believe I understand the spirit in which people say such things, I disagree. A funeral service is one of the few moments in which distracted and wealthy Westerners consider mortality. The reality of eternity cannot be avoided, nor should it. If you are a Christian pastor, I urge you to oversee a Christian funeral service. Preach the gospel.

Make funerals personal—where possible. Logistically speaking, I have learned a few things over the years. These might help you. 

• If you can, meet with the family two days before the service. Ask about the deceased’s faith. Look through the deceased’s Bible, if possible. Look for important or underlined passages or verses.

• Keep a grief calendar. Send a note or make a phone call on the first anniversary of the death, if possible. The grieved is hurting; your effort will make an impact.

• At the graveside or the urn garden—read the 23rd Psalm. Remind them of the Resurrection of the dead. If a burial—remind them that graves traditionally faced the East so that they might meet Jesus face-to-face on the day he returns.

• Two days after the funeral, someone should check on the family or loved ones. Do they need food? Help with legal matters? Theology? Counseling? Pray with them.

Above all, stay focused on Jesus. This is a tender moment—what some might call a “thin place.” It is where the spiritual and the physical come together. You are called to shepherd in this moment. 

You can do it very well, if you focus on the Lord and the grace given in Jesus.

The Application of Grace

Christians believe in the gospel. Simply put, this means God became human in Jesus Christ, that this Jesus lived a sinless life, in his perfection died as an atoning sacrifice for sin, and was resurrected. Christians believe this life to be the vehicle of God’s grace—we are powerless to save ourselves, but God in Christ has reconciled us to himself. We were once enemies and against God. Now, through Jesus, we are reconciled.

Grace is what brings about that reconciliation.

Millions—if not billions—of people alive believe the previous paragraph to be truthful. They confess it freely. But the question many of them have is the next step beyond this confession of the gospel. “I believe the gospel to be true. But what do I do now? HOW do I grow spiritually?” For centuries, churches have recommended corporate worship, Bible study, prayer, and a host of other spiritual practices. But I’ve recently found that when people ask me how they are to grow spiritually, they are actually asking a different question. They are recognizing a universal experience in the Christian life—they are still tempted to sin.

If grace has justified me before God, how does grace change me over a lifetime? God gives His grace freely in Jesus Christ and in Scripture; the Christian journey is one of applying that grace to our brokenness over the course of a lifetime. The application of grace is the way we fight for holiness in life.

How, then, do you apply grace?

1. Identify the lie you believe.

We all believe lies about ourselves. These lies are different for each of us, but belief in lies is universal. The prophet Jeremiah puts it this way: “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately sick; who can understand it?” (Jeremiah 17:9) You do not need to wonder whether you, too, believe lies about yourself. Instead, you must identify what the lies you believe are.

Our tendency is to focus on the concrete, to focus on our actions. We spot the actions or attitudes in our lives we do not like, and we want to change them. We make plans or resolutions and through sheer willpower, we change behaviors. This sort of behavior modification is good and works in many circumstances. We want to stop biting our nails, so we resolve to do so.

But the darkest places in our heart and actions are not able to be overcome by willpower, for those dark places are not about the actions. The dark places are about motives, attitudes, and loves. And these are the places where the lies reside. This is the place where anger, jealousy, insecurity, lust, lies, and fakery reside. And these sorts of motives and loves feed upon the lies. As Matthew 12:34-35 reminds us, “How can you speak good, when you are evil? For out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks.”

If you want to apply the grace of Jesus to your life, you must be willing to spelunk into these dark places and examine your heart. You will need to ask some difficult questions to find the emotional and spiritual motives behind some of your actions. No easy answers are allowed in the dark places. Your emotions arise from the subject of your thoughts and the way you meditate upon them. You control your emotions and desires within the confines of your mind.

Think, for example, about irrational anger. Where does irrational anger originate? Anger often stems from a desire for control. I become angry when people do not perform to my expectations or when my plans become thwarted. If I have an anger problem, I most likely have a control problem. I believe a lie: I am entitled to a life I control.

What about those of us who desperately desire others to like us? Where does the desire to people-please come from? People-pleasing often originates from a belief that my self-worth originates with what others believe about my achievements, personality, and interactions. If I have a people-pleasing problem, I most likely have a self-worth problem. I believe a lie: My worth is created by what others believe about me.

How about a tendency to be hyper-critical? Why would my default attitude toward a person or experience begin with the negative rather than the positive? Why would I immediately seek to criticize the actions of another individual, particularly when I am unaware of the motives for his/her actions? A critical spirit often originates with a belief that others are criticizing me secretly (or perhaps not so secretly). If I do not point out the flaws in others, then only my flaws will be seen by the world. I believe a lie: I must point out the flaws in others so that people will not focus on my own flaws.

Addictive behavior often falls into the same sorts of motives and deception. I choose to look at pornography, drink excessively, or abuse illegal drugs because I believe that the pleasure I will receive from succumbing to my addiction will supersede all other pleasures available to me. I have convinced myself that peace comes through the thing I am addicted to; the behavior killing me is the one I believe best-suited to satiate my thirst. I believe a lie: The greatest pleasure in my life comes from participating in addictive behavior; I believe my provision and peace comes from something other than God. Or perhaps differently: I believe I have failed so much and so often that change is not possible.

As you’ve noticed by now, surface behavior is rarely the problem itself. Behaviors are often symptoms of something deeper within our hearts. We believe things about others, ourselves, the world, or God, and we then act upon those deeply held beliefs. Often those beliefs are so deeply rooted within our personality or our past that we cannot even immediately identify them. As a lifelong struggler of insecurity and people pleasing, it took multiple conversations with my wife and friends—along with extended time in prayer and reflection—to begin to notice the lies beneath my behaviors. Rooting out the lies we believe can often be the most difficult part of the process, for it often requires us to visit emotional and spiritual wounds we would prefer to forget or ignore.

“The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately sick; who can understand it?”—Jeremiah 17:9

2. Find the grace-centered truth of Scripture.

The aforementioned spiritual lies are false thoughts taking up residence within our current belief structures. These false thoughts are causing us to behave in ways we know are in opposition to Kingdom living. In order to fight the lies, we must replace the false thoughts with the truth. The written source of truth for the Kingdom life is found in the Bible, particularly in the New Testament. In order to change our life, we must find the truth of Scripture and allow it to combat the lies. Hebrews 4:12 describes the Scripture as a sword, able to divide between soul and spirit. The truth found within the pages of the Bible must become the weapon you use. These lies are not new; humanity has been recycling the same lies for millenia.

To battle lies with the truth, we need to know the themes of Scripture. Because the lies we tell ourselves are not always about the outward symptom (drugs, pornography, etc.) but instead about heart motivations, we must ensure we are allowing the Word of God to speak to the lie itself, not simply the symptom. In the earlier example of anger, we noted a possible belief at the root of this problem: I believe I am entitled to a life I control. In order to combat this belief, I must find what the Bible says regarding control. And there I can find plenty:

Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble. (Matthew 6:24)

In his hand is the life of every living thing and the breath of all mankind.—Job 12:10

And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.—Romans 8:28

Our God is in the heavens; he does all that he pleases.—Psalm 115:3

As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good, to bring it about that many people should be kept alive, as they are today.—Genesis 50:20

Repeatedly, Scripture testifies that the Lord is sovereign over all of creation. While I am allowed great freedom to act within the world, the Bible clearly states that everything is seen by His gracious eye and everything passes through His hand. If my anger stems from a desire to control, these (and many other) verses are essential. The lie? I am entitled to a life I control. The truth? God is in control and sovereign over my life.

This exercise is applicable for every lie in my life. When I believe I need the approval of others to find my self-worth, I look through Scripture and see verses like Ephesians 1:5: “In love he predestined us for adoption as sons through Jesus Christ, according to the purpose of his will.” The lie of others-approval is replaced with the truth that I have been adopted as a child of God into the Kingdom. I need no other human approval because I have been approved by God. If my issue is hyper-criticism, I find Matthew 7:1-2, “Judge not, that you be not judged. For with the judgment you pronounce you will be judged, and with the measure yo use it will be measured to you.” If the lie is one of pleasure found in addictive behavior, I discover Colossians 3:24, “from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward. You are serving the Lord Christ,” or Deuteronomy 10:9, “The Lord is their inheritance.”

Once you have identified the lie you believe, finding the truth of Scripture becomes a quest. You will most likely be able to discover a few verses quickly using an Internet search, a concordance, or by consulting the study helps at the back of your Bible. But let me counsel you to not only settle on the easily discovered Scriptures; instead dive into the Bible every single day. Read the New Testament repeatedly—like any great text, it takes multiple readings to grasp its depth. Unlike other great texts, after a dozen readings you will still discover new insights. In fact, the more you read, the more the truth of God will be supplanting the lies within your mind. If you keep a running list of Scriptures with the truth that combats your resident lie, you will soon find you have an extensive arsenal of weaponry. Even further—and perhaps more important—the Bible is best understood when it is read and interpreted communally. You need to read the Scripture with other believers so that you can understand it. Deuteronomy 6 exhorted parents to teach their children in this way—talking about the Scripture as they journeyed together. If you read Scripture communally, allowing it to address the lies present in your life, you will quickly find the truth of Proverbs 27:17 coming to pass: “As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another.”

“For the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit.”—Hebrews 4:12

3. Apply the grace of Jesus.

Once you have stocked your arsenal with weaponry, you are now prepared for your fight.

And there will be a fight.

When temptation comes, you will be better-equipped to recognize it for what it is—the seduction to believe and act upon a lie. You will recognize your anger as the lie of control; you will know your desire for people-pleasing is actually your misguided understanding of self-worth.

And in the moment of decision, you must act decisively—you must choose to act upon the truth instead of the lie. This is a tension, to be sure. You are not justified by your action; you are justified by grace. But in that justified state, you are now freed to act upon grace as led by the Spirit. The Spirit’s leadership is found within the truths of Scripture. Therefore, you must remember the truths of Scripture you have amassed and act upon them. The gospel of grace means that you have been declared righteous in Christ, but it also means your will is free to act either in sin or in rebellion. By choosing to act upon the truth of Scripture rather than the lies of deception, I am actively giving life to the grace purchased at the cross. Acting upon Scripture instead of self-created lies is the practical application of the purchased grace of Jesus.

God is ultimately in control (Scripture), not me (lie), so I can resist anger.

God declares me to be a child of the King (Scripture), not others (lie), so I can resist the need to unnecessarily people-please.

God alone is the judge (Scripture), not me (lie), so I am not required to immediately and freely criticize the actions of others.

God is the ultimate pleasure and joy in life (Scripture), not my addictive behavior (lie), so I am free to enjoy Him.

Contemporary neurology affirms what you instinctively know to be true: While possible, this will be difficult. Years of acquiescing to spiritual lies create neural superhighways which feel like second nature. To choose to act upon the truth of Scripture will be difficult, because it will be the hacking of a neural path through the thick underbrush of amassed past decisions. In fact, current neurology explains that to create new neural pathways can literally be painful, as it is the indication of new neural growth. In spite of the pain, the decision to act upon the truth is the step toward freedom. You are creating new thought patterns within your mind; you are participating in the inception of holiness.

This process is painful because it is difficult. This process is painful because it is against our nature. We tend to believe we do not have the strength to say no to the lies. But God has put Christ within us. And God has promised He “will meet all your needs according to the riches of his glory in Christ Jesus” (Phil 4:19). Every need—even the need for the power to say no—is met in the glory of Jesus. And God has placed that glory, that power, within you. It is not your power, but it is His power living inside. He is the hope of glory—the hope of a life lived in the reflection of Jesus(Col. 1:27). The only way we have hope in experiencing glory is in Christ—in his power acting out in our lives.

“Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind.”—Romans 12:2

4. Repeat. For life.

The temptations will always come, but the more you choose to act upon the grace of Jesus imparted within Scripture, the more your machete-hacked neural path becomes a well-worn road. Eventually, the decision for holiness becomes its own superhighway. Like any behavior, the new habit of holiness will eventually take hold, and the truth will much more naturally supplant the lie.

You will fail and fall down some days. You will fall prey to old temptations and use the old pathways. But, on those days, do not believe the lie that you are a failure. Instead, embrace the truth of the gospel. Remember 2 Corinthians 12:9: “ ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.” In your weakness, God continues to give grace, and he never ceases to do so. The well of Jesus’ love does not run dry.

Spiritual maturity is the journey of a lifetime, and it is a journey that we never complete until the day we “will be like him, for we will see him as he is.” (1 John 3:2) Philippians 2:12 tells believers to “work out your salvation.” Much like our contemporary use of “working out,” the application of grace is an exercise or a solving of spiritual issues. It is breaking old patterns of thoughts and behaviors through the process of grace. It is what Jesus referred to when he commanded his disciples to take up their cross each day. (Luke 9:23) Nevertheless, walking with Christ daily is a source of incredible peace and joy—it is the greatest delight of the heart. So find the lies you believe; replace them with the truth of Scripture; and act upon the grace purchased at the cross. This is the path of sanctification, the path of holiness.

This is the Kingdom life—the truth of Jesus, made alive in us. As Paul wrote in Galatians 2: “It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me!”

May you apply the grace of God each day in your journey to know Him alive in you.

Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.—2 Corinthians 5:17

America’s Secret Problem

America loves to think of herself as the biggest, the brightest, and the strongest. To be sure, there are many aspects of that sentiment that are true.

But we have a problem plaguing our nation, preventing us from being who we ought to be.

We are afraid.

*****

I pastor a church in Houston. Houston is the most ethnically diverse city in the United States. Houston is home to the second-most Muslims in the United States, next to Dearborn, Michigan. I drive past a mosque every time I go to my church’s building.

In 2014, I realized I knew precisely zero Muslims in my own city. I was driving to work that morning, passing the mosque, when I felt a nudge from the Holy Spirit, “Go in there. Meet the imam. Love your neighbor.”

And, against logic, I pulled in and walked into the mosque. I introduced myself to a very kind man named Mohammed, and I asked if I could meet the imam.

*****

Xenophobia is the fear of strangers. It is the disease plaguing America.

We are afraid of people we do not know. We are afraid of those who are a different religion. We are afraid of those who are a different ethnicity. We are afraid of those who have different political opinions. We are afraid of those who live next door but come home and quickly pull the door closed. We are isolated and afraid.

Why are we afraid? Perhaps we fear conflict. Perhaps we fear we will be seen “supporting the enemy.” Perhaps we fear that we will have nothing in common. I imagine there are many reasons we are afraid.

It has been this way for much of my life. The pandemic made things even worse. Stuck in our homes, we gorged on the news, finding more and more reasons to fear our neighbors, imagining them to be grotesque of mind and motive. It seems we are more suspicious of the “others” in our lives than we have ever been.

This is not unique to us, however. Humans have always been suspicious creatures. This is why the term “xenophobia” appears in Ancient Greek texts. In their pluralistic culture there were always reasons to be suspicious of unknown groups. I imagine they were afraid for many of the same reasons we are afraid today.

And yet early Christians insisted that xenophobia would not work. Instead, the New Testament specifically commands xenophilia—the love of strangers. Your English Bible likely translates the term as “hospitality” (in verses like Romans 12:13). But the literal word is much stronger, starker. It means to love the people you do not know. When Jesus said to love your enemies, early Christians took it to heart. They opened their homes and loved in a way that almost seemed foolish.

They had a conviction: Hospitality is the way people meet Jesus.

If you have ever been to the Middle East, you know what I am describing. Hospitality is deep within the culture. And it has been part of the mindset of those who follow God for some time, at least in that part of the world.

*****

I did, indeed, meet the imam at my local mosque. After some phone calls and curious questioning, he agreed to meet me. I assume he was as nervous as I was. We set an appointment for tea and naan, and, in time, we became friends. After some time, that imam moved to Dallas, and I became friends with the next imam.

That’s when things became interesting.

As I began to ponder what it meant to practice xenophilia, to truly be hospitable, I heard something on the radio that startled me. I have not verified it, but this is what I remember: The vast majority of individuals who live in America but have been born outside the United States have never been invited into the home of an Anglo American. If you’re a white American, think of the people in your life who have come to the US from another nation, for whatever reason. If you live in a city, you likely know several of them. And, statistically speaking, they have never been invited into the home of someone like you.

That startled me. And I decided we needed to raise our hospitality game.

I wanted to embody the same conviction: Hospitality is the way people meet Jesus.

We hosted the board members of the mosque and their spouses in our house. We took the imam deer hunting (yes, seriously). We invited the imam to a Q&A at our church. I would text my new Muslim friends regularly. They invited us to break fast with them one night during Ramadan. When our church was flooded in Hurricane Harvey, they came to help us. When we heard that their mosque had caught fire, we called to see how we could help. On Easter of 2019, 30 or so Muslims came to our service and stayed for a bunch to ask questions about the Resurrection. We have laughed, talked about our families, encouraged one another, helped one another, and served one another.

They do not agree with my beliefs on Jesus. I do not agree with their beliefs regarding Mohammed.

But I love them. And they love me.

*****

I have only told you about my friendship with one group who is different from mine. I could have told you the same story, but with my new Jewish friends. Or with my brothers and sisters at the predominantly Black church down the road.

God has been teaching me the same lesson over and over since coming to Houston:

The more you love, the less you fear.

The more you love, the more you show Jesus.

Hospitality is the way people meet Jesus.

I am not afraid of Muslims, because I have become friends with them. They are no longer caricatures in my mind. They are real people with real families and real dreams.

The same is true with so many other groups in my city. I have been surprised at how excited they are to see me extending a hand of love. I have been surprised at how eagerly they reciprocate.

I have now talked openly about my faith in Jesus in both a mosque and a synagogue. I understand more about the faith of my Jewish and Muslim counterparts than ever before. I have deep friendships with those in all sorts of groups now—groups that I once would have assumed to be either enemies or, at the very least, uninterested in being my friends.

And that’s where xenophobia begins—assumptions.

We are afraid because we are making assumptions about people instead of getting to know them.

*****

My life changed when I stopped talking about Muslims and started talking to them. This was the case every single time I decide to stop wondering what a group of people was like and instead spent time building bridges, working together, listening, and, along the way, becoming friends—different religions, ethnicities, political persuasions, whatever.

I think it would change your life, too. I think it would change entire churches.

Hospitality is the way people meet Jesus.

What would happen if you hosted your Hindu neighbor for dinner? What would happen if you asked your political opponent to share a meal and to begin with the posture of seeking to understand instead of argue? What might transpire if you asked your neighbor of a different ethnicity to come and talk about her lived experience and how it is different from yours?

Would anything bad come from such a decision? Perhaps a few ruffled feathers. More likely: We would learn deeper love of neighbor, and we would find innumerable opportunities to share the Reason for our love.

So let’s practice xenophilia.

Let’s meet people for tea and naan and talk to them.

Let’s stand up for those who are on the outside looking in.

Let’s work together and learn what makes us different—and the same.

Let’s love so boldly that when we speak of our faith it is compelling.

Let’s stop operating from fear and start living from love.

Hospitality is the way people meet Jesus.

The Idea That Changed The World

Grace, she takes the blame
She covers the shame
Removes the stain
It could be her name

—U2, “Grace”

Christians tend to divide people.

In the desire to be holy, Christians often comfort themselves with the words of Jesus: “Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.” (Matthew 10:34) Left unchecked, we will tend to believe that it is good for us to create division with our faithfulness. In fact, when we are drifting away from our theological mooring, we can default to a position of cultural antagonism without a redemptive goal. (Orthodox Christians would argue cultural antagonism with a redemptive goal is ultimately a unifying good.)

But in the midst of the culture wars, have Christians oversold the position of “taking a stand”?

Is there room for a message of unity in the midst of the culture wars?

Baylor University sociologist Rodney Stark wrote in The Rise of Christianity about the meteoric shot the earliest churches rode on their path to popularity. Where Christians numbered in the thousands around 35 A.D., they were a majority population in the Roman empire by the time of Constantine—in less than three hundred years. Now that’s rapid growth.

Something, it seems, in the earliest days of the church, was able to overcome the offensive and divisive actions of taking cultural and moral stands. Rather than running from the church, the people of the first three centuries were flocking to the church. Why?

Stark has a number of hypotheses, but they all center on one notion: Christians loved people no one else would love. They cared for those other thought too contagious to nurse. They rescued the children abandoned in attempted infanticide. They gave women a place of respect and importance within the community. They welcomed people of all educational, racial, and socioeconomic backgrounds.

They practiced a concept so radical for its time that I believe it to genuinely be divine. I also believe it to be the single most important theological concept within Christianity.

Many believe Christianity is a religion of love. And, to a certain extent, that is correct. But Christianity, fully understood, is far more than love—at least love as it’s popularly understood. Christianity is different, for it is a religion of unconditional love. This unconditional love is a love that is given, Christians believe, by God through Jesus. The cross of Christ—often understood as a symbol—is actually a vehicle. It is the vehicle by which God gives this unconditional love to humans.

Christians believe that the world and each individual within the world is sinful—that each person bears the spiritual mark of sin. (The world is not left out of this mire of sinfulness, either. Christians believe that the Fall into sin was universal, affecting even nature. Therefore the world itself is also in need of redemption. In the Christian imagination, there will one day be a world without destructive natural disasters or diseased lifeforms, for natural processes will be redeemed and perfected through the cross.) Such rebellion and sinfulness on the part of humanity would merit some sort of disciplinary or retributive response. But this is where the uniqueness of Christianity comes into play. Rather than doling out the justice due to each person—individually—and to the fallen creation—on the whole—God intercedes at the cross. The cross is where God places Himself—in the person of His Son—in the place of a sinful creation, so that He might extend this unconditional love to the world.

The cross is where God became the scapegoat in order to redeem.

The scandalous part of this decision, of course, is that God is the one who is in the place to hand out the punishment in the first place.

God offers to save the very ones who have affronted and offended Him, and He does so at an exceptional price.

God saves humanity from judgment without any demonstration of worth, merit, or ability. He simply does so freely and based in His love for the ones He has created.

And this is what Christians call grace.

And grace, I believe, is the idea that changed the world.

*****

Yesterday I spent about an hour on the phone with a woman in our city who has been attending our church for about 18 months. When she first attended, she claimed allegiance to another religion, but she came because she said she needed to connect with God.

Over the next year and a half, she was startled at what she experienced. She found love and acceptance from the people in our congregation, but, even better, she began to understand the character of God according to Jesus. As we visited yesterday, she was overcome with emotion as she recounted how she encountered the goodness of God.

While weeping she said, “I feel like I don’t deserve this love.”

I replied, “You don’t. We don’t. That’s what the Bible calls grace.”

She sobbed even harder.

“Why is He so good to me? I do not deserve this. I have done so many bad things.”

“So have I,” I said.

She is getting baptized next Sunday.

*****

Grace is the killer app of Christianity. It is, at root, the most central doctrine to the faith. Every other religion features a spin on the karmic notion: You eventually get what you deserve.

Christianity’s genius is precisely the opposite: You don’t get what you deserve, thank God.

Western civilization is saturated with grace-based thinking, although we do not often realize it. From the classic to the ridiculous, the American psyche is a collective psychological process of the grace-giving process. In the realm of the classic: Countless writers have employed the Christ-figure motif of an individual giving herself in order to save a group of individuals. In the milieu of the ridiculous: We hate celebrities who publicly offend our sensibilities, yet we quickly extend forgiveness to those who publicly apologize and seek forgiveness. America itself is forged on at least one notion of gracious thinking: No matter who you are, you can succeed in the world. Forget the times of meritocracy or oligarchy. If you are willing to work and intelligent enough to make your way, then you are given the ability to do so. Like grace, the American system (in theory, mind you—reality is altogether different) doesn’t play favorites.

Grace is revolutionary. Grace screams that you are loved. Grace declares that God is NOT angry. Grace states that you are under no obligation to please God with religious activity. Grace says that you are received precisely how you are. You need not change to impress God or others; He receives you.

You are graced.

Such marvelous thinking should be the stuff of utopian Coca-Cola commercials, leading women and men to lock arms in delight. You are loved! You are accepted! You are forgiven! God is not angry with you! You can participate in the love of God on this side of death. Heaven begins by living in the now-but-not-yet-complete Kingdom of God right here.

Grace ought to be so intoxicating, so baffling, so marvelously frustrating, so mind-boggling that it pushes people to reconsider their notion of precisely what they believe about God. Westerners generally, and Americans specifically, believe they know who the God of the Bible is because they have seen the way particular outspoken sects of evangelical Christians behave. I want to suggest that those believers, if they finally grasped the surprising concept of grace they would instantly be turned on their heads.

Jesus is so beautiful, yet so frustrating in so many ways because he is the literal embodiment of the grace of God. His words cannot make sense apart from grace. “Blessed are the poor in spirit,” he says, “for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven.” Why are the poor in spirit blessed? They are the only ones who understand their massive need for spiritual blessing. Therefore, Jesus says, they will be the only ones who will seek it. Why are prostitutes and tax collectors entering the Kingdom of Heaven before religious leaders and scribes? Because the prostitutes are poor in spirit. They acknowledge their need to be loved and received by God.

You must remove your ability from the equation. You must allow God to rescue you completely. His grace—entirely.

As the late Robert Farrar Capon put it: “Grace has to be drunk straight: no water, no ice, and certainly no ginger ale.”

In West Texas the wide-open spaces of the prairie allow thunderstorms to organize in frightful lines, where individual storm cells collect to form super cells. These storms are simultaneously beautiful and terrifying, blowing water and spitting lightning across the wide open nights on the range. As the super cells approach, they create gusts of wind that are surprisingly powerful, known to blow over vehicles, remove roofs, and topple less-secure buildings. Occasionally unlocked doors and windows will blow open, startling the unsuspecting inhabitants with a blast of warm, wet air. Those indoors will run to close the shutters or patio entrance, but rarely before papers and tablecloths are removed by the shot of air rushing into the vacuous space. These sorts of storms are fast-moving, and their energy transforms everything they encounter.

The God revealed in Jesus is a super cell of grace, and his energy leaves no encounter static. Grace is most often misunderstood because it is perceived to be passive when it is secretly more powerful than any other religious concept ever imagined. Anyone could imagine karma. Of course we get what we deserve. It’s what we naturally imagine. But grace? Who would ever imagine that?

Grace blows open the doors of our imagination and displaces the mantle-top gods we have imagined. Gone are the Greek and Roman conceptions of violence and capriciousness. The Eastern mysticism recently embraced as en vogue suddenly is revealed to be impersonal and calculated. Any religion refusing to embrace the starburst power of grace is left behind, for it discusses and worships an incomplete concept of God.

The Greeks used a word for power—dunamis. It is the root word for dynamite. John the apostle regularly used the term dunamis to describe who Jesus was. In light of the shocking power of grace, his word choice could not have been more apt. It is why John Newton described grace as “amazing” in his hymn. It is why grace was the centerpiece of the Protestant Reformation. And it is why Christianity, in the midst of the wealthiest and most affluent nation our species has ever seen, remains influential.

Grace cannot be shaken, for it hearkens to a God we desperately desire to be real—the God revealed in Jesus.

If we give this grace a chance, it may even unite us.

For it’s just that radical.

Grace, it’s the name for a girl
It’s also a thought that changed the world

—U2, “Grace”