Washington Park

I ran across this poem by Gerald Costanzo the other day and it made me long for the Pacific Northwest. I grew up just outside of Portland, but my dad lived there and we would often go to Washington Park. We walked the train tracks between the park and the zoo, jumping out to scare the train goers. We would read the names and dates of all the Queens of Rosaria. In 2011, I took my family and we spent an afternoon in the park. I realized again how beautiful it is.

Washington Park

I went walking in the Rose Gardens.
It was about to rain, but the roses
were beginning to bloom. The Olympiads,

some Shreveports, and the Royal
Sunsets. This was in the beautiful
city I had taken away from myself

years before, and now I was giving it back.
I walked over the Rosaria tiles
and found Queen Joan of 1945. I sat

on the hillside overlooking the reservoir
and studied the Willamette and the Douglas
firs. I learned the traffic

and the new highrises as the rain
came down.

                    This leaving and returning,

years of anger and forgiveness,
the attempts to forgive one’s self—
it’s everybody’s story,

and I was sitting there
filling up again with the part of it
that was mine.

—Gerald Costanzo, from Nobody Lives on Arthur Godfrey Boulevard, Rochester NY: BOA Editions, Ltd., 1992. [chapter 9]

Trueman on Thatcher and the Teenage Years

Recently, two connected thoughts have entered my conscience. First, that at 42, an end approaches. Second, that I still live much of my life in my teenage years. Carl Trueman, quoted here before, touches both of those thoughts.

Yet she is dead. The woman who defined the teenage years of many of us—and we all live a lot of our lives in our teenage years—has gone. As I thought of Hill today, I also thought of the film, The Iron Lady, an elegy to the erosion of power and of life itself that aging brings with it. The powerful woman laid low by old age. Her story beckons us all. When Thatcher ruled the waves, I was a teenage boy; and like all teenage boys, I thought I would live forever. Now, approaching the age Mrs T was when she became Tory leader, I am not so sure of my immortality any more. This is the land of lost content. 

Read his whole post.

This Morning's Encouragement

“No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 8:37–39).

Farther Along

I heard about the new Josh Garrels album, Love & War & The Sea In Between, from The Rabbit Room, NoiseTrade, and a friend at nearly the same time. I have been listening to it constantly now for days. I love it.

Josh Garrels appears to be one of those radical Christians who trusts in God to the point of sacrifice. He is giving away the album for free—I guess that is what giving away means—for a year, both electronic and physical versions.

I highly encourage you to go and download this album. If you love it as much as I do, please donate (visit the store on his website). This is the kind of music that Christians should be listening to rather than the pop driven, mindless drivel played on so many other Christian outlets.

My favorite song so far is Farther Along:

Farther Along

Farther along we’ll know all about it
Farther along we’ll understand why
Cheer up my brothers, live in the sunshine
We’ll understand this, all by and by

Tempted and tried, I wondered why
The good man died, the bad man thrives
And Jesus cries because he loves em’ both
We’re all cast-aways in need of ropes
Hangin’ on by the last threads of our hope
In a house of mirrors full of smoke
Confusing illusions I’ve seen

Where did I go wrong, I sang along
To every chorus of the song
That the devil wrote like a piper at the gates
Leading mice and men down to their fates
But some will courageously escape
The seductive voice with a heart of faith
While walkin’ that line back home

So much more to life than we’ve been told
It’s full of beauty that will unfold
And shine like you struck gold my wayward son
That deadweight burden weighs a ton
Go down into the river and let it run
And wash away all the things you’ve done
Forgiveness alright

Chorus

Still I get hard pressed on every side
Between the rock and a compromise
Like the truth and pack of lies fightin’ for my soul
And I’ve got no place left go
Cause I got changed by what I’ve been shown
More glory than the world has known
Keeps me ramblin’ on

Skipping like a calf loosed from its stall
I’m free to love once and for all
And even when I fall I’ll get back up
For the joy that overflows my cup
Heaven filled me with more than enough
Broke down my levee and my bluff
Let the flood wash me

And one day when the sky rolls back on us
Some rejoice and the others fuss
Cause every knee must bow and tongue confess
That the son of god is forever blessed
His is the kingdom, we’re the guests
So put your voice up to the test
Sing Lord, come soon

Chorus

The Power of Love in Little Things

This morning in the shower doubtful thoughts about Christianity were attempting to enter into my thinking like 10,000 Uruk-Hai trying to enter Helm’s Deep. Relentlessly. These thoughts made sense, at least it seemed like they did while bleary eyed under the warming spray. They breached the gate on multiple occasions with the only voice of true resistance being the thought that I knew I was tired, I knew I was still fighting post-vacation traumatic stress disorder, and I knew my prayer life and Bible time had suffered while visiting family and driving 5,000 miles. Therefore, even though I couldn’t fully refute these arguments right now, I would be able to later when I was more awake and less weary.

The strongest thought trying to gain entry was not that Jesus didn’t exist or that God wasn’t real, but that he wasn’t so much relevant now as he was 2,000 years ago. After all, we haven’t really heard from him since he ascended into heaven, and his book has been torn asunder by generations of exegetes (or eisegetes, as the case may be), many of whom have found far too many differences in one text. If thousands of scholars over centuries can’t agree on what one book says, how can it be true? How can we know Christianity is still real when our book is so old? How can we differentiate a real movement of the Holy Spirit from a simple event felt by a person who desperately wants to experience something? How do I know the Holy Spirit is real when it seems like most “movements of the Spirit” can be explained by a cynic? How do I really know that Jesus wanted me to sell my house and move from Washington to Minneapolis? How can I pray, even now, that he help me know whether we should buy a house here? Or that my career best matches my gifting? Or that I was meant to be an administrator rather than a pastor?

Jason, I whispered to myself, you are tired. These doubts only have strength because you are tired and weary and mildly depressed about coming home and re-entering the rat race. By God’s grace—and I don’t say that lightly—the doubts receded and I was able to get ready and head off to work, knowing that after this brief reprieve I would have to go out and face the horde of orcs, much like Aragorn and company rested briefly before counter attacking out of the inner keep.

But instead of charging into a renewed battle with gallant courage, knowing that I would face certain death, and then being rescued by Éomer, the Savior came to me sooner, before I even entered the battle again. He came in a couple of blog posts.

The first was by Andrew Peterson about Harry Potter:

I couldn’t get Harry’s story out of my head. I doubled over in the back of the auditorium and sobbed with gratitude to Jesus for allowing his body to be ruined, for facing the enemy alone, for laying down his life for his friends—Jesus, my friend, brother, hero, and king—Jesus, the Lord of Life, who triumphed o’er the grave—who lives that death may die! Even now, writing those words, my heart catches in my throat. In that moment I was able, because of these books, to worship Christ in a way I never had.

Let me be clear: Harry Potter is NOT Jesus. This story isn’t inspired, at least not in the sense that Scripture is inspired; but because I believe that all truth is God’s truth, that the resurrection is at the heart of the Christian story, and the main character of the Christian story is Christ, because I believe in God the Father, almighty maker of heaven and earth and in Jesus Christ his only begotten son—and because I believe that he inhabits my heart and has adopted me as his son, into his family, his kingdom, his church—I have the freedom to rejoice in the Harry Potter story, because even there, Christ is King. Wherever we see beauty, light, truth, goodness, we see Christ. Do we think him so small that he couldn’t invade a series of books about a boy wizard? Do we think him cut off from a story like this, as if he were afraid, or weak, or worried? Remember when Santa Claus shows up (incongruously) in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe? It’s a strange moment, but to my great surprise I’ve been moved by it. Lewis reminds me that even Father Christmas is subject to Jesus, just as in Prince Caspian the hosts of mythology are subject to him. The Harry Potter story is subject to him, too, and Jesus can use it however he wants. In my case, Jesus used it to help me long for heaven, to remind me of the invisible world, to keep my imagination active and young, and he used it to show me his holy bravery in his triumph over the grave.

I think it fairly obvious how this passage by Andrew began to fight back the hordes that had been standing outside my mind’s door all morning.

Continuing down the Rabbit Room blog, I read the following about U2, written by Stephen Lamb:

Crawling into bed that night, I picked up the book on my bedside table, Ian Cron’s Chasing Francis, a biography of sorts in which a man documents his spiritual journey through journal entries addressed to St. Francis. I opened the book to the page where I had stopped reading two nights earlier and picked up where I left off. Here’s the first thing I read:

Dear Francis,

A few years ago I went to a U2 concert at Madison Square Garden in New York City, just three months after 9/11. Most of us in the arena that night probably knew someone who’d died in the Twin Towers; we’d lost three people in our church alone. I’ll never forget the end of the concert. As the band played the song “Walk On,” the names of all those who had died were projected onto the arena walls and slowly scrolled up over us, and then up toward the ceiling. At that moment the presence of God descended on that room in a way I will never forget. There we were, twenty-five thousand people standing, weeping, and singing with the band. It suddenly became a worship service; we were pushing against the darkness together. I walked out dazed, asking myself, “What on earth just happened?” Of course, it was the music. For a brief moment, the veil between this world and the world to come had been made thin by melody and lyric. If only for a brief few minutes, we were all believers.

This brief excerpt is not all that caused the next thing to happen. I suggest you read the whole post, but as I completed these two blog posts, an overwhelming feeling of God’s goodness, the Holy Spirit’s presence, and the saving work of Jesus Christ washed over me. My eyes were hot with tears, and I slid my chair back and leaned over my knees and cried. I was not thinking about Harry Potter or U2 at that point. I was worshipping my savior who would deign to take the time to reach out of heaven and touch me, as if to say, “Yes, Jason, I am real and powerful and here 2,000 years later. I don’t always come riding to the rescue like Éomer and Gandalf charging the orcs with 2,000 Rhorrihim at their back. Instead I work through little things, through foolish things, through love and word and deed and art and music and small cold glasses of water. I am even present enough to meet you, right now, through two blog posts. I can touch you and show you, through the written word, that I exist.”

It only lasted a minute, but it was real. I realize that many cynics can, at this point, say I simply had an emotional response to two emotionally charged blog posts. But I don’t think so. I am a doctrinally solid believer in Jesus Christ and his written word. I believe that God speaks primarily through that word. I have a working understanding of proper hermeneutics and theology. I don’t think it is normative for God to touch people like this. Yet, I don’t doubt that in many cases this happens. I am not so naive that I don’t think I will ever doubt again. After all, the Battle of the Pelennor Fields happened after the Battle at Helm’s Deep.

But for now, I am content. Soli Deo Gloria.

Visual Reasons We Miss Home

Cousins

waiting for the pool to fill...oh, so slowly, originally uploaded by wenabell.

Kell’s Irish Pub

lucky ceiling @ Kell's, originally uploaded by wenabell.

Trees

big fir, originally uploaded by wenabell.

Mountains

Mt. Hood, originally uploaded by wenabell.

Cannon Beach

Haystack Rock, originally uploaded by wenabell.

The Evident Wonder of God's Great Provision

“Sometimes it’s books or songs that tear away at the carefully crafted shackles we have allowed around our wrists, the bonds that blind us to the evident wonder of God’s great provision. Sometimes it’s a holy encounter with a saint. Sometimes it’s math, basketball, corn dogs, Victoria Falls, making love, babies, adoption, a painting, a person failing well, a fancy car, poetry, or water, or bread, or wine.”

—I’M FINITE, HOW ARE YOU?, by S. D. Smith

Soli Deo Gloria

For those creative, and not-so creative types:

But as the mists of my dullness gradually cleared, the truth broke with a light that pierces to this day: she was praying for inspiration, for the choreography and for the execution of it. She was entreating the favor of God upon this endeavor and imploring His ability to procure it. She had the spiritual vision to see that this was not just a workshop recital for families and friends at a little performing arts school—it was a chance to honor the God of the universe. To love God with the heart, soul, mind and strength. To create something beautiful out of love for Him and to lift it up as an offering of praise.

That moment changed everything for me, in the way that small, seemingly trifling moments often do. All my loves—writing, music, dancing, homemaking, gardening—have since been charged with the influence of it. And not only by the ‘glory’ side of the equation; by the appeal, as well, if not more so.  I have in that memory of my beloved and respected teacher, face down before the God she adored, an image of the creative process that I will carry with me for the rest of my life. Creativity is a giving, an offering to others and a glory to the Creator-God. But it is also a receiving. And the courage to create and not valuate our offering by the market standards of the world is, I believe, a gift in itself, and one to be sought most earnestly by the likes of such frail co-creators as we humans prove ourselves to be.

Read the whole thing.

HT: Rabbit Room

What Camp Are You In?

There are activities that seem to fall into a few different camps. The camps are Love to Do, Hate to Do, Good At, and Bad At. Any activity can have the following permutations...

1. Love to Do and Good At
2. Love to Do and Bad At
3. Hate to Do and Good At
4. Hate to Do and Bad At

Camps one and four tend to take care of themselves. Sometimes people are stuck in camp three and need to figure out a way not to be there.

But what about camp two? How much effort should we put into those activities that fall into camp two? If we love to sing, but can’t sing, should we do it? If we love to run or write or fish or swim or study or whatever, but really stink at it, should we continue to put energy into it for the sake of our joy, or should we bag it and find things that only fall into camp one?

Correct me, O Lord

As I have written before, I am moody and prone to extremes. I have noticed over the years that my extremes can play havoc with the way that I see and understand the God of the Bible. I am not fully sure why one day the proverbial sun can be shining and birds singing and I can glory in the judgment of God upon his enemies, and the very next day, the storm clouds roll in and I question how God can deal so harshly with his people. Yes, they sinned, but the judgment is so, well, final.

Sometimes it is easy to forget that characters in the Bible were real, flesh and blood people who asked many of the same questions as I do. I often think that because they had a special revelatory relationship with God that they must never question him. Therefore, it is a comfort to me when I read Jeremiah questioning God…

Then I said, “Ah, Lord God, surely you have utterly deceived this people and Jerusalem, saying, ‘It shall be well with you,’ whereas the sword has reached their very life” (Jeremiah 4:10).

At the same time, Jeremiah’s perspective rights itself. He is significantly more faithful than I am. Several chapters later Jeremiah again writes,

I know, O Lord, that the way of man is not in himself, that it is not in man who walks to direct his steps. Correct me, O Lord, but in justice; not in your anger, lest you bring me to nothing (Jeremiah 10:23–24).

My prayer, then, echoes Jeremiah. Lord, in my extremes, keep me seeing you correctly. I am prone to wander, prone to leave the one I love. Please, Father, be gentle and correct me, not in your anger, but in your mercy. I trust in your own words, that you practice steadfast love, justice, and righteousness in the earth.

Thus says the Lord: “Let not the wise man boast in his wisdom, let not the mighty man boast in his might, let not the rich man boast in his riches, but let him who boasts boast in this, that he understands and knows me, that I am the Lord who practices steadfast love, justice, and righteousness in the earth. For in these things I delight, declares the Lord (Jeremiah 9:23–24).

The Preferred Reality

I have spent the last four hours alone while Wendy and the kids were out. It is interesting that I can miss them so much when I love being alone as much as I do. Yet, it is clear that simply having them around, knowing they are in the next room, and having them bust in and ask questions or give me a hug is really the preferred reality.

Be Thankful

A little over a week ago, our hot water heater died. It simply went kaput and stopped working. No gas flame, and rusty water all over the floor. We actually had to face a night and morning without showers. Instead we went to the community center, played in the pool and took showers. Less than 21 hours later, we had a brand new, bigger hot water heater installed.

Yesterday morning, in the middle of the largest Minnesota snow since 1991, we woke up to no heat. The exhaust blower on the furnace was no longer working, thereby not allowing the furnace to turn on. Wendy then informed me that the cabinet under the kitchen sink was soaked. The faucet, one of those single handled all in one kitchen faucets was leaking like a sieve.

The snow shut Minneapolis down so that our furnace guy, Joe, couldn’t make it until Sunday morning. Our home temperature got down to 64 degrees Saturday evening and we wore sweatshirts. Chase and I helped three other neighbors shovel their driveways. I tried to drive to Target to get a couple space heaters but couldn’t get the van 10 feet down the street. We decided to just tough it out.

When we woke up on Sunday morning the house was 53 degrees and the plow truck had plowed about five feet of snow into everyone’s driveway. Chase and I worked again for several hours helping several neighbors get clear. Joe the furnace guy came and replaced the blower. I drove to Home Depot with Wendy (Chipotle date while we were at it) and got a new faucet.

So, here I sit, in the favorite corner of my couch, while my family bustles around me, in a warm 69 degree home, listening to Wendy wash her hands in the kitchen sink with warm water...

...and give thanks.

At what point in the last two weeks did I face hardship? Everything that failed was fixed within 24 hours. We were inconvenienced, but those inconveniences turned into fun adventures. What an amazing country we live in.

Yes, failing appliances are a product of the Fall. Appliances repaired within 24 hours when 16.5 inches of snow are falling is not. That is a product of mercy.

Tonight, my overwhelming emotion is thanksgiving.

20 Years of Joy

Today is the 20th anniversary of being married to my best friend, lover, and partner in everything. She has put up with a lot in the last 20 years. She is God's greatest physical embodiment of mercy, grace, forgiveness, love, joy, partnership, and perseverance to me. I can more easily believe that God is real and good by looking at the gift of my wife. I exalt Christ and thank him for her, all the while striving (not so well) to love her like Christ loved the church (Eph 5:25-33).

Happy Anniversary, my love.

A Glorious Morning

This boy from Washington State absolutely loves mornings like this. It is raining relatively hard, lighting is slamming the Shoreview Towers, and thunder is rolling across the sky from south to north.

My family is at the library, all the windows are open, the smell of rain is everywhere, and I am sitting at my computer with a large mug of steaming hot coffee in my hand and an eclectic mix of tunes flowing from my playlist.

It really is glorious.

Job 28:23 “God understands the way to it,
and he knows its place.
24 For he looks to the ends of the earth
and sees everything under the heavens.
25 When he gave to the wind its weight
and apportioned the waters by measure,
26 when he made a decree for the rain
and a way for the lightning of the thunder,
27 then he saw it and declared it;
he established it, and searched it out.
28 And he said to man,
‘Behold, the fear of the Lord, that is wisdom,
and to turn away from evil is understanding.’”

The Last Enemy

One of my elders at Bethlehem is one of those Godly men that you point to when someone asks you what a Christian is. At this point in my life, I know I don't trust Christ as much as he does. I pray that if and when I face suffering that God will be gracious to give me a heart like Mitch's. Here is what Mitch posted last night on his wife’s Caring Bridge site.

There are times when the question why is not going to be answered. We just need to move forward trusting in the path God leads us. The LORD gives and the LORD takes way; blessed be the name of the LORD. At 6:39pm on May 14th my beautiful wife while in my arms, went to be with the LORD. As only God could plan Phillip, Emily, Cassie and I were all present when the LORD took her from us. Janelle was at one of her friend’s house and we were able to get her soon after and we gathered around our Mom, my Wife and prayed for the mercy, grace, and strength to move forward. It is strange how fast things change, and over the last few days we knew the treatment was not going as planned. There is only so much a body can take and after fifteen and a half months of chemo, drugs, and infections, her weakened body could take no more. The nurses and the Doctor tried to do all they could, but Jesus was calling and Mary answered. Please continue to keep us in your prayers. The days ahead will be difficult and we will need to make many adjustments. We are thankful to be the children of God. We have a hope in things to come when we will put on an imperishable body when things like Leukemia will be gone forever. We will have no more tears, no more death, and we will reign in His kingdom, worshiping the King with Mary and all the saints forever.

Worshiping through tears,

Mitch, Phil, Emily, Cassie, and Janelle

Tears of Joy and Expectation for the God Who Loves the Lame and Outcast

19 Behold, at that time I will deal with all your oppressors.
And I will save the lame and gather the outcast,
and I will change their shame into praise and renown in all the earth.
20 At that time I will bring you in, at the time when I gather you together;
for I will make you renowned and praised among all the peoples of the earth,
when I restore your fortunes before your eyes,” says the Lord.

—Zephaniah 3:19–20

Capital “F” Friends

A friend of mine reposted a quote regarding friendship, Facebook, and technology. The gist is that technology should not attempt to represent friendships. The purpose in this present post is not to debate that subject. After all, I don’t have a Facebook account; who am I to criticize?

Rather, I am merely using this as a segue into a sappy post about friends. The following is not original, but I think it is accurate. I lament the lack of deep friendships in life. When I look around, I see people who have huge numbers of so-called friends, but very few deep friends. In other words, there are friends with a little “f” and friends with a capital “F.” The first is a large group with sloppy admission standards, the other an elite, time-tested crew.

What is the difference?

A little “f” friend identifies themselves when they call.
A capital “F” Friend doesn’t have to.

A little “f” friend opens a conversation with a full news bulletin on their life.
A capital “F” Friend says, “What’s new with you?”

A little “f” friend thinks the problems you whine about are recent.
A capital “F” Friend says, “You’ve been whining about the same thing for 14 years. Get off your duff and do something about it.”

A little “f” friend has never seen you cry.
A capital “F” Friend has shoulders soggy from your tears.

A little “f” friend knows almost nothing about your family.
A capital “F” Friend knows the medical history, dietary habits and marital troubles of everyone on your tree.

A little “f” friend calls you at 10 p.m. just to chat.
A capital “F” Friend knows you hate to be called after 9 p.m.

A little “f” friend wonders about your romantic history.
A capital “F” Friend could blackmail you with it.

A little “f” friend when visiting, they act like a guest.
A capital “F” Friend when visiting, they open your refrigerator, put they’re feet on the sofa, talk back to your spouse and reprimand your children.

A little “f” friend thinks the friendship is over when you argue.
A capital “F” Friend knows that a friendship’s not a friendship until you’ve had a fight.

They are nothing but devil's fools.

“We err in that we judge the work of God according to our own feelings, and regard not His will but our own desire. This is why we are unable to recognize His works, persist in making evil that which is good, and regarding as bitter that which is pleasant. Nothing is so bad, not even death itself, but what it becomes sweet and tolerable if only I know and am certain that it is pleasing to God. Then there follows immediately that of which Solomon speaks, ‘He obtains favor from the Lord.’ (Proverbs 18:22). Now observe that when that clever harlot, our natural reason (which the pagans followed in trying to be most clever), takes a look at married life, she turns up her nose and says, ‘Alas, must I rock the baby, wash its diapers, make its bed, smell its stench, stay up nights with it, take care of it when it cries, heal its rashes and sores, and on top of that care for my wife, provide for her, labor at my trade, take care of this and take care of that, do this and do that, endure this and endure that, and whatever else of bitterness and drudgery married life involves? What, should I make such a prisoner of myself? O you poor, wretched fellow, have you taken a wife? Fie, fie upon such wretchedness and bitterness! It is better to remain free and lead a peaceful, carefree life; I will become a priest or a nun and compel my children to do likewise.’ What then does Christian faith say to this? It opens its eyes, looks upon all these insignificant, distasteful, and despised duties in the Spirit, and is aware that they are all adorned with divine approval as with the costliest gold and jewels. It says, ‘O God, because I am certain that Thou hast created me as a man and hast from my body begotten this child, I also know for a certainty that it meets with Thy perfect pleasure. I confess to Thee that I am not worthy to rock the little babe or wash its diapers or to be entrusted with the care of the child and its mother. How is it that I, without any merit, have come to this distinction of being certain that I am serving Thy creature and Thy most precious will? O how gladly will I do so, though the duties should be even more insignificant and despised! Neither frost nor heat, neither drudgery nor labor, will distress or dissuade me, for I am certain that it is thus pleasing in Thy sight.’ A wife too should regard her duties in the same light, as she suckles the child, rocks and bathes it, and cares for it in other ways; and as she busies herself with other duties and renders help and obedience to her husband. These are truly golden and noble works…Now you tell me, when a father goes ahead and washes diapers or performs some other mean task for his child, and someone ridicules him as an effeminate fool, though that father is acting in the spirit just described and in Christian faith, my dear fellow you tell me, which of the two is most keenly ridiculing the other? God, with all His angels and creatures, is smiling, not because that father is washing diapers, but because he is doing so in Christian faith. Those who sneer at him and see only the task but not the faith are ridiculing God with all His creatures, as the biggest fool on earth. Indeed, they are only ridiculing themselves; with all their cleverness they are nothing but devil’s fools.”

(Martin Luther, “The Estate of Marriage,” in Martin Luther’s Basic Theological Writings, Ed. Timothy F. Lull. 2nd Ed. (Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 2005), 158-159)

HT: Nowalk

Earthy, humble, ministry.

I have thought a lot lately about how I should be ministering better to the non-Christians I have contact with, as well as the Christians that I have the privilege to teach at church. The practical suggestion at the bottom of this quote from Sumpter seems right. I hope that my ministry, whether at BCS or teaching on Wednesday nights, or somewhere else will be characterized by this earthy, humble, reality.

This means that Christian ministry must have Spirit-glorified flesh. So how do we gin up the Spirit? Which songs must we sing, which liturgy should we follow, how do we get the Spirit to incarnate our words, the gospel words we speak to those around us? Part of the answer is that it’s impossible, and that we cannot “get” the Spirit to do anything. The Spirit blows where He wishes, and we do not know His plans or intentions. But we do have the Scriptures, and we know the ways that the Spirit tends to work. The Spirit likes weakness. The Spirit glorifies the humble. The Spirit carves life out of the dirt. One practical suggestion is that Christian ministry needs to embrace the weakness of human flesh. Pastors and elders and parents must learn to hug and kiss and cry and shout and plead. The Word has to sink down into our earth, our bodily earth, into our emotions, our passions, our bodies in order to spring up into newness of human life.

Read the whole thing.

The Bible on Friends

A friend speaks face-to-face. (Exo 33:11)
A close friend can be described as one “who is as your own soul.” (Deut 13:6)
A friend is expected to be loyal. (2 Sam 16:17)
A friend is expected to be loyal. (2 Chr 20:7)
Withholding kindness from a friend is as forsaking the fear of the Lord. (Job 6:14)
Bargaining over your friend is a bad thing. (Job 6:27)
Grieving for a friend is like lamenting one’s mother. (Psa 35:14)
A close friend is trusted, one who you eat bread with. (Psa 41:9)
A friend loves at all times. (Prov 17:17)
A friend sticks closer than a brother. (Prov 18:24)
Faithful are the wounds of a friend. (Prov 27:6)
A friend gives earnest counsel. (Prov 27:9)
A friend is not to be forsaken. (Prov 27:10)
A friend is the opposite of an enemy. (James 4:4)